The Turning Point (5 page)

O
nce Mom put her foot down about summer classes, I was left with one week to pull myself together for Italy. Mom and Nonna had been…well, what’s the Italian word for “unbearable”? If I never saw the inside of another mall for as long as I lived, it would be too soon. I still hadn’t figured out why I needed three swimsuits, but Mom was certain that I did. And when she was certain, there’s no arguing with her.

I tossed the black and hot pink bottoms to the bikini Mom said “I just had to have” into my suitcase with its matching black polka-dot top. There was no way in hell I planned on wearing it—it barely covered anything—but Mom insisted that I take it. Eyeing the scraps of fabric, I crinkled my nose in disgust. “You’ll go to Italy, but I’m never taking you out.”

“Sophia, hurry up! If we don’t leave now, you’ll never make your flight,” Mom shouted from the living room.

I went to my door and pulled it open. “I’m—” I started to yell, but I quickly snapped my mouth shut when I saw Mom standing in the doorway. “Oh, hey. I’m just about ready.” I turned and walked back to my bed, where my suitcase lay.

“Need any help?”

I yanked the zipper closed, grasped the handle, and lifted the bulky luggage from the bed. “Nope,” I replied, turning around to face her.

She beamed. If St. Louis’s power grid ran on sheer joy, Mom’s radiant smile would light the city up for months. “I sure hope you cheer up, Soph. You’re going to Italy, not the dentist.”

I allowed a small portion of her radiance to soak into me, forcing my lips into a thin smile. “You’re right.”

She put her hands on my shoulders. “You are going to have the time of your life. I just know it.” With a little shake, she pulled me into her arms and hugged me tightly.

“Thanks, Mom.”

With one last squeeze, Mom pulled away, looked me in the eye, and said, “Get your things, let’s go.”

I regarded her with a nod. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, “I’m going to Italy.”

“Ahhh! You’re going to Italy!” she cheered, lifting my messenger bag off the bed and walking toward the hallway.

I was right behind her. This was indeed the vacation of a lifetime. Once I started med school in the fall, I wouldn’t be able to drop everything and leave the country on a whim. This was my chance to be young and carefree, as Mom had put it. But as I followed her down the hall, I couldn’t help but hear a dirge in the back of my head. Despite my father’s grandiose gesture, this trip felt tainted. It was almost as if he were telling me, “Here, have this trip, enjoy life to its fullest, because it won’t last, sweetheart.”

“Air France Flight 1178 to Naples, Italy, is now boarding,” a breathy-voiced attendant with a thick French accent announced over the PA.

I sighed and clicked off my e-reader, feeling sorry for the characters and the precarious situation I’d left them in. I was eager to get on the plane and pick up where I’d left off. Stowing my e-reader in my bag, I retrieved my passport and ticket, ready for the final leg of my trip. In two hours and fifteen minutes, I’d be in Naples, Italy, and the first thing I planned to do was sleep.

With my travel documents in hand, I stood and joined the line, inching my way closer to the Jetway. When I reached the front, I passed my papers to the attendant.

“
Merci
. Enjoy the flight,” she said, handing back my passport.

“Thank you,” I replied, and headed toward the plane.

Taking my seat by the window, I brought my e-reader back out and pushed my bag under the seat in front of me. I stared out the window. Paris. It was sad that all I got to see of the City of Lights was from the vantage point of an airport. I’d always wanted to go to Paris.
Would I ever have the chance…the ability?
I hoped the answer to that was yes.

“Scusi,”
a gravelly voice called from the aisle.

I turned my head to see a tiny, feeble old man. He had a small satchel clutched in his hand that looked like it weighed more than he did.

“Oh, let me help you with that.” I pushed my e-reader into the seat pocket and turned, grabbing the strap of his bag. He let go with a look of relief.

I pushed his bag beneath the seat and he sat down, wheezing. Between labored breaths, he said,
“Grazie.”

I smiled. “My pleasure,” I replied, hoping he understood English.

“
Sono
Aldo.” He extended his wrinkled hand to me.

