Page 15 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

L’amico è quello che ti prende per mano quando tutto il resto del mondo ti ha voltato le spalle.

A friend is the one who takes your hand when the rest of the world has turned its back on you.

Italian saying

Forty minutes later, Claire and I entered through the side gate into our courtyard garden with dinner in tow.

The amber light from the evening hour cast a warm glow over our favorite hideaway.

As soon as I heard the faint splashing sound of the fountain and some birds twittering in the branches of the tree by our room, I felt my pulse slow down.

“Let’s eat outside,” I suggested. “In the chairs under the tree.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Claire was the first to settle into one of the waiting chairs. She immediately pulled off her shoes.

“How’s your blister?”

“Grateful to be able to breathe again. I am definitely going to wear my other shoes tomorrow.”

Our to-go pasta came in containers that resembled Chinese food takeout boxes.

We’d ordered more than we needed because the prices were low and everything sounded good.

Sadly, they didn’t offer lasagna, but at this point, I was eager to dig my plastic fork into the spiral pasta and creamy white sauce with mushrooms. So satisfying.

Claire started in on the one with wide, flat noodles and special sauce made with minced duck, onion, carrots, and olive oil. By the look on her face, it was divine. I would let her enjoy that carton all by herself.

The third container for us to share was basic spaghetti with tomato sauce. I tried it first. “This is not basic spaghetti. I have no idea how they managed to elevate it, but it has so much flavor.”

Between the two of us, we polished off all three containers. As we watched the evening light wane, two butterflies with bright blue wings checked on us. Like the street musicians of Venice, they provided us with free entertainment. Theirs was in the form of an elegant evening dance.

The scent of dinner being prepared in the restaurant wafted our way. I stretched out my legs and gazed up through the branches of our sheltering tree. The sky had turned to a muted periwinkle shade of blue. Hints of sunset oranges stained the underside of the thin clouds that scuttled by.

“You know what we should do?” Claire had joined me in tilting her head back and viewing the evening sky.

“If you say go find another gelato place right now...”

“How did you know? Come on. The scoops are little.”

Her mischievous smile let me know she was kidding.

Paulina stepped out into the garden and turned on each of the lights in the hanging lanterns. “Buona sera.”

“Buona sera,” we repeated.

“How was your afternoon?” she asked.

“Full,” Claire said, patting her tummy.

“Dreamy,” I said, thinking of the gondola ride and how I felt at this moment in the courtyard. I loved this little corner of Venice and knew I would dream about it as much as I would dream of the gondola ride.

Paulina smiled. “I see you’ve eaten. Would you like anything else?”

“No thank you,” I said. “We plan to explore Burano tomorrow, so we should probably go to bed pretty soon.”

She looked surprised. “Not many pilgrims visit that island.”

“We thought it would be something different and less crowded,” Claire explained.

I understood now why Claire had pitched for us to see all we could on our first day when our adrenaline was running high.

She had read on a travel blog that a good way to adjust to the time change as well as see your top highlights was to go full speed the first day and downshift significantly the next.

“May I ask a favor?” Paulina asked.

“Of course.” I hoped Claire was getting comfortable with me answering for both of us.

“May I send a gift with you tomorrow? I know someone on Burano who would appreciate a touch of home from my garden.”

Claire and I exchanged glances. I waited for her to agree this time. “Sure,” she said. “Will it be easy to find their home?”

“I will write it all down in English and Italian. If you need help, show the paper to anyone in one of the shops. They will know. I will have everything ready for you in the morning.”

When we were in our beds an hour later, I asked Claire if she minded us making the delivery for Paulina.

“It’s a little strange, but after all she’s done for us, I don’t mind.” Claire fluffed up her pillows and slid under the thick comforter. “I love this bedding with only a fitted sheet and the puffy comforter inside the duvet. Did you ever sleep in a bed like this on trips with your mom?”

“Yes, several times. I like it too. How was the bedding when you went to Rome? Do you remember?”

“No.” She grew quiet.

“Oh, sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m sure bedding is the last thing you noticed or would remember.”

