A Club I Never Wanted to Join

 written by Kimberly Caristi

 

1. I have arrived

I smiled when I entered the town of Cetraro. I found the apartment with little trouble. I was lucky to find a place on the beach that I could afford, especially since it was in season. Living on the beachfront property in Italy would fill my soul and when I saw it my tiredness fell away. I pulled into my parking spot behind the apartment and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

I couldn’t believe I was here. Nick would be so proud of me if, well if he could see I made it on my own. I caught my flight to Italy, booked a rental car and an apartment all without help from the kids. Shoot, I was proud of myself. I have to give credit where credit was do. Having never been on my own before was a challenge but I thought I could do it. I was kidding myself but I was a good pretender.

I walked around the apartment building to my front door. The front of the apartment looked a little worse for wear, but what would you expect? It faced the beach. The pictures I saw online didn’t look this dreary, though must have been old photos. 

 

My apartment was on the southern corner on the ground floor. I liked the fact that it had a large patio, about twenty feet deep and around thirty feet wide. There was a ten-foot overhang that was the balcony above. Nice, it would protect me from the sun or rain. I liked the fact that there was a big window in the middle of the apartment. I hoped I would get some daylight into the apartment despite the large overhang. 

 

I stood there looking at the patio with my back to the beach. I felt the sea as if it were tapping me on the shoulder, saying “Turn around and come to me.” I wanted to give all my attention to the sea though I would wait until I was settled in with my glass of wine in hand. The patio gave me the impression of a courtyard, with walls extended on each side of the apartment and a quarter wall that separated my patio from the boardwalk. To have a straight shot to the beach over the boardwalk was nice. Well, more than nice: it excited me to be so close to the water I could taste it.

 

There was a four-foot opening in the middle of the quarter wall. There used to be a gate there. I saw evidence of old pieces of hardware. Salty air and metal aren’t a good combination. The walls on each side of the patio tapered down from the balcony above to the cute little wall. I could see potted plants, flowers, or herbs on that little wall. The walls must be six or eight inches thick. I would have privacy, a plus. The border of the patio had ten inches of sandy dirt. It had a half a dozen cacti that looked like weeds. I filed them under weeds because they are unwanted and ugly. The only thing I saw the place needed was a table and chairs.

 

I walked around to my neighbors’ apartment to see if they were the ones who had my key. The property manager had texted me while I was driving here that they dropped my key at my neighbors.

It was night and day comparing the two apartment fronts. They had done an exceptional job making their patio look like a photo shoot. It was very inviting. They had all kinds of plants around their walls and a shade that came down off the balcony protecting their stylish outdoor furniture. They even had wall art which comforted me. I knew it had to be safe here or all that would be gone. Their walls had been painted, but mine weren’t: that seemed strange. I wondered if they did it themselves. I knocked on the door. No answer, I guess it was time to watch the sea.

 

I went back to my place and sat on the wall. If I had a party, I could use the wall as extra seating. Look at me, planning a party, that was a good sign. I vacillated between staying and going. I looked at the sea and I felt like I wanted to stay. I had said from the start that I would come to Cetraro for three months. 

 

All the shutters were closed, so no peeking into the windows of my apartment. I took a deep breath and breathed in the fresh, salty air. The sea was everything I imagined. I couldn’t believe that I got to have my morning tea just looking at this gorgeous beach and sea. Better yet, have a glass of wine with some cheese and olives and watch the sun set over this alluring blue sea. Blue wasn’t enough to describe the different colors of blues, greens and white floating around and the colors kept changing as I gazed out on the seascape.

 

While I contemplated, I heard, “Excuse me, excuse me,” in the Queen’s English. I searched for the voice. I saw a woman waving a scarf on the balcony. I shielded my eyes from the sun. The woman said again, “Excuse me, are you Kristy?” 

 

“Yes, I am Kristy, Kristy Russo.”  

 

“Oh, good. I have your key to your apartment,” I looked around to see if there were stairs anywhere close, so I could meet her. She pointed towards the middle of the complex, “Why don’t you come up and have a cup of tea. After your long trip, you might like to relax a little before you start unpacking.”

  

Well, I guess I was meeting my upstairs neighbor, “Thanks.” 

 

Walking to the stairs, I saw that the boardwalk went all the way to the marina. I got a tinge of excitement which quickly faded away when the memory of walking to the marina in Greece with Nick followed. We loved that walk. Our apartment in Palaio Faliro was only two blocks away from the boardwalk that went up to Piraeus. I put that thought out of my head. I needed to meet my neighbor.

We greeted each other with a welcoming handshake, “Hello, I am Susan Brown,” she conveyed with the sweetest smile. I knew instantly I liked Susan. Close up, I saw she had gray blue eyes. They twinkled so brightly. She was pleasantly overweight, but who wasn’t these days? About my height, but she carried herself with such grace. I guessed she was about ten years older than me. She moved to reveal a gentleman getting up from their little table. He set down the paper and reached out his big burly hand and introduced himself. 

 

“Hello, I am Sam Brown.” He said in a deep baritone voice. Sam was about eight inches taller and wider than Susan. A good-looking man dressed in a linen suit and a tie. I would have to buy new clothes if that was the attire for the apartment complex. 

 

I bowed my head slightly as I shook his hand. I introduced myself again. 

 

“Hi, I am Kristy Russo.”

 

Sam replied, “Let me get you a chair. Are you Italian?”

 

He reached in their door and pulled out their kitchen chair. 

 

“No, I am not Italian, my husband was.”

This yielded to the dreaded question. I should have come up with a lie to tell people. I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretense for long. Susan caught the slip.

 

“Was? Are you divorced?” Her sweet look made me tell the truth. If I talked fast, I could just get it over with. Just like letting go of an inflated helium balloon, let it go and see where it lands. 

I blurted out my response. “He passed away three months ago. He wanted to come here to live. I decided I would come for a few months for him.” I said that all too fast. I saw the shock on their faces. I braced myself for what was to come. 

 

The sad “I am sorry” accompanied with the tilt of the head with a few nods. Both didn’t disappoint as they said in unison, “I am so sorry.”  

 

Susan needed more information, “Was it a long illness? That makes it so tough.”

