I bite my tongue until I taste the metallic tang of blood and start the engine. I have one evening and one night left—about fourteen hours when I'd better not dwell on what awaits me in the peaceful village where I grew up.
***
Despite all efforts to keep my thoughts anchored in the present, the night was restless. Fragments of memories crowded into my dreams. My father's face furrowed with worry. My mother's radiant smile as she tied my shoelaces. Camilla and I sitting silently in her bungalow's living room. Alessia's wide-eyed expression, and Aurora's incredulous stammering. The whole family gathered around the long wooden table in the living kitchen, drinking wine and laughing wholeheartedly.
All of it was there. And it felt all too real.
Consequently, I'm tired as I drive my camper along the country road. Hip-hop music blares so loudly from the radio that I can't hear the roar of the old engine anymore. I only feel the vibrations of the uneven road. I try to avoid the bumps caused by the powerful roots of pine trees that have torn through the asphalt over the years as I get closer and closer to my old home. The gently sloping hills let me know that I'm already quite near.
Too near. I'm not ready yet, unsure of how to deal with being back here.
Nevertheless, the first rooftops of Collina da Sogno appear in my view behind a row of cypresses. In less than ten minutes, I'll have to face whatever awaits me at home.
Tense, I signal and turn toward my hometown. I press the gas pedal of the sluggish van, and I see a cloud of soot rise behind me in the rearview mirror.
I shouldn't postpone the van's repairs any longer. Pietro could look at it, but that would mean staying at least one night. And that's not an option.
Just as I'm about to turn up the music even louder, I see a dark red compact car parked a few yards ahead. Its rear extends into the middle of the road, while the front points toward the ditch. The hazard lights are on, but I can't see anyone around. No warning triangle is set up either. Strange.
Now I'm close enough to see the license plate. The car is from Austria. Maybe someone just got lost. To make sure that nothing has happened, I slow down, pull over to the right side of the road, and peel myself out of the worn-out seat of my van.
"Hello? Are you okay?" I ask in Italian, repeating the words in German just to be safe even though I wouldn't understand the response unless it'sHow are you?orWhat's your name?
Nothing stirs. The car appears abandoned.
After failing to detect any signs of smoke or a flat tire, it appears that the Austrian driver didn't have any car trouble. Could she have just stopped her car in the middle of the road to take a leisurely stroll through the picturesque landscape?
Perhaps she ran out of gas.
I walk around the trunk and continue toward the front of the car. All the windows are rolled down, and a large travel bag sits on the back seat.
Finally, I spot the woman on the driver's seat.
She's sleeping.
Did she simply pull over to take a nap in the middle of the road?
I'm baffled as I crouch down to peek through the window, taking off my sunglasses. A familiar fragrance of freshly cut flowers, green leaves, and roses, like the ones you find in a flower shop fills the car.
The woman sleeps contentedly, her chest rising and falling beneath the seat belt that runs across her. She wears a simple white T-shirt and dark blue jeans. No jewelry, no makeup, nonail polish. Her nails are short, and her hands bear scratches. A thick scar runs under her chin.
As questionable as this sleeping woman might be, something about her is captivating. The occasional twitch of her lips and the movement of her closed eyelids make me smile. With her unstyled hair framing her delicate cheekbones, she looks as if she stepped out of a fairy tale, waiting for someone to wake her with a kiss. What if I were that someone?
Nonsense.
"Hey," I say softly so as not to startle her. "You can't sleep here." She doesn't react. I repeat the words in English, but that doesn't get her attention either. I hesitantly touch her shoulder. "Hello." I gently shake her. "Wake up."
Still, there's no response from her, but my own emotions are stirred up. Fascination intertwines with concern.
What if she's not sleeping but is somehow sick? Maybe she had a heart attack or something.
How did first aid go again? Check for breathing and pulse? Yes, that can't be wrong. Then put her in the recovery position and call for help.
With a queasy feeling in my stomach, I open the car door and lean over her. Her breath grazes my neck. I reach for her wrist to feel for a pulse.
It's there, strong enough to almost unsettle mine.
So she doesn't need help. Yet I can't just walk away after closing the car door. I remain at a safe distance, observing her enchanting face. My heart races, and I can't stop wondering what color her eyes might be.