“I know everyone has some sort of drama or trauma in their teen years, but...” Claire’s gaze was fixed on the chandelier.

“Let me just say that I didn’t have much faith in men until I met Jared.

He was so patient with me. He still is. I used to think he developed patience being an electrician.

Now I think it’s just Jared. He’s the calmest, kindest man I’ve ever known. ”

“Was your dad patient?” I wasn’t sure why I asked that. Claire rarely talked about her parents or her childhood. Maybe the cozy bedding and the feeling that we were having a slumber party made me feel like we should talk about boys and other usually taboo topics.

“My dad was tolerant. Or maybe compliant is a better description.”

I knew her father had been in ministry when she was little and then became the principal of a private school for a short time.

He ended up teaching at a small college in South Dakota, where he and Claire’s mom had lived for the last twenty years of their lives.

She hadn’t been close to either of them, and their passing only added to the unresolved disconnect in her relationship with them.

“Did I ever tell you what they did to my dad at the high school where he was the principal?” Claire propped herself up on her elbow.

“They had a welcome event in the gym, and all the families came to meet the new principal. Our family had to stand in front of all those people and say why we were glad we were there. Then they handed my dad a costume and . . .” Her expression clouded over.

“What kind of costume?”

“A pig costume. Bright pink. Like a big pajama onesie. They told him to put it on, which he did. I still can’t believe he went along with it. But it was a new job, and like I said, my father was a compliant person.”

“Why in the world did they make him put on a pig costume? That wasn’t the school mascot, was it?”

“No, the mascot was an eagle. What they did next was worse. They rolled out a table and told him to climb up on it. Then they put an apple in his mouth and squirted silly string on him while everyone laughed. They said it was his official ‘roast,’ and now he was part of the faculty family.”

“Claire! How could they do that? What kind of dysfunctional faculty ‘family’ treats their principal like that? That’s awful. For all of you.”

“It was.” She paused again and lay on her back, looking at the ceiling.

“How long did your dad work there?”

“Fourteen months. That was the worst time of my life. Every day someone snorted like a pig at me in the halls.”

“Why didn’t your dad stop the bullying?”

“I never told my parents.”

“How was anyone supposed to have respect for their principal when the staff treated him and his family like that?” I asked.

“I think that was the point. A few key teachers ran the school. They wanted to put my dad in his place at the start so they could keep up with their ... their stuff.”

“Claire, that’s awful. I am so sorry that happened to you.”

She sank deeper under the covers and didn’t reply.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “It was wrong on so many levels. I’m sad that your mom and your dad weren’t strong enough to take a stand.”

“They didn’t stand up for themselves, so I knew they wouldn’t stand up for me.”

Claire turned to her side. I couldn’t tell if she was crying or maybe releasing long sighs. It was the first time I remembered her ever sharing such a personal and painful memory with me.

“I don’t know why I brought any of that up,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m glad you did. I love you, Claire. I hope you dream sweet dreams.”

“You too.”

I don’t know if she fell asleep right away because I was asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, she was up before me, and any further painful memories had been left behind in the shadows of the night. Claire was energetic and eager to head back to the sidewalk café at first light for another cappuccino and cornetto. I had to scramble to get ready.

We were the first customers of the day at Paulina’s café, and the waiter remembered us.

He spoke in Italian with a friendly expression while we nodded and kept saying, “Grazie.” I don’t know why we didn’t pull out our translation apps.

He seemed to simply be welcoming us back and was satisfied when we smiled and nodded.

“Mmm.” Claire brushed the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “I am going to try making these when we’re back home. I think Paulina was right. They are better than croissants.”

I half expected to see Paulina show up at the café while we were there. Was it her routine to go to church every morning or only certain weekday mornings? I felt a tug to return to the Frari for morning prayers the way Claire felt the desire to repeat our cappuccino experience.

The plan, however, was set. We were two women on a mission. Although we needed to return to our lodgings first and receive our instructions and whatever item we were delivering from Paulina.

When we arrived, she was waiting for us. “You two are early birds again today.”