An Apartment in Venice (24 page)

Monday morning, when Giulia stretched awake and lazily reached for Chuck, he was gone. Before she had a chance to look for him, she found a note on his pillow:

Giulia, wait for me.

I love you, Karlo.

What did he mean, wait for me? Like an afterthought, he’d scrawled
I’ll call later.

But he didn’t call, and it wasn’t long before she felt frantic. She called his cell and his office. No answer on his cell, and no one could tell her a thing at his office number. Or wouldn’t. After classes, she caught up with Marlowe and told her, “I can only think of one reason. He’s gone on a secret mission.”

“But he doesn’t do missions anymore,” Marlowe said.

Giulia nodded, her eyes felt burnt from too many tears. “He said once that it was enough to prepare his men for
their
missions.”

“Come over for dinner tonight, Giulia. Let’s talk with Marc about it. Maybe he has an idea of what’s going on.”

Giulia shook her head. She wanted to be home in case Chuck called or came home. But when he didn’t show up or call by Tuesday, she called Marlowe, and almost begged to be with them.

The moment she walked into their apartment, Marc looked shocked at the changes in Giulia. Dark circles under her eyes gave her a bruised look, and she’d lost weight since they’d been together at Guggenheim’s not quite two weeks ago. He hugged her and put a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Drink up, Giulia,” he said, “you’ve been through a lot lately. Ogle’s attack, your dream apartment a nightmare and now Chuck dropping off the face of the earth.”

At that, she burst into tears.
And they didn’t know about Botteri. Or the worst, her past.

“Aw Giulia, I’m sorry,” he said putting his arms around her again and led her to one of the couches facing each other in front of the fireplace. “I was trying to sympathize and only made it worse. Come. Sit and eat a few of these tasty
cichetti
Marlowe brought from the bar around the corner.”

She sipped the wine, but didn’t touch one tidbit lying on the platter in front of her. Gradually, she relaxed and leaned against the couch.

“Has Chuck been doing anything different lately?” Marc asked. He picked up one of the savory morsels and touched it to Giulia’s lips. She smiled and took into her mouth a small slice of salami wrapped around an olive.

“Now she has a mouthful and can’t answer your question, you big oaf,” Marlowe said, popping a round of provolone with a piece of anchovy into her own mouth. Giulia chewed the delicious morsel and decided maybe she could eat after all, but she answered Marc before trying another cichetto.

“The only thing different was staying later and going in earlier, saying he needed more exercise. What else could it be but a mission?”

“Knowing Chuck, he may have thought he might have to go and didn’t want to worry you. You know, don’t you, he wanted to be finished with all that.”

Giulia nodded and her lip trembled as if she’d start weeping again. “He still has nightmares once in a while.”

“Maybe he knew someone over there—wherever ‘over there’ might be,” Marc said taking a healthy swallow of wine.

“Yeah. Maybe he was the only one that person would trust,” Marlowe said as she sat on the couch opposite Giulia.

“That makes sense,” Marc said. “Hell, I don’t know. I do know these ops can be tricky, and if it’s a hostage situation maybe more so. Who do you know that might tell you without breaking some fusty military rule?”

“Maybe Colonel Ryland, the one who helped with Oliver that day,” she said. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met. Chuck and I played doubles tennis with him and another colonel or maybe a major. Why don’t you call him tomorrow and see if he can meet with you?”

“Good idea,” she said draining her glass and holding it out to Marc for more. He grinned and poured. “Drink up, girl. We’ve got a guest room.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Giulia said. “What’s going on in your lives?”

Marc had crouched down to get a small fire going but turned to look at Marlowe, tipping his head slightly and raising his eyebrows.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow at our regular Wednesday lunch, but maybe you’ll be seeing Colonel Ryland instead,” Marlowe said.

“Tell me what?”

“I have news, or maybe non-news about my long-lost son.”

Marc took Marlowe’s hand and slid next to her on the couch facing Giulia.

I visited Sister Fiorenza, the only person left at the convent who was there when Tomaso was born.” Marlowe inhaled, sat up straighter and continued. “She’s pretty much bedridden but has kept her sneaky sense of humor. When I got to her bedside, she took my hand and told me she had an incurable disease. When I leaned closer and asked about it, she cackled and said, “Old age! Then she rang her bell, and a young novice tripped in full of eagerness to please. Sister Fiorenza asked for her bottle of Christmas brandy, reminding her to bring two snifters. She said it was good French brandy and old friends have a right to luxuries from time to time.”

