Page 35 of The Summer You Were Mine

“Are you sure the AC is up all the way?”

Ellie rifled through the glove box of the twenty-year-old Passat wagon looking for something to fan herself with.

There was nothing but tiny white tollbooth receipts, an assortment of leaky pens, and two pairs of broken sunglasses.

A sheen of sweat clung to her skin on every visible surface and was turning her clothing into a damp mess.

She had raked her hair back into a ponytail and pulled up her sundress to thigh level in an effort to cool down, but the heat inside the car made her feel like a hot doughnut, glazed and steaming.

Despite the plans to go on a friendly wine-procuring adventure with Cris, Ellie had been determined to continue to focus on the task of laying the groundwork for the Games Over interview.

There was no way they were going to get much alone time in the next few days with the wedding fast approaching on Saturday.

Plus, she wanted everything wrapped up and ready to go before she flew home on Monday.

Unfortunately, they were currently frying neurons in a Bavarian toaster oven, and it seemed unlikely that they would be able to form full sentences, much less strategize a mutual public relations coup.

“It’s up as high as it will go,” said Cris, jabbing the useless temperature control button with his index finger. “I mean, how hot is it outside, anyway? It has to be less than in here.”

“The surface of the sun is less than in here. I am going to liquefy.”

“Please don’t do that.” Cris laughed. “I need you to watch the GPS, at least.”

“Why didn’t I listen to my grandmother and set an alarm?

” The jet lag was starting to get better, but not enough to prevent her from sleeping until 8:30.

She’d texted Cris in a panic, but he didn’t see her message until 9:00 A.M. By 10:00, Cris had retrieved the hulking Volkswagen from the garage and picked up Ellie on Corso Buenos Aires, but then they’d agreed that it was inhuman to get on the road without coffee.

At 10:45, they cruised through the tollbooth entrance to the autostrada, but it wasn’t until 10:55 that Ellie and Cris realized their fatal mistake.

The air conditioning in the Passat wasn’t so much “iffy” as it was “not functional beyond a mere suggestion of coolness” and proceeded to lightly puff in their general direction from the moment it was turned on.

At fifteen minutes into the one-hour drive, Cris had a growing sweat stain in the middle of his T-shirt and was taking to hanging his head out the window like a Labrador retriever every few minutes.

Ellie was deeply regretting her extra diligent slathering of body cream since it was currently sliding off her legs and applying its hyaluronic acid benefits to the seat cushion.

“For the same reason we stole the lifeguard’s canoe and lost the paddles the summer we were ten—didn’t consider the consequences.”

“Oh, jeez, I forgot about that!” said Ellie. “I should have never let you talk me into being that level of stupid. We could have been washed out to sea! I can’t believe no one ever found out.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have. But… they did find out.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I felt bad and caved. I told Mario it was me and then paid for the paddles out of my birthday money.”

“But I was with you! Why would you say it was just you?” Ellie pulled strands of hair blown by the open window out of her lip gloss.

Cris shrugged. “It didn’t seem like implicating anyone else was the right thing to do. Besides, I am pretty sure that you would have taken it harder than me. You would have been devastated if Mario was upset with you.”

“I could have taken it.” Ellie knew that was an optimistic assumption at best. Most kids feared their parents’ wrath, but Peggy and Gio weren’t usually paying attention long enough to impose any kind of lasting disciplinary measures on Ellie or Ben.

The worst punishment would come from her very own self.

And apparently she wasn’t the only one who knew it. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I don’t know if I knew why I did it back then, except that I felt like it was the right thing to do. I’m pretty sure you would have done the same for me, right?” Cris looked over at her, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“You knew me pretty well, I guess,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“I did,” he said, his eyes flicking back to the road. “You watching that map?” He tilted his chin toward the phone.

“Oh, yes. Next exit, it looks like. Thank goodness. I don’t think I’ll make it ten more minutes in here without combusting.”

“I’d like to see that.” Cris grinned but didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Not sure how I feel about that comment,” she mumbled.

They pulled off the autostrada and followed the GPS for only two turns before the landscape turned into a wide, rolling valley strewn with tidy rows of grapevines.

They drove along the narrow road that intersected the vineyards, the rich scent of ripening grapes swirling through the windows.

