Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
I couldn’t stop thinking about my grandmother’s plea.
I talked with Dr. Sariah about it, and instead of agreeing that extending my time here was a ridiculous idea, she urged me to consider the option. Dozens of excuses immediately flew from my lips, until I became my own defense lawyer. She only listened and gently reminded me I got to choose my path. I was beginning to realize all my decisions began with responsibility, duty, or logic. Sicily kept showing me there was another way, but I was leaving soon. There was no time to really listen.
My vacation was almost over.
I hadn’t talked to Jason and there were no missed messages. I kept telling myself he was busy and that the old me would have understood, but things felt off. I hated the doubts that assailed me. It was easier to blame the distance than probe the lack of emotional connection I was feeling with a man who was supposed to love me.
I tried to ignore my brain spiral and focused on work for a few hours. I needed to check on Desi and some other clients. My podcast producer was frantic about the schedule and needed approvals on filler guests to make up for the big ones who’d canceled. I hadn’t posted anything motivational other than a few of my Sicily pics, but at least they got good engagement. Everyone loved a travel post, so I’d allowed myself some fun, doing a few Reels and loading a YouTube of the pizza last night, showing off the amazing food and loud, laughing family members.
Holding back a sigh, I made the necessary phone calls and sent the emails on my to-do list. I tried drafting a post regarding Desi’s Oreo incident and how to forgive yourself and move on when it came to obstacles, but I ended up deleting it. The words rang false, like I was patronizing rather than honestly engaged.
I kept remembering Quint’s words.
Maybe you are forcing yourself to be who you were, not who you are now.
There was no joy left in my work. No motivation or enthusiasm. How could I show up to be my best authentic self when it had become a lie?
I stared lackadaisically at my computer, then out the window. Maybe it was best to push off all this work until I got home. I didn’t have much time left here. I needed to use it to heal and get a true restart. Expecting to do all this work in Sicily didn’t make sense. I knew Jason would be disappointed, but the thought of tackling any more of the tasks on my list was depressing, not motivating.
Screw it. I was going rogue. I wouldn’t work. I’d take the next few days completely off and worry about the end result later.
Immediately, lightness danced through my body. I snapped the screen closed and then asked a question I hadn’t in years.
What did I want to do right now?
Dr. Sariah had told me to listen to my intuition. The same voice that had counseled me to go to Sicily.
I dialed in to the silence, trying to ignore my brain, which was yelling at me to stop being weak and get back to accomplishing things that mattered. Feeling silly, I waited for an answer from another part, a part that had been shoved deep down and gagged so it wouldn’t get in the way of my path to success. The very part I tried to counsel my clients to ignore and silence in order to spur them to action. I’d heard it for the first time in Dr. Sariah’s office, telling me I needed to go to Sicily. Was it still around and available? Or had I imagined the mystical voice to give me a damn good excuse to run away from my life?
Go for a walk.
Startled, I looked around, but there was only empty space. Holy crap, it was working! It—she—spoke, and now I needed to…well, I needed to do something before I went out. I planned to meet Catena later to do some touring, and I needed to make a list of groceries that gave me some lighter, healthier options since I’d gone carb crazy yesterday. And—
It took a few moments for the realization to hit, and then I was shaking my head, laughing at myself.
I needed to do nothing right now except listen. I needed to go take a walk.
I wished the voice had told me where to go, but at this point, I’d take what I could get.
Grabbing my cross-body purse, water, and sunglasses, I left all my work behind and headed outside.
The sun hit like an explosion, scattering light around me. I gave a satisfied sigh, walking toward the marina. I noticed some fishermen selling their fresh catches, surrounded by small groups of people who seemed to be shouting and waving their hands with anger, but now I knew it was all normal. I knew the market took place early in the morning but noticed there were a few times throughout the day when fishermen would sail in with a fresh catch and offer it up on the spot. I must’ve gotten lucky and they’d just returned from a haul.
Hanging back, I watched the give-and-take of products and obvious haggling in Italian. An array of seafood was packed in ice, and it reminded me a bit of an auction. My nose tickled with the scent of fish and brine. It seemed the fishermen were evenly divided, as if they each had a group of regular customers. I wondered why people wouldn’t take advantage and try to pit the fishermen against one another to get the best competitive price. Maybe Italians were more polite? Or loyal? It was a question I’d ask Catena. She’d mentioned taking me to the market for one of her purchasing trips. I’d remind her.
