1.Flying with the ghost

When David pulled the car into the drop off lane at the airport terminal, the smell of anxiety filled the car. I surprised myself by getting out. In the half hour that it took us to get to the airport, I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him to turn the car around and go back. I was astonished that David didn’t say anything to me about my death grip on the arm rest. Neither one of us said a word until we hugged and said goodbye. 

When I took the first step on the plane, it was unsettling. I sat down and took a deep breath. I had been holding my breath since we left the hotel. The seat next to me was empty. Fantastic, I hoped it would stay that way; I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I planned to take my nighttime medication right after dinner in the hope that I would sleep the rest of the trip. My mind raced through all the steps he planned. I couldn’t believe I followed through and was on the plane. I had to be psychotic. It wasn’t even my idea. Why was I letting him control me? 

I kept moving my eyes from the flight attendants helping people with their carry-ons, to my tablet and water bottle stuffed into the seat pocket, to looking out the window. I should leave. I stood up and pulled my tablet out of the pocket. I sat down abruptly. The ghost that sat next to me pulled me down. Why was he here? Why was I here? Insanity must be the reason.

Almost everyone was on board. Reluctantly, I put my tablet back and put my seat belt on. I wiped my sweaty hands off on my pants. I could do what he wanted. I checked my seat belt and gave it an extra tug to make sure it was tight. What was I doing? I unbuckled and sat on the edge of the seat. I could just get off and call David to come back for me. I thought I could go through with this. I stood up again then sat back down.

I heard this sweet old voice inquire, “Honey, is this your first time flying? I promise when you get to Rome you will have a wonderful time.”

I looked across the aisle and saw a woman who had to be at least eighty years old. She must have just gotten her hair dyed a lovely shade of purple just for the trip. It complimented her lime green pants and fuzzy pink oversized sweater. I bet she could have wrapped it around herself twice. The neon orange tennis shoes completed the outfit. I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to feel comfortable enough in my skin to wear what I wanted and not care what people thought of me. I dressed very conservatively but my secret wish was to wear bright colors…maybe not as bright as hers.

The bohemian, bright woman told me all the things I would see in Rome. I smiled at her as she talked. She didn’t realize I wasn’t even going to Rome. Should I tell her? She asked me questions, but never gave me a chance to answer, she just kept talking. The flight attendant interrupted, instructing me to buckle up. Wait, I was getting off the plane. I saw the door had been closed. Shit! I looked back at the old lady, and she smiled at me. Then I felt the jerking motion of the plane backing up. Shit! Shit! Shit! I was going to Italy.

I heard the sweet old voice again, “You can do this. I will get you a drink when we are in the air. It will calm your nerves.”

I felt compelled to tell her that I was not afraid of flying, but instead I sat back in my seat and buckled up. My heart sank down deep into my stomach. I wanted to go back. Without a doubt I didn’t want to be on the plane.

When the seat belt sign went off, the old lady promptly came and sat next to me. The smell of lilacs fill my senses. She told me she was just trying to distract me. She knew there was a reason for me to be on the plane and she tried to help. I thanked her and I told her I was fine. She kept prying until I told her my story. The sadness reflected in our eyes. I tried not to cry, but when she started to cry, we both were blowing our noses. I was used to people crying around me. I really was a sad sack. I was on this flight to try to get rid of my sadness. Doing what my ghost wanted me to do. 

The woman started to move back to her seat, then turned around to give my hand a pat and said, “Your life isn’t over.” Oh, but it was. The life I was blessed with was gone in a flash. 

I gazed out my window seeing a mountain range. The last time we traveled through the mountains was a trip for me to get energized. I wanted to look out at the beauty and let it fill up my tank. I felt closer to God when I was in nature. I loved the feeling and wished I could feel that way all the time. He didn’t care, he just spent time on his phone checking his email.

I needed that kind of trip so I felt like I could continue on in our flat, drab town. We had a dirty little river that ran through the town that I drove along every so often trying to bring back the feelings I had on those trips. 

I loved going to Italy. It would fill my soul not just because there was so much beauty in nature, but because the art and architecture filled me as well. Walking into a church that was several hundred years old just sent my spirits soaring. Would I love Italy as much without my personal interpreter? I didn’t know. What I did know was this would be my last trip to Italy. 

