Siracusa Read Online Free PDF Page B

withdraws, there is no reaching her. According to her teacher, she rarely engages with other kids. “It seems to be her preference,” said Miss Halsey, which I told the pediatrician because it fascinated me. I even admired it. I had pined for my classmates to like me. When called upon—and Snow never raises her hand—she responds in a whisper. Miss Halsey knows to go to her desk, lean close to hear her answer, and then repeat it loudly for the rest of the class. “She throws off my pacing,” Miss Halsey said, laughing.
    Could Michael have possibly said that about Lizzie?
    Michael is a bull—compact, muscular, even burly. I would guess he is about five-foot-eight. Lizzie is a bit shorter. His skin is as white as mozzarella, a comparison that only occurred to me inItaly, and makes me giggle. He might lose his appeal on a beach because the sun would scorch him. His neck is short and his head is large, like a boulder really, and shaved bald. When I was a teenager, I loved
Kojak
. It was in reruns every afternoon. I swooned over Telly Savalas. This must be why I found Michael especially attractive, although he is so charming and masculine that truly any woman would. He has style too. Every day he wore faded jeans and a blue or white shirt, solid or striped, with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms. Evenings he wore a charcoal gray, lightweight sports jacket. I checked the label: Zegna.
    April and I analyzed every inch of this trip when I returned. I fell on the phone and we talked for more than two hours. We concluded, among other more significant things, that Michael is very aware of his forearms, that he knows they are sexy. He is vain. I needed to talk especially about Michael because he was charismatic and, I suspected, tortured, and was such a powerful influence on Snow.
    From the first night in Rome she was under his spell. She loved being on his arm, I could tell. How kind of him to show her those floor-length extravaganzas.
Someday I’d love to see you in a dress like that.
It must have made her feel beautiful and quite grown up. And whispering a secret to her, whatever it was. Her father never made her feel like a princess.
    Lizzie shouted, “Left turn here,” and finally I met the Rome of my picture books: a narrow street paved with age and soothing colors—saffron, a mustardy yellow, the dustiest rose. One of my guidebooks put it exactly right. “Rome is a bath for the eyes.” Even the moon cooperated, a horizontal sliver low in the sky, asmile at the end of the street, so perfect it could have been photoshopped in. “Snow,” I called, but she was way ahead entering the restaurant with Michael. I had to take a picture to capture my first truly Roman moment (if you don’t count ruins from a taxi, and I don’t), and that is why I didn’t notice at first a big black bird skimming across the cobblestones like a skiff across Casco Bay. When it was barely a nose from me, it thrust a tin cup in my face.
    I screamed.
    Only then did I realize that this big black bird was a nun. A nun in full regalia.
    Thank God Snow was already inside the restaurant. I would have scared her.
    “She probably wasn’t a nun,” said Lizzie at dinner. “Not if she was begging with a tin cup. She was simply dressed as one. I’m sorry she upset you.”
    “It was just a surprise.”
    “I know what you mean. Plus you’re tired.”
    “Un Bellini pour madame,”
said Finn. (He’s ridiculous with that French.) He always orders my drinks. He loves to pair a person with a drink. He told me that on our first date.
    Because of the nun I was not quite myself for a while. Still, I couldn’t help but appreciate the aroma of fresh garlic that permeated Beppi’s, an attractive, unpretentious restaurant with gracious and attentive service. “Garlic is as potent as pot,” Lizzie whispered. “I’m getting a contact high.” She inhaled in an ecstatic way.
    “What’s that smell? Is that you?” Finn snorted his way up