My legs stretched into longer strides as I walked past the boats. It was early enough that the shops were all open, so I popped in and out, lingering over the gorgeous hand-painted tiles and linens of Sicilian lemons and blood oranges. I bought half a dozen towels, a brightly colored majolica of the Sciacca landscape, and an apron for Jason.
I got lost within the narrow zigzagging streets, climbing the levels of the town now that I knew a bit of the layout. I snapped pictures at leisure. Then I bought a lemon ice and ate it while I looked out at the sea, my mind settling into a peaceful quiet. I thought about my mom and my grandfather. I thought about my cousin’s wedding and how she’d begged me to extend my trip in order to attend. I thought about how Quint’s touch made me shiver and how happy I was hanging out at the pub, being welcomed by strangers as family.
Soon I took out my phone and began typing random thoughts, wanting to capture them in words for later. The tart stickiness of the ice lingered on my tongue. Time spun away as I wrote freely, not worried about deadlines or a publisher’s expectations or trying to grow my following. I wrote for me, untangling the knotted spool in my head, making sense of it on the page.
Catena called and I had to shake myself out of a happy fog. “ Ciao. ”
“ Buongiorno! Aurora, mi dispiace , I cannot pick you up later. I have to meet with distributors and do a few things for the pub. Theo is also working, but do not worry, Quint will take you anywhere you want.”
“Oh, no, Catena, I don’t want to impose.”
“What is impose?”
“I mean, it’s okay, Quint doesn’t need to come. I’m fine on my own—you need to take care of your business and I don’t want to bother him.”
Her laugh was full of her usual robustness. “Do not be silly! Quint cannot wait to take you out exploring! He has been excited about spending his day off showing you special places. Va bene? ”
I bit my lip, torn. It was sweet of Quint, but I was a bit wary. I hadn’t expected to react so strongly to another man, a man who wasn’t Jason. It threw me off. But I was sure it was one-sided. He probably had a ton of women he dated and saw me only as a friend. Since our last conversation, I’d felt a bond with him. As if he understood my confusion and accepted me exactly as I was.
“ Sì, grazie. ”
“He will get you at three p.m.”
We hung up. I looked down at my grubby shorts and sticky hands. My T-shirt clung to my skin, damp with sweat. My hair felt two times its normal size with frizz, and I wore no makeup.
I got my ass back to my rental as fast as I could. Whether or not we were just friends had nothing to do with it. I was not about to allow a handsome Italian man to see me like this.
I had my pride.
By the time he picked me up, I’d changed into a casual summer dress that floated above the knee. It had a happy floral pattern with bright red roses, and I matched it with cute red flats that were actually comfortable. I’d straightened my wild curls so now the tamed strands fell sleekly against my cheeks.
His eyes widened with appreciation when he greeted me. Pleasure rushed through my veins, along with a heady sense of excitement. Nothing would happen between us, but I intended to enjoy my time with Quint, along with my purely feminine reaction to his compliments.
“You look beautiful,” he said, opening the car door.
“Thank you.” I regarded him seriously. “Quint, I hope you didn’t cancel important plans to drive me around. I could have done this myself.”
His gaze reflected puzzlement. “What else would I have to do on my day off? It is an honor to be your company today.”
I smiled and surrendered. “ Grazie. ” I slid into the seat and he shut the door. I watched him climb into the black economy car, which resembled a Matchbox toy. “What are the plans?”
“I will be your personal tour guide and show you our main sights. But I have a few surprises set up. Is that okay?”
“I love surprises.”
“Good. We will do much walking since there are many roads we cannot drive on in Sciacca.”
I gave a snort. “Walking doesn’t scare me.”
Quint laughed. I watched his tapered fingers confidently grip the wheel as he maneuvered down the clogged, narrow street. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a kelly green T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders. His hair looked freshly washed, spilling over his forehead. The car smelled like him—soap, and musk, and cinnamon. The color of his shirt brought out the green flecks in his eyes. “What does scare you?” he teased.
I shrugged. “Not sure. You?”
“I do not like bugs.”
I pressed my lips together. “All bugs or any specific ones?”
