What Happens Abroad (7 page)

“Right. They're next door. I was hanging out the window when the cute one with the curly hair leaned out his window, and we started talking.”

Joelle cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know. But anyway, they asked if we want to hang out down at the park on the corner.”

Joelle shrugged, but Sarah hopped up and stripped off her pajamas. “Heck, yes!”

I hurried back to the kitchen to let him know, and my heart flip-flopped a little when I put my head out the window and saw the guy still leaning there, staring up at the stars.

“They said yes. We'll meet you guys down there!”

“Wicked! We'll bring the wine.”

I laughed and waved. He waved back, and we both pulled our heads inside at the same moment.

~

It took us a few minutes to fix our hair, and Sarah insisted on putting her makeup back on, but we finally left the apartment and headed down to the piazza. We didn't run into the boys in the hall or on the street, and my heart clenched, wondering if they'd just been playing with us. But when we rounded the corner to the park, they were all there, sprawled out on a wrought iron bench.

The guy with curly hair stood up as we approached, and he grinned at me. “Thought you changed your mind.”

I smiled back. “Nope.”

He stuck out his hand. “I'm Topher.”

I resisted the urge to say something stupid about gophers, and I shook his hand. “Camie.”

He waved his hand at the boys behind him. “These are my mates, Sam, Michael, and Gerald.”

Sarah stepped forward, dragging Joelle. “I'm Sarah, and this is Joelle.”

One of the guys, Sam I think, held up a large bottle. It glistened darkly in the moonlight. “We wanted to apologize.”

“And the best way we know to apologize is with a little wine.”

There wasn't room on the bench for everyone, and Topher sat down on the roots of the big tree. He motioned for me to join him, and after a glance at Sarah and Joelle, I did. Sarah ended up sitting on one of the guy's laps, and I raised an eyebrow at her. She was certainly committed to her new “just have fun” attitude! Joelle perched on the arm of the bench.

“So,” I said, trying to make small talk, “where are you guys from?”

Topher unscrewed the wine bottle and took a swig before answering. “Australia. You?” He handed me the wine, and I took a sip.

“The States.”

He nodded. “I figured. The accent's hard to miss.”

I laughed. “You've got a pretty thick accent, yourself.”

Joelle pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. “Anyone?”

A couple of the guys reached for the cigarettes, but Topher didn't. His attention seemed fixed on me, and I fiddled nervously with my hair. Hadn't I been wishing for a vacation fling to take my mind off my boy problems?

We passed the wine bottle around, and orange embers from the cigarettes glowed faintly in the darkness. It all felt like something from a movie. It shouldn't have surprised me when Topher slid close to me on the ground and bumped his knee against mine.

“So, Camie,” he began, “what are your dreams?”

I almost laughed, but something about the way his eyes glistened in the darkness seemed deadly serious. “I don't know anymore.”

He slid closer to me. “I'll tell you one of my dreams.”

I didn't move away, and he inched closer. “What dream is that?”

His leg was firmly pressed against mine, and he lifted a hand to my face. I thought he was about to caress me, but what he did was even sexier. He scooped his hand along my neck, lifting my hair up and letting it cascade like tinsel through his fingers. I shivered in delight at the sensation, and Topher grinned. “It'd be a dream come true to kiss you.”

The line should have been cheesy, but maybe it was the wine, or the heat, or the thick Italian darkness, but I realized I was turned on in a way I hadn't been since Hunter. Hesitantly, I nodded, and Topher leaned forward, brushing his lips to mine.

It was a long, deep kiss, but disappointment settled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't that my body wasn't reacting to him; it was, like crazy. But there was some spark missing, despite the way heat was racing up and down my legs. Something about the kiss wasn't right.

I pushed that thought aside and kissed him a little longer, but when we broke apart, I sighed.

Topher didn't seem aware of my lukewarm reaction. He leaned forward, nuzzling against my neck. “That really was a dream come true. I wonder if you could make all my dreams come true.”

