When In Rome...Find Yourself: A Sweet New Adult Romance (17 page)

She dug through her purse, but of course she didn’t have a pen. She had a half dozen crumpled napkins, receipts, and a linty mint or two, a handful of toothpicks and pennies at the bottom. But no pen. She waited for a waiter to come for her order, wondering what was taking so long. Maybe the host had forgotten her, tucked away in her little corner near a water heater and the restroom. Or he was so disgusted, he was telling all the waiters about her and laughing about the obviously lost American tourist.

Finally, what seemed like an hour later, a short girl with close-cropped platinum blonde hair above a face black as ink sidled up to the table with a pad of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. “Can I get your order?” she asked in a thick English accent.

“Um, sure,” said Rory, who had been so busy searching for a pen she hadn’t even looked at the menu. “Margherita pizza? And…can I, um, borrow your pen?”

“My pen?”

“Um, yeah, I mean, if that’s okay. You’re not going to get in trouble for letting me use your pen, are you?”

The girl gave her a funny look. “Course not.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course not.”

The girl, whose name tag read Mea, scribbled on her notepad. “What would you like to drink, love?”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Um, a Coke is fine. Thanks.”

“Coke it is,” Mea said. She set her pen on the table, smiled at Rory, and loped back to the kitchen with her particular mincing gait.

Rory turned on her phone to map her route back to Theresa’s house. She’d just scribbled down the address on a napkin when her phone died. She bit down on the scream of frustration that wanted to explode from her. It was lucky she’d gotten the address, she knew that. But now she had no map back. No route back.

CHAPTER Eighteen

When Mea returned with her food, Rory ate without tasting her pizza. Her mind was churning. She knew the address, and she knew the area immediately surrounding Theresa’s house. If she started back, she thought she could maybe find her way. This wasn’t going to the grocery store alone. This was navigating Rome. She had come for that very purpose, hadn’t she?

She left the restaurant and started back the way she’d come. She knew the first street, and all the way back to the spot she’d stopped to look up the restaurant. After she looked around and got her bearings, she started back the way she’d come. When she was sure she’d found her starting place, she stopped to scroll through her pictures. This was sort of fun, like a detective quest. If she could find the next building she’d photographed, and then the next, her pictures would lead her home. So maybe she wasn’t good enough to work at a travel magazine, but her pictures wouldn’t be a total loss.

Half an hour later, it was getting dark, and she was still on the same street, sure she’d passed her turn. She knew she’d been on the same street for a long time on the way there, but surely not that long. She stuffed her camera in her purse and strained to zip it, not wanting someone to see her as a tourist with an expensive piece on display. Turning back, she hurried for ten minutes in the other direction, but none of the streets sounded or looked familiar.

What would her mother do now? What would she tell Rory to do? She leaned against a building to catch her breath. It wasn’t so bad. She was in Italy, where lots of people spoke English and no one ever heard about tourists being kidnapped or killed or even robbed. She could do this. She opened her eyes in time to see a taxi speeding past. That was it. If she could find a taxi, she could give the driver her address. But where were the taxis?

She turned back the way of the restaurant, figuring there would be more taxis in the busier parts of town. Around the time when she should have seen the restaurant, she realized she must have taken a wrong turn, because there was not a restaurant in sight. Instead, she saw some ugly industrial buildings. And a taxi. She saw a taxi coming her way. Weak with relief, she stepped into the edge of the street and waved her hand like she’d seen people in movies do. The taxi honked loudly and swerved around her as it sped past.

Rory stood in the street staring after it until a car honked behind her, and she turned in time to see a pair of headlights bearing down on her. She leapt for the sidewalk as someone in the car cursed out the window at her. Her foot landed squarely on the edge of the sidewalk, and she had to pinwheel her arms to keep from falling on her butt in the street. She dove forward and ended up on her face instead of her butt. A flame of pain flared in her knee as she scrambled to her feet and looked around to see if anyone had seen her.

A car passed without slowing. No one on the sidewalk. She examined her scraped knee, which was bleeding and caked with dust. Her skirt was streaked with dirt and dust, too, though she managed to shake most of that out. The heel of one hand was also scraped badly enough that blood was seeping through her skin. Her whole body was shaking as she sat against the wall of the nearest building.