With a gentle shake, I introduced myself. “Sophia. Nice to meet you.”

“
Sí
, very nice.”

I brought my hand back to my lap and Aldo laid his head back on the seat, closing his eyes. His breathing was still shallow and wheezy. I wondered how old he was.

Not wanting to disturb him, I clicked my e-reader free on and waited for my library to populate. I listened as the flight attendants began their preflight safety demonstration, first in French, then in English.

“You like to read?” Aldo asked, turning his head in my direction.

I looked at him and nodded. “Yeah.”

“What you read?”

“Oh, anything really.” I smiled. “But right now I’m hooked on romance novels.”

Aldo gave a throaty laugh, which segued into a cough. “My Elenora liked those, too.”

“So does my nonna,” I added.

His face brightened. “Ah, nonna. You’re Italian?”

“
Sí
.” I nodded, happy to try out my limited Italian. Mom and Nonna hardly ever spoke in Italian, so I never picked it up. Honestly, I didn’t think Mom knew Italian all that well either. When Nonna and Pappous moved to the United States, before they had Mom, they embraced American culture with open arms.

“You visit family?”

The plane’s engines kicked into high gear. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for takeoff,” the flight attendant announced.

I glanced out the window as we taxied to the runway; then I looked at Aldo, answering his question. “Sort of. I plan to visit my grandfather while I’m on vacation.”

“Oh, that is nice. I’m sure he’s very excited.”

To avoid being an obnoxious seatmate, I left out the part about never having met my grandfather and that I have no idea whether he’s excited or not. That was probably more information than Aldo wanted to know, so I went with the safe answer. “Yeah.”

I returned my attention to my book and Aldo closed his eyes. We settled in just as the plane tore down the runway. The landing gear lifted. In two hours, I’d be in Italy.

As the plane began its descent, Aldo continued his story.

“And then I saw her, my Elenora,” he said wistfully. He brought his hand up and swiped it gently in front of him, as if he were brushing his hand across Elenora’s cheek.

“Did she see you?” I asked, enthralled. His real-life love story was so much better than the story on my e-reader. I was such a sucker for old-fashioned love stories. My heart clenched, waiting for him to continue.

A smile grew on his weathered face. “
Sí
.” He nodded. “But not at first. She was across the crowded hospital room, tending to the soldiers who had more life-threatening injuries.”

“I bet she was so scared, not knowing what had happened to you.”

The plane dipped and my stomach sank. “Whoa,” I said, grabbing on to the armrest.

Aldo waved off the turbulence. “It’s nothing. Just a little bump. Don’t worry about bumps.” He chuckled and patted my hand.

The plane rocked again, this time with a noticeable altitude change. “Just a little bump?” I threw Aldo a glance and leaned back in my seat, holding on for dear life.

“Sí, sí!”
he laughed.

“I’m glad you find this funny,” I said through clenched teeth.

“First time you fly?”

I shook my head. “No. Just not a fan of bumps.” I smiled at him.

“Elenora never liked to fly.”

“Will you finish your story?” I had to hear the end before we went our separate ways.

“Oh yes, of course.” He pointed a crooked, bony finger in my direction. “Take your mind off the bumps.”

“Yes, please.”

Aldo’s black eyes twinkled as he traveled back to the day he and his lover had been reunited. The way he spoke of Elenora, with such reverence, it pierced my heart. I hoped that one day, someone would think of me with that kind of love and admiration. But then I wondered if I was doomed to live vicariously through other people’s stories. Would I get a happily-ever-after?

“A nurse I did not know attended my injuries. While she patched me, I watched my Elenora move about the room. She fixed broken soldiers, too. Time”—he shook his head—“not a friend. I worried she’d moved on. I’d seen battle…I knew fear. But seeing her, a greater fear lodged in my gut.” Aldo clenched his fist and shook it at his belly. “After being gone longer than a year…I couldn’t bear it if she wouldn’t have me.”

