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

It is not down on any map; true places never are.

Herman Melville

Even though Claire and I spent months researching, planning, and organizing every detail for our trip to Italy, from the moment we arrived in Venice, I wondered if we’d made a big mistake.

The doubts crept in as thick as the heavy fog that enshrouded us when we boarded the water bus outside the Santa Lucia train station.

The inside cabin of our vaporetto was full, so Claire and I had to stand in the open space at the front of the large craft.

We braced ourselves, shoulder to shoulder, leaning on the railing, and could barely see ten feet in any direction as we floated down the Grand Canal.

“This is not what I expected.” My voice quickly dispersed into the mist.

Claire pulled up the hood of her jacket. “It’s creepy, isn’t it? All the buildings seem to have vanished.”

“I pictured us arriving just in time to see a blistering orange sunset like the ones we saw in all those pictures.”

“I didn’t expect it to be this cold.”

A horn sounded.

We couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. Claire and I turned toward the captain at the helm inside the crowded vessel. He quickly looked right then left and did not appear confident at all.

Another horn sounded.

“Hey!” Claire pointed straight ahead and waved her arms.

The nose of a sleek wooden boat emerged from the haze, heading directly toward us.

Our captain veered to the right. Claire and I gripped the cold metal railing and steadied ourselves as the smaller craft passed with only a few feet separating our hulls.

I looked down into the cabin of the passing boat, where the passengers looked up at us with wide eyes and unmoving lips.

Our craft bobbed and tilted. Claire grabbed her suitcase and tucked it between her legs to keep it from rolling away. She looked like a nervous hen who had just laid a big rectangular egg. I gripped the handle of my suitcase and tried to keep my posture straight and steady.

“Claire,” I said, “I think we should have spent the money to have a private boat pick us up.”

“Too late now. Besides, don’t you think it would be more dangerous to be in a small boat right now, like the one that just passed us?”

“You’re right.” I drew in a deep draft of the moist air. “We should be fine.”

I tried to appear confident because I was the one who had worked out the details for this part of our trip. I had every reason to trust my mother-in-law, who had set up the accommodation for our three nights in Venice. She even surprised us and paid for our room.

However, when Claire and I tried to look up the lodgings online, the place didn’t seem to exist. We had only a few details about the room from the confirmation email and hadn’t seen any pictures.

All I had was an address that I’d marked on my phone app before we left California.

That didn’t seem like enough now that we were here on the other side of the world and adrift in an eerie, blinding fog.

“Two more stops before we get off, right?” Claire asked.

I nodded and checked my phone to be certain.

Claire remained uncomfortably quiet as our vaporetto pulled up at the next dock.

I tried to think of how we could go about finding a different place to stay if our plan A turned out horribly wrong.

The good thing about Claire was that she was efficient and resourceful.

She’d planned the details for the rest of our trip, and I was confident that if my contribution to our journey was a disaster, she would be able to come up with a plan B.

I didn’t want my plans to fail, though. This was Venice! We wanted to love Venice. We had placed so many hopes in this being a fun and restful getaway.

Our large vaporetto motored on until it made a bumpy arrival at the dock where we needed to get off.

A dozen other passengers exited along with us, but nearly all of them went in the opposite direction from where the map indicated we should go.

We pulled our suitcases behind us on the uneven path as if they were belligerent old dogs that didn’t want to go for a walk.

At the moment, I kind of didn’t blame their reluctance.

I checked my map again and followed the arrow. Within a hundred yards of the dock, we were alone, headed down a shadowy, narrow passageway.

“Grace?” Claire didn’t have to finish her sentence. I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking the same thing.

I charged ahead, walking at a quick pace.

The passageway soon opened to a plaza area labeled on my app as a campo.

We crossed the broad space that was void of any other humans and headed for a narrow bridge over one of the many small waterways.

The old buildings on every side of us were easier to see now that we were away from the thick fog over the water.

They looked menacing with their darkened windows.