 

“No, I woke up and he was gone. It was a shock. In outward appearance he looked good and everyone, including his doctor, thought he was healthy.” I couldn’t believe I was being so open with these people I just met a minute ago. It was something about Susan’s face. She reminded me of my grandma. I wouldn’t tell her that. She was my sister’s age. 

 

Susan spoke with such feeling. “We have lost several of our friends that way. It is almost as bad as the ones that last for years in such pain. I am so sorry for your loss, Dear. Please sit down. Would you like some tea? Or a glass of wine?” 

 

I knew when I shook her hand that we were going to be friends. I smiled, “I will have whatever you are having.”

 

“Well,” she started, “I am going to have a glass of pinot grigio and Sam is having tea because, in an hour, we are meeting our friends for drinks in their hotel, then going out to dinner. If Sam starts drinking now, he won’t stop, so I have ordered him to have tea.” She smiled at Sam, and he gave a sheepish grin.

 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I will have tea this time because I will need some caffeine to keep me awake while I set up my apartment. Next time I would love a glass of pinot grigio. It is one of my favorite white wines.”

 

Sam got up to attend to our drinks and turned to Susan, “You better warn her.”  

 

Susan altered her demeanor. “How did you come across getting this apartment?” Her expression and her voice held a form of concern.

 

I said with apprehension. “I got it online. Why?” 

 

“Well, there are a few of us who did the same thing, and we didn’t exactly get what was advertised. I just want you to be prepared for what you might see down there,” she tilted her head to the side. 

 

“Oh, great.” I let out a big exhale. “I really was proud of myself for making all these arrangements with no help. Well, I get what I deserve for not checking references.” I was right I might not be ready to be on my own.

“The management is very disappointing,” was her tart reply. “We have tried repeatedly to talk to the apartment’s owner, but to no avail. The office says he will get back to us but hasn’t so far.”

 

“Now you have me worried. Please, may I take a rain check on the tea and get my key so I can see what I am in for?” I felt sick to my stomach. My go back home meter was point just that way, just go home Kristy. I have to stay I kept telling myself as I walked to my apartment.

 

“Of course,” She yelled out, “Sam, I am going to take Kristy down to her apartment. I will be back up in a little bit.” I heard through the open door “Okay.” She grabbed the key off the table and said, “Let’s go see the damage.” She tried to sound positive but was not successful.

 

                                                        2. The Apartment

The door was all the way to the right. I took a deep breath as I put the key into the lock. I turned the key, pushed open the door, and I instantly felt the hot, stale air escape, as it hit me in the face. First, I saw what looked like an indoor-outdoor carpet. It reminded me of the cheap AstroTurf. Why would anyone put that in an apartment? It felt crunchy under my feet. My heart sank even more as I stepped into a small room that was the kitchen, dining, and living room. It was the size of my bedroom in Indiana, maybe a little longer, but not wider. I knew it would be small, but the carpet and the dull, stained, peeled paint didn’t help the look. I opened the window to get fresh air into the place. Susan stepped gingerly around the carpet as if she were stepping in something sticky. Her face said it all. The apartment was gross. 

 

“Is this what your place looked like?” As I looked around in disbelief.

 

Her eyes looked so sad as she replied with a flat, “No.”

 

I pleaded, “Now I know why I got it so cheap. What should I do?” My mind reeled.

 

“Well, that is up to you. A couple of us have tried to get our money back, but as I told you, no one will take our calls that can do anything about it. If you have the money to say forget it and just leave and leave behind all the money you put out, do it. A couple of people painted their places. We did. You must make a mindset that it is only a few months, and you can live with this for that long…right? Besides, all the neighbors here are lovely, and I bet you will enjoy your time here.” She said the last bit encouragingly.

 

I straighten my back, “If I can live in a one-bedroom apartment with two little kids for five months I can do this,” I said, sounding more hopeful than I felt. “I guess I should get to work making up a list of things I need at the store.”

 

“I have some cleaning supplies you can use until you get to the store,” she said as she turned around to leave. I was not sure if she was just trying to escape as quickly as possible or if she was trying to be helpful.

 

I was delighted that there was a small plastic table with two chairs stuffed between the table and cabinets, out they went. When I came back in, I got a better view of the small row of cabinets across from the door. There was enough space to do some prep work for cooking on each side of the oven and sink. I really didn’t need what I had at home. There would be no large parties.

 

It was just me. It would be perfect if it were clean. The oven looked like a joke someone was playing on me. I wasn’t sure if a cake pan would fit in it. I had never seen one that size before. The couch was stuck in the corner, it looked so uncomfortable, there were no armrests, and it had a dirty cover over it. My heart sank a little more. It was the first thing you saw when you opened the door beside the indoor-outdoor carpet. I liked the kitchen table. It was old, worn and a little distressed, just like me. 

 

Without the plastic table and chairs in the way, I could walk through to the hallway that was on the opposite side of the front door. I started down the hall to check out the bedrooms. The first one was right behind the kitchen wall. It was tiny with two small twin beds with a small table between them. I would be buying bed sacks for each of them if I had company. Well, at least there was a small cabinet for clothes. I opened the window and the shutters to get some fresh air into the room. The window looked out on the sidewalk, to the right was the sea. I had hoped a couple of friends would visit me. I could tell people that their room had a view of the sea. I looked around the room, then I hoped no one would visit. I could put a bunch of money into this place if I were going to live here long term. I noticed the sand in the disgusting carpet. I took a deep breath, telling myself, stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

 

Two more rooms to investigate: the main bedroom and the bathroom. I didn’t know which one I was more worried about. I flipped the lights on in the main bedroom and it looked like I had some work to do. I open one window on the south side of the bedroom. I stuck my head out the window. Of course, the sea was to the right. Nice. One matrimony bed, twice as many cabinets as the small bedroom, two small night stands on either side of the bed, and a small stuffed chair in the corner. The chair was the cutest thing in the whole apartment. That was not saying much, but I would use it in my house in Indiana. I opened the closets to find a grocery pull cart in one and two drying racks in the other – another plus. I was trying my hardest to stay positive, but all I kept thinking was that the place was positively atrocious. 

 

I climbed over the bed to open the other window and shutters on the east side. It looked out over the parking lot, and I saw my car. I didn’t think I would be leaving the window open on a regular basis. Shoot, someone walking on the sidewalk could step on the rocks and reach through the window. A little creepy, I locked the shutters so I could get air coming into the room. I didn’t know why I was worried because I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much on the lumpy mattress. I was like the title character from The Princess and the Pea. I felt every lump.