She was lost. She was hurt. And she didn’t have a phone to call anyone. For a minute, she closed her eyes and breathed, trying not to cry or scream. All she wanted was to call her mom to come and get her, take her home, so she could burrow into her nest of pillows and disappear into her favorite book of all time, Emma.

But she wasn’t at home, and her mother wasn’t here to rescue her. She was on her own, and it wasn’t fun and glamorous and exciting. It was terrifying and painful and lonely. Why had she ever wanted to be independent from her family? She didn’t need fake friends and inscrutable guys. She needed her family. That’s all she needed.

But she’d never get back to them if she didn’t find her way back, so she opened her eyes and sat up. Taking a few deep breaths, she wiped away a few tears and tried to calm down.. She would make it back for Quinn, so she didn’t have to shoulder all the parental worry and expectation. She would make it back for her clueless, bird-watching father, so he would be proud of her. And she would make it back for her mother, so she didn’t have to worry anymore.

Moving as if through water, she opened her purse and pulled out a wad of tissues and a travel sized bottle of hand sanitizer. She squirted it on her knee, wincing at the sting, and then on her hand, and carefully wiped it as clean as possible with the tissues.

When she’d finished cleaning up, she stood, her legs shaking, and looked up and down the empty street. Again, a pang of longing overcame her. She just wanted to be home, to be safe. But her family was in America, across half a continent and an ocean. This time, she couldn’t call her mommy to come and rescue her.

Suddenly, she stopped walking. That was it. She should call her mom. If she could find a pay phone, she could call her mother, or sister, or anyone, really, and have them direct her home. She had the phone card her mother had insisted she bring in case of emergency. This was an emergency. But she needed a pay phone. Did they even make those anymore? She couldn’t remember seeing one outside of a movie in her whole life. But they existed, she was sure of it.

For what felt like the hundredth time, she started back the way she’d come. She must have wandered this part of the city for two or three hours by now. Somehow, it still didn’t look familiar, or rather, every street looked familiar, like it must have been the one that would take her home. A bus rumbled past, and she stopped and turned, watching it disappear around a corner. If she found a bus stop, she could surely take it to the station and from there, figure out which bus would take her home. But she couldn’t keep up with a bus. If she kept going, eventually, she’d have to come across a bus stop or a pay phone.

She stumbled onwards, her knee throbbing with each step. Every now and then, she bent to blot it so blood wouldn’t run down her leg, and she wouldn’t look like a complete derelict. What if she couldn’t find her way home that night? Where would she sleep? If she kept walking all night, maybe she wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground, exposed to anyone who might want to rob her, or worse.

It was completely dark now, except for the many lights of the city. She wasn’t in a particularly picturesque area, though. It just looked like a dirty city. Suddenly, a group of men across the street spotted her and called out. She didn’t have to understand Italian to know they were catcalling. They all laughed, and she held her purse in front of her and hurried by, her head down. One of them grabbed his crotch and called out again, making a rude gesture. Another one stepped out of the group towards her.

She ran. Blisters burned on her feet, and she was sure they had popped and were bleeding by now, but she didn’t stop to check. Her little toe ached like it might fall off with every step, and her heels screamed out as her shoes rubbed against them over and over. But she didn’t stop running until a stitch pulled tight in her side, and then tighter, and tighter, until she couldn’t breathe. She leaned on her knees, gasping for breath, the knife in between her ribs twisting so hard she had to curl to one side to nurse the pain.

Finally, she straightened and, still hugging her left side, limped towards what could only be a café. Music drifted out, and a figure stood outside with the blessed glow of a phone in one hand and cigarette smoke drifting from the other. Clutching her ribs, Rory hurried to catch her before she went in. When she was half a block away, the bright white hair came into view. It was Mea. She’d come in a circle.

“Hey, hi,” she panted, limping faster.

Mea looked up, tapped her cigarette on the corner of the building, and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “It’s the pen girl, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rory said with a breathy laugh. “Yeah, only I should have asked to use your phone instead. I’m kind of lost.”

“Lost?” Mea asked, like it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “How are you lost? You’re right where you started.”

