Page 22 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

Prima di scegliere l’amico bisogna averci mangiato il sale sette anni.

Before choosing a friend , you must have eaten salt with them for seven years.

Italian saying

Claire looked at me over her shoulder as she was about to exit the taxi, but didn’t say anything.

“Claire, I think the driver should take us back to the train station. Or, better yet, let’s have him take us to the villa. I’ll pay.”

She seemed to consider my offer until her gaze fell on our luggage that was now sitting unattended on the uneven pavement. I felt as if our decisions in the next two seconds would affect the rest of our trip. Possibly the rest of our lives.

The driver climbed back into the taxi and said something in Italian that neither of us needed a translator to understand. His meaning was obvious. He wanted to be rid of us so he could leave this neighborhood.

“Ciao! Hello!” A nice-looking man stepped out of the building just then and was waving at us. Or at the taxi driver. At that point, I didn’t know what was going on.

The man came closer, still smiling. “Claire?” He leaned to look into the back seat and pointed to himself. “Gio!”

“Gio! Hi. I’m Claire.” She got out and closed her door. “Is Amelia with you?”

“Amelia, no. Gio, sì.” He opened the back door for me and reached in to offer me a hand.

I was barely out of the taxi when Gio closed the door and the driver took off.

If the edge of my blouse had gotten stuck in the closed door, I’m sure it would have gone down the alleyway still attached to the taxi.

Gio had a grip on the handle of both our wheeled bags and was energetically leading us around the corner.

I linked my arm with Claire’s for sisterly support as well as stability on the uneven pavement.

Gio stopped walking when he reached a small truck parked next to an open side door of the unidentified building.

The truck looked like something from a children’s book because of the rounded front and small shape.

In the narrow truck bed was a moped, secured to the sides with bungee cords.

Gio tossed our suitcases in the back with the moped and opened the door to the cab for us, still smiling.

The bench seat looked like it could hold two children at best. It reminded me of the old kids’ toys at the mall that you put coins in and they would bounce up and down.

“You first,” I said to Claire. We both knew I wasn’t offering out of my polite upbringing.

The three of us, like proverbial sardines, sat thigh to thigh. I was only halfway on the seat with the other half of my backside pressed against the door. I gripped the handle because I was afraid that if we hit a bump, my thigh would push the handle up and I would tumble out onto the road.

“How far is it to the villa?” I asked once we had jostled our way onto one of the main thoroughfares leading out of Florence.

Gio answered in Italian. I wondered if I should try to wedge my fingers into my travel bag and dig out my phone so we could use the translator app and find out what was going on.

Claire was one step ahead of me. Her phone was in her hand.

I wondered if she had held on to it ever since showing the taxi driver the address.

Maybe she even had the Italian equivalent of 911 cued up so all she had to do was push a button once we figured out whether we were being kidnapped.

“How long will it take to get to the villa?” Claire asked into her phone.

It translated for her and then translated Gio’s reply, saying that it was close.

Only fifteen minutes. He kept talking and the phone kept translating.

He apologized for the inconvenience and said they had a van they used for business but it had a problem, and he was in town to pick up the Vespa so Amelia told him to get us, but he had to make a delivery at Luogo di Pace and .

.. He took a breath and said he loved us already.

The man was charming. When we heard his explanation, we both relaxed. The problem was that when we did, gravity took our previously lifted body parts, and we sort of sunk and shifted so that we were sharing our closeness even more.

I glanced at Claire as she tried to operate her phone with both arms pinned back on either side.

She resembled a T.rex in one of those funny blow-up costumes.

That didn’t stop her from asking Gio more questions and trying to hold the phone closer to get his answers.

We found out that the other three guests who had booked the cooking class for that afternoon would not be joining us because their flight out of Frankfurt had been canceled.

They had rebooked to go directly to Rome.

I’m sure Claire felt the same way I did about having Amelia all to ourselves that afternoon.

With all the questions Claire would have for her, it was probably a good thing we wouldn’t have to share.