 

Finally, the bathroom was at the end of the hall next to the main bedroom. I was surprised that it was decent looking, and the tiles were in good condition. It just needed cleaning. I was thrilled that the tub didn’t have a rounded bottom. We lived in Florence for a month with a rounded bottom and you had to stand with one foot in front of the other or your ankles would be tilting inward. That was something I always checked. Not that I could change anything about it, but I always checked. 

 

The building must have been built or remodeled in the 1950s because of the tile color. Everybody back then must have been a fan of institutional green. The kind of green you used to see in hospitals. It probably had come back into vogue, but by looking at the rest of the apartment it must be old. I was glad they didn’t go all the way up the wall as in many Italian bathrooms. They were about six feet high, leaving around four feet of bare walls.

 

 I went back to investigate the kitchen. I almost puked when I opened the oven as Susan returned with a pail filled to the brim with cleaning supplies. I shut it immediately. The smell filled the room. My eyes filled with tears, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the smell or the place.

Susan remarked, “That oven looks like it’s for a tiny house. I hope you don’t bake.”

 

I looked at her and replied in a low dejected voice, “I am known for my baking.” I tried to fight back my tears.

 

Susan took pity on me, she came over and gave me a sideways hug and whispered, “If you want you can spend the night with us until you can air out the place and do some cleaning. How’s the rest of the place?”

 

I made a grand waving motion with my arm, “Be my guest, though your lovely shoes might get a little scuffed up walking through all this sand.” 

 

“Well,” she looked at her feet lifting one foot then the other inspecting them, “Maybe after Sam and I come back from dinner. I feel bad that we are leaving you like this, but we won't be long, maybe two or three hours. We will stop by when we get home ok?” She uptalked that last bit as she tried to stay positive.

 

“Susan, isn’t Cosenza the closest big town that would have shops where I can get what I need or should I wait out for market day and shop then.”

 

Before I could ask her when market day was, she jumped slightly and told me, “Tomorrow is market day!”  

 

We shared that moment when we both knew what market day meant. I could get what I needed, and it would be cheaper than any store. The only problem I saw was that I was not a good haggler. With all that I needed, I’d better become a great haggler. 

 

I chuckled, “I can survive one night here before I clean the place up.” With that statement I stooped and slapped my leg. I looked up at Susan, “Bug spray is first on the list,” I gave a wry smile. I was glad I brought Benadryl with me. “Now you go on before you get bit and have a nice dinner. If you see a light on when you get home, stop by for a drink. If there is no light, I have passed out wrapped up like a mummy in what I hope are clean sheets.” I hesitated then added, “Or,” I let the word hang in the air for a moment of drama, “I gave up and I am spending the night in a hotel, booking a ticket for a return flight.” I gave a bigger than necessary smile. Then I let out a, “Go,” with a shooing motion. “Have a great dinner and I will see you tomorrow.” I gave her what she needed, a smile, satisfied that I would be okay. She left giving me a little wave. 

 

I hadn’t checked the network to see if their password worked. I pulled out my phone, plugged in the password and voila, it worked. Yes, something had gone right. My phone had internet! Ok, I wasn’t cut off from the world. Nothing would be brought in from the car until I sprayed the place for bugs. Before it got dark, I did bring in my carry-on, bathroom bag, and my Bi-Pap machine. 

 

Debate, debate, debate. Should I go and get something to eat or just eat the last of the things I got at the autogrills? I made do with the food I had so I could spend some time cleaning. I took pictures so I could get my deposit back, but I figured I have seen the last of that money.

 

I started cleaning and writing a list of things I needed to get. I screamed and hit the table then ripped up the list I yelled, “Nick look what you got me into.” I was glad no one was around. I took a deep breath and I got another piece of paper and wrote the list again. I needed to stay, or I would never get rid of the feeling that Nick wanted me here. As I wrote the list for a third time, I thought Nick would be so proud of me for writing a list. He thought if you didn’t have a list for everything you did, then you failed at being organized. I always thought that was so funny because he had a mess of an office, and we had an organized house. I hated making lists. I don’t know why just hated it. 

 

“OMG,” I just realized that he was getting his way again because I had moved to the place, he wanted us to live! Plus, I was making a list!

 

I never got to choose a move or job in our married life. I always said, when he retired, that I would get to choose where we lived. When I told him I had an idea, he would shoot it down. In other words, I wasn’t going to be choosing the place we lived. What the hell? Look where I ended up: in an atrocious apartment where I didn’t speak the language. Why were these things bothering me when they didn’t bother me when he was alive? 

 

I kept saying, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I needed a break. The sun was going down, so I went outside and saw why the place was worth all the rubbish. The sky was on fire. All the colors were present, and they lifted my spirits. I sat in my chair and stared out into the sea. 

 

I started my ‘tank God, tank God, tank God prayers.’ I knew it wasn’t nice to make fun of the dead. Our ritual when we came to the end of our journey was to call Nick’s mom to tell her we were home. She would say that in her broken English. Our kids even say it now, though we just sent each other texts with ‘TG x 3’ when we get to our destinations.

 

I sat in silence just watching the waves lap onto the beach and the sun sinking into the water. My eyes followed a few couples taking their passeggiata, their evening walk, along the boardwalk. I hoped they realized that they were lucky to have each other. 

 

That’s one of my favorite “things” about Italy. People took the time each evening to walk around town. When we lived in Macerata, it was our favorite part of the day. On days that I decided not to cook, we would hit all the pizza-by-the-slice places along our walk for one slice at a time. We would end our journey with a gelato. I liked those places because they were so cool with the industrialized cookie sheets filled with all kinds of pizza and focaccia. You got a rectangle slice of pizza on a napkin for a couple of euros. I had two favorites that I would pick first if they had them: artichoke pizza or focaccia with rosemary and onion. My mouth watered as I thought about it. 