Marlowe took a sip of her wine. “I wish I’d thought to take her a bottle of brandy for Christmas.”

“You can still do that,” Giulia said.

“I won’t wait until Christmas. Anyway, she told an interesting story. When word got out that a young woman—me—was pregnant and couldn’t keep her baby, couples approached the convent. Sister Fiorenza bragged that gossip like that traveled faster than any news on that ‘internet thing.’”

They all chuckled.

“One couple came more than once. That young wife had just given birth to a stillborn. When she heard about me, she began pumping her breasts hoping to get my baby and nurse him as her own.”

“Shew! To do that while grieving the loss of her own child, that’s—”

“Evidently she’d already suffered two miscarriages, so, I’d say she was motivated.”

“Bet that tipped the scales for the convent officials making the decision. Someone that dedicated would surely take good care of your baby.”

Marlowe nodded slowly. Marc took her hand and held it in both of his.

“So does Fiorenza think that’s where your baby went?”

“She wasn’t privy to that information but guessed the administrators would have covered their asses. She said ‘cover their bases,’ but she’d had a twinkle in her eye.” Marlowe sighed. “I’m afraid there may never have been a legal adoption recorded.”

“But how could that be?”

“Hunh! Many ways, considering the convoluted machinations of both the Roman-Catholic hierarchy and the Italian government.”

“Did Sister Fiorenza know anything else about that couple?”

“They looked great. She was about twenty-five. Her husband was older and established on the academic track at the University of Padova.”

“Padova’s close, maybe you can find them,” Giulia said.

“I asked Sister about papers.”

“The child had to have an official birth record,” Giulia said.

“Of course. But why couldn’t a helpful bureaucrat—whose pocket had been enriched—easily create such papers?”

‘“Maybe the parents made a gift to the convent that got partially transferred to that bureaucrat,” Giulia said.

“Good thinking, Giulia,” Marc said.

“I asked about a donation. Again she had no idea but thought there’d surely be a record of one about that time.”

“Would your Padre Tomaso have any information?”

“If so, he’s never indicated such. Surely he’d tell me if he knew. I’ve been leaving messages on his phone about our reception. He loves parties. If he’s alive, he’ll be there and I’ll corner him.”

The timer rang on the stove. After an old-fashioned American meatloaf dinner, Giulia felt better having shared her worries with them. She helped Marlowe clean up in the kitchen and Marc and Marlowe went with her all the way to the door of Chuck’s apartment. She still thought of it as Chuck’s although she’d finally moved all her stuff in. Then he vanished! They hugged good night and left. Marc and Marlowe were fast becoming two important people in her life.

She made it through another night, and the next morning, she called Colonel Ryland’s office.

Wednesday morning was Giulia’s usual day to teach, but all classes had been cancelled for required assemblies. “Bullshit military stuff,” according to what students said in the hall late Monday afternoon. She didn’t need to be there but was willing to make the trip to learn whatever Colonel Ryland might know. He had suggested lunch at the Greek taverna on the base. Her memory of being in the taverna was hazy, but she would have eaten a sandwich made with mushy buns at McDonald’s to hear anything about Chuck.

After they met and shook hands, he said, “You’re looking better than the day we met in Oliver Ogle’s office.”

“Thanks. That’s a day I’d like to forget. But I sure want to thank you, Colonel Ryland, for coming to my rescue.

“Please call me Rob. Colonel sounds stuffy.”

After they were shown to a booth and had ordered, she said. “Rob, I hope you can come to Chuck’s rescue this time.

“Nothing I’d like better, but I have no intel on where he might be. The scuttlebutt says his unit was called up for a super secret mission.”

“I guessed as much. But I’m puzzled because usually he didn’t go with his unit. That’s why I’m so worried.” She looked at his handsome dark face and wondered how much she should tell him about how Chuck didn’t want to deal with the horrors of missions anymore. She worried he might consider that privileged information. She focused on this officer for the first time. He seemed as fit as Chuck, and she figured he was almost as tall. His hair was cut close to his head, but instead of Chuck’s silvery eyes, Ryland’s were brown on brown.

“Has he told you about his former missions?”

