Rosamanti by Noelle Clark

killed me.”
    She set off through the maze of little laneways, flanked by startlingly white stucco walls. Sometimes the walls met overhead, providing a cool, shady corridor through which to meander. As she emerged into a wider, cobblestoned lane, the sun once again beat down on her. Masses of purple and hot-pink bougainvillea, set against the stark white walls, lifted her mood. A row of bicycles stood close together, their backs against a wall. The sign outside the small shop caught her eye.
    Biciclette elettriche in vendita.
    She stared at it, frowning, as her mind worked through the machinations of translation.
    “Ciao, signora. You want to see the bikes?” A man—who looked to be well into old age—smiled at her, his shock of white hair shining in the bright sunlight as he stood in the doorstep.
    “Si. Thanks.”
    He pulled a bright red one out from the line of bikes and stood it up on its stand. He reached into his back pocket and he took out a wrench, then loosed the bolt to drop the seat height. Sarah inspected this curious looking bicycle. It was more like a moped, but had pedals and a chain to drive the back wheel.
    The old man took out a bunch of keys and inserted one into an ignition hole. Twisting the right hand grip, a motor hummed, sending the back wheel revolving around all on its own. She looked at his deeply wrinkled face, his big toothy grin widening even further.
    “Electric, signora. When you want to, you can pedal. On hills, you sit and relax.” He shrugged, his hands spread out. “Easy.”
    Sarah inspected the shiny little bike. She loved the little basket on the handlebars. It had a headlight and another carry tray behind the saddle.
    “Look.” He turned on the light and pressed a little button on the handlebars. “Very necessary to have horn in Italy, signora.”
    Sarah laughed at the high-pitched beep and nodded her head. “Si.”
    She had been thinking about getting a bicycle, but the hilly terrain would make it too hard—even for a mountain bike. This was the cutest, most appropriate bike. This way she’d get some exercise when she wanted to, whereas with a moped or Vespa, she’d get none.
    “Which hotel are you staying at, signora?”
    “No hotel. I’m in Signora Lombardi’s villa—Rosamanti.”
    His face changed—softened. Lifting one hand, he made a sign of the cross, touching his finger tips to his forehead, his chest, then crossing from one side to the other.
    “You take it now. Try it, and if you like it, you bring me the money. Si?”
    “But you don’t know me. You don’t even know my name.”
    She was astonished to see his eyes well with tears. “Signora Lombardi was my friend. When you get to my age, signora, you learn whom to trust.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “I trust you—and besides—I know now that you are the new girlfriend of Pietro. Si?” His grin returned as he winked at her.
    For a moment, Sarah couldn’t speak.
    “Signor. I would be honored to try out the little bicycle.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
    “Luigi.” He held out his gnarled and bony hand to shake. Grasping it, she let out an unsteady laugh.
    “I’m Sarah.”
    He handed her the key, showed her how to use the hand brakes at the same time as the foot brake, and helped her on. His hand clapped her shoulder.
    “ Andare! Go!”
    When she took off, she wobbled wildly, but as the little bike picked up speed, she handled it much better. She rode carefully, but once out of the narrow laneways and heading up the hill toward Lo Capo, her hair flew in the breeze. She marveled at how quiet the little bike was, just a quiet hum, and when she wasn’t peddling, it was totally silent.
    Entering the lane to Rosamanti, she lost her nerve. “Oh my God! What if I can’t stop!”The villa loomed before her, and Pietro’s old, pale blue Vespa stood in its usual spot under the wisteria arch. She braked too hard, the back wheel locking. The bike slid in the gravel. With her