 

The sky was almost dark, and I only saw a few boat lights coming back from wherever. I saw light coming from behind me. I knew my screenless windows were open and there were more bugs inside than outside. It was because of that damn carpet which provided a perfect dwelling for the bugs. I realized how tired I was as I walked back into the apartment. Was seven p.m. too early to go to bed? I closed and latched all the shutters. At least they all latched. That was a good thing. Then I got nervous. I bet someone could easily unlatch them and I wouldn’t hear anything. I was so tired. I was about to shut and lock all the windows. No, I was not scared, I kept telling myself as I got ready for bed. I set up my computer. I got out a Dick Van Dyke Show DVD and started it. I had put on that show for years to fall asleep. I took a sheet out of the closet and wrapped it around myself. I thought about the open window above me. I told myself that I would hear if someone started to climb over my head…

 

3. The nightmare that won’t quit

I woke up screaming, “NO, NO!” I sat up and I was sweating. Where was I? Why was I wrapped up like a mummy? For Pete’s sake, I was in Italy. I hoped Susan and Sam couldn’t hear me. My dream, or should I say my nightmare, which was on repeat flooded my thoughts. Sometimes I saw it so clearly, sometimes I was me, sometimes I floated above watching the two of us, and the worst was when I was Nick. That was a creepy feeling. I couldn’t shake the feeling for the rest of the day.

 

I got up and walked around the apartment. I wish I could put the dream out of my head, but all I saw was the dream… 

 

I woke up and I didn’t want to open my eyes. I rarely got up before the sun. I liked staying up late and sleeping late in the morning. I listened for Nicholas breathing; with no sound I thought he must have gotten up early. 

 

During the night, when I woke up to get a drink because that damn BiPAP machine dried me out terribly, I felt like something was wrong. What had I forgotten to do? When I felt that way, I always thought I had done something wrong. I was a good Catholic; I always felt I was guilty of something. When I woke up the second time, I laid there awake thinking I might as well get up. I reached out to turn off the damn BiPAP machine and I took off my mask all while keeping my eyes closed. 

 

I finally opened my eyes. I shivered and I saw Nicholas was still in bed. I stared at his back trying to see if he was breathing. 

 

After thirty-nine years of marriage, we had gotten twin adjustable beds to fit into a king frame. A big byproduct was Nicholas didn’t snoring anymore. I knew on the weekend after a couple of drinks, I knew no amount of adjusting the bed would stop his snoring. After years of sleeping on my back and all the way to the side, it still was my habit.

 

I saw myself trying to reach out to see if I could touch him. No Luck. I knew something was wrong. I still couldn’t tell if he was breathing. The realization came over me that my life as I knew it was over. 

I couldn’t believe I was thinking of myself…I spoke aloud “I am sorry Nicholas.”

 

My voice sounded so strange in the quiet of the early morning. I shook so much I could hardly get the covers off me. I had difficulty getting out of bed. I saw myself trying to stand up, but my legs were like jelly. I could hardly walk. What the hell was going on? I was so frightened. 

 

I called out his name. “Nick, Nick wake up.” 

 

No answer. I dragged myself around to his bedside. I saw in the green glow of the charger that something was devastatingly wrong…he was gone. I dropped to my knees and started to cry, no, more like howled. Was that sound really coming out of me?

 

“No, No, No,” I heard myself say. I touched his face so gently.

 

I have done that a thousand times before as I came to bed at night to kiss his sleeping face. Most nights he’d wake up and we’d kiss for real. Oh, how I loved him, and I knew he loved me. We would each smile. In the early years it would go farther, but as we have gotten older not as much. Now we planned our love making because we were too tired at night…no more planning…my heart was broken.

I kissed him gently…he was so cold. 

I remember thinking what should I do now? We thought I would go first. I had so many things wrong with me and he had nothing. His mother lived to be 100 and her father lived to be 96. Nick’s dad was a smoker, and he died at 80 from emphysema. Nick was rarely sick, he worked out four or five times a week, good blood pressure, ideal weight, well maybe 10 to 15 pounds more than he should be, but he looked great. How could this happen? 

 

That morning, I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. Who should I call first? Should I call my kids? Would Giovanni be up? Maria? Should I call 911 or who? 

 

I just knelt there and memorized his face. 

 

Funny, I just told him the week before he died while we were looking at a family album that the picture of him in his thirties was the picture of him that I had in my head. Nick confessed, “Sometimes I am shocked when I look in the mirror and see my dad looking back at me, so it is good you still see me as a thirty-year-old.”  

 

I called David, figuring that he would be Maria’s strength. He was up early, and he could break the news to her. My voice was shaky when he answered the phone. 

 

“David.”  

 

He instantly knew something was wrong.

 

“Kristy what’s wrong? Is it Nicholas?”

 

I started crying again. I couldn’t stop crying.

 

“I’ll get Maria.”  

 

“No! You tell her he’s gone.” I paused. “I will wait to call for the ambulance until after you are here.” 

 

David didn’t miss a beat, “We’ll be right over.”

 

I was aware of the garage door going up. In my dream it just took seconds for them to travel three miles between the two houses. 

 

Maria came running down the hall yelling. What, I didn’t know. She ran past me to Nick’s side saying, “No, Daddy, no! I’m not ready for you to go.” She laid her head on his side. “Please Daddy please…Daddy, I love you,” she whispered. David came to her side. I heard soft crying from the door. That was when I noticed my grandsons standing there in their pajamas. 

 

David was talking. It took me a minute to realize he was talking to me. “Kristy,” he touched my arm. “Kristy, have you called 911?”  

 

I shook my head no. Maria stood up and, in a flash, she lunged at me. At first, she scared me then I realized she wanted comfort in my arms. Maria was almost pulling me down with her heavy heart. I kept saying I’m so sorry repeatedly. 

Maria was daddy’s little girl and she had him wrapped around her little finger. She just had to mention something, and he would get it for her. The truth was, he would tell me to get it for her. He got all the credit, and I was the dumb one who made sure she knew it was him who got it for her. 

 

My mind was wandering. I really couldn’t focus, Maria asked if I called Giovanni. I shook my head no. Oh, I was a terrible mother! I didn’t call Giovanni. He lived about ten hours away, so I knew he wouldn’t come right over. My heart hurt. I needed to sit down. I realized I was sitting in my chair in my room. Everything was swirling around me. I saw things happening. Maria talked on the phone; David took the boys over to say goodbye to their Nonno. Then the police, two ambulance attendants and a couple firefighters appeared in the bedroom. Everyone was talking to me, but I was not making any sense of what they were saying. Did I answer them correctly? David took over…thank God for David.

