“It’s more than that. You are young. She needs a young woman to look up to. To set an example.”
“She has Beata, her nonna,” Alba suggested, though she knew that the quiet woman’s presence around the house was not enough.
“You know you are welcome to invite your friend, Gabriele, whenever you like,” he said and Alba smiled. She knew they all hoped she’d stay.
“Thank you. I might just do that,” she replied, recalling Gabriele’s handsome face.
They walked down the hill along a dirt track that cut through the forest. The ringing of crickets resounded through the still, afternoon air that smelled pleasantly of rosemary and pine. Alba felt uncomfortable with Falco. It wasn’t that he was disagreeable, although his manner was abrupt, but there was something dark and depressing about him, as if he walked in shadows. Walking beside him, she was cast in shadow too. She felt her spirit grow heavy with doom. She found conversation with him hard. At first, he had been pleased to see her, pleased beyond words. His joy had overflowed in tears, then transformed into raucous laughter. He could cry one moment and howl with amusement the next: wholly unpredictable. Now it was as if the very sight of her reminded him too much of Valentina. She wasn’t Valentina. Her presence couldn’t bring her back. She wasn’t like her. Maybe that had been a disappointment. Perhaps he had hoped for not only a physical likeness but a characteristic one too. Judging from the stories Immacolata had told of her, Alba was a pale reflection. It was a relief they knew nothing about her.
Falco was the same age as her father, late fifties, more or less, and yet they both were old beyond their years. They both stooped in the same way, weighed down by an invisible force that leaned heavily on their shoulders. They both smiled, but their eyes contained an unfathomable disquiet.
The track left the forest and opened into a lemon grove. Up high to the left where the hill rose sharply, the crumbling old lookout point she had seen from the sea stood defiantly against the elements.
“She loved it here,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “She loved the smell of lemons, and of course, the view of the sea is magnificent.” He led her through the grove to the end, by the cliff, where a solitary olive tree stood gnarled and twisted in the sunshine. “We buried her here.” Beneath the tree was a simple wooden cross that bore her name. He looked out over the ocean, flat and shining like glass. “She saw your father’s boat come in long before anyone else did and ran down to the harbor. If you cut directly down the rock you can get there surprisingly quickly. When Valentina wanted something, she let nothing stand in her way.”
“I’m sure she’s happy here. It’s very peaceful.”
“The lookout point was a favorite spot too. She spent many hours there, waiting for your father to return at the end of the war.”
“It’s very romantic.” Alba wanted to feel her mother’s presence there in the shade of that tree, but all she could sense was the heavy cloud that surrounded Falco. “Show me the tower?” she asked, turning to walk up the hill. Falco followed her without saying a word.
“Wow! You can see for miles,” she exclaimed exuberantly, filling her lungs with the clean, sea air.
She looked at Falco’s anguished features. “Do I remind you of her?” she asked boldly, her head on one side, frowning. He stared at her, surprised. “Do you see her every time you look at me? Is that why you’re so unsettled?”
He shook his head and shrugged, raising his palms to the sky. “Of course you look like her, you’re her daughter.”
“But does it hurt, Falco? Does my presence here bring it all back?” Her question had caught him off guard.
“I suppose it does,” he replied quietly. She suddenly felt compassion for this big man and wanted to offer words of comfort.
“She’s with God now,” she said lamely.
“Yes she is, but we are left in hell.”
The violence of his words struck her and she flinched. She blinked in confusion. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Perhaps they had fought the day she was killed. Maybe she died before he could apologize. Wasn’t that a common problem for the living?
She turned and looked around. Above them, obscured behind thick forest, were the distant towers and turrets of a palace. “Who lives there?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No one. It’s a ruin.”
“It must have been impressive once.”
“It was, but a feud splintered the family and the palazzo was left to rot.” His voice was flat.
“No hidden treasure then?”