Page 59 of Tour Wars
“Today’s the anniversary of our dad’s death. TJ always takes it really hard.”
It’s been seventeen years.Now his message made sense.
Over at the parking lot, a couple got out of their car and led a toddler into the rest stop. Another family emerged from the building with two little girls in tow. Both were clutching giant stuffed unicorns in a vibrant shade of pink. Families were everywhere, and TJ had lost a part of his, just like she had. It wouldalwaysbe hard.
“When my dad was alive, we used to celebrate our birthdays with this special tradition,” Romily said. “You could pick any movie you wanted, and we’d all watch it together, no judgment. I usually went for Disney movies, likeThe Parent TraporThe Princess Diaries. My mom liked musicals, and TJ was into sci-fi, but my dad loved cheesy movies set in ancient Greece and Rome.”
“LikeGladiator?” No wonder TJ had been so keen to watch it.
“Nah, though he liked that one a lot. He preferred older flicks likeSpartacusorBen-Huror this trashy Greek mythology epic calledClash of the Titans. The one from the ’80s, with the janky stop-motion animation. So TJ and I started our own tradition where we’d pick one of those movies and do a watch-along on the anniversary of our dad’s death. But this year, it’s not going to work out.”
“Because of the difference in time zones?”
“It’s not just that. I’m spending all day—and most of the evening—at a symposium. It’s ironic because I usually work from home, but the one time he needs me, I’m stuck at a conference center in St. Louis.”
“I could do it,” Emilia said. After tonight’s farewell dinner, everyone would probably turn in early. She and TJ could easily squeeze in a movie.
“He’d like that,” Romily said. “Then I wouldn’t feel guilty about abandoning him.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Emilia checked her watch. In five minutes, their break would be over. If she wanted to grab a snack before Nico fired up the bus, she needed to hurry.
“No problem,” Romily said. “But Emilia? TJ can be a lot, but if you decide to take things further, please don’t hurt him. He really likes you.”
I know. I feel the same way.
* * *
By the timedinner started at seven, TJ had shoved all his emotional angst into a deep well. Now wasn’t the time to brood. He had one last night with the Buon Viaggio group, and he wanted to leave them with the best impression possible. Not just because he was hoping for stellar reviews but also because he’d genuinely enjoyed leading them around Italy. Even Sylvie, who seemed demanding at first, had revealed a softer side once he’d gotten to know her.
At his table, he encouraged his group to share their favorite memories, and he shone with pride when a few people told him how much they’d loved his piano performance in Bari. After finishing up dessert, he couldn’t maintain his cheery facade any longer. He bid them good night, with the promise to see them off at breakfast tomorrow. By the time he got back to his room, he was wiped. He changed out of his polo shirt and jeans, got ready for bed, and turned on the TV. If nothing else, he could block out the pain with a little mindless entertainment.
At least today was almost over. Once the sun rose tomorrow, he’d move on, like he always did. Maybe next year, his schedule would line up better with Romily’s, and they could resume their movie night.
When a commercial came on with a father and son—some awful ad for razors—the grief hit him hard. He let it in, wallowing in agony until his eyes welled with tears.
If his dad could see him now, would he be proud of him? Or would he be embarrassed? TJ might have a PhD from Harvard, but he was working as atour guide. Even if he’d used his archaeological skills to secure a place on the Via Stabiana project, it wasn’t a permanent gig. After December, he had nothing lined up.
But what if he and Emilia could stay at Pompeii for another six months? A full year of work at the site would look great on his record. If that didn’t pan out, hopefully Dr. Roberti would write him an outstanding letter of recommendation. All the weekends TJ had spent giving tours had to count for something. He hadn’t just done them for the money but also to show his boss he was a team player. That he was willing to put in the work, even during his days off.
Was it too much to hope that fate would smile on him once he left Italy? All he wanted was a job at a decent university or a well-respected museum. A post with a comfortable salary, health insurance, and a title that would impress his stepdad.
A sharp rap at his door shook him from his trance. He hoped it wasn’t one of the guests with another emergency. When he got up to answer it, Emilia stood outside his door, clad in a baggy Yale t-shirt and a pair of sweats, her hair in a messy braid. Under her arm was a cloth shopping bag from a local supermarket.
“Hey, Em,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Can I come in?”
He gnawed on his lip, torn between wanting her company and wanting to avoid temptation. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“This is a platonic visit, I promise.” She gestured to her shirt, which was at least two sizes too big. “I’m not exactly dressed for seduction.”
It didn’t matter. Being around her stirred feelings he couldn’t control. If they were alone in his room, he’d want to continue where they’d left off the other night. “You’re still awfully hard to resist.”
“I’m not here to make a move on you. If you’re up for it, we could celebrate the end of the tour with a movie. You know, since we watchedGladiatoron our first night here.”
He stepped back and allowed her to come in. She closed the door and pulled a plastic container of Italian butter cookies out of the shopping bag. “I even brought your favorite treats.”
“Um…thanks.” He still didn’t understand why she was taking such a big risk. Why not wait until tomorrow, when they’d be off the clock?