 

They were wheeling Nick out. I couldn’t let them. I screamed, “NO!” Everyone’s attention turned to me. I worked my way out of my chair and went to Nick. I laid my head on his chest and said, “I will love you forever and a day.”

 

Crying, Maria came to my side, “Mom, you need to let him go. They need to take Daddy to the hospital.” 

 

I couldn’t tell how long I laid there. I didn’t think it would bother anyone if I held on to him as long as I wanted. I couldn’t let them take my love out the door. What was I going to do without Nick? I just thought – God help me. God take care of him. I stood up and let them wheel him down the hall. I started to scream, “No, no, no!” And then I wake up at that point every time.

 

I couldn’t understand why they were taking him to the hospital. It was not like I poisoned him or something. When his mom first lived with us, I said I couldn’t grow the striking Castor flowers because the seeds contained the poison ricin. If she died while living with us, believe me, they would have investigated her death. My mother-in-law did everything she could to get between Nick and me. I posted what I called my MIL sagas on social media. 

 

I didn’t remember much the following weeks after Nick died. I felt like I was walking in a fog. I remember seeing family and friends coming and going, but what they said went in one ear and out the other. If they started to cry, I cried. I really didn’t want to see anyone. 

 

Giovanni came home and took charge. Everyone was happy to step aside to let him deal with all the arrangements. Nick would have been so proud of him. Nick said he should talk to Giovanni about doing just what he did, take charge of the situation. 

 

I told Nick, “I should tell Giovanni to take charge because you wouldn’t know what to do if I died.” In the end, neither one of us did and we didn’t have anything to worry about. We forget that Giovanni was a good man, not a boy anymore. 

 

I tried to shake off the memories of that morning as I walked around my new apartment. Sometimes, it felt like yesterday and other times it felt like a lifetime ago. I hated that dream; it made me feel like I was reliving Nick’s death repeatedly. I wanted the dream to stop. 

 

4. The decision to come

I walked back into my bedroom to find my phone. I saw it was four a.m. I had hydrated well on the plane to counteract jet lag, but going to bed at seven p.m. was the worst idea. I should have tried to go back to sleep, but the uneasiness I felt had woken me up. I had things to do anyway. I was excited to go to the market to see what goodies I could find. Plus, I wanted to get to know the town where Nick wanted to live.

While I cleaned, it brought up thoughts of when I cleared out Nick’s office. Maybe because all the dust that was in the apartment reminded me that Nick never dusted his office and had accumulated fifteen years of dust. A ton of his books were gone from the funeral. Someone had organized Nicholas’s books for people to take as they left the funeral. They were set up in the narthex. He thought that would help me get rid of all the books in his office. 

He said, “Just make everyone take a book at my funeral.” I thought it was a silly thing, but I guess the kids remembered that it was something he wanted. I couldn’t believe people actually took books.

I had talked to his head of department about the stuff they needed. The last few years of his grade books were all. So, I had a plan: clear his hard drive; recycle old paper; throw away all his badges from conferences; pull out the last of the books to donate. I knew I should have called a book broker to see if they wanted any of his books, but that was another step I didn’t want to take. Collect all the books that he wrote. I knew I was going to throw away the faded picture of me from when we dated. I didn’t mind that he remembered me as an 18-year-old.

When I walked into his office, I felt like I had walked into a Nicholas Museum. Everywhere I looked, it was him and his mess. The leftover books from the funeral were stacked next to the door. That part was easy. I sat in his mess for two hours while everybody on the floor came in to see me and tell me how sorry they were. If they started to cry, I would get up and hug them. 

By the end of the day, going through things was easier for me because I had less disruptions. I came across a file that said Future-Italy. I almost threw it into recycling because he kept files from all our trips. I knew the files from Macerata, Florence, Rome but Future that one didn’t sound familiar. For some reason I opened it. It was research he had done on places to live in Italy. I wondered why he hadn’t shown it to me. We talked about everything. Every time he would apply for a Fulbright we would talk extensively about where we wanted to live. I couldn’t lie, that hurt me. I skimmed through and saw that he had circled and starred multiple times the town of Cetraro, Italy. He underlined all the points I was sure he would have raised about why we should move there. Of course, his research was thorough. It would have been hard to say no. I just didn’t want to leave my family.

When I had everything in order in his office, I texted the administrative assistant that the trash was near the door and the things they wanted were on the desk. I only brought home the books that he wrote figuring that the kids or the grandkids would want to have them. They had better want these, I said to myself as I lugged them out to my car. I also tucked the Italy file into a box. 

When I got home, I showered and ate a fried egg with toast. I looked at the box of books I had brought in and decided I would look through the Italy file. I pulled up the town on my computer and saw how charming the town looked. The sea pictures were breathtaking. The town was relatively close to his cousins, we could be there in a day. The train ran close by, and it would be easy to get to Fiumicino airport in less than seven hours. The trip down would be a beautiful train ride along the coast! I saw on the paper ‘Kristy loves water,’ and ‘Kristy loves mountains.’ Written next to the marina was ‘We love walking around Yachts.’ He thought of me, of us! I closed the file with a snap. I smelled Nick’s cologne. How I missed him. I missed talking to him. I miss his touch, his laugh.

Back to reality, I had cleaned what I could in the apartment without even thinking what I was doing. As I walked around, I felt pretty good about my progress. I cleaned the cabinets, refrigerator, the stovetop, the countertops, washed a load of towels with the couch cover and a load of sheets with the tablecloth, cleaned the bathroom and left the tub for when I showered. When I finally jumped into the shower it was seven a.m. I was glad I brought flip flops, laundry soap sheets, one towel, and washcloths. I needed all four items. In the morning, I examined the whole floor more closely. It looked like someone had brought in large buckets of sand and sprinkled it all over the apartment…yea, for flip flops. I knew some Italians used washcloths, but you never get them in hotels or rentals. I had brought my laundry soap sheets because we had started using them years ago to try to save on single-use plastic. I didn’t know if Italy had started using them yet. The towels were gross and needed to be washed. I would be using the ones here, but if I couldn’t get the smell out, I would be looking for a couple of towels at the market.