I took my medication after dinner as planned. I didn’t even turn on a movie, which surprised me. I loved movies and on overseas flights it was hard for me to turn the movies off, so I could sleep. I put my headphones on to listen to a book, but mostly to drown out the noise from the plane. I decided on a book that I had read before, so if I fell asleep, I wouldn’t be upset that I missed something. I closed my eyes, and I saw him. I tried to think of something pleasant or tried to concentrate on the book…nothing worked. I pulled out my tablet and switched to a Dick Van Dyke Show episode that I had downloaded. The familiarity lulled me to sleep. 

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2. Meeting my ghost

The bright lights woke me, it was time for breakfast. I plugged in my headset into the armrest and turned on a movie. I found a romantic comedy. I wasn’t paying attention; It reminded me about the first day that we met. I was a freshman in college. He was working on his Master’s. My mom made me promise that I would go to the Newman Center’s freshman welcome gathering on the Friday before school started. I asked the girls that I met on my floor if anyone was going, and a few girls said yes. We all went together. As we were walking into the massive backyard of the Newman House, I saw this guy sitting on the ground at the edge of the yard. He looked up at me, and we shared a smile. It was obvious that he was NOT a freshman. I COULD tell he was checking out all the girls. My new friends and I did a good job of mingling. We were all excited to be starting college, and were asking each other what we were majoring in. To be honest, my friends and I were also checking out all the freshman guys.

Everyone was led around to the front of the Newman Center, and we entered the living room. The service was uplifting with awesome music and the priest was fantastic. I was pleased that my mom told me to go. I knew she was four hours away and wouldn’t know if I went or not, but I was so glad I kept my promise.

After Mass, my friends and I went out the front door and walked around to the back of the house toward the dorm. As we turned the corner, a guy bounced out the back door. It was the guy who was checking out all the girls. I told my new friends, “Well, he knows his way around.” They actually chuckled so I tried to be funny and said. “Doesn’t that guy have a nice butt.” My friends laughed, and the guy glanced back at us, then kept walking. Of course, being girls, we giggled. The guy started to walk slower, which made me get a little gutsier. I started to comment on his great legs, which made my friends laugh more. The guy walked slower. I kept making comments and they would laugh. Finally, at the end of the long driveway, he stopped and waited for us. We did the introductions, and he said he lived next door. We went over to his house where we sat on his front porch and told jokes for a couple of hours.

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3.Arriving in Italy

As we got off the plane, the old lady said to me, “Remember you are young, and your life isn’t over. You took the first step by coming here. Open your heart to the possibilities. God bless you on your travels.”

“Thank you and you have a marvelous time in Rome,” was all I could manage. I teared up. I started to smile a little when the realization of what she said sunk in. She thought I was young. In any other circumstance, I would have burst out laughing at that comment. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed. I truly was a sad sack.

I couldn’t believe I was in Leonardo da Vinci airport in Fiumicino. I pulled my carry-on down the corridor until I saw the departure sign. When could I return to Cincinnati? I didn’t see a flight going back. I stood there for a long time. Cripes! I might as well stay. That was what he wanted me to do. I paid for their hotel for the whole week, so they could have a mini vacation in Cincinnati. I would drive down to the rental property and back in a week; that would give me a taste of Cetraro. I would have David pick me up before they headed home. That would make my ghost happy, right? I really hated my ghost.

I couldn’t believe how smoothly everything went when I picked up the car. I texted the rental company that I had arrived in Fiumicino and would be there around four o’clock. That gave me plenty of time to drive south. I arrived when everyone in Europe was having their vacation, so I knew the roads would be crowded. I didn’t take the scenic route of the Amalfi coast because I knew that road would be bumper to bumper traffic. I drove around Rome and Naples, which were one traffic jam after another. The last hour I drove the coast to Cetraro. Here I got my water views. It was over a five-hour drive and looked forward to getting there.

The drive and the weather were perfect. I stopped my required every two hours and walked around the autogrill picking up a panino, water, and of course biscotti. I was sure that the doctor who ordered me to stop driving every two hours and walk around didn’t plan on me buying cookies. Well, he didn’t say I shouldn’t. At my last stop I got a text from the rental company that they left my key with my neighbor. A great way to meet my neighbor.

 

4. He says he loves me. 

During the drive I found myself thinking about the one who haunted me day and night. How could I stop thinking about my ghost? Though, I should stop referring to him as my ghost. My family already thought I had lost my mind by coming here. If I made the mistake and called him my ghost, they would put me away. I said his name out loud.

