Page 94 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

An older woman in a hijab came racing onto the train at the last minute. She lugged a giant red bag and was trying to figure out where to put it. George was there in an instant, helping her lift it up and cram it into a small open spot in the luggage hold.

“They don’t give you enough bag space,” he said when he returned.

“That was nice of you.”

He shrugged, then looked at his watch.

They were crossing over a bridge to Venice, both of them staring out the window at the passing boats filled with scantily clad Venetians. The train had a nice glide to it, barely a bump, a calming rattle. The excited energy of every traveler filled the car, because Venice demanded a certain reverence and elation when it drew near.

“You ever think that he’s hungry?” Bianca asked.

“Who?” George asked, sitting across from her.

“Sir Parm. And Mr. Nutz for that matter. Or what if they’re trying to feed their families?”

George wagged a finger at her. “No, don’t do that. He’s invaded your sanctuary.”

That made Bianca smile. “Invaded my sanctuary? He’s sneaking into the cabinet for a bite.”

George counted on his finger. “Breaking and entering, for one. Leaving diseases, spawning more rats.”

“He’s not a rat. He’s an adorable mouse who’s probably a father just like you, simply trying to put food on the table.”

He crossed his arms. “We’ll agree to disagree here. Soon as we get back, before I head out, I will take him down.”

“What are you, some sort of mouse hunter?”

“That’s what dads do, honey. We take care of the ugly things behind the scenes.”

“The Navy Seal of the family.”

“That’s right.”

Even he couldn’t keep from smiling at that one.

“Look at you,” Bianca said. “George Briggs is having fun. And we haven’t even arrived yet. On top of that, I have yet to see your legal pad. Maybe you didn’t even bring it.”

He patted the backpack between his legs. “Oh, I brought one.”

Bianca sighed dramatically.

“Now, look,” he said. “I’ve agreed to your madcap trip, which by the way is making me incredibly uncomfortable, if you haven’t noticed, but you’re not taking my legal pad.”

“Fair enough.” She made a mental note to get rid of it later. “By the way, watch for pickpockets. They’ll be worse in Venice.”

“Seriously? What have you gotten me into?”

She waved it off. “It’s fine, just be vigilant. Maybe we’ll get you a murse, you know, a man bag. It’ll make things easier.”

“A man bag?” He said it like it was a curse word.

“That’s right. Don’t worry, we’ll find something manly. Maybe a Chuck Norris logo on it.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

For the next five hours, as they strolled through Venice, she watched him repeatedly pat his front pocket to make sure he still had his wallet.

Aroldo sat on the balcony in the twilight, sipping on a shot of limoncello, texting back and forth with Alice. Every ding on his phone, each of her responses, worked to restore his heart back to normal. In fact, he’d even started watering her potted plants again, resurrecting them from near death. He and the plants were in this together, metamorphosing from wilted shrivels into their greatest selves.