 

5. My Change

As I combed my hair, I examined myself in the mirror. I had aged since that morning when Nick died. I said aloud, “Well, I am here, I might as well stay for three months.” Nick got me here, but I made the decision to stay. I needed space between me and my home. Besides, Maria and David would be disappointed to move back into their home. It excited me to no end to see them settled in my home. The grandsons were so excited to have their own rooms. Almost as excited as when I told them that I paid for a hotel for the week in Cincinnati and bought some family tickets to the zoo, aquarium, and the water park. No, I didn’t spoil my grandsons. I also gave money to Giovanni and Michele to get some new things for the new house. I even sent money for the older boys to buy new things for their new rooms, plus enough money for new clothes for their new school. I tried to be fair. 

I kept thinking about what I had. I needed to stop that; it wasn’t good for me. Neither was having these dreams. The process you go through for grieving sucks. It was an emotional rollercoaster, and I was tired of it. I thought I was doing better, though there were still the littlest of things that made me cry or worse, angry. 

Back in Indiana I had started walking daily when I got overwhelmed with all the well-intentioned people who stopped by, mainly women telling me their stories of when their spouse died. I was invited out daily to have lunch with different groups of widows. I got mailings for support groups from people who lost their spouses. I was a part of a club that I never wanted to join.      

Good intentioned people kept stopping by, I was never alone in my thoughts. I had to get out of the house. I decided to try walking again. In my reading I came across a quote from St. Augustine: “It is solved by walking. What is “it”? If you want to find out, then you will have to do your own walking.”

I took this quote literally. I loved getting out and walking, but with all my health issues I found excuses to put it off. I figured out that if I took my cane, I could walk a little, stop for a while, then walk more, I could be outside for the better part of the day. I would get up early and walk and walk. By two months, I had built up my stamina that I walked to the little towns around us. I still used my cane. Mainly because I was nervous. What if I was walking too much, I would need my crutch to get home. If I wasn’t walking, I read about how to let go of a loved one, what to do when you lose a spouse, and why God takes good people. I started to pray more and asked what was next. I tried to find my “it.”

One day while I sat and enjoyed the flow of the river and the occasional bird swooping down to try to grab a fish. I kept going back to the dream I had the night before. Not my nightmare, but one I started to have after I opened the Italy file. It was such a fun dream. Nick and I were in the bedroom packing. Acting like teenagers going on spring break. Nick was kissing me and saying, “Please promise me you will give Italy a chance.” I said, “Okay I promise.” Nick replied, “I promise it will change your life forever.” He winked at me then kissed me on the neck in my special spot. When I had that dream, I felt warm inside. I wondered if that was Nick’s way of telling me to go to Italy. I loved going with him, but would I love it without him? He was my own special interpreter and I was the one who made him do things beside read.

I tried to pray, but my thoughts of Italy kept interrupting them. Fine, I would go live in Italy for three months. I would go for Nick and then decide what step to take in my new life. I could go and volunteer. I knew churches there had opportunities for volunteering.

I felt like I had to call Giovanni and tell him of my idea. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, mom, is everything ok?” He said with some urgency. I never called him during work hours.

“Yes, I just wanted to talk to you. Do you have any time now?” 

“Yes, I have a few minutes before I have to go to a meeting,” I could hear the relief in his voice. 

“Well,” I took a deep breath, “I have been thinking about what I am going to do.” I heard an exhale and knew he thought I would take forever. So, I sped it up. “I am going to Italy and stay for three months. I found this file your dad had made up of research. I am going to live in Cetraro, Italy. This part is not up for debate. What I am calling you about is, would you mind if I had your sister, and her family move into my house while I am gone? I have thought this out.” I said the next thing faster because I knew I was trying his patience. “I will have the lawyer draw up a contract that says this will be part of her inheritance if anything should happen to me on the trip. I don’t want you to feel like you are being cheated out of anything. I don’t know if they even want the house permanently. I just know they can’t get out of their small house in the condition it is in. I think that they could clean it up and paint it while I am gone. Then my house wouldn’t be standing alone without anyone in it. I will be in Italy at my favorite time of year. I could put the house up for sale right now and I will if Maria doesn’t want to move in. I don’t want to offer this if this will upset you.” 

Giovanni cleared his throat. “Mom, you don’t have to ask me for permission. I say go ahead and ask her if she wants it.”  

“Thanks for your time. I know you are busy. I hope the boys and Michele are good after this move.” 

“Yes, yes everyone is good,” came the usual reply. “Though I would like to hear more about this trip. I need to go, mom. I love you and we’ll talk soon.”  

Everything went off without a hitch. I had my tickets, I even found an apartment online though I failed in not getting references, rented a car, updated my will, and moved a few boxes and some furniture I wanted to keep for my new place into storage. We even moved Maria, David, and the boys into the house. I felt good. Though when it came time for me to leave, I started to doubt that I was doing the right thing. Since I got to Italy, I wasn’t that scared…except during the night.

I was ready to shop for my new apartment. I grabbed the cart and took off walking. I walked out of the complex of apartments; darn it, I had no idea where I was going. I knew where the main part of the town was, so I headed in that direction. Soon I saw old ladies with their carts heading northeast, so I followed them. Shoot, I realized I was one of those little old ladies with her cart but was I that old? I still have most of my original hair color with one large streak of white at the right temple and a little bit of white on the left temple. On men, people would say it was distinguished, but on women, not so much. I wondered if I used the pool every day if my hair would turn fire red like it did when I was younger. I looked forward to swimming again. Nicholas was not a swimmer. I could never figure out how someone who grew up in Florida did not learn to swim. He lived less than three miles from the beach! I never could pass down my swimsuit after the season was over. My mother put it best: my swimsuit was worn so much it rotted right on to me by the end of summer.

 

6. To Market to Market

The market bustled with excitement. My spirit soared. I would need the energy to get through the day. I bought kitchen supplies. I wanted more than one bowl, three forks, two spoons; there were four plates, and they were all chipped. If I found friends that I wanted to have for dinner, I would buy new plates. I bought another frying pan because the one in the apartment had seen better days. 

I wished I had left my cane in the apartment. I could walk without it, but I felt more stable with it. Though sometimes it was just in the way. 