“Flying bugs are okay. Crawling ones are not.”
“What if you saw a spider? Would you kill it?”
“Yes, but I would not like it.”
I liked the idea of this sexy, confident man afraid of creepy-crawlies. It evened things out for me. “I don’t like red balloons,” I suddenly admitted.
His brow rose. “Why?”
“I saw the horror movie It , and this killer clown haunts kids in this small town. They know he’s coming when they see a red balloon floating by. It’s horrible and now I can’t even look at one without screaming.”
“That sounds scary.”
“It is.” He didn’t mock me or call me silly. “Anything else besides bugs?”
“Not having enough money.”
Surprise shook through me that he’d share something so personal. I nodded, my voice soft. “I don’t blame you. It must’ve been hard trying to take care of Carmella when you were so young.”
He shot me a grateful look, then refocused on the road. “Now that I have the pub and savings, I’m not as scared. I’d like to invest in another restaurant and expand. When I’m ready.”
“Sounds like a great plan. Now that your sister is more independent, do you think of moving somewhere else?” I asked curiously.
“No. This is my home and I am happy. I’d love to travel more—go on food tours and visit some big cities.” He gave me another smile that made his eyes squint and my heart speed up. “I know it’s not as exciting as you. I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of places with your job.”
“I actually haven’t traveled much. I’ve been focused these past years on building my career and have had no time.”
“Then today is even more special because it’s rare.”
I loved how he refused to judge me, no matter what my responses were. It made me feel…safe.
We drove out of town, away from clogged streets and up into the hills. “We will take a walk around Castello Incantato, then I will show you the thermal baths.”
“It’s called the Enchanted Castle, right?” I asked. I’d read about it in the tourist guidebook as one of the main sights.
“ Sì. It is an outdoor art world created by Filippo Bentivegna. He is famous in Sicily. Many called him a madman.”
We paid for the tickets and joined another group of tourists who were exploring the gardens. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of sculptures carved in stone amid walking paths of lush greenery. Olive and almond trees created a natural oasis. It was like exploring a giant maze with treasures hidden behind every twist and curve. There seemed to be endless heads in various shapes and sizes, eyes staring back from the hard stone in an effort to communicate with each visitor. The result was both beautiful and eerie.
“There are a lot of heads here,” I said.
Quint grinned. “He carved over one thousand heads while he was on the property. It took thirty-five years. Would you like me to tell his story?”
“Please.”
He flipped the sunglasses on top of his head and tapped his lip as if wondering where to begin. “Filippo was very poor, so he went to America and joined the navy. Unfortunately, he had much trouble when he fell in love with an American. He was beaten severely by a rival for his lover’s affection and returned to Sicily a changed man. He bought this property and began sculpting the rocks and trees into heads. They are known to be people he met throughout his life in the States and here. He was a strange man to the town and would walk around with a stick, acting like it was a scepter and insisting he be called His Excellency.”
I shook my head, fascinated by the story. “He spent his life on this property, steeped in his art? And never married or had children?”
“That is right. His work was not appreciated until after his death, when his family opened the estate to tourists. He also painted. There are frescoes in the main house to also enjoy.”
“His work is beautiful.”
Quint tilted his head, regarding me with interest. “You think? Many say it is…strange. They wonder why he wanted to only sculpt heads.”
“They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Maybe for him it was faces. Or maybe he was searching for something special, and in each person, he found one tiny thing, so he kept looking, hoping for completion.”
“You have an artist’s soul,” he said softly.
I laughed, startled. “Oh, no. I’m too logical. I need things to make sense, which isn’t very creative.”
“You do not see yourself as I do.”
I sucked in my breath at the comment, trying not to blush as warmth hit my insides. He didn’t say it in a flirty manner, which made it more special. I wondered what Quint did see when he looked at me. I wanted to ask, but it was too intimate, so I kept walking and didn’t respond, just smiled.
We took our time exploring, having fun making up stories for each sculpture, getting more outrageous in our descriptions of how Filippo knew them and transformed them into a stone legacy from their interaction. At the top of the hill, we stared down at the Mediterranean in all its glory, a stinging blue that seared my eyes in pleasure.
“What do you think? Was he a madman or a genius?” Quint asked.
I breathed in the sea air until my lungs filled to bursting, dizzy with oxygen. “He was both. Most artists are. How can you remain sane when a part of you is not human but mystical?”
