Page 30 of The Wandering Season

Despite the visions, sleep had been kind. When I emerged from my room, I felt less weary than Avery and Stephanie likely would. Chances were, they’d struggle with jet lag for at least another day or two, which was a shame as their trip was only a week. I soothed my nerves by setting out breakfast. It seemed the French and Italians had similar philosophies regarding the first meal of the day: usually strong coffee with a pastry or bread with butter and jam.

Stephanie was the first to emerge from her room, grunting thanks for the steaming cup of coffee I placed before her. Her eyes widened at the array of food, but she helped herself to a portion of rustic bread and gave it a liberal slathering of lemon curd.

“Like you said, vacation calories don’t count,”

she mumbled when the coffee had finally released enough caffeine into her system.

“You’re learning.”

I lifted my own coffee mug in a mock toast and helped myself to some of the breakfast assortment as well.

“How you doing?”

she asked at length. “Tell me without the family emissary in earshot.”

“Fine, I guess. Just trying to focus on the trip and enjoy myself.”

For a moment I considered telling her about the visions I’d been having. The dreams, echoes, whatever they were. There was no denying that something was happening now—it had happened in all three countries I’d visited—and I worried it was just proof that I was cracking up. I couldn’t be sure she’d buy into the idea as Niall did that memories could leave behind traces. Perhaps she would think I’d had a long-overdue meltdown and refer me to her shrink. Or worse, she’d downplay them as simple dreams whose meanings weren’t nearly as significant as I made them out to be.

Just dreams, nothing more.

And I couldn’t accept that either.

Stephanie gave me an assessing look. “Listen, Vero. I love you more than literally anyone on the planet, but you are the reigning queen of pretending things are fine when they aren’t. Are you ready for some hard truth?”

I nodded, though I was anything but ready for it. Especially before I’d downed my first cup of coffee.

“You have the world’s most understanding parents. When you suspected you were adopted, you could have said something. They wouldn’t have been able to tell you everything, but you would have spared yourself a good twelve years of uncertainty if you’d spoken up.”

I stared into the dark abyss of my coffee cup, wishing the right words would somehow magically appear in the little bubbles that formed on the surface. Alas, they did not.

“I don’t know how I feel, Steph. But you’re right. Whatever these feelings are, they aren’t in the same ballpark as fine.”

“Progress. I’ll take it.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“Hey, real friends don’t accept ‘fine’ for an answer when it’s clearly a load of bull. A lesser friend would nod and go along with it because it’s easier.”

I couldn’t argue the point. And more to the fact, she was here. Thousands of miles from her home and her work . . . for me. That it meant a week in a charming farmhouse in the Italian countryside didn’t diminish that it was still a lovely gesture.

“Just promise me you won’t bottle things up, okay? Talk to people—even if it isn’t me—and work through it. You’ll have a breakdown sooner or later if you repress all this.”

I felt a pang in my gut, but I didn’t want to keep it from her anymore. “Maybe I already am?”

Stephanie held up a hand and crossed over to the stove, where the large moka pot sat simmering, and poured another cup. “Sorry, this sounds like second-cup stuff.”

And I loved that about her. She could make me laugh even when I was about to unload on her in a way that might change the way she thought about me forever. And not in a good way. I launched into a description of what I’d seen at each place. I tried to sound as casual as I could about it—to be open to the possibility that it was all some sort of manifestation of my subconscious. If she was glib, I’d roll with it. Laugh it off as travel exhaustion or whatever. But all the same, I didn’t want her to.

When I finished, complete with a recap of everything I’d seen the night before with Carlotta, Giacomo, and Donatella, I tried not to act like I was awaiting judgment after a trial. Though, if I were completely honest with myself, that’s exactly how it felt.

“So . . . that’s a lot to unpack. How are you doing with that?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I have no idea if it means anything at all. When I was in Ireland, Niall didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. The castle was so old that weird stuff is sort of expected. I guess I just brushed it off like Niall and his family did as being par for the course with an eight-hundred-year-old castle. But when it happened in France, and now here . . . I have to admit I’m rattled.”