“Nick.”

It sounded so strange to my ears. It sounded as desperate as the morning he left me. I had only said his name a few times since then. I was still bitter about him leaving. The club that I reluctantly joined that day said that was normal. They were the only ones that I talked to about Nick, but mostly I listened to their stories. I tried to say his name again, without the anger and shock.

“Nicholas.”

That sounded better. I loved his full name; his mom and I were the only ones who used it. Come to find out he wasn’t a fan of Nicholas. My thoughts of him meandered to when he told me that he loved me the first time. Before, on our second date, he told me he never wanted to get married, so it was a genuine shock when he said I love you. Over Christmas vacation I thought about breaking up with him. I realized that I was falling for him, and I didn’t like that. Since I knew he had a commitment phobia, it was best that I end it. It wasn’t like I had gone to college to get my MRS. Degree like some girls I had met recently. I had planned to get my master’s in art and live in Chicago. I loved Chicago and thought it would be my destination.

The day he told me; we had just come back from Christmas vacation. He had backed me into the kitchen sink and started to kiss me. He stopped and looked me in the eyes. He had the darkest, kindest eyes. They were his best feature, second to his cute butt.

“Kristy, I missed you so much and I thought a lot about you while I was in Florida visiting my mom.” 

His face was beaming, “Oh yeah?” I wasn’t thinking it would be anything special since he mentioned his mom. I was wrong and a little surprised when he just blurted it out. Not in a romantic place, but in a dingy kitchen. I should have known right then that if I wanted romance, I wouldn’t get it from him.

“I love you, Kristy.” I looked at him to see if he really meant it. I knew right then and there; I was lost to him. The change of emotion that I felt was as if I flipped a switch; going from I was going to break up with him to he loved me. He felt the same way as I did…in love.

“I love you, too.”  

He asked if I said it because he did. I told him I didn’t want to be the first to say it because I knew it would scare him off. He nodded his head yes, saying it would have. 

Over the next few months, I wondered why I loved that formidable man. I knew he would dominate our lives together. Live where he wanted. Do what he wanted to do. Could I live with that? I asked myself that a hundred times. I knew saying "I love you" didn’t mean that it was a marriage proposal, but the way things were going I felt it was where we were headed. Nick was a very resolute man. I knew he was dedicated to me, but he was dedicated to his work too. I knew I would be second if he had to choose. His work was his purpose in life. I knew he would love me deeply, but would that be enough for me? 

I decided that in my heart I could handle being loved like that. I really didn’t mind, most days, being second fiddle to his work. As the years went on, I felt I counted more than his work.

The last part of my drive was nerve-wracking. There were no thoughts of Nick, I needed to pay attention to the road. The curves, roundabouts and directions that came from my driver’s assistant were difficult to understand. Her pronunciation was as bad as mine, so knowing what towns she wanted me to look for was challenging. I didn’t think the sea would be enough to relax me, so I was glad I had bought that bottle of wine at the autogrill! I needed it.

Something inside me wanted to get to Cetraro, be it my ghost or the need to escape my life. I did have things to look forward to gazing out at the sea and the weekly market where I could meet the local farmers and vendors. It was one of my week’s highlights when we lived in Macerata. We took students to study abroad for a semester several times. Well, Nick really taught them, but I would help them with whatever else they needed. Some students would visit because they were homesick, and others because they were sick. I helped students shop, talked to them about love, and my favorite topic was food and wine. When you traveled with U.S. students, you needed a teacher, of course, but what you really needed to make travel go smoothly was a mother hen. I filled those shoes rather nicely if I say so myself.

 

5. 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 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 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 maybe they were old photos. 

My apartment was on the south 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 home. 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 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?”

I waited for him to come back out with a kitchen chair to answer. 

“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 couldn’t have kept 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 ripping off a bandage. 

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?”

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.”

“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.

“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.

 

6. 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.

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, 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 side 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 ripped up the list telling myself that I was leaving. 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. No reason, I 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 said it too, though we just sent each other texts with ‘TG x 3.’ 

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 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…

 

7. 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 shivered. Oh, how cold I was under the covers. 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 would stop. 

 

8. 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, 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.

 

9. My Change

As I combed my hair, I saw 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.” My ghost 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 use 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? 

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. 

“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.

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