The Last Promise Read online

  “The dottore just left. Only Maurizio.”

  “Maurizio?” Eliana asked. Knowing where Alessio was, she was no longer fearful. Anna had bristled at the mention of his name but Eliana didn’t want Alessio any more upset than he already was. “Not in front of Alessio, Anna.”

  Anna replied, “I will control myself.” She thought a moment then said, “I’ll wait outside the door.”

  The hospital was dark and the corridor echoed with their footsteps. Near the center of the second-floor corridor a single door was ajar. Eliana looked inside. The room light was off and only a table lamp illuminated the wall behind the bed. She could see Alessio’s small form beneath the covers. An oxygen mask covered his face and an IV needle ran into his arm. She ran to his side. She took his hand and fell to her knees next to him. His eyes opened, and he looked at her as tears ran down her cheeks. She rubbed his hand with hers then pressed it against her wet cheek. “I didn’t know where you were. I’m so sorry, Alessio, I didn’t know. I would never leave you alone. I would never.”

  Alessio gazed at her; then he glanced fearfully past her, over her shoulder.

  Eliana followed his gaze. Maurizio stood in the corner of the room, in the shadows. For a moment they stared at each other. He didn’t look terrible anymore. He looked small and impotent, whereas she was filled with strength—the innate ferocity of a mother guarding her young. He could no longer threaten her. He would have to kill her to take Alessio away from her again.

  Manuela noticed their exchange and left the room.

  Maurizio cleared his throat. “He has cried for you ever since I took him. He had an attack almost immediately. A small one. He has had several. Last night the inhaler didn’t help. We brought him here.” He paused; then his voice became frail and laced with emotion. “We thought he was going to die.”

  Eliana saw that he was trembling. Other than the afternoon of the Vendemmia feast, in which he had only marginally been involved, he had been present only once during an attack, and then he had panicked while Eliana ministered to Alessio. She remembered it clearly because she was surprised at how distressed it had left him. Even then, that seizure was mild compared to most others—nothing compared to this attack. Eliana turned away from him, nuzzling back up against her son.

  “He’s not really my son, is he, Eliana?”

  Maurizio’s question enraged her. She turned back, her eyes fierce. “Of course he’s your son. How dare you say that in front of—”

  Maurizio held up a hand to stop her, then said calmly, “That’s not what I meant.” He swallowed. “He doesn’t call me father.” Then he said softer, “He hates me.”

  Eliana suddenly understood why Maurizio had called for her. Maurizio was more than frightened at the prospect of losing his son; he had come to the realization that he already had. She suddenly felt pity for him.

  “Being a father takes time. He never sees you. Even when you’re home, you’re not really there. You’re not a part of his life.”

  Maurizio looked down for a long time, nervously rolling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. The room was quiet except for the strained wheeze of Alessio’s breathing.

  “I almost killed my own son.” Maurizio was silent again. The time stretched into what seemed minutes. Then he spoke without looking at her. “You may go, Eliana. You may take Alessio back to America with you.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. He did not look at her. “Mi dispiace per tutto.” I am sorry about everything. “I am so sorry I hit you.” His eyes were wet. She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, something miraculous had happened. Eliana saw the man she had fallen in love with. She looked at him softly.

  “I’m sorry for what I have done,” she said. “It wasn’t to hurt you. I was only lonely.”

  “I know.”

  There was a long moment of silence. “Do you want to try again?” she asked.

  He looked at her and his eyes moistened. He nodded his head slowly. “No. It is who I am, Eliana. I would only hurt you again.”

  Despite all that she had been through, she was suddenly filled with deep sadness. She wanted to weep for both of them. He stepped forward. He touched her hair, lifting it in his hand; then he stooped and kissed her forehead. He looked at Alessio for a moment. “Be a good boy, son. Obey your mother. She is a good mother.”

  Alessio looked up at him, then back at Eliana, as if for an explanation.