I bought more than I should, but it was so fun. I was hungry, and I had my eyes open for a bar or a bakery. Finally, I found a bar and went in for a pastry. I loved bars in Italy. They served coffee all day long though in the morning they had pastries, afternoon they had sandwiches. Of course, you could have alcohol at any time. I wished for an almond-filled croissant, but I couldn’t remember what they were called. Croissants were French and Italy didn’t make French things. 

The bar was full of people, and I wormed my way to the counter. I was rude because I insisted on bringing in my cart. I didn’t know how safe it would be to leave it outside. I was thrilled when I found out that they had a little sign for mandorle cornetti. I was pleased with myself that I knew mandorla meant almond. The main difference between the cornetto and a croissant was that the cornetto didn't have as much butter. I was ok with that. After losing so much weight since Nick’s death, I was thrilled to go buy something that was rich in calories and wouldn’t feel like someone was judging me. Here they would judge me because I didn’t want coffee, and I wanted to take it to go. After I took the first bite, I would be back. The cornetto was amazing. I might even have tea and sit next time. They could charge me extra to sit in that delightful piazza, eat an almond cornetto and drink a pot of tea.

I looked at my cart and wondered, should I take it back and empty it or should I just hang the fruit and vegetables off the cart? I opted for hanging. The market would close soon, so I was off. I walked devouring the heavenly snack in search of the fruit and vegetable stand. I rounded the corner and up against the overpass was a stand with tons of people. The place had either the best prices, best produce, or the only produce. My bet was it had the best produce. I worked my way up to pull the number ticket then stepped back a little. I wanted to make my choices, practice my Italian in my head, people watch, and try to do it without them noticing me watching them. If we looked at each other at the same time, we had to have that uncomfortable bit of acknowledgement. It took me twenty years of visiting Italy to accept the fact that they prefer to acknowledge people they knew. I lost count of how many people I had made uncomfortable by saying “hi” or “good morning.” 

I noticed a guy was being rude by reaching over people and moving all around the stand. Great, the guy moved in front of me, and he smelled. I wanted to direct him to a shop that sold deodorant. Damn, then he butted in front of the nice-looking couple next to me. I glanced down as the nice-looking man backed into another gentleman and for a split second, I thought he was going to step on the gentleman’s toes. Instead, I saw the “gentleman” pull the nice man’s wallet out of his back pocket. I didn’t know what got into me. I took my cane and with all my strength smacked the thief’s hand and screamed “thief” as loud as I could. He dropped the wallet and yelped. The smelly man knocked into me, and I fell onto the thief grabbing a hold of his jacket to catch myself from falling. We stumbled together, both of us trying to gain our footing. While I had both hands on his coat, I yelled what I hoped was help, police. I screamed. “Aiuto polizia, aiuto polizia!” The man wiggled out of the coat while everyone around yelled at him. One woman had a bag with a muskmelon in it and whacked the man as he ran away. I was left with the man’s jacket, and I looked around at people like what in the world just happened.

The nice little man tried to get everyone to stop yelling, and the nice little woman picked up her husband’s wallet and all the money that fell out.

In English I said, “Should someone call the police?” I couldn’t even begin to think of the right words in Italian. 

The nice little man told everyone, “No, no polizia.”

At least, I can respond in Italian “Perche? Why?”

He looked at me with what I called cow eyes. These soulful eyes looked up to me and he recognized me as an English speaker. “He is just a poor man trying to feed his family.”  

His wife added, “We see his kind all the time at the church. Usually just the wives and children because the men work the town for money.” The wife handed the wallet to the man, “Guido, it is all here.” 

They both looked up at me, “Thank you for stopping the pickpocketer.” With satisfaction, Guido added, “This was the money we saved for our daughter’s party. She just graduated from university.”

“You are welcome.” That was all I could think of saying.

Guido said, “Let me introduce myself. I am Guido Gallo, and this is my wife Chiara.”

I looked at the wife, “That is one of my favorite Italian names. It has a lyrical sound to me. My name is Kristy Russo.”

They both piped up, “That is an Italian name, Russo.”

“Yes, my husband was Italian.”

Chiara looked down and whispered “Was?”

I took a deep breath, “Yes, he passed away a few months ago.” I might as well just tell everyone my husband of forty years was dead. Maybe I should wear a sign saying “widow” across it. Words I hated. I hated it more that he died.

Both made the sign of the cross, “Oh Dio mio,” with very sad faces.

 Chiara suggested, “You should come to the party tonight.” 

“Yes, you saved the party.” The suggestion made Guido excited.

As we had the small conversation people kept saying to me "grazie" or in English, "good job" and patted me on the arm or back. I was so distracted, out came, “I would love to.” Without thinking they probably just wanted to offer, not expecting me to say yes.

I was still holding the thief’s jacket, and it was heavy. I started fiddling with the jacket and realized that there was a hidden pocket. I reached in the deep pocket and felt a couple of wallets and some cash. As I pulled them out, I was embarrassed with my response, “Oh shit!” I looked up, “Pardon me.”

Guido laughed, “I have said worse. Let me see if I know who owns these.” He took the wallets from me. He yelled out the name on the identification card in the first wallet and a man turned around, “Si.” The two had an exchange and the man reached out to kiss me on each cheek saying, “Grazie, grazie.” He hadn’t even noticed it was missing. It astonished me if I had witnessed what just happened, I would have instantly reached for my wallet. Of course, I realized I hadn’t felt for my own wallet. Yes, it was there. I wished women’s pockets were deeper. Since I didn’t design clothes, I shouldn’t complain. Well, I could complain. I might complain more than I should, but it really didn’t help.

We heard a commotion at the checkout station at the produce stand. Chiara was standing behind a woman paying for her produce. Chiara yelled to Guido, “Someone stole her husband’s wallet right out of her purse.”  

Guido held up the other wallet, “See if this was his wallet.” Chiara retrieved it so fast then ran back waving the wallet over her head shouting what I figured was, “is this it?” Happy ending. Chiara came back over and in a low tone, “That’s the judge’s wife. He was taking a call when she left this morning and gave her his wallet. Instead of taking the money out she just threw the wallet into her purse. She knew that she was going to be back before he had to go to court.” She touched my arm, “She will come over to thank you in just a minute.” 

“Oh, she does not have to thank me. It is the guy that knocked me into the thief, or I would have never caught his jacket.” It was then I understood, the two had been working together.