My hair whipped into my eyes, and he slowly tucked the wayward strands behind my ear. A strange longing edged his deep voice. “As I said, you have an artist’s soul or you would never be able to see such truth.”
I blinked, caught up in his spell. “And you? Ever created anything that put you into the mad genius category?”
“Only my food, but that is more to comfort than impress. I like the idea of making something that fills one up. To nourish and give pleasure at the same time. That is enough.”
How wonderful to simplify his gift rather than chasing fame and fortune. Quint didn’t need validation from anyone but the ones who ate his food, who sat in his bar and shared stories and laughter. It was the connection that he gave and received.
I thought about what I did and realized I’d been looking at it wrong. Like a teacher who lectured students, I force-fed information that was helpful but had never truly connected on a personal level—story to story.
“Are you hungry yet?”
I shook off my thoughts and gave a chuckle, putting out my hands. “No. Yesterday ruined me. They made hot dog pizza!”
His eyes twinkled. “Your family honors you. Are you ready for our next stop?”
“Ready.”
We got back in the car and drove by the famous spa known for healing many health and skin conditions. The sprawling Greek building displayed classic columns, large wooden doors, and terra-cotta roofs. “There are three different sections that make up our famous baths. A main pool is housed in there,” he said, pointing to the building, “and there are three large pools we call the Piscine Molinelli. There are springs close by that supply the water. It is very big and has a view of the sea. It was a beautiful place to visit if you did not want to go to the beach and liked to sunbathe. We are very sad it has been closed for a while.”
I looked down at my very tanned skin from the blistering July heat. “I think I’ve had enough sunbathing anyway. I read about the hot springs in a cave. Can we see those?”
“Unfortunately, the vapor caves of Monte San Calogero are closed. We do not know when they will reopen, but they are very special. People flock to use the water to heal all sicknesses of the skin.”
“Have you been? What does it feel like?”
Quint scratched his head. “There are five separate caves, but only three are in use. They call the vapor caves the stoves of San Calogero—the temperature gets to thirty-eight degrees Celsius. Very, very hot. The steam—vapor—rises and surrounds you. It smells. The sulfur.”
I imagined Romans wrapped in glorious robes sinking into the steamy water to soothe all their ailments. “In Sedona, Arizona, they have special hot springs that are supposed to be centered on Earth’s meridians. People from all over go there for healing.”
He lit up with interest. “I would like to see this. Maybe that will be my next travel adventure.”
“I thought it would be New York. To see me.”
The words popped out before I could stop them, and then I tried hard to seem nonchalant. He laughed. “You are right. I’d rather come see you.”
“Well, we don’t have healing springs, but the Mandarin Oriental hotel is pretty sweet.”
We took our time walking the grounds. “Is Sciacca a big tourist attraction? I’d never heard of it before.”
“We are in the southern region, Agrigento. As a working fishing village, we don’t offer as much as other tourist places. But I believe whoever is meant to come here will receive a great gift. We are small but we have heart. Our people work hard and it is unspoiled, with some of the most beautiful beaches, olive oil, and food.”
I loved the passion ringing in his voice when he spoke about his home. I enjoyed living near the city, in a bustling, eclectic town that had prestigious shops and vegan cafés. Where the roar of the Metro-North train echoed in the air and everyone bumped into one another on the streets because they were all on their phones. But I never questioned whether there were other choices.
It was so much simpler here, stripped down to family, faith, and land. But was it something I could do long-term? Would I miss the rush and adrenaline of the race to success? It was what I’d lived and breathed for the past five years. Would I eventually heal from this grief and be ready to dive back into my busy life?
I wondered why I was even questioning myself. It wasn’t like I was staying in Sicily. I was going home soon.
“You’re lucky, Quint,” I said. “Not only for where you live but how you appreciate it.”
He tilted his head and regarded me over his dark lenses. “Right now, it’s hard to appreciate anything, Aurora. You are still in grief over your mother.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “Was it like this for you? Were you different afterward?”
He reached out to touch my cheek, then dropped his hand. “ Sì. But I liked myself better. I believe that with each loss, our heart grows bigger, not smaller. Let’s go eat.”
His words haunted me as we left.