“Well. Not exactly.”

Mea smiled, her teeth flashing white in the dim light from the street. She had a gap between her canine and incisor on the right side. “Right. Guess not.”

“So can I maybe use a phone here? I mean, I can just use a phone inside, if you have a pay phone or something. I can call my mom and she can direct me home.”

“I got a phone,” Mea said, waving it. “And you want this?” She held out her cigarette, which Rory took automatically, though it was the last thing she wanted just then. Her mouth was hot and parched already.

“Thanks,” Rory said, taking a drag off the stinky thing.

“I don’t smoke, see,” Mea said. “I just like to take a break. I wouldn’t light it, but then if someone came out and I’d been out here a while, they’d wonder what was up. I hate to waste them, though. So expensive.”

Rory coughed and put out the cigarette with a few drags left on it.

“But my break’s over,” Mea said. “I better get back. Come inside and I’ll get you a beer or something. You look warm.”

“Thank you,” Rory said, so relieved she thought her knees would buckle as she followed Mea inside. While Mea got her a beer from the tap, Rory used the restroom, splashed water on her face, and washed her hands and knee with soap. Back in the restaurant, she drank the beer so fast it gave her hiccups, then glanced around at the other tables, wondering what they thought of this bedraggled, dirty tourist Mea had dragged in.

“You can use my phone, love,” Mea said. “But don’t pocket it or I’ll kick your arse.” She grinned to show she was joking, then set her phone on the table and sidled off to bring food to a real customer. Rory set some money on the table before she forgot, then looked at the phone. She couldn’t call her mother in America on Mea’s phone.

“It’s international,” she said, pushing the phone towards Mea when she came back.

“There’s a bus stop just over there if you can make it a few blocks,” Mea said, pointing out the window. “You’re a real mess, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Rory muttered.

“I’m off in a few minutes,” Mea said, eyeing the money Rory had laid on the table. “If you want a ride.”

“I can pay you,” Rory said. “Thank you so much. I have the address right here.” She fumbled to get it out of her purse before Mea walked away, as if she might change her mind the second she wasn’t looking at the pathetic spectacle in front of her.

“That’d be nice,” Mea said. “I could use it. I’ll get you another beer.”

Rory took a few pictures of Mea at the tap, then accepted her beer. An hour or so later, Mea motioned for Rory to follow her. Outside, she swung her leg over a white scooter and slid forward on the seat. Rory stood staring at the back of the seat like it might bite her. She couldn’t ride on a motorcycle! Without a helmet, too!

“I got work to do,” Mea said. “So hop on or shove off, love.”

Rory considered walking to the bus station alone, late at night, but that didn’t seem any safer than this. So she climbed on and clung to Mea’s slight frame as the scooter puttered to life. It rocketed forward and she let out a little yelp, then thought how stupid Mea must think she was, so she bit back the urge to howl in fear when the scooter leaned going around the corner. She squeezed her eyes closed and held on for dear life.

A few minutes later, the scooter slowed and she opened her eyes. They weren’t at Theresa’s, though. Just a gas station.

“Got to get some petrol,” Mea said, sliding the scooter in at the pump. “I’d tell you to hang tight, but you’ve nearly broken my ribs by now.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rory said, unclamping her hands from around Mea.

Mea filled up and then turned to Rory with a wide grin, flashing those white teeth with the gap. “I seem to have left my cash at the restaurant,” she said. “Spot me this one time?”

Rory knew she was being scammed, but she didn’t care. She’d have emptied her entire wallet for Mea if she’d asked. Instead, she paid for the gas without comment. Mea smiled the whole time like it was great fun, almost like she expected Rory to make a stink about it. Then, they were back on the bike. Rory tried not to crush Mea this time, but her arms held tighter and tighter with each corner they went around. At last, Mea pulled up in front of Theresa’s.

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” Rory said in a rush, suddenly feeling like she might faint. “I would have died without you. You have no idea. You literally saved my life. I can’t thank you enough. If you ever need anything…” Then she realized how stupid that was, and she broke off, blushing.

“Yeah, I got it,” Mea said in her clipped English accent. “Have a nice night.” And then she gassed it, and the bike leapt forward, and she sped off down the street
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