Epilogue
It was a balmy September evening, and the Tuscan sun was just beginning to sink behind the treeline.
Julia, Gianluca, and Leni had just sat down to a fresh peach, buffalo mozzarella, and arugula salad topped with fresh mint, served on the patio.
The pergola dripped with verdant wisteria, and a second flush of purplish flowers sweetened the air.
The vineyard made a gorgeous backdrop, having flourished during the hot, dry summer.
Heavy bunches of Sangiovese grapes hung on its hilly, trellised vines, ripening to a lovely, richly reddish purple.
The harvest was next month, and they’d succeeded in selling their entire crop, so the family was celebrating.
They’d done their share of the labor and hired workers to do the rest when Julia had to travel back to Pennsylvania for appearances in the prosecution of the conspiracy that murdered Kay.
Justice had turned out to be a long process, not a single event, but Julia was in it for the duration.
Courtney was, too, and she was working fewer hours and building her nonprofit for parolees.
They made long weekends of every trip Julia took to Pennsylvania, seeing plenty of each other.
Leni came along every time, so she and Courtney were getting to know each other.
Paul entered therapy and even joined a bereavement support group.
“To the grapes!” Gianluca hoisted his glass.
“To the grapes!” Julia raised her glass and took a sip, marveling again at the fruity, full-bodied taste of Chianti Classico, with just a hint of red berry.
“To grapes!” Leni raised her cup of juice.
“And to the villa!” Gianluca said, making another toast.
“The villa!” Julia raised her glass to the beautifully restored villa, aglow in this magic hour. The late-day sun glazed its facade of yellow, brown, and gray alberese stone, its typically Tuscan red-tiled roof, and its gleaming copper gutters just beginning to verdigris.
“The villa!” Leni cheered, good-naturedly.
“One last toast, to the new shutters!” Gianluca was grinning, holding his glass high.
“Yes, the new shutters!” Julia smiled, taking in the freshly painted shutters of butterscotch yellow, like the ones on her childhood home.
The color had been Leni’s idea after their trip to New Gilbert, and Julia would always wonder if their daughter had thought of it herself or followed a suggestion from her namesake, Melinda Pritzker.
Julia eyed the shutters, finally at peace.
She’d remember her adoptive mother whenever she saw them, and she realized that America would always be with her, even here in Tuscany.
She felt more whole than ever before, both American and Italian, and she’d redefined normal for her.
She hadn’t had any more visions, but she didn’t fear them the way she used to.
She was getting along better with Fiamma and looked forward to the return of her in-laws, who’d be moving into the cottage for the holidays.
If it took a village to raise a child, she’d been lucky enough to marry into one.
And Julia felt fully, and finally, home.