Page 22 of Nantucket Reflections
When they woke up the following morning, they hurried to clean themselves up and prepare for the ferry that would take them to Positano. Julia wanted to get a head start on their day, thinking that if everything worked out, they could figure out Lucia’s identity and past in the span of a few hours, eat something divine, sleep, and grab a flight back to the United States in a day or two. Maybe this was naive. But naivety had always done her well. It forced her to push herself. It forced her to say yes to everything.
The ferry between Naples and Positano lasted more than an hour, during which time they sat on the top deck and took photographs of the dramatic coastline. Julia sent the pictures to her family members, including her two daughters and son, whom she missed desperately. Rachel and Anna wrote back immediately because their daughters were better at communicating. It made Julia wonder about CAT’s child, whether that child was a daughter or a son, and whether they were good at keeping in touch (provided they were out of the house). She wondered if, like Julia, the real CAT had gone through a mourning period after her children left the nest, heading off to get their college degrees and build their careers and families. She’d had an identity crisis. Maybe CAT was, too?
When Positano came into view for the first time, it took Julia’s breath away. The buildings that jutted out of the cliffside were cream and soft yellow and soft orange, and the way the light played across the church steeples and sharp steps seemed otherworldly. Charlie squeezed her hand, his face rapt. As the ferry tied up at the deck, Julia caught sight of the very first-ever recorded CAT mural, just a stone’s throw away from where ferry tickets were sold. Unlike the ones in Paris, this one was slightly blurrier, maybe because of the harsh Italian sunlight. It wasn’t hard for Julia to imagine the optimism of a young woman, eager to put her mark on the world under the cover of night. As they passed the mural, Julia pressed a kiss on it.
But up a little way from that mural was that other one that had so often captured Julia’s attention: the pandemic mural that remained unfinished, leaving more questions than answers. It had certainly captivated the world.
Because the elevation of the city was so intense, Julia and Charlie hired a couple of Italian guys to carry their luggage to their little hotel, which was located off to the left of the main city. It was the cheapest place Julia had been able to find at the last minute, which meant that, when they arrived, they weren’t surprised at how brick-hard the bed was and how small the bathroom was. Still, like everywhere else in Positano, its view of the water was sensational, and it was just a short walk to everything, restaurant and beach-wise. It was eighty-three degrees, and all Julia wanted was an Aperol Spritz—and a conversation with someone who knew CAT. The real one.
But when they strolled up to a piazza in the square near the church, the server who greeted them in a bouncing Italian accent met their question with a funny laugh and a deep Italian accent. “CAT? Well, we all know the real CAT now, don’t we?”
Julia’s heart lurched. She glanced at Charlie, unprepared for what the man was suggesting.
“What do you mean by that?” Charlie asked. He cupped his hands under his chin and gave the man his full attention.
But at that moment, a stream of other tourists arrived, drawing the server away. Soon, their Aperol Spritzes arrived, plus a bowl of complimentary potato chips, but Julia scowled at them, waiting for the guy to return.
When the server came back, he pulled up a chair at their table and continued to smile at them. Julia almost felt as though he was playing a game. “Haven’t you read the headlines?” he asked. “CAT herself has come forward. Her name is Lucia Colombo. She’s from right here in Positano.”
Julia wrinkled her nose. This was not what she’d come here to hear.
“People aren’t so sure Lucia is really CAT,” she said finally. “Do you know her personally?”
“We all know each other here,” he told them. “Lucia was a few years older than my sister. They went to school together. She was always a brilliant painter. It’s why she went to university in London. She studied painting.”
Julia had read all this before in the memoir.
“What was Lucia like?” Julia asked.
“They are always asking me about Lucia now,” the server said. “The tourists are dying to know. But really, she was just like everyone else here in Positano. She made her money through the tourists, painting pictures of Positano and the surrounding areas and selling them.”
This intrigued Julia. “Were they good?”
“They were fine. They looked like everyone else’s,” he said with a laugh. “But they have to look a certain way for the tourists to buy them. Do you understand?”
Julia thought she did. “Have you seen Lucia lately?”
He shook his head. “She hasn’t been around for the past few years. But you know that the most recent CAT mural went up the other day? In Paris?”
“But it was her first one in three years,” Julia told him. “And Lucia was in the United States when it happened.”
The server seemed unfazed. “Is that so? Well, CAT has her ways. She always has.”
Julia didn’t know what to make of this. She assumed he didn’t think anything of her, that to him she was just another nosy tourist prepared to spend too much money on this Aperol Spritz.
“Actually, Lucia might be in some trouble,” Julia said, trying a different tack.
The server’s eyes shifted. “What do you mean?”
Julia explained a little bit about the Eastern European guys Lucia had last been seen with. The server listened, his eyebrows slowly cinching together, his color paling. “Is that so?”
“It is. I saw it with my own eyes,” Julia said.
The server seemed not to know what to say. Julia swallowed. “Maybe she still has family here?” she suggested. “I’d like to let them know about this. She’s missing.” In her mind, Julia addedsort of. She didn’t need to get into the specifics with this guy. She just wanted to see where Lucia grew up.
The server considered this for a long time before saying, “I don’t know how I can trust you. Everyone is after CAT right now. They all want a piece of her.”
Julia tried a Hail Mary. Leafing through her purse, she found her passport, which she showed to him along with photos and documentation that proved she was the owner of the publishing house set to publish CAT’s first-ever memoir. The server’s eyes stirred with questions.