Mrs. Judge came out of the mass of people wanting to buy produce. She was elated, “Grazie, grazie,” and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand, so I looked to Guido for help. His English skills were excellent. That reinforced that I needed to work on my Italian. 

Guido interpreted without any hesitation, “She can’t thank you enough and she is going to tell the judge how brave you are. She wants to have you over for drinks, so she can introduce you to her husband.”

Mrs. Judge with the realization that I didn’t speak Italian, “Excuse me.” She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me, “Please come for drinks tonight at 18:00. The address is on the card. I know my husband would like to meet you.” 

Chiara was thrilled with the idea, “That is perfect then you can come over to our house when you are finished.”

Mrs. Judge replied, “Perfetto,” as if that was all she needed to say and walked off.

I kind of nodded and wondered what I had gotten myself into. I looked down at the card and saw it was her card not the judge’s card. Giulia Filice, Designer d’interni, I wouldn’t be asking them over for drinks. In my other hand, I still had a fist full of cash. I looked at Guido and Chiara and asked them, “What should I do with this? I can’t keep it. It’s not right.”

They looked at each other and smiled, “Caritas.” They said simultaneously. I guess the look of puzzlement on my face had Guido continue, “Caritas is an organization in our church that helps poor people, immigrants, and the homeless. It is a very good organization. I promise.”

“Okay, and how do I get this money to them?”

He smiled, “We volunteer there every week. You can come and see for yourself what it is like if you want?” Again, the cow eyes.

“Sounds wonderful. I thought after I settled in, I would look for somewhere to volunteer.”

Chiara inquired, “How long have you been here?”

“Less than 24 hours” was my dismal reply. 

They both laughed, and Guido said. “Do you like all this excitement for your first day?”

“Not really.” I chuckled. “I can’t believe what just happened in the last half hour. I can’t wait for the next 24 hours.” I gave a smirk.

Chiara added, “I hope our party isn’t this exciting,” she gave a little sigh.

Guido looked at her and responded, “Maybe not your family, but with my family you never know what will happen,” He smiled so broadly.

Chiara patted Guido’s arm and said, “Si, si, your family.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Come we need to finish shopping. Il Contadino has our bags, and I will have to make him go through all of them to see if he has given us everything on my list.” She spread out her hand toward the vendor. 

“Well, I haven’t even started. I have so much to do to get my place livable and one of them is getting some food. I guess I should get back in line.” As soon as I said that I wanted to take it back. Italians don’t have lines. At least this farmer had a number system.

As Chiara and Guido were leaving, Guido came running over. “Here is our address. Can I send a car for you? Wait a minute you will be at the judge’s tonight it’s not far from here.” Everyone knew everyone in a small town. “Alora, we live up this street,” he pointed up the hill. “Go up to the end and we are on the right, number three.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Bring nothing, you are our honored guest next to our daughter,” he said with a smile as broad as his face. You could see the pride in his shoulders. 

It dawned on me, I didn’t have my cane, well, my father’s cane. I took it after he died and kept it in the corner where I could see it every day. After my last surgery I started using it. I searched the ground and mumbled, “My cane.”

Guido inquired, “Your cane?”

“Yes, the cane that I hit the man’s arm with when he was trying to get your wallet.”

He laughed at the idea of it. “I did not know you used a cane.”

“There it is.” I pointed at my cane or pieces of cane because it was in two pieces. I felt a ping in my stomach.

“I will buy you a new cane?” 

“I really don’t need it. Well, I don’t know if I can do without it. I have had several back surgeries, and I use it because I am nervous without it.” The anguish on his face had me add “This is good now I can give it up. Really this is good. I was too dependent on it. I really don’t need it,” I picked up the pieces and felt the loss of my dad over again. “You know what? I can fix it. Some glue and duct tape and it will be as good as new.” My eyes moved from the cane to Guido, and I smiled. The cow eyes would always get to me. “It really is ok. I will see you tonight. Oh, I didn’t ask, what time is the party?”

Guido wave of his hand, “You come whenever you finish at the Judge’s. The party will start when you arrive.” Then that great smile appeared. 

What sweet people. I was astonished with what happened in such a brief time. Two events in one day and there would be nothing for the rest of my time here.

I arrived back at my place and saw Sam sitting up on his patio. “Hi Sam.” I waved to get his attention.

“Hello Kristy. We are just sitting down for a cup of tea and biscuits. Would you like to join us?”

“You had me at biscuits. Let me put these in the house and I will be right up.”

We had an exciting tea conversation telling them all about the event that just happened. They couldn’t believe how brave or maybe stupid I was. They warned me that I should keep an eye out for the men when I was out and about. 

Brits knew how to make a cup of tea though it was too strong for me. Which was great for me because it gave me the excuse to add sugar and milk. Which reminded me of when we were young and sick with a stomach ache. My mom would make us a weak cup of tea with milk and sugar with dry toast. I didn’t think dry toast was good for anything. If you want me to feel better, put cinnamon sugar and lots of butter on it. That was a great piece of toast. Oh, wait, fry a piece of good bread in butter then add honey. There was nothing better. 

I stayed too long at Susan and Sam’s. I did enjoy their company. They dressed like normal people on holiday. Both were in shorts with Sam in a polo shirt and Susan in a blue gingham top. It brought out the blue in her eyes. What was it about blue eyes? I just loved them, maybe because my father had blue eyes.

I asked them where they got their plants because I would like a few plants around my patio, too. Sam had a green thumb; he had so many beautiful and healthy plants. It gave the drab run-down feel of the place a real facelift. I wanted to grow some basil and some flowers. It wouldn’t compare to the garden he was growing. Susan said every time he went out, he came back with another plant.

​If I had someone to cook for, I would put in more herbs, but with it being just me, basil would be enough. Maybe some parsley. I bought eggplant at the market so caponata would be my next dinner. Before I was to leave for the Judge’s house I needed to make a start a biga so I could make bread tomorrow. I found making an Italian biga better than having to feed a sourdough started all the time. It had been a while since I made bread. Just before Nick died was the last time. Before then I made it weekly. Nick loved my bread. I swear if I let him he would have eaten a loaf of bread the day I baked it. I really had a craving for homemade bread. Maybe because I was in Italy I wanted to make my Italian cuisine. Being here and making Nick’s favorites makes me feel, makes me feel like I am making them for him.