Tall evergreen trees dotted the fields, keeping a watch over the vines, and clusters of rosebushes and peonies lined the fences separating one property from another.

Every now and then, they passed a dusty field scattered with donkeys, horses, or cows munching dreamily.

They lifted their noses to watch Ellie and Cris drive by at their necessarily slow pace, but continued on with their lunch unaffected.

“I think that might be it.” Cris pointed at a large gate set at the edge of the road ahead on the left. He slowed the car as they approached and the words carved into the stone pillars beside the iron gate came into view: CANTINA CHIARO DI LUNA.

“Well, of course it’s a vineyard named for moonlight. What else would I expect?” Ellie said with a laugh. Damned Italy—always conspiring to make people believe the hype.

“Nothing less than magic, I suppose,” Cris said as he turned the car left through the gate.

The road beyond was lined with a wall of spindly cypress trees on both sides leading to an enormous stone house with a Spanish-tile roof.

Sprays of bougainvillea ran up the sides of the building, and a couple of drowsy hounds lay cooling in the shadow of the terrace.

It was completely breathtaking, of course. But goddamn was it hot.

“Magic, huh? I’ll reserve my judgment until they can magically produce an igloo for me to sit in.

” She didn’t know why she expected it to be somewhat cooler out in the countryside, but as the car slowed and ambled along the road, the lack of breeze was punishing.

By the time they finally made it up the driveway and to the main courtyard, Ellie was desperate to at least get out of the car and breathe air that didn’t feel like it had wafted up from a deep fryer.

Cris parked in a shady spot under a carport and Ellie ejected herself from the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop.

She reached her arms up, feigning a stretch, but really she was trying to dry out her armpits before having to interact with humans. Except, where was everybody?

Ellie looked toward the main building, where the front door was open, but there was no sign of anyone.

Across the courtyard, there was a large barn that looked like it had been converted into a barreling room, but again—no one.

She turned her phone over to look at the time.

It was 12:24 P.M. , which was six minutes before 12:30, which, as everyone knew, was the nationally recognized time for lunch.

It was also the hour at which all business endeavors would cease, including the ones that two burritos drove one hour in a steam table to make happen.

They would either get lucky and be able to pick up six cases of wine in the five minutes remaining or they’d be directed to get lost until everyone lunched, coffee’d, smoked, and resumed work at about 3:30 P.M. Ellie mentally drove back through the streets they’d taken to get here, taking inventory of locations with air conditioning that might look the other way if two reasonably welldressed loiterers skulked around for three hours.

She remembered seeing a Carrefour supermarket right after they exited the highway.

Would they notice if she nestled in among the frozen green beans?

“Ugh, it’s too late. They must be at lunch. We’ll have to sit here for…”

“It’s not twelve thirty yet,” said Cris, checking his watch. “Think positive, will ya?”

“I am positive that I can’t even think right now.” Ellie tried to fan herself with her hands and also turn away to ignore the outline of Cris’s chest under his damp gray T-shirt.

“ Buongiorno, ” said a voice behind her. An older man with tufts of white hair ringing his balding head stood out on the terrace wiping his hands on a linen apron. He squinted at the two of them, then broke into a gigantic smile.

“ Buongiorno! ” called Cris.

“You must be Simone’s Cristiano! Your grandfather called me this morning to say you were coming. I am Piero!”

“Yes, I’m Cris. This is Ellie,” he said, turning to her.

“ Piacere, ” she said. “I’m so sorry we got here late. I am sure we are interrupting your lunch. We can come back later.”

“Well, it’s true that everyone is already sitting, so you’ll have to wait a bit. But why don’t you join us?” Piero gestured toward the main building.

“No, no, we couldn’t impose,” said Ellie, already backing toward the car.

“You’re not imposing,” said Piero. “It’s a light lunch, only a dish or two. Practically nothing, really. Come in, please. We will get you packed up after that.”

“Practically nothing, see?” Cris glared at Ellie. His look was the signal that they had entered the weird politeness chasm where it was unclear if it would be more insulting to impose or to refuse hospitality. In other words, it was time for lunch.

“If you’re sure.” Ellie smiled at Piero.