Before I could think of what to say, Joelle called out from the bench. “All right, you two; either get a room or cut it out.”

I slid away from Topher, feeling guilty, but he just grinned at Joelle.

“Whatever you say!”

Taking advantage of his distraction, I stood up and brushed the dirt off my legs. Topher reached for me, but I pretended not to see him as I sauntered around the bench toward Joelle. She slid over, making room for me on the edge, and I perched beside her precariously.

After a few moments, Topher got up and came to stand behind me. He didn't try to kiss me again, but he rested his hands lightly on my shoulders, and almost reflexively, I leaned back against him.

The night was sticky, and the air had a strange, sweet smell, like perfume mixed with spice, and even though I didn't want to give Topher the wrong idea, his warm chest behind my back was comforting. Eventually, though, the magic haze of the heat and wine started to fade, and I stood up, yawning loudly.

“I don't know about everyone else, but I'm really, really tired.”

Sarah was happily snuggling with the guy on the bench, but Joelle met my eyes and nodded. “Me, too. Thanks for the wine and everything, you guys. But I think we should be getting back.”

The boys started to complain, and Sarah looked like she was about to whine, but Joelle and I smiled brightly and started walking, and they all had no choice but to follow us. Otherwise, they would have looked like assholes.

We walked together back to the apartment building, and Topher kept trying to talk to me and hold my hand, but I ignored him and looped my arm through Joelle's. Eventually, he stopped, but when we got back up to the third floor, he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

“Maybe we could do this again,” he whispered in my ear.

“Sure,” I said, not wanting to be a total bitch. “Maybe.”

What was wrong with me? I tossed and turned that night, trying to figure out why I didn't like Topher. He was hot, and kissing him had turned me on. So what was the big deal? It wasn't like my standards were particularly high anymore; I mean, come on, I'd slept with the first guy I met in Paris.

But as much as I didn't want to believe it, something with Hunter had been different. We'd had a connection.

And then I'd left.

I grunted, pulling the pillow over my face.
Get real, Camie. You had a vacation fling. Nothing more
.

But what if it could have been more?

My thoughts spun around and around in circles, and eventually Topher, Hunter, and Jim were all mixed up in my mind in a wicked carousel of mistakes. I tried counting backward from one hundred, flexing my fingers and toes, and breathing deeply, but nothing worked. There was no way I was going to get any sleep. Finally, I sighed and got out of bed.

The apartment was still, and I didn't want to disturb the girls by banging around in the bathroom, so I didn't bother with a shower. I pulled on my newly clean sundress, thanks to Sarah's laundry obsession, and scribbled a note. I left it in the bathroom; someone was bound to see it there.

When I slipped out of the apartment, the sky was just turning dusty pink, and the city was slowly waking up. Shopkeepers were unlocking their doors and yawning, and the grocer on the corner was washing the windows of his shop. The streets smelled a little bit like sewage and flowers, a strange combination, but it wasn't too pungent, and I wandered around aimlessly, lost in thought.

I kept wandering, passing more shops and restaurants, and then gradually the street got narrower and narrower until, quite suddenly, the buildings ended and I realized I was halfway across a bridge.

The water reflected the sunrise, looking like a painting, and I paused, leaning on the bridge's ancient railing and staring down at the river. Flecks of light danced across its surface, and everything felt still.
Are all the beautiful places somewhere by water
? Back at home, I'd always loved playing beside the tiny brook that ran along the edge of our town, and the few times when Mom had taken me and Susie to the ocean, all I'd wanted to do was splash around in the crystal water. Wistfully, I remembered walking along the Seine in Paris with Hunter, but as pretty as this river was, it felt totally different from its French cousin. I stared at the water, and the sleepless night suddenly caught up with me.

I was about to either dissolve into tears or pass out in the street, and so, weary, I lowered myself to the curb, sitting with my back against the bridge.

“Buongiorno, bella!”
A bent, old man was shuffling up the bridge, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with flowers.