—
We drove and chased the dying light. I watched the fiery colors of dusk soak the landscape in a rosy glow, content to let Quint choose where we were headed. We pulled into a magnificent vineyard with a stone castle-like structure snuggled in the midst of twisted grapevines and olive trees. The building soared high like a mini fortress.
“This is De Gregorio Winery,” Quint said. “I know the owner, so I thought it would be nice to eat and taste some wine.”
“It’s stunning,” I said in an awed whisper. We parked and walked up the winding paths, surrounded by a natural beauty that my time in Italy was showing me I rarely stopped to notice. I knew the mountains in the Hudson Valley were special. I knew when the leaves turned to golds and vibrant reds in the fall, crowds flocked to witness the spectacular views and shop at our farm markets for apples, and pumpkins, and cider doughnuts. I knew all of this, always smiled with pride, and hurried past, intent on my phone or needing to get to the next event.
But as we walked into the winery, a hush overcame me, a sense of gratitude and humbleness for being allowed to enter such a gorgeous setting. My eyes were finally opened and I never wanted to close them again.
I followed Quint inside, where he spoke briefly to the woman who came to greet us. She nodded, glanced at me with a big smile, and brought us out to a sprawling terrace. Tables and chairs were scattered along the ceramic floors, and rows of vines stretched out over the valley in front of us. Fairy lights weaved in and out of the crooked tree branches and added a romantic atmosphere.
“Would you like me to order some food for us?” he asked. “Liz said my friend isn’t here, but she’s happy to host us. They have wonderful wine, and the chef is very good. But I do not want to force you to eat anything if you prefer to order yourself.”
I melted at his considerate charm. Quint displayed a gentleness and depth I’d never seen in a man. I tended to go for the driven alpha type who excited me. I was beginning to realize there was an entire level of attraction with him that was a bit dangerous. “I’d like that. Just don’t make me waste my safe word.”
He laughed, a deep, booming sound that created flutters of pleasure in my stomach. “I promise. You are in my hands tonight.”
I pretended to ignore the intimate statement and fought my blush.
I sat back and enjoyed watching Quint chat with Liz, ordering food and wine while she nodded and stared at me with interest. Probably assuming I was the new girlfriend or a first date he wanted to impress. I wondered if he was dating or if he had someone special in his life. I wondered if she’d be jealous knowing he spent the day with me.
I wondered why I cared so much.
Liz drifted away and I tried to refocus.
“You didn’t mention how Sunday was. With your family. Did you enjoy going to church?” Quint asked.
“Yes. I haven’t been in years. Mom used to beg me to join her, but I always said no. It was nice to be surrounded by relatives in a peaceful place.”
“Church is part of our routine here. I have found it is a place to come back to when I am lost.”
“I like that.”
“Do you have a safe place, Aurora?”
His gaze was thoughtful, but as I fell into his golden-brown eyes, I realized the truth. “It was my mom. And now I have to find a new one.”
He reached out and took my hand. I was enveloped in warmth and understanding, like a fluffy fleece blanket for my soul. “No. She will always be your safe place. I listen to my mamma all the time. I talk to her in church and when I need help. I believe they are part of us. How can someone we love so much ever truly leave?”
I smiled. “I’ve never met a man as open as you,” I admitted. “Is it all Italians? Because in America, it’s almost looked down upon to show so much emotion or speak your heart. Especially for men.”
He tilted his head as he considered the question. “Why would I be afraid? It is only feelings. It is part of being human, no?”
I wondered how freeing it would be to embrace the mess in my life. All I knew was that I’d had a major breakdown in public and was made to feel ashamed. Grief was a funny thing. It shoved you straight into the discomfort of chaos, ripping away blinders and walls carefully built over too many years. You couldn’t argue with it, tame it, or deny it. You could only ride the wave and do your best not to drown.
But I finally realized the piece of the puzzle I had been missing.
The people you loved became your life jackets.
Or they watched you sink, shaking their heads with sympathy but never reaching out their hands.
“How do you feel about returning home?” Quint asked, startling me out of my lightbulb moment.
“I’m not sure. I have all of this work to do and big decisions to make. I guess if I’m honest, I don’t know if I’m ready.”
