It was clear that he’d specifically come into the room last night while I was asleep and done all of that. I just knew it was him. The scent of him lingered in the air.
What wasn’t there was my art supplies and paintings. I don’t know if that was because Dad didn’t send them, or if they are here and Massimo decided not to give them to me. I don’t know.
By the time I unpacked my stuff and changed, it was time for my dress fitting.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail and head out again with the dress. The seamstress takes it from me and places it in a bag.
Candace walks up to me and taps my shoulder. She isn’t wearing her uniform today. Instead, she’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair is braided to the side, and she wears a pair of Converses that make her look trendy.
“I’m hanging out with you today,” she says. “How about a walk on the beach?”
I smile at that. “I would love to.”
“You girls get back in time for lunch,” Priscilla says.
“We will,” Candace replies. I just smile because it’s not like I have a choice.
We leave the hall and head down the same corridor I walked with Massimo last night, but instead of taking the stairs leading up to the terrace, we go down another set of stairs. The door opens out right onto a patio that leads to the beach. As Candace opens the doors, the salty scent of the sea washes over me and I feel alive.
It’s amazing what we take for granted in life. Small things like feeling the hot sun on my skin as the languid breeze lift the ends of my hair are things I’ve missed so much over the last few days. I smile and savor the feeling, savor the freedom.
And since I absolutely love walking on the beach, I take off my shoes so I can feel the sand between my toes.
Candace chuckles. I smile back.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asks.
“Oh yes. I always take my shoes off when I’m on the beach.”
“Maybe I’m too used to it,” she answers. “Let’s go this way.”
We walk down near the rock pool and sit on the sand where it offers a scenic view of endless sea. It reminds me of Italy. Of the beach in Tuscany Dad always took me and Ma to when we went on vacation.
“Let’s stay here for a while, then I’ll show you around the rest of the place and maybe give you a tour of the house,” she says.
I guess she must have been given the okay to show me more than the beach.
“Thank you. This is beautiful,” I say. “I love it.”
“Me too. My family is from Sicily. The beach where they live is just like this.”
“My family is from Tuscany. The beach there is gorgeous too,” I say.
She nods, agreeing. “When did you last go back?”
“A few years ago, with my mother. Just before… before she died.” It’s still hard to say the words that confirm her death.
She looks sad to hear that. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a few years ago. I still miss her so much, but death happens, doesn’t it.” I sound braver than I feel. Those words mask the truth of what I feel deep inside. I still cry for her. That sadness never ends, and I know if she were alive now, this wouldn’t be happening to me.
“Yeah… death happens,” she replies. Sadness clouds her eyes. “Both my parents are dead. It was an accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear,” I sympathize.
“Thanks.”
“My mom had cancer. That last trip to Tuscany was her last visit to her homeland. We painted… that’s what I do. I paint.”