I gave him a halfhearted wave. “Er,
bungiorno
.”

He studied my face for a moment. “Why you so sad?”

I glanced up at him and shook my head. “I don't know.”

He parked his wheelbarrow and leaned on the wall near me. “Life shouldn't be sad.” He reached into the flowers, and deftly he pulled together a small bouquet, tying it off with a piece of twine he pulled out of the apron around his waist. He picked up another bunch of flowers and began again while I watched him work, mesmerized by how quickly his hands made the perfect little bouquets.

He glanced up and caught me watching. “Don't be sad!” he admonished firmly.

Startled, I answered him honestly. “I'm sorry. It's just that everything is a mess.”

He nodded sagely. “When love is sour, life is sour. Find your love, and you will be like a flower!” He chortled at his rhyme, and I started to smile despite myself.

“I guess.” I paused, not sure why I was pouring my heart out to a complete stranger, but there was something sort of comforting about the old man that reminded me of my grandfather. “But it isn't just love that's the problem.”

The old man handed me a bundle of flowers. “For you.”

Hesitantly, I took the flowers. There was a sprig of lavender, and three blossoms that might have been poppies. “Thank you.” I paused. “How much?”

He shook his head. “A beautiful girl needs flowers, whether she has a lover or not.”

“Definitely not.” I sniffed the flowers and smiled. “But thank you.”

He raised his hand, half a wave and half in blessing, and then he picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow and headed off. I watched him walk away into the morning, and then I pressed my back against the bridge and pushed myself up to my feet. Tucking the flowers carefully into my bag, I crossed the bridge to the other bank of the city.

Maybe I just needed some perspective
, I thought as the street began to slope gently upward. Like, literal perspective; I wanted to look back at the city from a different vantage point, to see things differently than I had in the apartment. My thoughts got snarled as I climbed the hill, and I hadn't noticed the city slipping away below me until I got to a wrought iron gate. It was wide open, and I stepped through it into some kind of park. The view took my breath away.

The entire city of Florence was stretched out at my feet. Not just the standing-in-the-window kind of view of the city; the hill I was on was high enough that I could look down at the streets and the Duomo and the bustling people across the river, like some medieval lady in her tower looking down on the peasants. It was breathtaking.

Reflexively, I pulled out my camera, my fingers brushing against the flowers from the street vendor, and I lifted it up to my face, adjusting the aperture. I wanted to capture the strange quality of the morning light; the Duomo looked as if it had a hazy halo, and the city was almost rose colored from my vantage point.

A copper replica of Michelangelo's
David
was perched on the hill beside me, watching over Florence in all his naked glory, oxidized and green. I stood beside him, ignoring the people around me as the park began to fill up with tourists snapping photos and speaking in all kinds of languages I didn't recognize, and I just stared out at the city.

What was I doing here? It was beautiful and inspiring and magnificent, but Florence was a place frozen in time. Sooner or later, my summer would end, and I'd have to figure out what to do. Not just about Jim, but about the scholarship and my fall classes. I shuddered at the thought of how much money I already owed just because of this trip, let alone the cost of room and board and tuition in the fall.

Dejected, I finally looked away from the city and headed back down the hill. The sun was high in the sky by the time I began my descent, and I was sweating through my dress. I felt crankier than when I woke up. Everything felt sour, even the lilting voices of the Italian shopkeepers I passed.

By the time I made it back to our apartment, I didn't want to deal with anybody. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and try to forget the troubles that had followed me to Europe. But when I let myself into the apartment, Joelle called out from the kitchen. “Camie, is that you?”

Wearily, I came around the corner. “Yeah. I went for a walk.”

She eyed me critically. “You look like you need to relax.”

I shrugged, not sure what to say.

“What about the coast for the weekend?”

I stared at her, confused. “Huh?”

“Sarah and I were talking about going down to Cinque Terre for the weekend. The beach is supposed to be amazing, better than Nice, and it's not that far by train. What do you think?”