“A little. We’ve shared our war stories over beers. Like me, Chuck has had his fill of that kind of trouble.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. Their lunch was served. She hoped she could eat a little of the Greek salad put before her. He dived into his plate of moussaka as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.

When he stopped to drink, he asked, “How long has Chuck been gone?”

“He left early Monday morning, so this is going on the third day.” A frown pinched her brow. “How long do these trips usually take?”

“That’s a tough question. Three days is a bit on the long side for a routine rescue mission. But . . .” as if to brighten the mood, he added, “It could mean it was supposed to be a long mission in the first place.”

Or that something went wrong.

“Sometimes,” he said, “it’s a quick in and out and the team is back in a couple days. Other times, it takes longer to get the lay of the land and set up contacts. So, to answer you, I haven’t a clue.” He shrugged and spread his hands up and out in the universal gesture of helplessness.

“Is there any way you can find where he is and why?”

“I doubt it, but I’ll give it a super try. You need to know that Chuck has a rep for success throughout the entire 273rd. He’s one of those unit commanders well known for bringing all his men back.”

“That’s good to know,” she said taking another bite of salad, hoping he’d bring
himself
back. When the waiter came to remove her half-finished plate, she ordered an espresso.

At last, the lunch was over. She called for the check and thanked him for coming. He offered to pay, but she insisted and thanked him again for coming. “If you hear anything, would you let me know?” She gave him her cell number.

“Will do,” he said, and they parted heading in different directions.

* * *

On the way back to Venice, Giulia continued to worry. She felt so helpless. This waiting was hell. She wanted to talk to Nonna and Nonno Tony. What she really wanted was to catch a train to their place and crawl under the covers in her attic room. But fear and worry would go with her. Not wanting people on the train to overhear words of a mission gone wrong, she held off calling them. She couldn’t deny anymore that something
had
gone wrong. As soon as she got inside the apartment, she called to invite them to Venice.

“I need to be with you, Nonna, but I’m afraid to be gone right now.”

“Certo, certo, I understand sweetie. I want to come and so will Tony. Are you sure about us staying in Chuck’s apartment?”

“Absolutely. He thought it was a fine idea when we talked of you coming after that last disaster in my so-called dream place. It’d be nice if you could stay over the weekend, but anytime. Anytime.”

“Va bene, I’ll call you when we know our schedule.”

“
Grazie mille,
thanks a million, Nonna. I feel frantic.”

“Ho capito,
I understand. It’s horrible, the waiting.”

* * *

Friday afternoon, Giulia met her grandparents at the train station. They traveled light, and it took them no time to settle into the guest room. When they came into the living room, Giulia was carrying wine, bread sticks and olives to the coffee table. While she poured their wine, they asked more questions about what had happened. She re-told the story. Her hand trembled when she showed them the note.

“Oh Giulia, your young man cares so much for you,” Nonna said.

“I think so,” Giulia said as she blinked back tears. “I don’t want to lose him,” she said, her lips quivering, and she couldn’t stop the tears. “He’s the best man I’ve ever known.” Nonna moved to hold her close.

“If what that Colonel Ryland says is true about Chuck’s record, he’ll come back to you,” Nonno Tony said and embraced both women.

“That man has his wits about him. He’ll be back. But for now, I’m taking my favorite ladies to a cheery place for dinner. Wear your jackets, we may have to stand outside in line. It’s a no-reservation place.”

He hustled them out the door and across the Rialto, leading them behind the famous old church of San Marco. They walked a little farther and came to a small bridge that led across the Rio San Provolo. At that point, however, they didn’t go up and over the bridge, because tucked beside and almost under it was a little place called Trattoria Rivetta. Sure enough five people were waiting in line to enter. They held glasses of red wine in their hands and smiled to Giulia and her grandparents.

A jovial waiter dressed in white shirt and red-sweater vest came out carrying a bottle tucked under his arm and holding stems of glasses for Giulia and her grandparents. He guaranteed a table within ten minutes as he poured wine for them and topped the glasses of those already waiting. Someone yelled to shake his tail inside. He laughed, hollering a retort and trotted away.

Nonno had a broad grin on his face. This was his kind of place. Soon they were led inside and seated where a basket of bread and a bottle of red and one of white were already open on the table.

“They have their own vineyard in the Veneto. It’s always been a secret about that vineyard. Sometimes the wine’s great and sometimes pretty good but always decent. Unless they’ve changed, it’s also on the house.”

