Page 55 of I Think Olive You

Words of defense spring to my lips but she’s not wrong. Alan ordered me to lie low and stake my claim. I could have done it from my loft with a few emails or calls and stayed under the radar. Binge-watching old TV shows and weeks of takeout delivery would have kept me busy for the rest of the time.

“I think you came here to learn about the past, about your father. Mostly, I think you came here to learn about yourself.”

Her words ripple through me, the pebble of truth far-reaching inside my chest. So, I deflect. “I think you’re far too wise for your own good and you believe it gives you permission to say and do whatever you want.”

“Audacity comes with age, not wisdom. I know plenty of old people who say whatever stupid thing springs to mind.”

Laughing, the tension and tightness around my ribs ease.

“So, this plan for Umberto—the one you cooked up with Arturo…”

A hot blush spreads up Isabella’s cheeks and she wrings her hands together. Does she have a crush on the old man? I didn’t see any proof of a wife when we went to the mill but then again, I was preoccupied in Giuliana’s presence.

“I don’t want to jeopardize anything. I’ll be doing some work on the plan while we’re in Gravina today and Arturo is doing what he can from his end. We should know within the next few days if it worked.”

The blush blazes deeper when she says his name, but her lips tuck into a staunch line and I know this conversation is over. We pack our finds into the Fiat with each new purchase until we can fit no more. Isabella heads out for her secret plan and I walk over to the local clinic for tests.

Digging my fingernails into the flesh of my palm, I distract myself from the bite of the needle. Blood pools into little vials and the tie around my bicep cuts into my skin. It strikes me as I stare down at the crook of my elbow that I’ve never been this tanned. My hair has gotten much longer—a mess of curls—and my stubble is more of a short beard since I haven’t been shaving daily.

Matt was considered lazy, sure, but Matteo is the first time I’ve actually felt like I look laid-back. The anxiety and that fucking voice in my mind may not be much improved, but there is something to be said for the peace that comes with doing the right thing.

The nurse sticks a band-aid to my arm where a droplet of blood pools on my skin. Labeling each sample, she informs me I’ll be notified in a few days when the results come back. Even if nothing happens between me and Giuliana, the information is useful. I can protect myself and others better if I know what’s going on in the body I’ve neglected and abused for far too long.

Isabella is at the same cafe I left her at and we head back to Abundantia as soon as she’s wrapped up her conversation. Walking the cobblestones to the car, I take in Gravina for what might be one of the last times. After I sign the contract, there’ll be no reason to come back. Barring the need for more supplies, I’ll be leaving Abundantia straight for the closest international airport after the harvest. Two weeks.

Two weeks to pull together Giuliana’s idea and help show her there are people who believe in what she’s doing here.

Once we make it back through the curving countryside, Isabella drops me off as close to the farmhouse as she can and I unload my haul. Step one is washing the walls and laying down some tarp to paint them. Next will be sanding and treating the furniture I can salvage. Lastly, I’ll clean and polish the brass bed frames, fixtures, and faucets until they gleam. I’ll order mattresses online and pray they can deliver out here, but I’ve got bedsheets and blankets, and decorative pillows sorted.

I work until after the light has leached from the room, darkness making progress impossible. A lantern might be needed soon if I’m going to pull this off. Chiara brings some of her kittens by to play but I’m not much company when drenched in sweat and struggling.

After the third F-bomb I gently asked her to leave, if only to save my own skin. The last thing I need is Isabella on my case because the little girl is cussing up a storm. By the time I’ve walked back to the big house, crickets and starlight leading the way, the family has already eaten. Isabella’s left something in the fridge for me but for all intents and purposes I’m alone.

Sitting in the kitchen, moonlight filters into the room and lends some illumination. I could turn on the light, but I won’t be here long enough to justify it. Instead, I let the evening settle around me—darkness and quiet. Peace.

The hallway upstairs is quiet when I head to bed. Chiara and Isabella are already asleep. But there’s a crack of light under Giuliana’s door—a slice of gold calling to me so strongly I have to turn away to avoid it. I shut myself in my room and attempt to clear my mind and scrub away the lingering dirt from my day’s work in the shower.

When that doesn’t work to still my thoughts, I pull out my journal—stroking my fingertips over the blank lined page after my previous entry. My writing degree was intended to be spiteful, a way to get back at my dad for expecting me to get my MBA to take over the company. I never expected writing would end up helping me deal with myself and my feelings. My pen scratches against the paper, words indented onto the page.

I slap the journal shut, shoving it in the desk drawer. It was supposed to be a way to calm my feelings, not ramp them up to an unbearable level. All that’s left is to gather the courage needed to ruin my whole life. Lovely.

It took Andrea longer than I’d have liked, but he managed the new contract in time. I channel all my frustration and anxiety into the farmhouse and by the end of the week it actually looks like something. The walls are a fresh soft blue in the main living areas and gentle sage in the bedrooms. Wood floors gleam despite being pocked and scarred from many years of use.

Isabella even got someone to fix the broken front window. Mattress delivery was as covert as I could manage it. I even bamboozled a couch into the deal which now sits in the living area with decorative throw pillows finishing the look. Chiara ran interference by bringing the kittens into Giuliana’s office while the van kicked dust up along the drive. There’s been this unspoken pact between all of us. And now we have something to show for it.

I need to head into town to sign the contract but this evening I’ll finally show Giuliana what I’ve been up to. A week until harvest is cutting it close but I’ve managed it, with help of course. It really does take a village and I’ll be sorry to leave this one.

The clinic called with my results so I head there first—relieved when I get a clean bill of health and for the first time in my life, I don’t take it for granted. I actually care about the fact that I’m not physically rotting from the inside after using my body as an escape. The vaping’s been hard to kick but ultimately, it’s for the best. New leaf Matteo won’t be stumbling around clubs trying to crawl out of his skin. No, I’ll be slowing down, I think.

I can’t flee what I’m feeling, and in trying, I’ve made mess after mess. It’s clean-up time.

My Vespa vibrates down the road in Gravina. By the time I make it to the lawyer’s office my hair is damp with sweat from the helmet. The curls cool against my neck with the breeze winding down the street. Hanging the helmet from the handlebar, I prop up the bike in plain sight from the office window.

The secretary waves me through as soon as I step inside and Andrea has the new contract ready—tucked in my folder atop my passport and the old agreement that led me here.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long. Since you’re a citizen but not a resident here, it complicated matters. But it’s all taken care of. I need a few signatures from you and then you should be good to go!” Andrea pushes the stack of papers toward me and my signature slashes above the line, Matteo de Palma now for real, not just in the pages of my passport.

He flips each fresh leaf of paper and explains the sections to me before I sign. I appreciate it. He’s probably covering his ass but it’s nice to know he’s forthcoming.

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