He nodded. I realized he hadn’t pulled his hand away. His thumb absently rubbed my palm, and the simple touch set a fire that simmered under my skin. “I am amazed at your strength, Aurora. Maybe you need some time to figure out if you want to go in a new direction. Have you thought of extending your stay?”
I blinked in surprise. “Actually, my grandmother asked me the same thing. Magdalena, my second cousin, is getting married and she wants me to attend the wedding.”
“ Sì , I am going. It will be a wonderful celebration.”
“I’d love to be a part of it.” Funny, a few days ago, I would have never imagined myself being comfortable enough to be at a family wedding. I’d just met my relatives and was an outsider. But they’d welcomed me as one of their own, and the idea had reshaped my mind. “Except running away from my life for three more weeks doesn’t sound very responsible of me. I have things to face in New York. My podcast and clients. My…boyfriend.”
I stumbled over the word, but I needed to say it. Catena said she’d mentioned Jason to Quint, but we’d never actually spoken his name between us. Of course, I was probably being ridiculous. Quint had his pick of women and I didn’t even live here. I was sure he only saw me as a friend, even if there was mad chemistry between us. At least, from my perspective.
He didn’t flinch or look away. “These things are important, I know.”
“There’s another reason, though. My grandmother wants me to have a talk with my grandfather. Get to know him better. We’ve been a bit prickly toward each other.”
“Prickly?”
“Sorry—we have been avoiding each other. I resent him for forcing my mom to leave. I think he was the reason she ran away, and he knows more about what happened with Mom than anyone.”
“Ah.” A tiny frown creased his brow. “I did not know. Has he spoken to you?”
I shook my head. “He avoids me or glares. I do the same. I don’t think we like each other.”
His lower lip twitched. “He is scared of you.”
I burst out laughing. “I doubt it. He yells at me if I don’t eat.”
“All Italians do. I know I’m not family, Aurora. I know I cannot imagine the responsibilities you have waiting back at home. But staying in Sicily does not mean you are trying to escape. Perhaps it is the very opposite. You are here to find all the answers of your past, so you can return in your full power.”
A waiter appeared at the table and Quint’s hand released mine.
I refused to mourn the loss.
The dishes began to flow with the graceful choreography of a ballet. Tuna amuse-bouches, stacked on cucumber slices and layered with avocado and crispy black sesame seeds, paired with a fruity white wine that danced on my tongue.
Oysters cracked open, tiny tender treasures with a slight sting of ocean saltiness. Gnocchi drizzled with rosemary oil, served with wild boar ragù. Thinly sliced beef with artichokes and potato croquettes soaked in a creamy citrus sauce. Grilled sea bass, oily and flaky, poised atop blistered tomatoes and spinach, the crisscross of yellow sauce an explosion of color against the white plate. We moved from white to red wine, the full, bold tannins settling heavily against my tongue, hints of blackberry and currant highlighting the rich meat.
We spoke of our childhoods and our mothers, of dreams and realities, as time fell away and the olive trees and twinkling stars were our only witnesses. I became drunk on our closeness, my head spinning more from the musky scent of his cologne and the fragrant flowers than from the alcohol. As I ate without a care about carbs and spoke without worry of judgment, I unraveled a piece of myself I’d missed.
After dinner, he spoke to Liz and we got free rein of the property. We walked through the stooped archway of olive trees, meandered deep into the vineyard where the dark sky stretched open and our steps fell silently on the soft ground. Insects chirped and buzzed a distant melody. Then he led me inside the tower, through stone tunnels, up the stairs to the rooftop, where I took in the stunning scene before me.
Endless acres of trees were glowing with soft light all the way to the outline of the sea and mountains in the distance. I felt so high up I could touch the stars, and the building reminded me of a scene from The Lord of the Rings , a medieval fortress to fight off approaching enemies.
Emotion stuck in my throat. It was all too much. I wasn’t used to it.
“I feel more myself here than I have in a long time,” I confessed, my shoulder lightly brushing his. The comforting strength of his presence allowed me to open up. “The last time I saw my mom, I was irritated. She had issues with her television, and I was busy, so I resented being there. Since my dad passed, she needed me more, and I hated it. I wanted to live my own life.” A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “I literally got mad because she was still lonely without him. I figured five years was enough time to recover. After all, I’d managed. I judged her for being weak. Isn’t that terrible?”
