Page 129 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“I don’t even know that it matters. I’m just writing, working out a bunch of revelations. No agenda, like our trip, you know? Just faith. That’s my future.”

He’d never seen her so inspired, and no, he couldn’t tell her. Not now.

“I can’t believe you leave tomorrow.” She set down her laptop. “What does life look like for you going forward? You gonna be okay?”

He thought about it, imagining that bottle of pills waiting for him, the ones he’d immediately dispose of when he got home. “You know what’s funny? I actually miss Mr. Nutz. He and I need to work some things out.”

“Oh, God, here we go.”

George took a seat. “No, I’m serious. I came up with something while you were talking yesterday. I’ve spent so long fighting against retirement—fighting against everything—but what if I leaned into it? I started designing a squirrel feeder in my head. You ever seen one of those?”

She shook her head, her bright smile growing wider.

“Me either. I could be onto something. Maybe if I make him his own feeder, then he’ll leave the birds alone. It’s an idea.”

“I like it.”

“And then there’s the elusive and slippery Sir Parm. Guess what I did late last night? Got out of bed to do it. I removed the trap.”

“Get out. You conceded to Sir Parm?”

“I suppose so.” He held up a finger. “But I did something I’m proud of. I left a big hunk of the older Parm, the expensive stuff. Honestly, he should be rewarded for his ability to beat me. He and Mr. Nutz are true talents at what they do.”

Bianca was beaming. There was no way he could admit that he’d cornered Corrado right now.

He shook his head. “As much as I miss being home, it’s going to hurt to leave. I like seeing you every day.”

“Me too, Dad.”

“And I’m dreading the turbulence.”

“Yeah, I hate it too. Hopefully, it’s a smooth flight. You want some medicine? I have Xanax for exactly that reason.”

George shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? With the meds, I can be in a full-on nosedive and not be worried about it.”

“That’s a visual that’ll keep me up tonight.”

“Sorry. And I shouldn’t be talking about pills anyway.”

He cut a hand through the air. “You have nothing to worry about.”

She patted her chest. “I believe that.”

Taking a Nespresso back to his room, George started to empty his drawers. Was he eager to get back to the life he’d left behind? The life he’d been pushed into? Though he certainly wasn’t going to pick up golf again or start baking classes, he’d take with him what Bianca had said on their trip.

Treat every moment with the reverence it deserves. Because you’ll never be back there again.

He’d have to come clean to B before he left, and she’d lose it on him, and he’d return to Scottsdale with his tail between his legs. But he would not go back and swallow those pills. He’d try again at life. Maybe he’d return to Bologna in the fall—if she’d let him. He’d at least send her messages and try living the life she’d advised. Whatever he chose to do, build a squirrel feeder or maybe even start dating, he’d give every moment the reverence it deserved. He might even take a break from to-do lists for a while. There wasn’t much to put on them anymore anyway.

Maybe he’d get around to that, though. Find something to put on them. Something that mattered. Maybe he did have another purpose waiting for him. In the meantime, he’d give each moment its due and feel gratitude that his little girl had grown up to be a superstar and that he’d lived long enough to see it.

Bianca was probably right, that he better get his head straight without jumping into something that would distract him from facing his demons. From that renewed place, he might just find that the best years were yet to come! What came after the golden years? A decline in health and functional capacity?

No. Not by a long shot.

It was the platinum years that came next.