Page 31 of Nantucket Reflections
“I trust you!” Julia said. “Let’s go, before I fall apart from hunger.”
The restaurant was a five-minute walk from the bed-and-breakfast, toward the docks down below and tucked alongside the second incomplete CAT mural. As they approached, they could hear live music from the outside. Sophia explained that the musicians were her niece’s husband and his brothers, who often performed along the Amalfi Coast. “It’s always love songs,” she said with a funny laugh. “But that’s what we Italians believe in most of all, I suppose.”
“Do you believe in that most of all?” Julia asked, surprised at the woman’s pessimism.
“I believe in family,” Sophia said firmly.
Julia didn’t want to point out that romantic love was often essential to building a family. She had the sense that Sophia wasn’t the kind of woman to argue with.
The restaurant was full of Italians who’d made it their purpose, tonight and tonight only, to celebrate the birthday of one of Sophia’s other relatives, a man in his nineties with a mischievous smile and a hunched back. Despite his age, he was already dancing, clapping his hands, and shifting his hips. It seemed like there was a traditional dance at play, with others in the family joining in, taking each other’s hands, and going up and down the room. Sophia gestured for Julia and Charlie to join, but Julia hung back, nervous, and decided to grab a glass of wine first. “I’ll watch,” she said.
Julia and Charlie sat for a while, watching and eating light snacks as the time ticked later and later. As Americans, they marveled at the late-night attitude of the Italian people. They went forever. Gregor, too, seemed into it, playing along with all the dances and even talking to a beautiful Italian woman who seemed curious about him, too. Sophia was into it. She bustled over to Julia and Charlie, telling them, “I would just love it if Gregor would join the family!”
Sophia sat down beside Julia to rest, smiling serenely in full view of her family. Marius stood by the door with the other men, smoking cigarettes and discussing other things. Julia wondered how many other parties like this had been held in the history of Positano.
It was then she remembered the Eastern Europeans and the photo Henry had sent.
“Can I show you something?” she asked Sophia.
“Of course,” she said.
Julia tugged her phone out of her purse and showed the grainy images of the Eastern Europeans who’d been with Lucia that night in Nantucket. “I’m trying to figure out their connection to Positano,” she said, watching Sophia’s face for signs she understood. “I’m thinking they might have been involved in a crime ring here on the coast? What do you think?”
Sophia took the phone and furrowed her brow so much that you couldn’t see her eyes any longer. After nearly a full minute, she puffed out her cheeks and shrugged. “I really don’t know. One, I don’t have my glasses on. For two, I only moved back to the center of Positano two years ago. I lived on the outskirts for many years. It’s possible that they were before my time.”
Julia thanked her and pocketed her phone. She decided it was better to ask the bartender.
After that, they feasted. Just as Gregor had warned, it was more food than Julia knew what to do with, more food than her body could take. But like Sophia, the other Italians in the family bullied the foreigners until they ate just as much as they did, drinking the occasional shot of liquor to make room in their stomachs. The hours ran on, with various Italians taking the stage to tell a story or tease one another. Charlie and Julia had no idea what was going on, but they listened, captivated with the music of the language, feeling slightly ill from all the food. Gregor, of course, could keep up—but that was the sort of guy Gregor was. He was worldly. He knew countless languages. Julia was already filled with regret that someday soon, they’d have to say goodbye to him, maybe for good.
Maybe Gregor wanted to write a book about his life in the art world? Perhaps, in that way, Julia could help his career? But that would happen if and only if she figured out a way to save the publishing house.
Suddenly, Gregor interrupted her reverie, speaking in English to her, saying, “Look at that painting!”
Julia followed his point to a beautiful painting of a woman in her thirties or forties. In it, the woman had glossy dark hair and birdlike features, and she sat in the splendor of the sun with a gorgeous Italian countryside before her. From the painting, it wasn’t clear what the woman was drawing, but what was clear was the intensity of her vision and the fact that she didn’t know she was being watched.
It was a captivating painting.
“I love it,” Julia said softly. What she wanted to say was, it seemed like whoever painted it loved the woman. But it didn’t feel like romantic love. She couldn’t say why.
“Sophia,” Gregor said excitedly, “who painted that?”
Sophia shifted away from her family conversation and drew her eyes to the painting. Her eyes flickered mysteriously. “My granddaughter painted that.”
Gregor’s face brightened. “Your granddaughter? Really? Why have I never met her before?”
Sophia waved her hand. “She doesn’t live here any longer.”
Gregor wasn’t finished with his questions even though it was clear Sophia didn’t want to talk about her granddaughter. “How old is she? Where did she go?”
“She’s seventeen,” Sophia said finally. “She wanted to leave Positano and go study art. It wasn’t my decision to send her away. I want her to stay here. I want her to appreciate where she comes from. It’s too easy for young people to go away these days. They lose their Italian sensibilities. They become too much like everyone else.”
Gregor’s eyes couldn’t pull away from that painting. “Do you mind if I take a photograph of it? I might want to send it to a few art friends.” He swallowed. “If she’s studying art, maybe she wants to make some money off it as well?”
“Don’t let it go to her head,” Sophia warned, shaking her finger at Gregor. “I want her to be done with this art business and go into something better. Something worthwhile!”
“But her work is worthwhile,” Gregor said, laughing.
Sophia eventually relented and said that Gregor could take a photograph if he wanted to. “But you can’t sell any prints without telling us first!” she warned.