Pensive, Stephanie took another sip of her coffee.

“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

I blurted the words, just wanting her to get on with it.

“Always have, always will. But maybe not for this.”

I blinked.

“First of all, even if this is your subconscious playing tricks on you, it may be an experience you need to have to cope with”—she gestured broadly—“everything. And that’s fine. Also, this is a whole crap ton of very specific details. Names, places, approximate dates. These are concrete details we can research.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

I went over to the stove and blocked the path to the coffeepot. “No more coffee until you confess.”

Stephanie cringed in mock horror. “That is a poor way to suss out a pod person. Coffee is a core value that transcends the barriers of all civilized species.”

I stepped aside. “It is you.”

She scowled. “What did you expect? That I’d point and laugh at my best friend going through a hard time?”

Maybe a little? “I was vaguely concerned that you might excuse yourself to go phone Bedlam to reserve me a bunk.”

“First of all, I’m pretty sure Bedlam has been a museum for about a hundred years. Second of all, you’re my best friend. I’d get you a suite.”

I barked a laugh despite myself. “You really are a great pal, you know that?”

“Only the best for you.”

She took another pause. “Do you really think so little of me? To mock you when you’re down?”

And now that I saw it from her perspective, I felt like a proper horse’s hind end.

“I’m sorry. You’re just one of the most overanalytical people I know, and I figured that you’d try to rationalize out of existence everything I saw. To my credit, both these women exist in the historical record—or at least the local lore of their towns.”

“And you don’t want to let it go. I get it. And yes, I’m the seeing-is-believing sort, but I know the human brain is complex in ways we don’t understand. And just because we don’t understand something doesn’t make it false. I don’t understand quantum physics, but I can accept that it’s a real science.”

I wrapped an arm around her. “Thanks for that, Steph.”

“Tonight, let’s fire up my laptop and start researching the names of the people from your . . . dreams. Let’s see if we can’t flip the script and rationalize these folks into existence.”

I shivered, thinking about the possibilities we might uncover. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“What’s a great idea?”

Avery mumbled, padding into the kitchen. She was rumpled and bleary-eyed to a degree I hadn’t seen her since high school.

“Getting you a cup of coffee.”

I shot a pleading glance at Stephanie. We can tell her later. Just not now.

She offered a sleepy smile. “I always knew I liked you. You’re my very favorite sister.”

“Convenient that I’m the only one you’ve got. That makes me your least favorite as well.”

Avery raised a brow. “I only dwell on the one you deserve at any given time. So watch it; it can and often does shift from one to the other alarmingly fast.”

I laughed. “So what do you all think we should do today? Vineyard tours may be hard because it’s offseason, but I’m sure we can find something fun.”

“Different plan altogether. We’re not doing market research for your job—we’re going to do some for mine.”

Stephanie brightened and I groaned inwardly. “What do you mean?”

“Milan is the fashion capital of the world, sister dear. And we’re going shopping.”

She and Avery shared a conspiratorial wink, and I felt a slight twinge of dread as I was going to be pushed to the brink of my retail comfort zone.

* * *

The road back to Milan was far less charming when we were driving away from the farmhouse instead of to it. I would have much preferred staying out in the countryside and finding local haunts in the small towns, but this leg of the trip wasn’t just about me. Avery and Stephanie would love to mill about the shops and spend obscene amounts of money on clothes, shoes, and handbags. And their jobs called for it. Stephanie’s job was public-facing and she had to be polished. Chic Italian clothes would give her a material advantage in her work. Avery was in the fashion world, so her clothes always had to be on point.

But me? I spent most of my time driving out to farms and in commercial kitchens. Stilettos and suits would get me laughed out of my job. Sure, I had to come off as professional when I met with clients, but that usually meant crisp, dark jeans, a cute button-down shirt, and functional shoes that didn’t look too orthotic, most often from a thrift shop.

