She reached out and the sharpened edges of the script tickled the pads of her fingers. There was no date. No name. Nothing to identify the person whose earthly remains were kept secure within.
The delicate white flowers now caught her eye. There were thirteen, and a paper-wrapped length of wire formed the stem which drew attention to the lack of the fourteenth. Lucia plucked the fallen head from her pocket, suddenly tempted to return it to the tip of the stem.
But something stopped her. Surely Alex would notice its return next week, if this visit were truly his routine. Lucia stowed it in her pocket again and gave it a gentle pat.
Something impressed a message upon her heart:Keep it safe for Alex.
Lucia had stopped to visit her parents’ grave on her walk back to the cemetery entrance. Wanting to avoid Alex, she took her time. She usually visited every few weeks, bringing a fresh posy of pink flowers, or clippings of the school’s bougainvillea when it was in bloom. But given the unexpected visit, she had come empty-handed.
Eventually she made her way back to thefermatato leave and was glad that Alex was nowhere in sight. Off in the distance she could see avaporettochugging away from the island, and assumed he was aboard.
Lucia sighed and looked back across the emerald stretch to San Marco. The waters of the lagoon began their transition back to calm, brandishing the now diminishing pull line of thevaporetto’s departure. Her heart felt weighed down by the turn of events. She hadn’t thought that Alex’s mystery Thursday outings would be something like this.
She had seen Alex in a light she hadn’t expected. He had seemed sensitive and vulnerable there by the grave. Softer. More mellow. It had made her want to reach for him and offer comfort. A hand. A smile.
Then, there was the second unsettling realisation; what she had felt for Alex in that quiet, humbling moment was empathy.
As she remembered the moment tears had rolled down his cheeks, she closed her eyes and felt a mix of shame and embarrassment.
You shouldn’t have come here, Lucia. You’ve gone too far.
ventinove
It was the sight of Francesco and Stefano waiting out the front of the school that made Lucia drop her head and sigh.
Francesco cocked his head to the right, sizing her up as she approached. ‘Are you done now? Is this madness over?’
Stefano’s expression echoed Francesco’s. Furrowed brows and pursed lips conveyed their shared concern for her.
‘I’m an idiot. A sad, lost, confused, troubled idiot.’ She motioned that they should go inside. ‘The students?’
‘All out for lunch,’ Stefano said.
‘And Mariella?’
‘Upstairs cookingourlunch,’ Francesco added. ‘What happened? Alex came home half an hour ago. Where did he go?’
Lucia’s lungs emptied and her chest caved under the weight of her shame. ‘Cimitero di San Michele.’ Both Stefano and Francesco stopped in their tracks. ‘I’ll tell you all together.’ She motioned to the spiral staircase. ‘Let’s go.’
Once Lucia had finished her recount, she threw herself back into her chair at the dining table. ‘I’ve fallen apart.’ She paused, taking a generous mouthful of wine. ‘I’m the worst human alive.’
Mariella guffawed, speaking with a mouth full ofspaghetti alle vongole. ‘I would have ranked Vittorio Gatti higher on that scale this month.’
Despite herself, Lucia managed a smile. ‘Grazie.’
‘We are all worried about you, Lucia.’ Francesco reached across and squeezed her thigh under the table. ‘Your behaviour today was . . . troubling.’
‘I know. I have been berating myself since I arrived at the cemetery.’
‘It’s more than just today.’ Francesco’s gaze locked with Stefano’s and they shared a look, as if they were thinking back to a private conversation on the matter. ‘The business with the school, Alex and La Commedia, and that damn Instagram post . . .’ He swallowed, recalling his own role in the saga. ‘I think you’ve reached breaking point.’
Lucia released a long breath. ‘You’re probably right. I don’t know how much more I can take.’ She twirled her fork and brought another mouthful of food to her lips, allowing the briny comfort of the clams to spread across her palate. ‘Ottimo,’ she complimented Mariella, enjoying the return of her appetite, which she hadn’t felt of late.
Stefano set down his cutlery and cleared his throat. ‘Lucia, let Francesco and I take some of the pressure off you. We can manage theVenezia, Ovunque!project for you.’
Hearing this, Lucia’s immediate instinct was to refuse. She was the one at the helm, commandeering the ship at all times, with the support of her trusty crew, of course. But the fatigue in her heavy legs and her rattled, anxious mind gave her pause. So, rather than protest, she listened to him.
‘We are quick with the editing software and we can run around the city attracting less interest than you at the moment. Time is of the essence, right? Every day counts. Sixty-three are left. This would leave you to focus on your other concerns.Ti prego. Please just let go a little.’