The plane sank again; then I felt the rumble of the landing gear coming down. The flight attendant came over the speakers, first speaking landing instructions in French and then English. “We have begun preparations for landing. Please put your seat and tray tables in their upright positions. Seat belts must remain fastened until the aircraft has arrived at the gate. All luggage and loose items must be stowed securely. Thank you for flying with us today. Welcome to Naples, Italy.”

The intercom clicked off, but Aldo remained silent. “Did she see you?” I asked, yearning to know the answer. He’d built up the climax to their reunion so well.

A loud rumble of laughter shook his shoulders. “I shoved the fear aside and found courage buried beneath. With my wounds bandaged, I got up and walked toward her, desperate to be at her side. The love of a woman is a powerful thing. It can cure or destroy a man.”

A loud
whoosh
filled the cabin and the wheels of the landing gear touched the runway. The plane bounced.

“Elenora looked up from her patient, and her eyes, like sparkling green gems, landed on me. She gasped like she’d seen a ghost.”

I held my breath.

“Then she stood, slowly, and I quickened my pace.”

Energy from the speeding plane pressed Aldo and me to the backs of our seats.

“Then, once she realized I was not a ghost, she flew down the aisle and crashed into my waiting, open arms,” he said on a sigh, just as the plane came to a halt on the runway, inertia throwing our bodies forward with a jolt.

“So she waited,” I said breathlessly, consumed by his story.

With a little nod, he confirmed. “She waited. And now she waits again.” Aldo looked up and made the sign of the cross. “One day we will have another reunion.”

My heart sank. “Aldo, I’m so sorry.”

“
Ciancia
. Nonsense.” He waved off my apology. “When she got sick, I prayed for her. She was in a lot of pain, so I prayed for God to take her quickly. He answered my prayer and my Elenora did not suffer. She lived a long life. We were happy. No regrets. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, as long as Elenora was by my side. Her smile brought the sun up each day.” He smiled at the memory.

Tears pooled in my eyes, listening to him speak about
his Elenora
. “Thank you, Aldo,” I said, trying hard not to blink.
Stupid tears.
I hated to cry.

“Sophia, it was a pleasure to sit next to you.” Aldo extended his right hand for me to shake.

I placed my hand in his wrinkled palm and he gave it two gentle pumps before he pulled me closer, placing a kiss on each of my cheeks.
“Godetevi Napoli, mia cara.”

When he pulled away, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. My Italian is atrocious.”

“Enjoy Naples, dear,” he repeated in English.

I stared into his glassy, dark eyes. The things those eyes had seen. I wanted to hear more of his stories, and I secretly wished he were the grandfather I was supposed to meet.

Would it be rude of me to invite myself to his house for the next six weeks?

I heard Mom in the back of my mind.
Yes, Sophia, it would be rude. Go live your own stories!

“
Grazie
, Aldo.”

“It was a pleasure,
cara
. Napoli is my home. No place finer in all of Italy. You have a good time.”

Aldo stood and reached for his bag on the floor, groaning.

“No, let me.” Since I was in my seat, I had better access to the luggage.

“
Grazie
,” he said as I handed him his bag.

Aldo smiled and stepped into the aisle. “
Arrivederci
, Sophia. It was nice to meet you.”

I smiled. “Likewise.
Arrivederci
, Aldo.”

“And remember, do not worry about the bumps.”

“Right.” I pointed at him. “I’ll remember.”

I watched Aldo hobble up the aisle as I gathered my bags. Italy was definitely a bump in my summer plans, but I’d get over it and maybe even allow myself to enjoy a break from my hectic life. But my dad’s news? That was a speeding train, hitting a speed bump and crashing into a brick wall at full steam.
What would Aldo say about that?

A
fter retrieving my luggage from the baggage claim, I passed through customs without incident and stepped outside into the stifling Italian air. Similar to St. Louis, Italy dealt with heat and humidity, too. At least I wouldn’t have to adjust to the climate.

Glancing at the itinerary my dad printed for me, I saw that my hotel was a fifteen-minute taxi ride from the airport; the hard part would be flagging one down. I had no clue how to hail a taxi in America, let alone Italy, but I was about to learn. It couldn’t be that hard, right? I passed the freaking MCAT; I could hail a damn taxi.