But it would be fine. I’m sure I could find ways to amuse myself while they tried on a metric ton of silk, rayon, wool, and cotton, all dyed to the “in”

colors of the season and cut and sewn into garments that conformed to arbitrary beauty standards.

“You aren’t going to run away and find the kitchen stores, by the way.”

Avery shot me a pointed look in the rearview mirror. “It’s one day. You can tolerate it.”

I heaved a sigh. “As long as we have a real lunch. I will not be subjected to another day of shopping fueled with nothing but your stale purse granola.”

I thought back to a memorable occasion when Avery had dragged me to the Cherry Creek Mall one summer while she was in design school. She claimed she only needed one outfit, and we ended up on a six-hour expedition that led to the cargo area of my SUV being stuffed full to bursting. She couldn’t bear to stop long enough even to grab a salad at the food court.

Stephanie, who hadn’t been along but who heard the story several times, chimed in. “Seconded. Hungry shopping is the worst. I get mad and think all the clothes look bad.”

I patted her shoulder, grateful for the solidarity.

Avery gave a put-upon sigh. “Duly noted; make sure to feed and water shopping companions at regular intervals. But no three-hour lunches please. Our time is limited.”

Emboldened, I replied, “Fine, but if I do want to stop in a kitchen shop, you can deal with it for twenty minutes. Milan isn’t just the fashion capital of the world.”

I saw Avery’s expression grow solemn in the rearview mirror. “Very well. Never let it be said I don’t compromise.”

I rolled my eyes but was glad for our peace treaty.

It was still early enough that the parking structure near the famed Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, which stretched from the Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza San Babila and was home to some of the best shopping in the known universe, wasn’t full. And despite my reservations, the place took my breath away. It was a pedestrian mall, but with a soaring domed glass roof and brightly colored mosaic-tile floors that wouldn’t have been out of place in a cathedral.

“You know what the best part is, ladies? We’re here for the winter sales. Seventy percent off Versace? Yes, please.”

Avery was beaming. She was Charlie in the moment Wonka handed over the keys to the chocolate factory. She was ready to burst through the ceiling without the help of the glass elevator . . . and I felt most of my annoyance at being dragged shopping dissipate. Most of it.

“Lead the way, Queen of Capitalism. You two chart a course and I’ll be here to tell you that no, your butt does not look too big in those jeans, skirt, shoes . . . whatever. I’m your one-woman fashion hype squad for the day.”

Avery, who was already moving with the flow of foot traffic, glanced back over her shoulder at me. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of things that easily. I’m armed with Dad’s Amex Platinum with strict instructions to buy you a new wardrobe. Go ahead, say you’re excited.”

This time Stephanie and I exchanged a look, and I was glad to know Avery hadn’t taken a complete monopoly on silent conversation with my best friend.

“It really isn’t necessary—”

Avery whirled around. “The heck it isn’t. I know I’m a fashion snob, but even Mom has been tempted to hold an intervention over your wardrobe.”

“I don’t live in your world, Avery. I don’t need fancy designer stuff. I’d never wear it in my line of work.”

“You underestimate me, sister. Did I send you on this trip with Jimmy Choos or Louboutins?”

“I don’t know what those words mean.”

I shot her a pointed glare. I did know those brands, thanks to Anne Hathaway movies, but I delighted in feigning ignorance about the fashion industry at times to get a rise out of Avery.

She quickly scanned the growing crowd like a thief might troll for nosy police. “Oh my god, don’t say stuff like that too loud here or you’ll get us banned from the city. They’re fancy high heels, okay?”

I snorted at the horror on her face. “Okay, okay, the clothes you sent me were great.”

“Right. Forget the crazy runway image in your head. That’s the spectacle. The first tenet of anyone in fashion worth their salt is to dress people for the lives they have, not for Fashion Week. The clothes I chose for you were comfortable, well-tailored, and ethically made from fabrics that won’t disintegrate after the fourth washing like the stuff you get curbside with your grocery order because you can’t even be bothered to try it on.”

“First of all, how dare you? I don’t buy groceries at any place that also sells clothing if I can help it. Aside from Pepperidge Farm cookies, because nostalgia is a thing. Also, I thrift.”