My leg was tingling after having the circulation pinched in my squished position. I tried to adjust slightly, but at this point it was an all-or-nothing endeavor. If one person shifted, we all had to shift, and that was going to be difficult with Gio driving.

He turned onto a narrow road that led into the gorgeous green rolling hills Tuscany was known for.

I tried to forget about my discomfort and take in the scenery.

The Italian cypress trees that lined a road up a hill in the distance reminded me of toy soldiers standing in formation.

I scanned the view, hoping to see one of the quintessential fields of bright yellow sunflowers.

None appeared. I guessed it was too early in the year for them to be at full height.

Gio suddenly gripped the steering wheel and yelled as the truck swerved to the right and then to the left.

We came to an abrupt halt. Gio immediately turned off the engine and checked both of us to make sure we were okay.

Claire guessed before I did that we had a flat tire.

I thought we had hit something in the road, and maybe we did.

We didn’t need a translation to know that we had stopped in a precarious position.

Gio wanted us to get out of the cab. Claire and I practically tumbled out as soon as I opened the door.

I couldn’t feel my foot, and my balance was wobbly on the dismount.

Gio unhitched the Vespa from the bed of the truck and at the same time was talking to someone on his phone, which was sticking up out of his top pocket.

“Do you think he’s going to go for help and leave us here?” I asked Claire.

She watched him closely, her lips pressed together. I linked my arm in hers and held my breath.

Gio carefully climbed into the back of the truck and pulled a metal ramp from the side.

We helped him lower it and held it steady as he cautiously rolled the Vespa down the uneven ramp.

I expected him to start up the moped and scoot down the deserted country lane.

Instead, he shoved what looked like a large tool chest to the edge of the truck bed, hopped down, and opened the box.

Clearly Gio had done this before. He had everything he needed to patch the tire, reinflate it, and hopefully make it roadworthy. I couldn’t help but notice that the other tires looked like they might heave their last gasp at any moment as well.

Since it looked like we were going to be there for a while, Claire pulled her colored pencils and journal out of her bag.

She sat down at the edge of the road and began to sketch the rolling countryside.

I knew she was tense because she wasn’t talking.

Perhaps she thought that sketching would help calm her.

I sat down beside her and quietly prayed for our safety. Unexpectedly, a verse I’d memorized years ago came to mind. The words seemed to encircle me like a comforting hug.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and love and a sound mind.

In that moment, as I gazed at the breathtaking Tuscan countryside, a vivid truth settled into my thoughts. Fear doesn’t come from God.

Maybe my faith was simple, like Claire was talking about on the train. Maybe it was as easy as loving God and loving others. Maybe the solution to my self-consciousness was to not let fear have a voice in my thoughts. Because fear doesn’t come from God.

Could it be that simple?

Side by side, Claire and I remained lost in our own swirls of wonder and paths toward peace. She continued sketching while I fashioned new thoughts and fed them to my previously apprehensive mind.

I reviewed the moments that had caused me to feel anxious over the last month.

In each case, I was afraid. Afraid of what might go wrong, and sometimes things did.

Afraid of someone becoming upset with me at work, which they were every day.

Afraid of losing my job, which I could walk away from if I knew that was what I should do.

Afraid of what people thought of me, which really shouldn’t matter.

I can’t explain how empowered I felt as I looked at the list of what I’d been fearful about and each item seemed emptied of its angst.

What I did next was more important than I realized at the time. I spoke kindly to my timid soul and told her, Don ’t be afraid.

This would be my starting place. A word of courage that I could speak anytime fear tried to shout louder than my logic.

I turned to see Gio wiping his hands on an old towel he’d pulled out from under the seat of the cab. He waved at us and called out, “Andiamo!”

We joined him at the back of the truck. He was pointing at Claire and then at me and went back and forth saying something before pointing at the Vespa that was still on the ground.

I concluded that the weight of the scooter would be too much for the patched tire, so one of us needed to ride the Vespa to the villa.

With a burst of newfound confidence, I raised my hand. “Me! I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Claire asked.