family troubles have also arisen.
I’ve heard him on the phone with Enzo when he called for reports on his mother’s health. Between worrying for her and the stress of his work, Stefan is aggravated most of the time and more gray hairs have appeared. He’s been distant.
With each day that passes, I fear it’ll be bad news, not good, that will bring us to Ravine Creek.
Sure enough, late one evening Stefan answers the bedside phone, and I hear Enzo on the other end of the line. “Nonna isn’t doing well. We need you to come home.”
“Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up the phone and a few tears escape as he asks me to pack some things. “We’re going to be moving to Ravine Creek for a while. We’re leaving in the morning.”
The next morning, I rise and drink my coffee on the veranda for the last time, looking out on the treasured vineyard that has become such a part of my soul that it hurts to say goodbye. This beautiful place has become my home.
Stefan puts Rocco in charge of the affairs of the estate and the vineyard while we’re gone since he and Bianca won’t be joining us on our journey to America.
I leave with a much larger, more expensive suitcase than when I arrived. It’s filled with frivolous purchases and lavish gifts given to me by my fiancé.
After the car is loaded, I look up at the enormous golden house. To my surprise, Bianca is standing on the stairs. She waves and I wave back. I don’t see a lying, cheating wife standing there. I see the only friend that I made in Italy, and I remember the good times we shared. I feel my affection for her rise inside me until it settles as a lump in my throat.
Stefan rests his hand gently on my waist and nudges me forward. “Go and say goodbye.”
I nod and walk toward her. “I don’t know what to say, Bianca. Things will get better.”
“My sadness is not special, Carina. Everyone has a cross to bear. Mr. Savano has one now. It will not be easy for him, or for you. I’ll miss you.” She kisses me on both cheeks. “ Ciao , Carina. Buona fortuna .”
“Goodbye, Bianca.”
We drive away, and I look back one last time at the estate and the lonely figure standing still on the steps of a now empty home.
***
On the flight over, Stefan is not his usual self. With no documents to get lost in and not constantly checking his cell phone, it’s as if the veil of stress he was forced to wear in Italy has been lifted. He’s more like the vibrant man I first met, and I find myself wondering if this change in mood could be permanent.
He pushes the armrest back so I can snuggle next to him as he tells me stories about his family, mostly about his mother.
“When we were kids, she used to put lawn chairs out at night when there was a full moon. She still loves to look at it. She and my father would bring the three of us out into the yard at night with them. We would sit there for hours—looking at the night sky, the moon, the stars—just talking and being together. She knew the name of every constellation. She used to bring out sandwiches for us, and we would have a midnight picnic, watching fireflies and eating cold chicken.”
His memories are beautiful. The only time I’ve ever heard something different is the night he spoke of the loss of his sister. He’s never mentioned it again and I don’t ask, but it’s the only time I ever heard pain in his memories.
We’re served a meal of pasta with mushrooms, which I decline. Although I love trying different foods, mushrooms are the one item I’ve never had a taste for. Even the smell of them sickens me.
Stefan signals the flight attendant. “She’ll have the pasta.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t like mushrooms, Stefan. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“Just try them.”
“I don’t want it.”
“They’re delicious.”
He insists and I concede, but when our meals arrive, I pick off every single disgusting mushroom.
***
We walk through the
I’ve heard him on the phone with Enzo when he called for reports on his mother’s health. Between worrying for her and the stress of his work, Stefan is aggravated most of the time and more gray hairs have appeared. He’s been distant.
With each day that passes, I fear it’ll be bad news, not good, that will bring us to Ravine Creek.
Sure enough, late one evening Stefan answers the bedside phone, and I hear Enzo on the other end of the line. “Nonna isn’t doing well. We need you to come home.”
“Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up the phone and a few tears escape as he asks me to pack some things. “We’re going to be moving to Ravine Creek for a while. We’re leaving in the morning.”
The next morning, I rise and drink my coffee on the veranda for the last time, looking out on the treasured vineyard that has become such a part of my soul that it hurts to say goodbye. This beautiful place has become my home.
Stefan puts Rocco in charge of the affairs of the estate and the vineyard while we’re gone since he and Bianca won’t be joining us on our journey to America.
I leave with a much larger, more expensive suitcase than when I arrived. It’s filled with frivolous purchases and lavish gifts given to me by my fiancé.
After the car is loaded, I look up at the enormous golden house. To my surprise, Bianca is standing on the stairs. She waves and I wave back. I don’t see a lying, cheating wife standing there. I see the only friend that I made in Italy, and I remember the good times we shared. I feel my affection for her rise inside me until it settles as a lump in my throat.
Stefan rests his hand gently on my waist and nudges me forward. “Go and say goodbye.”
I nod and walk toward her. “I don’t know what to say, Bianca. Things will get better.”
“My sadness is not special, Carina. Everyone has a cross to bear. Mr. Savano has one now. It will not be easy for him, or for you. I’ll miss you.” She kisses me on both cheeks. “ Ciao , Carina. Buona fortuna .”
“Goodbye, Bianca.”
We drive away, and I look back one last time at the estate and the lonely figure standing still on the steps of a now empty home.
***
On the flight over, Stefan is not his usual self. With no documents to get lost in and not constantly checking his cell phone, it’s as if the veil of stress he was forced to wear in Italy has been lifted. He’s more like the vibrant man I first met, and I find myself wondering if this change in mood could be permanent.
He pushes the armrest back so I can snuggle next to him as he tells me stories about his family, mostly about his mother.
“When we were kids, she used to put lawn chairs out at night when there was a full moon. She still loves to look at it. She and my father would bring the three of us out into the yard at night with them. We would sit there for hours—looking at the night sky, the moon, the stars—just talking and being together. She knew the name of every constellation. She used to bring out sandwiches for us, and we would have a midnight picnic, watching fireflies and eating cold chicken.”
His memories are beautiful. The only time I’ve ever heard something different is the night he spoke of the loss of his sister. He’s never mentioned it again and I don’t ask, but it’s the only time I ever heard pain in his memories.
We’re served a meal of pasta with mushrooms, which I decline. Although I love trying different foods, mushrooms are the one item I’ve never had a taste for. Even the smell of them sickens me.
Stefan signals the flight attendant. “She’ll have the pasta.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t like mushrooms, Stefan. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”
“Just try them.”
“I don’t want it.”
“They’re delicious.”
He insists and I concede, but when our meals arrive, I pick off every single disgusting mushroom.
***
We walk through the
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