Return to Umbria David Wagner (english novels for students TXT) 📖

to your family.” Fabrizio only nodded; the family reference didn’t seem to phase him. “And you don’t seem concerned about this woman’s husband.”

“Nah. Tullia never says anything about him.”

“Well, then, I don’t think there’s anything else I can say to you.”

Fabrizio stopped walking. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” answered Rick. “I’m primarily up here with a friend to see the town, and I don’t want to be late for dinner.” He pulled out his business card. “Here’s my cell phone number. If you have any free time maybe we can have a coffee. Good luck with your writing.”

“Uh, thanks, Riccardo. Good luck to you on your translating.”

They exchanged a hug and Rick walked off, trying to figure out what his next step would be in dealing with the Fabrizio problem. He would not give up that easily. He became lost in thought as he retraced the route back to the hotel, trying to come up with some idea to convince the kid that this was a time to think about the feelings of his family rather than his own desires. Most young men rebel in some way at this age, especially if they’ve been living at home all their lives. Certainly Rick engaged in some rebellious behavior in his years at the university. But this was a bit extreme, especially for an Italian family. He was pondering family when he looked up and noticed a lone figure standing looking through the window of a coffee bar. It was the youngest of the three American women on the funicular.

He had not paid much attention to her on the ride, mainly because he’d been observing the behavior of the one Betta had characterized as a witch. Also, he had learned from experience that checking out an attractive woman in Betta’s presence would not go over well. But Betta wasn’t with him now. The woman was about his age, perhaps a few years older. She wore her hair long, pulled back, and tied with a simple ribbon; and unlike the other two women, showed no traces of makeup. Around her neck, over a cotton sweater, she had wound a black-and-white print scarf that was vaguely Middle Eastern. The pouch of a fanny pack around her waist was turned to the front. Cargo pants completed the outfit, which clung so loosely around her body that her real figure was hard for Rick to determine. She looked up and saw him staring.

“Oh, hi.”

“Hi to you,” Rick answered.

“You were on the train this morning.”

“The funicular.”

“Right, the funicular. Are you Italian? You said you lived in the States for a while.”

He was standing next to her now. “My mother is Italian and my father is American. So I’m both.” She didn’t answer, so he went on. “It’s a requirement that I now have to ask you where you’re from in the States.”

She stared at him, as if she was deciding whether she should be talking to strangers.

“It’s not that hard a question,” he added.

Without makeup, it was easy to see her blushing. “Oh, sorry. I live in New Mexico. Santa Fe.” Having found her tongue, she now held out her hand. “I’m Gina, by the way.”

He took it. “I’m Rick. We have New Mexico in common, Gina. My father is from there, and I’m related to half the families in the upper Rio Grande Valley. Also, I went to UNM.”

“Really? Wow, that is a coincidence. Is your, uh, friend, also from New Mexico?”

“She’s Italian. Never been to the States. Where are your two friends?”

The blank stare returned for an instant. “Oh, you mean my mother and her friend. Mom is off somewhere, she didn’t say where. She lived here many years ago, which is why we came to Orvieto. Francine, that’s the other woman, she’s drinking wine at the restaurant where we’re going to have dinner. So I’m just wandering around until I meet them for dinner. I have a good street map.” She pulled it from her pouch to prove it.

“It’s hard to get lost in Orvieto. Pretty small place.”

“I suppose so. Can I ask you something, Rick?”

“Sure.”

She pointed at the glass. “I was thinking of getting a glass of juice, and I saw those oranges stacked in the wire basket behind the bar. They look good, but do you think they’re organic?”

Now it was Rick’s turn to be temporarily at a loss for words. “I really don’t know, Gina. But the word is almost the same in Italian, so if you ask they’ll understand you. Listen, I have to go. It’s been nice meeting you. Give my regards to your mother and her friend.”

She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Rick. It’s nice meeting you too. I’d better just start working my way to the restaurant.” She began to walk off but stopped and turned back. “Please don’t judge my mother by the way she was on the funicular. She’s dealing with some serious issues in her life.”

***

The wood door was open only a crack, throwing a thin line of light on the sidewalk outside the shop. The lamp that normally illuminated the small sign after sunset had been turned off to discourage any after-hours visitors. In his small office in the back, the owner bent over his computer, deep in concentration over sales numbers, deliveries, and taxes. He looked up when he heard a soft chime indicating the front door opening, and muttered something to himself about not wanting to be interrupted. He got to his feet, stepped quickly to the door of his office, and pushed it open.

“We’re closed, now, if you could come back…” He stopped in his place and stared at the face that smiled back at him. It was a smile that showed anything but affection.

“Ciao, Amadeo. It’s been a long time.” Her eyes moved from the man’s face to a vase sitting on an illuminated shelf on the wall near the door. Her face reflected off its glazed surface as she picked it up in her hands. She blinked and took several deep