Chapter 16 #2
“I’m gonna go jump off the rock,” I say with conviction, surprising even myself. I hop up and don’t look at Nico. Emilia, oblivious to my internal nonsense, stands up too.
“I’m game.” She starts walking toward the path up the rock, and without a glance back I’m following her.
The cliff is not exactly a treacherous height—the jump is maybe fifteen feet from the water—but it looks so joyous.
It’s mostly teenagers taking turns jumping and then climbing a rope to haul themselves back up.
There’s a lifeguard who looks like he’s at least in his seventies—tanned to a deep burnt orange color, as though he’s spent his entire life outdoors.
It’s comical to think that this man could save any of these robust teens, but I kind of love that no one has taken away his happy place.
One of the girls is screaming because the boys are throwing little pieces of bread in the water to make the fish come to the surface every time she’s about to dive in.
The water is so clear you can see them materialize.
But despite all the teasing, she eventually jumps. And the grin on her face when she pulls herself back up the rope shows it was all worth it.
“You want me to go first?” Emilia asks.
“Nope,” I say with an impish smile as I take off at a run.
I fling myself into the air and smack the water hard.
It’s cool but not cold, a thrilling balm to my overheated skin.
I’m always grateful for my short hair whenever I go in the ocean or a pool because it’s easy to keep out of my face.
I feel Emilia come crashing in beside me with a gleeful yelp.
When she surfaces, her grin is as large as the teenagers’.
We both pull ourselves up by the rope and insist on going again.
We probably do the jump half a dozen times, each one a thrilling moment of freedom that never dulls.
The sensation of jumping toward blue sky meeting the water and submerging into quiet is like nothing else.
If I was fifteen years younger, I would definitely be on the endless loop with the teens.
But there comes a point where I’m happily winded and need a break.
After the last jump, we swim back to shore instead of climbing up the rock again.
I collapse, satisfied, into my beach chair.
The one next to mine is empty again.
“I’m going to go get a gelato; do you want one?” Emilia asks.
“Is it terrible?” I reply, knowing the answer.
“Yeah, I’m using the word ‘gelato’ loosely,” she laughs. “You’ll be lucky if it’s not like a Spider-Man Popsicle or something.”
“Anything chocolate I’m game for,” I allow.
“Yeah, trashy cheap ice cream sometimes admittedly does it for me too,” she says as she wanders away.
Anita’s watching me as I towel myself off.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Missing me already?” I hate that she’s leaving tomorrow, so naturally I’m making light of it.
“Of course I am,” she says, waving me away, the happy look on her face muted by some other thought she’s not yet ready to share.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, hoping to slyly pry it out of her. Look at me, evolved and asking for feelings.
“Please, a euro coin at least,” she tsks. She looks away, like she’s deciding whether to tell me or not. But then finally she turns back, and I can see that I’m about to get some Anita opinions.
“Can I give you advice?” she says, and I nod her on, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “I don’t think you should get involved with Nico.”
Seriously? Okay, I was wrong. Innermost thoughts should stay inside. “Oh, for god’s sake, Anita, who said anything at all about—”
“I have eyes.”
“He isn’t even here. I literally wasn’t doing anything—”
“I don’t mean just today, although two people casually sneaking looks at the other in their bathing suits earlier is certainly some peak high school–level entertainment.
I mean, all the time. I mean at the coffee shop in the mornings, or stopping by the restaurant, or hello on the street. He’s such a good guy—”
“Oh, thank you for whatever that makes me? First Sofia’s son and now Nico. I’m a real catch.”
“You are a catch, and you’re also a good guy too,” she says pointedly. “But you’re not a lover, not in that way.”
“I’m an excellent—” She puts a hand up to stop whatever snarky thing I’m about to say.
“I know you love me. I know you love your family. But you’re not .
. . You’re good at compartmentalizing. And for you, I actually think that’s wonderful.
You have your restaurant; you have what you want.
That’s your focus. And I don’t begrudge you that.
I hated John, but I got why you wanted something easy.
I’m so happy you came here for the summer, and I’m especially glad you seem to have gotten out of your routine.
But Nico’s not a guy who can do a casual thing.
He already had someone who needed the world to be bigger. Don’t hurt him, okay?”
“I like how everyone assumes I’m the one doing the hurting,” I mumble.
That gets her attention. “Who else assumes that?”
I can practically feel my cheeks going red.
I bite at my nails to try and avoid her.
It’s ironic that Nico’s the person who’s made me think I should share more with Anita, when now she’s the one who’s making me feel uncomfortable about him.
But maybe he’s right that I need to let more out.
And maybe the truth can actually stop this conversation.
