Page 100 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“You know what you remind me of?” she said. “A wild stallion who’s finally been broken.”

He chuckled. “Oh yeah? Who’s wrangling me?”

“Italy, of course. Seriously, look at you. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. Maybe you should move here.”

He straightened his hat. “Don’t push it.” He was handsome when he tried. Sophisticated, sharp. All they had to do was get rid of those shiny tennis shoes.

The gondolier ducked under magnificent brick bridges as he silently steered them through tight canals, maybe fifteen feet wide. On either side, stunning buildings aging like golden-era movie stars and painted in lovely pastels rose up out of the water. Lush vines cascaded down from balconies that offered glimpses through windows into the lives of everyday Venetians: a woman knitting as she watched television, a father speaking sternly to his son, a little girl twirling for her mother.

A green shutter swung open, and a man dipped his head out of the window, checking the weather. Bianca and George exchanged waves with him.

“Where to next?” Bianca asked, feeling incredibly light and enthused. Her joy seemed to parallel her father’s. Of all the things, it was this spontaneous trip that seemed to have jarred them both loose. It wasn’t that they were running away. Maybe more that their unplanned movements were keeping them on their feet, forcing them to let go of control, to let life steer.

He removed his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. “You tell me.”

“Really? You have no opinion?”

“You’ve done well so far.” He gestured toward the canal weaving through San Polo. “Look at this. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more beautiful place in my sixty-plus years.”

Bianca could have thrown her arms around him. It was a heck of a sensation to be proud of your father. “And you’re okay continuing on to another city?”

He set his hat back on and said snidely, “Oh, that’s right. I do have to get back to work. Wait . . . nope. I have nothing to do.”

Bianca had been considering options all day. “Did you know Shakespeare set Romeo and Juliet in Verona, which isn’t too far away? That could be fun. And we could go see Lake Garda. I never have. Would be nice to have a car, though.”

“Then let’s get a car.”

“Can you drive stick? I can’t.”

Her father’s chest expanded. “Naturally. I could teach you.”

“Um, yeah, okay.”

He patted her leg. “Maybe I do have a thing or two left to show you.”

“Maybe you do.”

The next day, they spent the morning strolling through Verona, of course visiting Casa di Giulietta. Then they rented a car at the airport, headed north, and found an empty parking lot where George could teach Bianca to drive stick. No surprise, she picked it up quickly, and more importantly, he had a blast teaching her.

It felt good to be needed. If only he could hold on to this optimism when he returned to the States. The only problem was that he’d go back to being all alone, back to a world where not a soul needed him.

He drove them to a town called Salò on the western shore of Lake Garda, and along with that feeling of being useful came a strange sense of youthfulness. She’d certainly prescribed the right medicine by suggesting this adventure. And maybe he’d even admit that the Italians were far better drivers than Arizonans.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” George began, moving into fifth gear to pass a car, “about working hard to prove yourself. I want you to know, I’m proud of you for all the things you’ve done. The degrees, the practice. Of course, your book. But you know what? Despite me always pushing you, I’d be the same level of proud even if you’d never done a thing.”

“Thank you, Dad.” A canned response.

“No, I’m serious. Don’t thank me and move on. I was never good at showing it, but I’ve always been proud to be your dad.”

“Will you stop beating yourself up? You being here with me makes up for anything you did or didn’t do years ago. And I mean it.”

He almost had to pull over, her words hit him so hard. “I don’t deserve that.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad, and I’m proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone. I had no idea how this would work, us going on a trip, but I’m glad I trusted my instincts.”

“Me too. Believe me. For a million reasons.” He didn’t say it out loud, but this trip had squashed some of the pain of Sandy’s rejection, too, which had kept him up for far more hours in the night than he wanted to admit.

“I feel like I did back in the old days,” Bianca said. “Flying by the seat of my pants. The hostel.”