Stephanie placed a hand on my arm. “Vero, she’s right. An update will help you come across as way more professional.”

Avery summoned her best pleading expression. “Let us do this for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to do this back home?”

I protested.

“It wouldn’t be nearly as fun, and the sales wouldn’t be as good. Now please have fun with this.”

Avery’s voice took on a hint of the whiny twang from our teen years.

I heaved a sigh. “Fine, but don’t go overboard. And please, nothing flashy that I’ll never wear despite what you think. I feel bad enough spending Dad’s money without buying clothes that will molder in a closet.”

Stephanie shot me a death glare: You’ve made your point, don’t spoil her fun.

I nodded. I was grateful, but I felt bad enough about the expense of the trip as it was. But the grumpier I was, the more miserable this would be for all of us.

For the next four hours Stephanie and Avery treated me like their very own life-size Barbie doll and dragged me from shop to shop, trying on everything from nice wool dress slacks to thick T-shirts and everything in between. Shoes, underpinnings, and jackets. I even enjoyed the wide array of leather bags, without the garish designer labels, and let the girls help me select a few: a larger one that could carry my laptop and a couple of smaller ones for daily use. And even I couldn’t argue with the butter-soft cashmere sweaters on steep discount. Avery picked a deep forest green and a lovely heather gray for me, and I swiftly added a rich navy, a bright lavender, and a deep chocolate brown before she got to the front of the line.

Her blue eyes widened. “There might be hope for you yet.”

“Hey, even I know a bargain when I see one. And it’s sweater weather six months of the year in Denver.”

Ireland, too, but I forced the image of Niall’s face from my thoughts.

“So are cashmere pajamas a thing?”

One of my fingers absently stroked the sleeve of one of the soft sweaters as we waited for the clerk.

“Oh my gawd, I am going to convert you after all.”

Avery wrapped an arm around me. “You’ll be a fashionista yet.”

“Hardly, but maybe a low-key hedonist. I’ve never felt anything so soft.”

“One of us, one of us,”

Stephanie chanted softly, shooting me a wink.

Avery pulled us away from the line of shoppers back to the area where we’d found the sweaters. There was, a bit farther back, an entire rack of cashmere pajamas in a rainbow of colors. I chose soft pastels for these, sage green and periwinkle blue, hoping the restful colors might help with sleep. I clutched them to my chest, feeling like a child who’d won a giant teddy bear at a carnival. The only difference was that these were softer than any plushie from the fairgrounds.

She motioned for me to hand over the pajamas, but I hugged them to my chest. “I’m going to get these. It’s too decadent to ask it of Dad. And I want to take them with me.”

Rather than lugging our purchases with us, exhausting ourselves, and tempting pickpockets, Avery had been arranging for our loot to be shipped back to our respective homes. Apparently it was common practice here in the shopping mecca, and the clerks all anticipated Avery rattling off our addresses as soon as the credit card cleared. But I had room in my case for these and wanted to put them to use.

If Avery thought it was an odd request, she didn’t say anything. Tonight, before Stephanie went into sleuth mode on the Internet, I’d fill her in. As hard as it was to share it, it wouldn’t be fair for her to be kept in the dark. And heaven knew she was trying her best to do right by me as a sister. Way beyond what was called for.

As we exited the shop, my new pajamas in tow in a shopping bag nicer than any purse I’d owned prior to that morning, I wrapped an arm around Avery. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that, Stinkerbell?”

Avery’s eyes actually welled up a bit, but she swallowed back the threatening tears. “For that, we can stop and have lunch.”

“If that’s what it takes, I think you’re amazing too,”

Stephanie interjected. “Let’s eat.”

I pulled out my phone and pulled up the Michelin restaurant guide. Milan really was an embarrassment of riches on the restaurant scene, so we let proximity dictate, searching for the Bib Gourmand designation—cheap but good—rather than pricey places with star ratings. There was a highly regarded café half a block away that would have plenty of decent lunch options with outdoor heaters plugged in so we could enjoy watching the modest low-season crowds milling about. We were grateful to let our throbbing feet rest, sipping on Sanpellegrino as we waited for our meals to arrive. They’d opted for salads, Avery’s with chicken and Stephanie’s with salmon, while I’d ordered a lunch portion of pasta puttanesca.