“For your information, Nico and I have already talked about this. I know we . . . spark . . . as you said.” She snickers and I ignore her. “But we want to be friends, for real friends. So nothing is ever going to happen. I’m not an asshole, okay?”
“I absolutely never even thought for a minute that you’re an asshole,” she says with sincerity. “I just . . . look, he’s a sexy man, okay? That’s hard!”
I laugh as I flick my towel at her. “You’re a married woman, Anita! And he was married to your cousin! You’re practically related.”
“I’m not dead or blind,” she mutters under her breath, and I shake my head, unable to contain my smirk.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I say, as much to convince myself as her. “No emotional train wrecks forthcoming. I just got out of a relationship.”
“Meh,” she replies, even indifferent to John in absentia.
“Love you for sort of standing up for both of us, though,” I say, kissing her temple.
I get up again, because even though there’s probably some ice cream coming my way, I’m feeling a little raw after more sharing than I’m used to. I need a minute to myself.
I climb up one of the higher cliffs and sit out facing the ocean. There’s a plaque with another poem written on it, but without a phone to do Google Translate, I can only guess what someone might’ve had to say about this view.
It’s beautiful up here. You can see all the way to the horizon, the sun high in the sky making the light dapple across the water. I get lost in it, my mind calm again in a way it never usually is. What is it about this salt water and the air and the view that’s making me easygoing?
I feel someone sit next to me, and I turn to see Nico.
Maybe it’s the satiation in my muscles from all the jumping, or maybe it’s just my inherent comfort with him that’s never really gone, but for the first time all day, I’m glad he’s next to me again.
“How was swimming?” I ask.
“It’s pretty glorious here,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “You looked like you were taking advantage of the setting?”
I grin at the memory of giddy enthusiasm, the over and over and over of having a moment to fly. “Yeah, this is pretty great. I’m a bit disappointed in myself for not getting out here earlier.”
“We all take for granted the things that are always around us,” he says, smoothing out my own self-judgment in an instant.
“Hey,” I ask, remembering the poem next to me. “What does this say? I feel like everywhere I go in Maremma, someone’s carved some verse into a rock.”
He laughs in agreement. “Yeah, Italians love our words. We like to memorialize our appreciation for pretty much everything.”
He leans over to look at the plaque. He studies it, mouthing the words to get their feel.
“It’s a beautiful poem, actually,” he says, looking impressed.
“So, okay, it starts with, ‘Eterni sono quelli come te, che cammini-invisible sulle onde del mare verso l’orizzonte, lasciando risuonare al vento la tua voce.’ It means, roughly, that those like you are eternal, or maybe .
. . timeless. And you walk, invisible on the waves toward the horizon and let your voice resonate into the wind.
It continues, ‘Per incidere nelle nostre anime l’indelebile segno del tuo sorriso e della tua voglia di vivere.
’” He pauses here, and my gut unintentionally churns with the loss of his cadence.
I hear him speaking Italian all the time, but when a poetic language is used on poetry, it’s even more magical.
He switches back to English to continue explaining.
“It’s hard to really translate perfectly, but it means, again roughly, that you’re etching in our souls the indelible mark of your smile and .
. . I guess the will to live? I take it all as a celebration of life, and living to the fullest. It’s optimistic, filled with hope for optimistic people.
Like if you live your life with determination and try to be positive, you’ll live forever. Even if not everyone notices.”
He’s looking at the horizon, and I take the moment to watch him.
His hair has a salty curl to it he normally doesn’t have, and the way the light drinks him in would make anyone take stock of the optimism in their life.
I think of Anita’s words—he’s such a good guy—and it’s hard not to see every layer of that on him as he interprets poetry and stares out across the glistening sea.
He’s found a way to have what he wants in an imperfect world.
He has his work and his passions but also peace and family and community.
Maybe I can have that too. Maybe that’s what Nico was always meant to be for me.
A kindred spirit who could show me that I can strive for more.
That that more doesn’t have to only be professional success.
I thought I was at the pinnacle without realizing I’d been stuck. And I’m starting to think maybe it’s possible to stay at that pinnacle but just be a little less stuck in my ways.
We stay, staring out at the hazy horizon line until there’s a slight chill in the air from the sun beginning to lower itself in the sky.
“Time to go home, I think,” he says, patting me on the leg, his touch once again lighting me up in ways I wish it wouldn’t.
We come down from the rocks and see Anita and Emilia packing up as well, so we gather our things and make our way back to the car and Vespas.
The golden hour here takes on another meaning as we wind along the curving road, with dappled light peeking through the initial palm trees and wooded brush and then opening up on the expanse of wheat fields and olive groves.
And it’s hard not to feel the beach’s optimism seep into me, even when we’re all the way back in Manciano.