Page 53 of Something Like Fate

Before I can bend down to collect everything, Teller is already on his hands and knees. I’ve got to hand it to him—he’s fast, snatching my lip gloss and mints before a tourist in a floppy hat stomps on them with her chunky sandals.

“Thanks, Tel,” I say, grateful as he passes me the little bottle of hand sanitizer he gave me at the airport.

After the shock wears off, Caleb and Riley jump in to help, searching around for anything we may have missed. I hadn’t realized how much junk I’d accumulated in here. Cards, money, random receipts, a bottle of Tylenol, and random items like bobby pins and a nail file.

After everything is picked up, we head to the Basilica and walk around before meeting up with the rest of the group. On the way out, I spot a young couple relaxing on a picnic blanket. She’s nestled between his outstretched legs, back resting against his chest like she belongs there. He plants a tiny kiss on her temple. For him, she’s the view. It’sexactly the kind of love I’ve wanted all my life. The kind I hope to find. The kind Mom and Dad had. My fingers tingle with the urge to look at the photo of them in my bag, to remind myself. Only, when I check my purse pocket, it’s not there.

“It’s not here,” I mutter, my ears ringing as I frantically comb through my bag, praying it accidently got stuck between ID cards or lodged in a crevice. But the more I search, the more reality sets in. There’s no sign of the picture.

Did it fall out when my bag spilled in the square? The Basilica? Or worse, did it fall out somewhere in between and I didn’t notice?

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me, like there’s a weight sitting on my chest, constricting every breath.

I can’t lose it. I can’t lose her. I have to go back.

“Guys, wait. I—I have to go back to the square!” I shout, panicked when everyone starts walking ahead.

“Why?” Caleb asks, eyes widening as he takes in my demeanor.

“My picture. It’s gone” is all that comes out. I don’t know how to explain without everyone thinking I’m ridiculous. I’m starting to hyperventilate. The tears sting my cheeks as I frantically root through my purse, praying it’ll appear.

I’ve lost a lot of things over the years: money, family jewelry from my aunts, even my passport. But this photo is the one item I’ve managed to keep close. The fact that I’ve willy-nilly dropped it, on a random street in a foreign country, fills me with an overwhelming sadness and self-loathing I can’t quite describe. It feels like a gaping hole in my heart. Like I’ve lost her.

“What picture?” Riley asks.

Teller sees I have no bandwidth to explain. “It’s a picture of her mom. Where did you last see the photo?” he asks.

“I don’t remember ... maybe when we checked into the hostel? I think I had it when I got my key card. But my bag spilled before we got to the Basilica and—I don’t know—”

“Could you print a new one?” Caleb asks. It’s a perfectly legitimate question. I could. It’s a copy of the original picture, after all. But this photo has been with me since I was twelve. I’ve treasured it, taken it everywhere, and I especially want Mom with me in Italy.

Before I’m forced to explain that no, I can’t simply replace it, Teller places his hand on my shoulder. “Lo, I’ll go back with you. We’re going to find it.”

I don’t know why, but when our eyes meet, I believe him. Against all odds, I actually think we’ll find it.

“We can wait,” Caleb offers.

“No, we’ll catch up with you guys back at the hostel. Don’t worry about me,” I call over my shoulder.

Teller and I take off running back to the square, though it’s more like a slow jog for Teller, given his stride is at least twice mine. Pure adrenaline and desperation keep me going through the sweaty blur of traffic and tourists.

All I can think about is that photo.

It takes a good twenty minutes to get back to where my bag spilled. In typical Teller fashion, he starts a methodical search. Meanwhile, I’m a total mess, scanning the ground aimlessly among thousands of feet. Twenty minutes of knee-scraping crawling on the hot, jagged cobblestone turns up nothing but a bunch of torn receipts and trash. The moment I’m vertical again, my vision starts to tunnel.

Before I even realize I’m dizzy, Teller’s arm is around my waist. He leads me to the edge of a trickling fountain and sits me down, digging out his water bottle from his backpack. “Here. You need to drink some water.”

“It’s okay, I don’t want to get my germs all over it.”

He gives me a look that sayscome onand extends it toward me. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from his hands. The bottom of the water bottle is cold and refreshing against my hot thighs. I chug thewhole thing in record time, only stopping when reality hits me again. “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

“We’re going to find it, Lo,” he says with conviction.

“How can you be so sure? We’ve looked everywhere. It’s probably miles from here, stuck in a gutter or on the bottom of someone’s shoe,” I say, lip trembling.

Normal Teller would nod and say, “Probably.” Normal, logical Teller would pronounce the statistical chances of finding it again basically zilch. But instead, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “We’ll search all of Florence if we need to, okay?”

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