Even Avery, champion shopper, leaned back in her seat, spent from the morning’s exertions. She looked over at me from her slumped position. “I’m proud of you, by the way.”

I raised a brow. “Whatever for?”

“You just invested in yourself. Not your business, not something that would benefit Jonathan or one of the family where you happen to benefit as a side note—you.”

I cocked my head. “The pajamas?”

“Yep. I don’t know the last time you did something that was for your benefit alone like that. Wait . . . It was the time you bought yourself those emerald earrings with your babysitting money.”

I flipped back my hair to expose the tiny emerald studs set in gold. They weren’t particularly high-quality emeralds, but they were real. I’d seen them in a shop window when I was out with Mom at the mall when I was maybe fourteen, and I was determined I’d save up enough to buy them on my own. It had taken three months of babysitting along with the birthday money I’d squirreled away. When I had the cash on hand, Mom had taken me to buy them. More than that, she’d made a day of it. She’d bought me a green dress and some cute shoes and then taken me out to a nice lunch. I’d felt impossibly grown-up and had loved every minute of it. I’d worn those earrings almost every day since and had promised myself that if anything ever happened to them, I’d buy another pair with better stones even if it meant scrimping for months.

Avery glanced at my ears. “Yes, those. I wondered why, after such a promising start, you stopped doing nice things for yourself. Those are still lovely, by the way. You have a better eye for the classics than you give yourself credit for.”

Stephanie chimed in. “I hope it means that you’re going to do that sort of thing more often. You deserve to pamper yourself sometimes. I don’t mean you need to waste your money, but for goodness’ sake, splurge on yourself every once in a while.”

“I’ll do better,”

I promised. “But when it comes to clothes, I’ll be relying on your expert opinion.”

Avery seemed mollified. “Good. And I’ll start sending you sample pieces when the right ones come along, since I have a better idea now of what you really like.”

A chirp peeped from my bag and I rummaged out my phone. My heart fluttered and I’d hoped the banner on my phone’s lock screen had Niall’s name displayed. Instead, Dad’s name flashed on the screen. It was still ridiculously early in Denver, but Dad had retained his early-to-bed-early-to-rise habits even in retirement. I smiled at his contact photo, one of us at a family barbecue a few years back with him making bunny ears behind my head. I excused myself and opened the messenger app.

Dad: Hope you three are having a great time. I know Italy will never be the same after this. I’m glad I had the chance to take your mother at least once before you all made landfall.

I smiled at my dad’s corny sense of humor, which had been more reliable than the rising and setting of the sun my whole life.

Me: No permanent damage done. Except maybe to your account balances. I’m trying to keep Avery in check.

Dad: No stopping at the Ferrari dealership, but otherwise, don’t you dare. You girls have fun. It’s what I worked so hard for all those years.

I felt a stinging in the corner of my eyes.

Me: Avery has basically replaced my entire wardrobe. And, Dad? I don’t hate it.

Dad: Best news I’ve heard all day, kiddo. My only request is that you come up to Estes to show off some of your pieces to your mom and me before too long.

Me: It’s a deal.

I passed on Dad’s love to Avery and Stephanie, and we headed to the Via Montenapoleone and the Via della Spiga for the brand names and high-end stuff that Steph and Avery were more interested in. I gave them honest feedback on their choices and watched them spend spectacular sums of money for the sort of work clothes fancier than anything I’d ever dream of wearing but that would be amazing for their posh offices. They looked fabulous in everything, and their enjoyment was infectious. I was glad to be out of the shopping limelight, but it gave me plenty of time to mull over what Avery had said.

I might have told myself countless times that learning I was adopted was “no big deal,”

but clearly it had been. And I’d have a lot of work ahead to square myself with that truth.