Retracting the handle on my suitcase, I rolled farther out into the sunshine. Bringing the papers in my left hand up to my forehead, I used them as a shield against the blazing sun while I took in the bustling airport.

Several taxis were lined up in front. A few feet away, a handsome man in a well-tailored suit approached a waiting cab with a raised hand. He and the driver exchanged a few words and the Suit opened the door and climbed inside. A second later, a woman with a baby did the same thing. If nothing else, my science degree taught me how to be observant.

Pulling my suitcase behind me, I navigated the noisy throng and headed to where the Suit and Mom had just been. With my hand raised, I walked toward the waiting taxis.

“Taxi?” I hollered, unsure of what I was supposed to say.

“
Sí
. Where to?” the driver asked in a heavy accent. I was thankful he spoke English, though.

“Uh, I have it right here.” I glanced at the papers. “The Hotel Suite Esedra. Um…Via A. Cantani, 12,” I stumbled over the address.

“Get in. Get in,” the driver yelled, gesturing wildly with his hands.

I fumbled with the door, pulling it open quickly, then stuffed my suitcase inside, climbing in after. The second I shut the door, the driver pulled away from the curb and shot into traffic.

Outside I watched Naples pass by in a blur as the taxi weaved around the road. Scooters and smart cars whizzed by, cutting other motorists off without a second thought. There were so many people. I’d lived in St. Louis my whole life, thinking it was a big city. I was so wrong.

My eyes stayed glued to the window, marveling at the driver’s ability to navigate the congested streets with relative ease. Only when my phone rang did I pull my eyes from the chaos outside.

Mom’s picture filled the screen, her name printed at the top. Dad had added an international calling plan to my cell phone package, so I had no qualms about accepting Mom’s call. He’d made it quite clear that this trip was on his dime. I pressed
ACCEPT
. “Hi, Mom!”

“Soph! Did you make it? Where are you?” she asked enthusiastically, but mixed with a hint of worry.

“I did. I’m in a taxi now, on my way to the hotel. You should see this place, Mom. It’s crazy.”

Mom laughed brightly. “I have seen it,
Patatina
. Crazy, huh?”

“You can say that again,” I said.

“Have a good time, Soph, and be careful. Lots of pickpockets.”

“Thanks, Mom. I will.”

The taxi pulled onto a narrow street, and the driver threw the car into park in front of a yellow-sided building.
HOTEL SUITE ESEDRA
was spelled out in big gray letters.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m at the hotel.”

“Okay. Be safe. Love you, Soph.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” I shouldered the phone and rooted around in my purse for my wallet.

“Talk to you soon,” Mom said, and then the line went quiet. I dropped the phone into my purse and pulled out some money.

Handing the euros to the driver, I threw the strap of my bag across my body and grabbed my suitcase, tossing the door open. “Thank you,” I said, climbing out of the cab.

I freed my luggage and closed the door just as the driver sped off.

Whoa!
My hair fluttered in its wake.
This place is unreal.

I shrugged off the impatient cabby and wheeled my belongings into the hotel, feeling proud of myself. I could mark one thing off my bucket list: hail a taxi. Check.

I got checked in and found my room, ready to collapse into bed. After traveling for almost a day, I didn’t have anything left. Italy wasn’t going anywhere, and I knew I’d enjoy it more after a long night’s rest.

Tourists crowded the ancient streets of Pompeii, but it didn’t detract from the awe and majesty the ruins inspired. The undulating stones that made up the main street weren’t easy to navigate, but it didn’t matter; Pompeii was breathtaking. The highlight of my Italian getaway for sure, even though I’d only begun my excursion.

I lifted the flap of my messenger bag and stored my bottle of water, then pulled out one of the many guidebooks I’d acquired before my trip. Even though Mom wouldn’t let me plan my trip down to the last detail, saying I needed to leave a little room for spontaneity, there was no way I’d planned to tour Italy blindly.

