“A while,” she said, and she hugged me again, harder this time.
Her rose scent lingered on my clothes as Pisolino met up with me on the walk home. I walked in a daze, wondering if this entire island knew what I had done, or if it was just Scarlett and her husband.What good would worrying do now?None, I decided. It was what it was. Maybe in a day or two, some bulky Fausti would come to my door and escort me off the island. Hopefully I wouldn’t “accidentally” fall over the boat halfway from here to the mainland of Italy.
I stopped in my tracks.
The “they” Rosaria had referred to.
The Faustis?
And what about the man with the bun at the nape of his neck and the scar on his face?
“You have killed the wicked witch of Italy, ah? I will alert the village.”
After spending time on this island and seeing Fausti flesh every day, I knew he was related to them somehow. How did I not remember that?! And what was with me lately? Why was I attracting so much trouble?
At my apartment, I waited right outside of the door, looking up the hill.
I was almost tempted to climb it, to see if the ghost would come out to play in the darkness, but a menacing hiss came from my feet. Pisolino stood on all four of his paws like he was trying to make himself seem bigger. A fat orange tabby was coming straight for the open door. Pisolino took the first swipe, and they started scrapping in the middle of the street, making sounds that were disturbing in the night.
The orange tabby had weight on Pisolino, but Pisolino was lithe and fast. Still. I didn’t want to see either of them get hurt. I knew better than to come between them, so I ran upstairs and filled a cup with water. I slipped going down the stairs but righted myself in no time and had enough water to spare. I doused them both with the contents of the cup, and it broke them apart.
Trembling, I pointed to the door, ordering Pisolino to get inside. Unlike a dog, he refused to listen. He had some patches of hair missing, and the other cat’s eye was gouged. I didn’t go near him, though, because he was hunching down, like he might go after me. I decided to go inside. A minute or two later, Pisolino followed and jumped on the sofa, licking his wounds.
I shook my head at him, then took a bath. Afterward, I sat at my desk naked, my hair wet and dripping cool water on my hot skin, and lit my candle. My phone was small in the middle of the midsized desk, but I tried to convince myself it was good enough. I played romantic music.
The bright screen stared back at me, empty and mocking. No words would come.
I could try to sleep, but I knew once my head hit the pillow, I’d be so frustrated with myself for not getting a word down, I’d be up and down all night long until I did.
Sighing, I typed out:
Her second week on the island, two male cats got into a pissing contest—one lost fur, and the other an eye. She had had enough of the avoidance, of small situations that didn’t bring her close to where she wanted to be. The next day, she would follow her muse and would return to the spot where she first encountered her Ghost.
Chapter 13
The Ghost who Still Has a Heart to Give
As expected, sleep wouldn’t come. The lines I had written before bed weren’t horrible, and they were poetic to a certain extent, but…it wasn’t the words that needed to be there. It was more a message to myself to head back up the hill and find my muse again. Or at the least, refill my well of words for this story.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but morning was probably still a couple of hours off. The world was silent and dark, including my room. I couldn’t even see Pisolino. I sat for a second, staring at the window, thinking. When my intentions caught up to my mind, my body moved.
After doing my business in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth, slathered on some of my sweet, citrusy body lotion and perfume, then dressed in a gauzy white dress that tied in the front and gave the impression it was a two-piece, midriff-baring top and flowing skirt. I pulled my hair back into a sea-green scarf, which pulled the green, gold, and light brown from my hazel eyes. I gave Pisolino fresh water and fed him leftover fish from the monger, then packed my crossbody for the day. I slipped my feet into a pair of weathered brown leather sandals and stepped outside.
The night had taken on a softer look. It was thinning, the sunmoving closer to take over the day. The heat wasn’t as oppressive, and the tender breezes made me rub my arms. The air wasn’t cold, per se, but cooler than usual.
Almost.
Digging in my purse, I found another peppermint and stuck it in my mouth. Figured I’d get a head start on the sugar since I had a strenuous climb ahead of me. I had only picked at what I had in my kitchen for breakfast. My stomach was filled with too many butterflies to make room for food.
I’d cut two oranges and packed them in a small glass container. I’d eat them while I watched the sunrise, once I made it to the top of the island.
I rushed across the street, then stopped. It felt like someone was behind me, but when I looked, the only thing that had moved was a piece of hair that had come loose from my scarf. I tucked it behind my ear, and after a second, I decided to take the Vespa instead of going on foot.
My heart was overreacting again, and I felt almost breathless, like I had run from whatever or whoever was out in the night with me. I wasn’t scared, though. That wasn’t the feeling I felt. It was the same feeling I got when I’d first climbed the hill.
The story was pulling me back.
The Vespa didn’t make a lot of noise, but occasionally it complained about the steepness of the hills. The small headlight only illuminated so far ahead. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror to see if I was being followed. Or hunted. I hadn’t seen another soul since the road twisted and left the lower part of the island in the dust. But the Vespa started to struggle against the wind, the higher it climbed. The wind was stronger. I even had to stop for a second and untie the scarf from around my head and retie it even tighter. The wind was undoing the knot with its rough, insistent fingers.