  “Bye, amore.” Maurizio smiled, then added, “Tesoro mio.”

  Eliana remembered when he had first spoken those words to her. It was the first time he had told her that he loved her. The circle was complete. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she smiled and he smiled back. Then he walked from the room. Eliana laid her head down on the bed next to her son and cried.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Quando l’amore vuol fuggire è inutile inseguirlo.” When love flees it is futile to pursue it.

  —Italian Proverb

  As soon as Alessio was sleeping, Eliana called Ross’s cell phone from one of the hospital’s pay phones. He didn’t answer. In all she called six times before she took Alessio back to Rendola the following afternoon. After he was settled in and watching a video, Eliana left him with Manuela and drove down to Ponte Alle Grazie, where she parked her car and ran to Ross’s apartment. She found his name and apartment number on a lobby mailbox and knocked on his door. A stout, elderly woman answered.

  “Mi scusi, signora. I am looking for Mr. Ross Story.”

  The woman looked at her blankly.

  “The man who lived here.”

  “Whoever was here has gone.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “No, signorina. Why would I know that?”

  “May I look through his apartment?”

  “No, signorina. You will have to ask the landlord. But there’s nothing in here.”

  “Where can I find the landlord?”

  “Sotto. On the ground level, apartment seven.”

  Five minutes later Eliana knocked on the landlord’s door. A woman, pale skinned, broad as a wine barrel, opened. “Cosa vuole?”

  “I’m looking for one of your residents. Signor Ross Story. Room five twelve.”

  “Mr. Story moved out.”

  “Do you know where I might find him?”

  She gazed at Eliana for a moment.

  “No. He left yesterday. He gave me his key and left. He seemed to be in a hurry. He didn’t even wait for his deposit.”

  “Do you have a forwarding address?”

  “No, signorina.”

  “Anything at all with an address? A check or something?”

  “No, he paid in cash. He’s paid up to the end of the month.” She noticed the desperation in Eliana’s face. “I’m sorry, signorina. I would help if I could. He just came and went. Sometimes men do that.”

  In the street Eliana hailed another cab and directed it to the Uffizi. They stopped in the courtyard and she ran out, past the crowds to the man standing guard at the entrance.

  “Excuse me, signore, I need to speak with one of your tour guides. It’s very important.”

  “There are many tour guides, signorina. You will have to make a reservation inside. Do you have a reservation number?”

  “I’m looking for someone in particular. Ross Story.”

  The man’s expression lightened. “Ross.”

  “You know Ross?”

  “Sì. Only Ross doesn’t work here anymore. He has left Florence.”

  “Did he say where he might be going?”

  “No, signora.” He parted the rope. “You ask inside. There’s an office past the gift shop.”

  “Thank you.” She went inside, found the office and knocked. Patrizia answered the door.

  “May I help you?”

  “Mi scusi. I’m looking for a man who used to work here. His name is Ross Story.”

  “Ross has left.”

  “I know. Did he leave a forwarding address?”

 
She shook her head. “No.”

  “Maybe a bank number.” The woman continued shaking her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Anything?” she asked desperately.

  “I’m sorry, signorina.”

  “But you must have some record of him.”

  “No, Ross was an abusivo.”

  “An abusivo?”

  “It means that he did not have a permit from the Comune to work here. He helped out Francesca, one of our tour guides. They had an arrangement. I think she must have his cell phone number.”

  Eliana frowned. “I’ve tried that.”

  “I was sad to see Ross go. I liked him. Maybe Francesca can help you. She is here; would you like me to ask?”

  Eliana nodded.

  Patrizia left the room. She returned a few minutes later. “If you can wait for twenty minutes, Francesca will speak with you. She is leading a tour right now.”

  “I’ll wait. Grazie.”

  “I was just leaving. You can wait in here if you like. Please shut the door behind you when you go.”

  “Grazie.”

  The woman finished gathering her things. “Buona fortuna.”

