So enraptured, he wanders there until closing, wishing his family was there to share in the beauty. Exiting into a gorgeous sunset, he goes in search of a café with internet where he can post up and call his family to fill them in on all that has happened.
Well, maybe notall.
He will keep last night to himself.
A half an hour later, the faces of the four people he cares about most in the world pop up on his phone screen. Unbothered by the grainy quality of the video, he chats excitedly about all the sights he’s seen and facts he’s learned since arriving.
“Why are you still on the phone with us?” Grandpa asks no more than fifteen minutes later. “You should be out exploring. When in Rome!”
“I’m in Perugia,” Charlie says with a laugh.
“Make a new saying then. Don’t be a lose-a in Perugia!”
Mom and Dad barely let out a chuckle. “Is everything okay?” Charlie asks. You don’t spend twenty-eight years under the same roof with people and not catch on to their moods.
A grim energy seeps through the screen. “Of course,” Dad says, but Charlie pings the lie right away.
“Mmm-hmm,” Mom agrees.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Charlie asks.
“It’s nothing to bother about,” Grandpa says with a huff directed at Charlie’s parents. “They’re worried. We had a visitor yesterday. Someone from the bank. He said we failed to respond to a letter they sent. We told him we didn’t get any sorta letter and that shut him right up.”
Charlie swallows hard. “A letter about what?” he asks, unsure why he is playing ignorant. The letter in question is tucked inside his duffel bag back at the villa—a pointy, paper time bomb that’s nearing explosion.
“It was about the mortgage,” Dad says, notes of embarrassment mixed into his words.
Charlie wishes he could reach through the screen and hug him. From what he read online about timelines, there should not have been any follow-up from the bank until he returned. He had meant to shield his family from the burden of this. “What about it?”
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Dad says. “We will handle it. We always do.”
“I know, but maybe I can help,” Charlie says, still running with this act. Dario’s wealth is a slow-knitting safety net beneath them.
“You can help by enjoying yourself,” says Grandma.
Mom stays silent even though she’s usually a chatterbox.
A pang of guilt for not being home while this is happening weaves through him. Eviction hangs over the house on Cemetery Street, and here he is carbo-loaded and wine-flushed in a European city.
Sure, he’s chasing a chocolate heir who might be the key to keeping their lives status quo, but he can’t say that to them to ring a bell of false hope.
At this point, he has no engagement ring, no insurance policy, no nothing.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Charlie says, bulldozing over his one moment to come clean. Because there is far too much to say, and he knows he will mess it up. “Miss you all. Be back soon.”
“But not too soon,” Grandma says. “Plenty of time to make more memories!”
And secure a wealthy husband, Charlie thinks.
“Leave us old farts be. Buon giorno!” Grandpa says.
“That’s good morning,” Charlie informs. “Say, ciao!”
“Ciao,” they all say before the call concludes.
Frustrated, Charlie follows the remains of the Roman aqueducts back toward the metro station. Trotting alongside the structure, he contemplates how they carried so much water uphill without motorization. If the Etruscans could innovate and do the impossible, so can he!
He stumbles upon a sign for Pozzo Etrusco—an old well. He has just enough time before his train to make a pit stop if he’s quick about it.