It was a noisy place with a lot of friendly teasing between the waiters and the manager, who stood at the cash register near the entrance. All the waiters wore red-sweater vests, the manager too. At times, a waiter would put a patron on the spot pretending to find fault or maybe make a derogatory comment about one of the Italian soccer teams. Anything to get people to participate and have fun. Giulia smiled but didn’t feel a part of it. Then a waiter filled her wine glass to the brim and asked if she was a Comunista? She was shocked to be the center of attention and answered, “
Non lo so,
I don’t know.” He started to tease but was called away.

Nonno Tony whispered, “Don’t forget, cara, Venetians are known for voting left.” Giulia nodded. Of course, she knew that. After the waiter took their orders, he turned to her again and said, “Allora, Signorina. Comunista or no?” This time she said,
“Certo. Sono comunista!”
Everybody cheered and clapped and a genuine smile spread across her face. After much joshing, Giulia found herself eating more than she’d eaten since Chuck had disappeared.

“Coccolona, when that man of yours gets back, you can surprise him and bring him here.” Nonno shouted over the din.

“I will, Nonno Tony, I will,” she hollered. But quietly sent a prayer to all the Gods of
all
the religions that “her man” would just come home safely.

* * *

Late Saturday morning over a leisurely breakfast in Chuck’s kitchen, they talked about the situation with her apartment. “I knew better. I’d rented crummy apartments when I was in college, but none had so many problems. I didn’t use my head on this one. All I thought about was the location.”

“Enough lamenting,” Nonno Tony said. “The best part is that you got away from that criminal, Botteri.”

“Have you heard anymore about what happened to him?” she asked, feeling deceitful for not mentioning the undercover agent’s news. But they didn’t need to know she’d been tailed again. She hadn’t had that shaky feeling in her stomach for a while, so maybe coming to Venice had worked.

“Not a word,” Nonno Tony said. “Maybe no news is good news. But I’d like to hear he’s locked away forever.”

While making another pot of coffee, Giulia told them about breaking the lease on the apartment. “The real estate expert thinks I’ll be able to get my deposit and the last-month’s rent back. As soon as all that’s settled, I’ll pay you back, Nonno, every penny.”

Nonno Tony waved his index finger back and forth clicking his tongue in time with the motion and shaking his head. Nonna shook her head too. “We wanted you out of Vicenza fast. After Tony’s beating, who knows what a man like that would do to you. It was money well spent and you can use it for your next one. Or . . .” and Nonna’s lips curved into a little smile, “Are you thinking of staying right here with Chuck?”

“Let’s hope he gets home safely, then we’ll see. He seems to want me to stay, but we still have things to talk about.”

“Of course,” Nonna replied. “I don’t mean to stick my nose in.”

“Nonna, don’t even think that. It’s so good to have you both here with me. I’m so scared he might be lying injured somewhere or worse.”

Nonna put her finger to her lips. “Don’t say such things.”

“It’s another nice day,” Nonno Tony said, “let’s see what’s going on in the calles of Venice.”

“While you’re here, what would you like to do?” Giulia asked Nonna.

“Allora,” Nonna said, reminiscing. “Years ago, I sat in a boat in the basin and was fed a delightful supper as we watched fireworks over the water at the Festa del Redentore. You know, the July celebration to honor the end of one of the plagues centuries ago? Now, I’d like to see the inside of that votive church, but I don’t think Tony would be interested.” She looked at him as he refilled their cups, and he shook his head. She laughed softly. “Maybe we could do that tomorrow because Tony needs to go back for an important estate sale.”

“For now, let’s walk and see what we see,” Tony said. “Maybe we could end up at the Zattere for lunch.” But it was almost one when they finished their coffees and cleared away the dishes. By the time they wandered all around Dorsoduro and passed her cursed apartment, the sun was beginning to set.

They sipped coffee as they sat at tables on the Zattere and gazed across the deep Giudecca Canal at two of Palladio’s white, temple-like churches. Redentore was near the eastern end of the long Giudecca Island. And from where they sat, San Giorgio—on its own island—appeared to be floating off the tip of Giudecca. Both took on a faint pink glow in the lowering light.

For dinner, they went back to the apartment and Nonna pulled out a dish of lasagna she’d slipped into the fridge to thaw the night before. Later as Giulia pulled up the duvet in Chuck’s big bed, she drifted into sleep believing Chuck would make it back.