Racing the Sun(82)

And it’s the truth, though I’m also a bit nervous for Derio. I know how I was with my fear of heights and that was just the occasional panic attack. It didn’t directly affect my life. With him, his fears have affected everything. But I promise to be there for him, through it all, just as he was there for me.



* * *



Florence ends up being too far away for two nights—Annabella was adamant she not miss her playdate with Gia DiFabbia so we settle on Naples for the night. I know it’s not really a destination city and has a lot of crime and riffraff but Derio tells the kids they can visit Pompeii the next day and they get all excited and flail their hands about seeing the mummified bodies covered in ash, which makes up for it.

Derio assures me we are staying at a gorgeous hotel in one of the nicer parts of town, with its own balcony overlooking some piazza or something. I honestly don’t care where we stay—just like the twins, I am thrilled to be stepping off this island, especially with my man by my side.

We pack light, knowing luggage carts are hard to hire during peak tourist season on Via Tragara, and leave early in the morning before the heat gets too bad. Soon we’re down at the Marina Grande and Derio is staring at the ferry with trepidation. I look around nervously as well, remembering how I lost the children.

But they don’t care and they drag us along. Even though the hydrofoil is a much faster and more convenient way to get to Naples, we’re taking the car ferry because of its size and sturdiness—anything to make this easier on Derio.

“Are you ready?” I ask him. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

“We will find out,” he says. He gives me a stiff smile. I know how badly he wants to believe himself but the fear is jockeying for prime position.

“Whatever you need to do,” I tell him softly. And whether that means breaking down and crying or having a screaming fit or demanding the boat turn around, I will stick by him one hundred percent.

We walk down the ramp, our tickets already purchased, and step foot onto the ferry. Because of its size, it doesn’t bow or wobble with the small waves that come into the tiny harbor. It feels like we are still on land. We go and find a row of seats in the middle of the ship, far away from the windows, just in case.

“Alfonso, Annabella,” I say to the kids, leaning over Derio as he drums nervously on his knees. “Promise to keep your voices down during the trip and behave. Don’t have your iPads too loud.”

Derio closes his eyes. “It’s fine.”

I ignore him and make sure to look each twin in the eye. “This is a big deal for your brother. I know it doesn’t seem like it but it is. You’ll promise to be good and help him, won’t you?”

They both nod and look at Derio. “We promise,” they say in unison. Then they get out their iPads, put their brightly-colored headphones on, and start playing their games, content to pass the voyage that way.

I lean into Derio. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

Just then the ferry’s engines rumble louder, ready to push off.

He keeps his eyes closed but grabs my hands. “Just don’t leave me,” he whispers.

“You know I won’t.”

The voyage feels far longer than an hour. Even though the sea is relatively calm and you can barely feel the waves as the boat cuts through them, Derio has his eyes closed for almost the entire journey. His grip on my hand is one of the G.I. Joe, kung fu variety. He tries to keep his breaths deep and slow, in through the nose and out through the mouth. I don’t dare leave his side and I don’t want to keep staring at him either, so I stare straight ahead and try to pass him some calming vibes.

The closer we get to Naples, the city rising up from the port like a dirty oasis, the happier I get. When we dock with a creaking, rusted thud, I let out a little cheer. The twins join in, clapping their hands. And Derio slowly opens one eye.

“Did we make it?” he asks.

“Yes!” we all cry out.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time and breaks out into an amazing grin. He laughs and leans back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You made it,” I tell him, kissing the top of his hand.

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, eyes maintaining deep contact with mine. “But not without you.”

When we disembark the ferry, Derio nearly kisses the ground. He looks astounded and stands at the base of the boat, staring at the city that lines the marina. It’s noisy and dusty and hot and busy, cars honking, people yelling, exhaust clinging to the air, and garbage rustling past us on the stiff breeze. But it’s the first civilization I’ve seen in a month and the first he’s seen in over a year. We are on the mainland. The dirty wind here whispers freedom in our ears.