“Oh, I didn’t see you there. How are you?” I said.
He adjusted his hat to cover his eyes a little more. “Good, how are you?”
“Fine, just looking around a little bit.” I pointed to the open book lying on his stomach. “What are you reading?”
He lifted it up to give me a better view of the cover. It looked like a romance novel. “Julia lent it to me. She said it’s incredible.”
“And you…?” I asked.
“The history part could be done better. It jumps back and forth so much it should have a time machine in it, and the love story’s rushed. And yet, I can’t put it down.” As he said this, his eyes looked awake and bright with intelligence even with his forced cynicism.
“I should let you keep reading, then. I’m going to walk around a bit.”
I left him sitting there and walked along the wall until I reached an iron gate. Behind it was a field of lemon trees, green leaves and yellow fruits gleaming in the sun. As I plunged into the grove, I tore off a few of the leaves and rubbed them on my palms, savoring their scent.
I left the grove behind me and caught sight of the coast. I sat down there on the ground, knees pulled to my chest, and enjoyed the view. The sea was a symphony of turquoise tones and my mind was a concert of contradictory emotions.
I was happy to be there, but I was sad because I was far away from my family, and the physical distance was the least of it. They didn’t care about me, and even the ballet company, where I’d spent every second of every day, hadn’t left me with any real bonds, any true friends. Maybe it was me. Maybe I hadn’t known how to open up enough. But still, it hurt. It made me feel alone.
“The views are incredible, right?”
I recoiled and looked over. Catalina was behind me with a basket of lemons hanging from her arm.
“Hey.” I stood and shook the dust off my pants. “Those look great. Do you want a hand with them?”
Grimacing, she replied, “Now that you mention it…” She handed me the basket, which was so heavy I had to hold it with both hands. “Icome here almost every morning. My grandchildren like homemade lemonade.” She passed her hand across her forehead. “It’s hot. Do you mind if we go back?”
“Of course not,” I told her, and we walked back through the lemon grove. I added that my grandfather used to love making lemonade at home.
“Used to? Did he pass?” Catalina asked with worry.
“No, he’s OK! But he went blind because of his diabetes a few years ago and there are a lot of things he stopped doing.”
“Aw, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah,” I said, “it was a tough blow for him, but he’s better now. He’s not the type to give up.”
I looked at her and noticed she was smiling, and that her smile was exactly like Giulio’s, tugging a little bit higher on the right.
“You must really love him,” she said. “I can tell from your voice.”
“Yeah. I grew up with him and I love him more than you can imagine. He’s like a father to me. He and my grandmother are the ones who took care of me from the time I was born.”
Hands on her waist, she asked, “What happened to your parents? If you don’t mind telling me…”
“My parents?” It felt strange to just be telling Catalina everything, almost like it was all slipping out of me. “Nothing. I don’t know, sort of.” I couldn’t find the words. Catalina reached up and tucked a stray hair behind my ear, and I looked away, as if I were trying to hide some secret from her.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” she said. “I’m just a nosy old woman who asks too many questions.”
“No, it’s not that,” I responded, still feeling stifled. “It’s just… I don’t know who my father is. My mother doesn’t know either. She left me with my grandparents when I was four, and I’ve barely seen her since. That’s all.”
Is it possible to tell the truth and a lie at the same time? Of course it is, I was doing it, and I felt deeply ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” Catalina said, “but you know something? What’s important is thatsomebodyloves us when we’re growing up, that we feel cuddled, protected, loved. That’s what everybody needs. And as a grandmother myself, I can say growing up with one is nice. They spoil you more. Just ask my grandkids!”
I shuddered as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and I told her, “Your grandkids are lucky. You’re a good person.”
She studied my face, and she must have seen something in it, because she inquired cautiously, “So what’s your grandmother like?”
