Page 70 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Harold felt the war in his mind, the tale of two men, Harold Meh and Aroldo Megawatt, tugging at each other. “It’s not that I feel like I need to convince Alice—or be someone else. It’s that I need to put my best foot forward.”

She gave a “fair enough” nod. “It’s none of my business—and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just know that I think you’re pretty cool as you are.”

“Warts and all, right?”

Moira clinked his glass. “Warts and all.”

George took a long wander through the city, working his way along the outskirts, visiting some of the gates that had been the entryways to the city for seven centuries. Each one had its own kind of character, ornate stone carvings, rounded turrets, these grand archways that were big enough for the city buses to drive through.

Sometimes, he could see it, the beauty of this place, its old-world magic. It wasn’t so bad to visit.

Of course, he wasn’t about to move here. Enough with having to hang his laundry on the balcony or staring at the goddamn bidet, wondering what to do with it. Enough with trying to wash dishes without Dawn. How does a country get by without Dawn? And those little cars . . . They couldn’t be safe. While he was at it, they had no idea how to do burgers and nachos. They shouldn’t even have them on menus. And condiments. You ask for a packet of ketchup and they charge you! Who can eat fries without ketchup?! And they call this city the food capital of the world. He’d put Ruth’s Chris in Phoenix up against any of it.

And damn this country for taking his daughter from him. He might not be perfect, and he might be making things worse by the moment, but at least he was geographically closer to her when she lived in Austin. Having an ocean between them was too much. He wished she knew how much he cared for her. He hoped he could show her that before he returned home. Maybe her forgiveness and the promise of another reunion might be enough to keep him from returning to the darkness.

Because yeah, the darkness was only a few handfuls of pills and a light switch away.

George found Bianca sitting on her balcony drinking tea, staring off into space. “May I join you?” he asked, only sitting after she nodded. The sunset hid behind a patch of dark clouds. Church bells marked a new hour. Of course, some of their clothing hung on the line just beyond her; it reminded him to run another load before bed.

“I know you’re mad at me,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

“May I explain myself?”

Nothing.

“Let me try.” He paused, feeling like their relationship was a weak thread away from over. So he had better do it right. “You know I’m not much of a reader, but it’s more than that. What I’ve been going through back home since retirement, it’s worse than maybe you know. I feel like I’m in the waiting room, waiting for a stroke or a heart attack to rescue me.”

He almost said that he’d grown tired of waiting and had considered more than once doing something about it, but no matter how much trouble he was in, no matter how much he was hurting and needed to talk to someone, no matter what, he wouldn’t say that.

“I’m depressed, B. The doctor has me on Zoloft, and that seems to be helping, but when I tried to read your book, reading the issues Peggy had with her father, I connected the dots. It ate away at me, how I could have done better, how I wasn’t there for you. Every word I read felt like it was directed toward me. Not that I’m blaming you . . . I get it. I failed. But reading it on the pages of your book was a knife twist. I couldn’t do it.”

Bianca finally turned to him. “I didn’t create Peggy’s dad based on you.”

“Maybe you didn’t intentionally—”

“You do realize that all of us are constructs of our upbringing, right? The issues we have, they come from our first interactions with the world, how our parents choose to raise us. Peggy had father issues because everyone has parental issues.” Attitude dripped from her tone, reminded him of Faith. “I’ve been studying this stuff for a decade. This rule is without exception. Yes, you worked too much, but I didn’t write the book about you, and I’m sorry you think that.”

George half believed her. They both stared out into the night, quietly. The sounds of the city rose up around them.

“Dad, you don’t stop, and that’s the problem you’re having with retirement. You’re a racehorse that’s suddenly been put out to pasture. Any good psychotherapist would tell you that doing nothing is exactly what you need to be doing. But I’m not going to psychoanalyze my own father. And you’re not going to change. We both know that.”

He didn’t argue.

“More to the point, you don’t have to read my book. I never asked you to. But you definitely led me to believe you did.”

“I never said that I—”

“Do you want to call your lawyers in? I’m not going to argue over semantics. You indicated that you loved it, that you’d read it, that you’d shared copies, telling everyone how much you liked Peggy Meh.”

“I do. I love the idea of her. And I did share copies. Bought fifty of them and gave them to everybody. I talk about you to everybody I meet.” He felt a drop of rain and stuck out his hand to confirm. A few light drops landed. “We should go inside.”

Ignoring him, she said, “But you didn’t read it. And maybe that’s not why I’m mad. It’s not the only reason, that’s for sure. It’s not working, Dad. I thought we could have a good time, but two adults under this roof is too much. I love you and want to be there for you, but I have my own battles right now. You’re not the only one who’s depressed. I just . . . I hate to say it, but maybe you should go home, find a hotel till they’re done with the construction on your place. God knows you don’t like it here. And I think you should find someone to talk to.”

She turned to him. “I love you so much, and I don’t want you to think that I’m kicking you out. It’s not that. It’s that we’re both a mess right now. Why don’t we try again in a few months? I don’t have anything left for you or anyone else right now. I’m not okay.” A tear escaped her eyes.

“Oh, honey.” Her pain squeezed down hard on his heart. He wanted to hug her, but he didn’t think she wanted that. “You’re right. I’ll book a ticket home. I didn’t mean to bring my mess here.”