Stepping carefully across the chariot-rutted stones, I navigated the haunting streets. The crumbling stone walls still held echoes of the people who once inhabited the city. Even after almost two thousand years, their cries could still be heard, carried on the breeze that ruffled my hair.

A chill went down my spine as I trailed along the busy street on my way to the Forum. I decided to begin my visit with the architecture as opposed to the famous plaster casts. Despite how long ago all those people lived, I wasn’t ready to cry just yet. The immortalized dwellings alone held countless untold stories, even without the people frozen for all of time in their death throes.

As I navigated tourists, languages from every corner of the world touched my ears as people marveled and took in the town’s epicenter.

Standing in the middle of the square, I stared the ancient Roman columns. Looking upward, I shielded my eyes from the blazing sun. Hundreds of people milled about, soaking up Pompeii from all angles.

Mount Vesuvius loomed in the distance. It had been a normal day for the Romans milling about. Then, out of nowhere, a bomb was dropped on them. Their hopes and dreams, their futures, everything was reduced to ash. In some minuscule way, I understood. My dad’s words rumbled in the back of my head like an earthquake threatening to shatter my future.

Enough, Sophia. You’re in freaking Italy. You’re here to have a good time, not a pity party.

Italy. I still couldn’t believe I was here, that I’d even entertained the notion of tossing this trip in the trash. Yes, I still felt my father was a coward for walking out on Mom and me, but after thinking about what Lydia had told me, why he left, I understood him better. The motivation behind his actions made sense, even though it still hurt. And buying me a trip to Italy didn’t make up for all the years he’d missed when I was a kid, but I’d be lying if I didn’t think this was an outstanding graduation present. Still, in the back of my mind, not knowing if my father’s fate was my own, I needed to live my life as if it was. I needed to seize every opportunity afforded to me. In fifteen…twenty years, I may not be able to climb the steps in front of me or even navigate the uneven stone roads that connected the past with the present.

I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scents of sunshine and antiquity. I held it in, committing it to memory before I made my way to the end of the Forum, toward the Temple of Jupiter.

Closing my eyes, I allowed the history surrounding me to seep into my bones and become a part of me. I took a couple of tentative steps backward, raising my face skyward, feeling the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, the breeze in my hair. Of the five senses, the eyes seemed to get all the glory. But with them still closed, my nose, skin, and ears rose to the occasion, soaking up Italy.

I stepped to my left, eyes still closed, head still turned toward the sun like a flower, when I crashed into a freaking wall. Hard.

“Fuck!” yelled a deep, male voice.

Oh, God! Not a wall…a person.

My eyes snapped open and I whirled around. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I slapped both hands across my mouth before I vomited a thousand more apologies. Sprawled in front of me on the ground was an incredibly tall, sun-kissed, blond-haired guy. His belongings—a map, water bottle, and cell phone—lay scattered around him, and his sunglasses sat crooked on his nose.

“What the hell?” he cursed again. Pushing himself up, he adjusted his sunglasses.

The way his biceps strained beneath his white polo shirt left me speechless. I shook my head. I wasn’t one to ogle, but I couldn’t help it with him. This guy had an incredible body. There weren’t men like him back home.

I stared as he collected his things. I should have helped, but I was still in shock—not to mention mortified—that I’d literally knocked him on his ass. Given my height compared to his, I didn’t think it was possible for me to knock
him
over. A smile crept to my lips, the prelude to a giggle fit I felt bubbling inside my chest, a defense mechanism to hide my embarrassment. I bit my tongue and held my breath to keep from laughing in his face. That would be rude.

Once he had his belongings gathered, he hopped to his feet with ease. I craned my neck upward.
Damn, he’s tall.
Taller than I’d thought.

“Thanks for the help,” he grumbled, clearly irritated. His American accent was helpful in providing some personal information.

I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”

He brushed the dust off his butt. “Yeah, you mentioned that.” Then, like clouds parting to reveal the sun, his anger disappeared as his lips broke into a stunning smile.

His straight, white teeth gleamed in the angled morning sun. Against his tan skin, they shone even brighter.
Megawatt
didn’t even begin to cover it.
God bless his parents and their dedication to orthodontia.

