How is it that the same spot can have two very different meanings for me now? The accident. The kiss . . .
Lucia rolled her mother’s wedding ring around her finger with her right thumb. She had worn it on the ring finger of her right hand as soon as it fit her, and since her late teens, she’d never taken it off. While the yellow gold band was narrow and plain, it held such a special place in her heart. It was a small daily reminder of her parents’ love and union, and now, knowing how hard they had fought to conceive her, it felt all the more precious.
She sighed, then kept moving to the left, following the jostling, vibrating crowd headed in the direction of the Ponte della Paglia. The last of the early evening light was leaching into the horizon over Lido, but that didn’t deter the crowds. Illuminated gently by the ornate three-branched streetlamps, the Ponte della Paglia was full to the brim with tourists, all craning their necks and holding their phones skyward to capture a shot of the Ponte dei Sospiri. Nestled effortlessly between the Palazzo Ducale and the Prigioni Nuove, high above the still waters of the Rio di Palazzo canal, the Bridge of Sighs was like no other in Venice. Its intricately decorated white limestone façade was the perfect blank canvas, absorbing the pale pinks and warm peach colours of the sunset.
Lucia stopped on the peak of the Ponte della Paglia, pulled the trolley to the side, and pivoted on her heel. While the tourists were consumed by the view of the Ponte dei Sospiri over her shoulder, Lucia was distracted by the darkening open waters ahead. She leaned against the thick marble railing, watching as a black gondola carrying an embracing couple turned down the canal and dipped under the bridge, out of sight. The dulcet tones of thegondoliere’s humming echoed under the Ponte della Paglia, much to the delight of those gathered atop it.
Lucia smiled to herself.
The city was so full of magic; it was around every corner, under everyponte.
She continued on her way, leaving the tourist zone behind her. By the time she reached Riva San Biasio, the path had widened considerably, and Lucia felt comfortable enough to remove her sunglasses and slip them into her coat pocket.
The sun had almost finished setting, and down this end of thefondamenta, only a smattering of locals were about, hunched against the cold. She veered left off the main path and down a narrow canal. Then her destination came into view. Making her way to the large wooden door by the side of the parish office, she gave a loud knock. She gazed at the tarnished metal crucifix pinned to the door as she registered all the familiar sounds from within: the scraping of chairs on the linoleum-tiled floor; the clamorous chatter of many voices; the sound of Olivia’s distinct nasal inflection crying, ‘Prego!Avanti!’ to the next diner in line.
But then came the approach of shuffling feet, the sound of the door creaking open on its hinges, and finally Olivia’s wide blue eyes and bouncing dark red curls trapped under a hairnet greeted her.
‘Vieni!Vieni!’ She coaxed Lucia inside, relieving her of the trolley. ‘You are just too good to us. Look at all these things! And inthisstate.’ Olivia tutted then reached out and gave Lucia’s sling a kind caress. ‘I read about what happened.Mi dispiace tantissimo, Lucia.’
Shaking her head solemnly, Lucia said, ‘Grazie.’ She didn’t want to give the issue any further breathing room, and Lucia hoped that Olivia wouldn’t press the point.
She didn’t. Instead, she made a fuss over a few items sitting on the top of the trolley’s pile, catching the cuff of the black woollen coat. ‘All so appreciated, Lucia, as you know. But it could have waited. Or I could have collected it. You shouldn’t be out like this.’ She gestured to Lucia’s bandaged forehead as they emptied the trolley’s contents into a larger collection bin by the door.
Lucia waved away her concerns with her good hand. ‘It’s the least we can do.’
‘I should be calling you Santa Lucia!’ Olivia half chuckled. ‘You see light and hope where so many choose to see darkness.’
Lucia was about to dismiss the compliment, but instead she just smiled. Part of her wanted to share the news about the school and Edoardo’s buyout offer with Olivia, but there in the soup kitchen, surrounded by a team of volunteers and some of Venice’s most needy lined up to receive a hot meal, she felt that her problems could wait.
The irony of the moment struck her. She had so much to lose on account of being so fortunate. A roof over her head. A business she adored, albeit one she now had to fight for. Then there was Foscari, Mariella, and France— She really was lucky and had so many positive influences in her life.
‘Ecco.’ Olivia had ducked away to the service counter to collect a small cardboard takeaway bowl of steaming hotzuppa di verdure. ‘Please, take this and enjoy it on the walk home. It will keep you warm.’
The headiness of the vegetable soup roused her immediately, and Lucia’s stomach rumbled on cue. ‘Grazie mille, Olivia.’ She set the container down carefully in her trolley.
‘Senti, I can’t really talk properly now. I’ll call you in a few weeks. By then the production at the theatre will be ready for your students to join. If you want them to.’
‘Certo. We’ve done it for years. It’s one of our most enjoyable traditions. Call me when you’re ready.In bocca al lupo!’
‘Crepi!’
They shared cheek kisses and Olivia pulled away, rejoining the well-oiled machine that was the serving line.
The icy blast from the open waters was subdued somewhat by the steam rising from the bowl of soup. Having stopped to sit down on the edge of thefondamentacloser to Piazza San Marco, Lucia devoured it in a matter of minutes.
Just as she was about to set off for home, with the now empty trolley in tow, her phone rang. It was Francesco.
‘Are we talking yet? Please,ti prego. This is the longest we’ve ev—’
Lucia smiled and her heart relaxed into the comfort of his familiar voice. ‘Wearetalking.Sì.’
Francesco blew out his relief in one exaggerated breath. ‘Grazie a Dio. Are you ok?’
‘I’m fine. Where are you?’
‘At your front door, on thecalle.’
Lucia sat up a bit straighter. ‘Why?’