  Eliana breathed in deeply. There was hope. Ross had mentioned Francesca. They were close. This woman would know something about his whereabouts. Wouldn’t she? She paced the quiet office until a half hour later there was a light knock and the door opened. Francesca walked in.

  “I am Francesca,” she said in coarse English.

  Eliana spoke back in Italian. “Buona sera. I am Eliana Ferrini. I am looking for a friend of mine.”

  “Sì. Ross.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “No, signorina. Ross left Florence yesterday.”

  “Did he tell you where he might be going?”

  She shook her head. “Only that he was leaving Italy for good. He gave me the key to his scooter.”

  “That’s all he said?”

  “Sì.”

  Eliana looked away. A lump rose in her throat. The woman watched her. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

  Eliana looked up.

  “You’re the reason he left. He said you might come looking for him someday.”

  At this she bowed her head, fighting back the sadness welling up inside. Francesca watched her for a moment, then excused herself. “I am very sorry, signorina. For both of us.” Then, as if on second thought, she touched Eliana’s shoulder. “Have hope. Love sees to itself.”

  Eliana stopped in the ladies’ room on the way out and washed her face; then she walked out to the courtyard, lonely in the burgeoning crowd, oblivious to the bustle of the cortile, out to the walkway overlooking the Arno. She could see below to the grass where she and Ross had lain together. Where they had spent that wonderful night entangled in each other’s arms and warmth and dreams. Where they had witnessed a dawning of a new day unlike any other. She remembered the hope that had filled her then, and it seemed impossible that he was really gone.

  A brisk, autumn wind swept down the Lungarni, down the stone terraces toward the river, where it rippled the water in thin, white-edged plates. Winter was coming to Florence. Soon the lush countryside would be barren, the sensuality of the city and her people cloaked beneath thick coats and mufflers.

  Eliana pulled her cloak tightly around herself even though her coldness was more than an autumn chill. She had suffered enough in the last week, but somehow this loss hurt most of all. For this hurt would haunt her the rest of her life. The one man she loved—the man who had taught her how to be loved—had disappeared like a drop of rain in the ocean. And the last promise she had asked him to make was to never find her again.

  CHAPTER 39

  “Non si conosce il bene se non quando s’è perso.” You don’t know the worth of something until it is gone.

  —Italian Proverb

  Anna sat on the large roller suitcase in the center of the Florence train station, like a rock in the middle of a stream, a torrent of travelers flowing around her. Alessio played within the reach of her voice, energized by the motion of the station. Each time the train departure board changed, the letters flipping like decks of cards, he would shout and point. Eliana suddenly emerged from the bustle holding a ticket in her hand.

  “The next train to Rome is in fifteen minutes. We’re on track nine.” She choked on the words. Fifteen minutes was not enough time to say all she felt for Anna. Anna stood and hugged her.

  “Allora. I hate goodbyes. Don’t I always say I don’t say goodbye?”

  “You always say that,” Eliana said. She hugged her again. “Can you believe it’s been six years, Anna? Where did it go?”

  Anna looked at Alessio and her eyes watered. “It went to him.”

  Eliana smiled and did not look at Anna because she did not want to cry. At least not yet.

  “He was just a baby when we came.”

  “My little Alessio. How will I live without him? Rendola will not be the same.” She lifted a handkerchief. “I hate goodbyes,” she said again.

  “How will we live without you?” Eliana said. “I could not have made it without you. You have been with me through all the hard times. You’re my best friend. I will miss you every day.”

  A lump rose in Anna’s throat and she changed the subject. “Did Maurizio call?”

  “Last night. He wanted to say goodbye to us. He talked to Alessio for nearly a half hour.”

  “God works in mysterious ways.”

  “He does, Anna.”

  “Have you heard from Ross?”

  Eliana shook her head.

  “I’m sorry.” She touched her arm. “Have hope, sister. No one can leave Rendola forever.”