He held out his hand. “Lucas.”

I put my palm to his, and he closed his fingers tightly. My heart gave a quick thump as our fingers made contact.

In books, I’d always read about people experiencing a spark or an electric current, indicative of an instant attraction. I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I wasn’t attracted to him, because I definitely was. But there was no shock or jolt. Nothing like that. When my hand pressed against his, it was more than a momentary spark. I felt anchored…connected…not alone.

Our hands formed the source of the circuit, while our bodies directed the pulse of energy through our systems. Without our connection, the voltage would die.

And just like I’d imagined, he pulled his hand back and the power went out, like someone had thrown the breaker in a fuse box.

He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head. Small creases pinched the skin around his eyes, and he pierced me with a cerulean gaze. His gorgeous blue eyes were hypnotizing. Cocking his head to the right, he studied me for a brief moment, then asked, “What did you say your name was?”

“Uh…” The sun bleached everything, making even the most vivid colors hard to distinguish, but his eyes were otherworldly, a deep, ocean blue that rivaled the Bay of Naples. I still stared…I couldn’t help it. With eyes like that, he must get that reaction all the time.

“Forget your name?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh…” I giggled at my own stupidity.
Yes, I’m a college graduate. I’m capable of holding a conversation.
What was my problem?
“Sorry, no.” I cleared my throat. “My name’s Sophia.”

“You’re an American?”

“Yes” I confirmed with a nod. “And you?”

He folded his map and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Born and raised.”

“Leave it to me to knock over a fellow countryman in a sea of foreigners.”

“I won’t deny your talent.” He smiled broadly, his white teeth on full display yet again. But this time, I was drawn to the deep-set dimple on his left cheek.

It was completely out of character for me, but I wanted more than anything to run my fingers over his cheeks. To feel the golden smattering of stubble on his face and to have his chin scratch against my fingertips like fine sand. Bliss. Of all the people there was to knock over, why him? He was too gorgeous for words, and by the way mine disappeared in his presence, it wasn’t just an opinion but a fact.

My cheeks overheated, and it wasn’t the sun causing the spike in my temperature: Embarrassment coupled with his insane good looks was enough to leave me blubbering like an idiot. I squinted, raising my arm to shield the sun from my hot face.

“I’m sorry I knocked you over.” Hiding my awkwardness behind a casual comment, I shuffled my feet.
“Buon viaggio.”
I hitched my messenger bag securely on my shoulder, waved, and began walking away.

Did I just say “have a nice trip”
after tripping over him?
What was wrong with me?

“Sophia, wait,” he called.

My heart hammered hard against my chest at the sound of my name wrapped in his voice.
God, what was wrong with me?
I stopped and looked over my shoulder. With two confident strides, he stood next to me again. I turned to face him. There was a considerable height difference between us, and by his cocky grin, he seemed to like the angle.

“Yeah?” My voice wobbled. It had been ages since I’d had a legitimate conversation with a guy. After the miserably awkward month when I’d dated Scotty Hendrickson in high school, and the bumbling five minutes in the backseat of his mom’s car on the night of our junior prom, I’d sworn off dating altogether. Then senior year happened. After Pen died, I’d had no desire to be around anyone, let alone a guy. School provided an easy way to hide from male attention, sexual or otherwise. Once I quit soccer, I wasn’t Sophia, the cool kickass athlete anymore. Nobody wanted to hook up with Sophia the book nerd, which was fine with me.

If I were smart, I’d stick to my old ways. I had no business talking to him, not after what I’d learned of my possible future…or lack thereof.

Lucas scanned the crowd, first left, then right, before refocusing his vivid blue eyes on me. “You alone?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow.

Okay. How am I supposed to answer this?
It could be a completely innocent question, and he may just want to know if I’m traveling alone. But the warning bells inside my head chimed quietly:
What if he’s a criminal…a murderer…a sex slave broker?
I’d seen
Taken
; I knew how these gorgeous people preyed upon unsuspecting American girls, especially those traveling alone.