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At first, Walter Finkle, my boss at the news station, wasn’t going to let me take the time off. As the news director, he felt it was too risky letting one of his most reliable field reporters take vacation this time of year.

I threatened to walk and he eventually caved, realizing he had no other card to play. I’ve worked my ass off and he knows it.

Fast forward a couple weeks, and here we are—en route first class to Sicily for what will be one of the best weeks we’ve ever had.

Jayla’s my cousin by blood, sister by adoption, and best friend by choice. The two of us are thick as thieves and would only ever want to go on this trip together.

I haven’t traveled as much as I’d like and Jayla’s never even been out of the country.

The flight attendant offers us complimentary champagne. We cheers to the trip ahead and all the memories we’re about to make.

“Wait… hold up. Lemme take a picture!” Jayla says, fumbling with her purse to dig out her phone.

I strike a pose with my flute of champagne.

“Look at my sissy modeling,” Jayla says. “Naomi herself would be jealous. Tyra too.”

I snort in more laughter. “Are you drunk already?”

“No… but about to be. Watch this champagne disappear.”

We might as well be a couple of giggling schoolgirls the way we’re entertaining ourselves. For the first half of the flight, we’re enjoying drinks and the other luxuries of first class. Once we have dinner—we’re served pan-fried beef tenderloin with steamed snow peas and herbed mashed potatoes—we begin winding down.

Jayla takes a nap while I stay up and watch a movie. I’ve got my journal propped open in my lap as I jot down my thoughts of our trip so far.

…and other things on my mind.

Lincoln’s angry face materializes in my mind’s eye. My ex-husband hasn’t returned my calls since the divorce was finalized. It was part of the agreement that he would turn over the remainder of my belongings. Specifically the trunk with my childhood things that are priceless in sentimental value. Yet since our final day in court when he was awarded half of everything I’ve worked for, he’s fallen off the face of the planet.

I haven’t heard a peep from him.

No number of texts, calls, or emails has worked.

Jayla offered to drop by his place—our old condo on the other side of the city—on my behalf, but I begged her not to. The last thing I need is for my sister to get into an altercation with my lazy, emotionally distant ex-husband.

Lincoln’s my past. Sicily is my future. If he doesn’t give back my things by the time I return from vacation, I’ll get the authorities involved.

Jotting down my thoughts helps. A little sigh leaves my lungs, breathing new life into me. I glance up at the oval-shaped window that’s partially covered by the shade I’ve drawn halfway down. Clouds and more clouds float by.

Lincoln is thousands of miles away and my concerns about the aftermath of our marriage should be too. As the Italians love to say,la calma è la virtù dei forti.

Or, in English,calm is the virtue of the strong.

Clapping shut the journal, I return my focus to the mini monitor in front of me.

For the next week, I won’t think about Lincoln—or any other problem—even once. This trip is about me and the new adventure I’m embarking on…

* * *

Jayla and I are already feeling the jetlag once we land in Catania. The airport’s busy like most international airports are, a blur of travelers coming and going. We follow the crowds deplaning and head to baggage claim to collect our things.

We don’t have to search far for our tour guide. Francesca waves at us, practically bouncing on the spot. She’s holding up a sign with our names scribbled onto it along a heart shaded in with the colors of the Italian flag.

We pivot straight for her like little kids being picked up by their parents at the end of the school day.

Tall and leggy with ginger orange hair, Francesca hugs Jayla like she’s her sister and not me. Then she turns to me and gives an embrace just as warm and friendly.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” she says in a bubbly tone that’s underlined by her Italian accent. “I was worried I would miss you. Traffic was a nightmare.”