  Eliana smiled. “And I’ll be back for your wedding.”

  “If any of us live that long,” Anna said.

  Eliana waved to Alessio, who was staring at a rack of magazines. “Alessio, come now.”

  He sauntered up to them, and Anna crouched down and put her arms around him and kissed his head. “Don’t grow up too fast. Promise?”

  “I can’t help it, Aunt Anna.” He looked to his mother. “Can we get an ice cream cone at McDonald’s?”

  “No, honey. We haven’t time. We’ll get one in Rome.”

  “Sure you have time,” Anna said, digging out her change purse. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, Anna.”

  She ran off to the McDonald’s in the station. Eliana sat down on the suitcase to wait. A gypsy woman walked by and stood before them holding out a paper cup. Eliana surrendered the last of her Italian coins and the woman blessed her and walked away. She glanced down at her watch.

  “Oh my, there’s only three minutes.” She lifted her bag and took Alessio by the hand. “We need to go, Alessio.”

  “But Aunt Anna went to get me a cone.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but we can’t miss our train.”

  She quickly validated their tickets, then walked down the boarding platform, pulling Alessio by one hand and the suitcase with the other, while she kept glancing back. Come on, Anna. When they got to their car, Eliana stowed her suitcase on the entryway rack then helped Alessio up into the train.

  “But Aunt Anna . . .”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  Eliana waited on the step until the porter blew his whistle and Eliana was forced to step back inside while the doors shut. Suddenly Anna came running by frantically looking for them. Eliana pounded on the door’s glass and Anna stopped. She walked up to the side of the train, outside the closed door holding the ice cream cone. Tears rolled down Anna’s cheeks. She blew them a kiss. Eliana kissed her fingers and waved back to her. Then the train lurched forward, and for a ways Anna walked along with it, waving and blowing kisses. Then the platform ended and the train left, taking them away from each other, filling Eliana with sadness. “You always said you’d never say goodbye, Anna. Arrivederci, my sister.”

  A moment later Alessio took her hand. “Can we sit down?”

 
With her free hand Eliana wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart.”

  They found their seats, and Eliana took a picture book out of her carry-on for Alessio. When he was content, she sat back and closed her eyes. As the train rumbled away from Florence, her mind reeled through two thousand days in Italy, weaving between languages and cultures, firsts and lasts, images of Maurizio and Anna and then Villa Rendola—her maternal hills spotted with trellises. She saw Alessio growing and changing. And she knew that she too had changed, and she wondered if she could ever totally fit back into American life. She wondered if this was how a soldier felt coming back from a crusade filled with stories and thoughts no one but his comrades could ever know or understand. But through her mind’s wanderings her thoughts always came back to Ross, as if he had been the punctuation of her story, and it made her want to cry. And his words haunted her. Remember, Eliana, love doesn’t give second chances.

  AFTERWORD

  “Il temp è un gran medico.” Time is a great healer.

  —Italian Proverb

  I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there, baking beneath the Tuscan sun, engrossed in Eliana’s tale. At least an hour. When she finished talking, it was lunchtime and there were a few vacant lounges around us, though I didn’t remember seeing anyone leave.

  In the telling of her story Eliana had changed to me. Now, somehow, she had become larger than life, reminding me that the best stories aren’t always in books.

  “Do you believe that?” I asked. “That love doesn’t give second chances.”

  “I did for a while.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “I went back to Utah to get on with my life. A fresh start. But it was hard. I had changed so much.” She laughed. “Everyone called me Ellen, and I would look around to see who they were talking to. They say you can’t go home again. They’re right. But it’s not home that changes.”

  “And Alessio, how did he cope with the move?”

  “It was also hard for him at first. I hadn’t realized that his grandmother was a stranger to him, and it took him a while to warm up to her. But you know how adaptable children are. We also discovered that he had fewer allergies in America, so we had less problems with his asthma.”