We stare at each other for a moment, a current passing from my eyes to his and back again. It tells us everything else we can’t figure out how to say. Some feelings transcend any language.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I’ve decided that October is my favorite month in Capri. It’s still sunny and warm but the tourists are mostly gone and the island hums like a true community. The locals are friendlier and the visitors are, too. You can look out at the sea and see that deep, never-ending blue instead of hundreds of boats jetting to and fro. Sometimes it rains, but that’s okay; I love the rain here. You can see it sweep in off the sea in sheets as it fills the air with the smells of hot stone and grass and lemon. The island seems to take a deep breath as the parched plants inhale the fresh rain, turning from brown to green.
I’ve been taking care of the twins on my own for three weeks now while Derio heals in the Naples hospital. There was a bit of a complication with his leg and then his shoulder, thanks to a previous dislocation (also due to racing, surprise, surprise), which was making him immobile for longer than they thought.
While he goes through his struggles on the mainland, I go through my struggles here. They’re not the same, of course. They aren’t even close. But just because I’m doing the right thing, doesn’t mean it’s easy. In fact, the right thing rarely is.
Annabella and Alfonso are forgiving and kind, though uncertain about me, about life, about everything. They worry for their brother and ask about him every day. They also seem to worry about me and think I’m going to leave them again. I keep promising them I won’t but I can see they don’t fully believe me. I don’t blame them. They came home from school one day and saw everything packed up and gone, just like the day Felisa had left. It took a few days after my return for Annabella to stop crying. She blamed herself so much that she started to sound a lot like me. I realized that we both needed to start letting go of the guilt and move on.
Taking care of them is still a lot of work. My appreciation for moms grows more and more each day. But somehow I get it done. I try not to complain. I count my blessings. I feel important and useful and right, and that gets me through the tough days.
It doesn’t help that my parents aren’t being any more understanding about this whole thing, but at least their opinions don’t bother me so much. Though my dad remains stubborn in his ways and isn’t afraid to show it, my mother has started reaching out to me on her own. She’s called me a few times, speaking in a quiet voice that suggests she’s doing this in private, and has asked me about Italy—what it’s like, how the people are, the best places to go. I think she wants to come visit; she sounds so wistful when she asks me what I’m doing. If she brings it up one day, I will encourage her to come over and spread her wings a bit. I know she’s afraid to do it because of my father, but I just hope she learns to overcome that fear, as I have.
I’m trying to learn more Italian and stop being so shy and afraid when it comes to making friends here. I’ve been watching Alfonso and Annabella branch out and socialize, and I figure it’s about time I do the same. Though Signora Bagglia is a lot older, I’ve become friends with her and often drop by her restaurant for a bite to eat during lunch or just to say hello. The free food is nice, too. I’ve also made friends with Cara, a young single mom who moved to Capri a year ago. Her son, Emilio, is a year younger than Alfonso, but so far they get along great. Cara’s English is pretty good, too, and she’s been a major force in helping my Italian along. She also enjoys a few glasses of wine and a good gossip about the people on the island, which is fun to listen to, especially when she gets worked up and her hands start flying around like lethal weapons.
Because of people like Cara and Signora Bagglia, I don’t feel so alone anymore. I have a bit of extra help with the twins if I need it and I’ve stopped being afraid to ask. I also know I won’t depend on Derio too much, emotionally, when he returns home, and that’s crucial for me if I’m going to live here. I love him more and more each day, even though he’s not here, but I can’t let him be my everything. It’s not fair to him when he already has so many to support.
He’s supposed to come back tomorrow—Paolo is taking him on the ferry—so I’m racing around the house while the kids are at school, trying to get everything into tip-top shape. I’ve vacuumed, I’ve dusted, I’ve scrubbed, I’ve wiped, and I’ve cleaned. The whole villa sparkles, like a house of happy lemons. It at least smells fresh and citrusy; I’ve even picked a few from the lemon grove and placed them in bowls around the house.