Once we were over the bridge, I told Claire, “Look for a sign over a door that says ‘Trattoria da Tommaso.’ It will be on the left side.”

We went about a hundred feet before Claire said, “Is that it? It looks like a restaurant.”

I double-checked my phone. “The confirmation email said this is where we pick up our key.”

I went first, cautiously entering the softly lit café. The tables were empty, but the scent of the food cooking prompted us to exchange slightly hopeful looks. At least we could eat well before having to venture out in the fog to find a real hotel that would take us in.

As per the instructions, I went over to the bar and politely cleared my throat, waiting for the bartender to notice us. Claire pushed the hood of her jacket off her wispy blond hair and suddenly looked like a dandelion.

The bartender came over with a towel over his shoulder and an unruffled expression.

“Hello. Good evening. I’m Grace. We have a reservation. We were told to come here for the key.”

He gave a single nod, his posture making it clear that he had done this so many times he had stopped trying to be charming about it. After reaching into a drawer behind him, he pulled out a fob with the number 4 on it. He handed it to me and walked away, saying, “Benvenuta.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell us which direction we should go?”

He nodded toward the back of the restaurant. Claire gave me a wary look, but I did my best to ignore it. After all, we had a key. A modern key. A fob. We had a room number. The check-in guy knew we were coming. It all seemed legit.

Trying once again to appear more self-assured than I felt, I led the way past the tables covered with white cloths and folded cloth napkins.

The local time was a little after seven o’clock.

Apparently, Venetians ate later than seven.

At least I hoped that was why the tables were vacant and the eating area felt strangely quiet.

We entered a narrow hall with a bathroom on the left. The opening to the kitchen was on the right. Delicious scents wafted from the slightly open door, causing us to slow down and breathe in deeply.

“Now that is how onions sautéing in olive oil are supposed to smell,” Claire said in a mellow voice.

I started dreaming of lasagna. A big, fat serving of true Italian lasagna with sauce made of fresh herbs and vine-ripened tomatoes. My taste buds made a silent promise to the dinner that would inevitably find its way to my empty belly. I’ll be back. Wait for me.

We continued past stacked boxes to the open door at the end of the hall. Claire reached for my arm and we stopped at the same moment, frozen in place.

Before us was an enchanting courtyard. Lanterns hung from curved shepherds’ hooks placed at intervals along the stone path. Raised garden boxes symmetrically radiated from the center like sunbeams. At the heart was a fountain welcoming us with the gentle sound of the water flowing over the top.

The fog that enshrouded Venice was barely a whisper in this enclosed space.

Only a thin, slightly hazy touch of the vaporous clouds settled here.

They only added to the dreamlike feeling.

In the far corner, a large tree sheltered two chairs, and from the tree’s limbs hung softly glowing lanterns, flickering like chubby fireflies.

We entered the hidden garden slowly, as if we’d been transported to another world. A fairy-tale kingdom. The meeting place of Romeo and Juliet.

I loved gardens and kept a small one at home. It thrilled me to find a garden in the middle of the dense jungle of Venetian structures that had dominated this small island for centuries.

“Did your mother-in-law tell you it was like this?” Claire asked.

“No. I don’t think Sue came here. She stayed someplace else, and she never said anything about a garden. I would have remembered the garden.”

I trailed my fingers across the edge of the fountain and slid them under the gentle cascade of cool water. It was difficult to tell what was growing in the raised garden beds under the fairy lights. I’d take a closer look in the morning.

“I think that’s our room.” Claire pointed to a door by the tree and led the way across the stone walkway. “Number four, right?”

The wooden door looked old, and the metal door knocker in the shape of a lion’s face looked even older. What an unconventional thing it was to then press the fob against the installed box by the metal door latch and hear it click.

We pushed the door open together, and as soon as the lights came on, Claire and I halted once again.

“It’s like a storybook,” Claire said as she ventured inside. “Look at the details on the woodwork. This room is so big.”