He didn’t seem disgusted by my admission. “It is human. If we were told it was our final chance to see our loved one, we’d act differently. Speak from the heart. But it is not that way.”
Quint was right. “I know. I guess it’s hard not to remember the mean stuff.” I thought about the things she’d said the night we fought about Jason. “Mom said she worried I was using busyness as a mask so I didn’t have to probe deeper. I disagreed. I told her she’d never had a goal she wanted to achieve that required action. I made it sound like an insult.”
“I said many things to my mother I regret. She knows you loved her, Aurora.”
“Yeah, but what if she was right?” He waited as I struggled to gather my thoughts. “I’m starting to see things differently. All of my achievements I believed were so important? I wonder if it was a convenient excuse not to really take stock of my life.”
He took his time answering. “Sometimes, the most powerful changes in life happen within the silence. In between breaths. In between actions.” He regarded the sea, lids hooding those beautiful golden-brown eyes. I studied his strong profile, the slope of his jaw, the bump on his nose, the beard hugging his chin and framing his defined lips. “We must listen to the breeze, to the crash of the waves over rock. Answers are hidden there, given by God, but we are too busy being distracted to see the solutions.”
I nibbled on my lower lip, moved by his words. “But dreams don’t work unless you do.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. I wanted to catch it with my fingers and savor the fleeting warmth from the gesture. “What is work? Tasks? Money? All are important, yes. But those things do not contain the meaning we really search for. The joy that stays even when the work is complete or the tasks done or the money spent. Sì? ”
My mind grabbed on and tried to figure it out, sifting through his statement as if sifting for gold nuggets amid rocks. I was beginning to see things I never had before. Here, in Sicily, work was cooking for family, conversation with friends, sitting in church. It was in the subtle moments that I’d always glossed over, deeming them unimportant and unworthy of my attention.
“I don’t understand that type of life,” I admitted, a bit sad I wasn’t genetically disposed to enjoy the work of leisure. “I’ve built a career that’s focused on action. Not emotions.”
He nodded. “That is not a bad thing. I only wish for you to see there are other ways to live and be happy. Other dreams you do not have to work so hard for if you are brave enough to let go.”
It seemed that was the theme I was learning here. Let go. Of expectations. Of my old life and relationship. Of my old ideas and limitations.
Not once had I ever counseled a client to let go. They hired me to help them make changes, all proactively. The idea of advising someone to sit back and wait for answers made an innate protest rise from my lips, but I bit it back, wondering what would happen if I experimented.
If I tried things Quint’s way.
“Do you want me to stay?” I almost gasped as the words shot out of my mouth, and I quickly backtracked. “I mean, do you think I should stay?”
I loved the chuckle that warmed the air and my ears. He turned to face me, reaching out and touching my warm cheek, tucking the hair behind my ear in a heartbreakingly gentle gesture. “Oh, I want you to stay.”
My breath caught. He’d gone right to my original question. What did that mean? What were we doing?
He continued in a careful tone. “But will your boyfriend feel differently? Does he not want you home?”
His gaze probed mine. I sensed his questions regarding the line he refused to cross since I’d told him about Jason. Things felt…confusing. First, Jason wanted to take a break, then he said we were together, but after I left for Sicily, he hadn’t reached out. His work took priority over me all the time. I’d never questioned our relationship before because we’d wanted the same things, but I’d begun to wonder if I was shortchanging myself. Wasn’t love supposed to come first? And if I would always be the sacrifice, maybe I was wrong in thinking this was a healthy connection.
Maybe Jason wasn’t the man for me.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I need to figure some things out with Jason and my grandfather. On my terms.”
He nodded. “I understand.” A smile touched his lips. “I can wait.”
A thrill shot through me at his words, even though a part almost wished he’d pushed, or given me a clear statement that he was interested in me other than as a friend. But I also respected his honor. This was my choice. His words told me he cared and was dancing on the edge of acceptability. I had no idea what three more weeks in Sicily would bring, but it was time I began to engage in my relationships differently and stop being afraid. I deserved to feel worthy and accepted for who I was. Not who I should be or could be. I wanted to try with my grandfather, for my own sake. And for my mom.
The air cooled. I shivered.
“Come. I will take you home now.”
I wanted to say much more, but words tangled inside me and I had no idea how to work out the knots. So I nodded and followed him out.