Page 138 of Running from Drac
“I’ll do my best. Goodbye, Poppy.”
“Bye, Amber.”
We didn’t even hug. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I know how cold that makes me, but hugging her would be like hugging Pippa, and I was in too much pain to deal with anymore.
Italy greets me like an exhale.
The moment I step out of the airport and into the sun-soaked streets of the Amalfi Coast, I feel something inside me loosen. The air is thick with the scent of citrus and sea salt. The cobblestones beneath my boots are uneven and I’m thankful I decided to wear sneakers instead of slides.
I have two weeks here…
Two weeks to decompress.
Two weeks to live without the ties that keep me tethered to Reno.
I don’t have the slightest clue what it’s like to exist without the pressure of my actual life breaking me. I never thought avoiding everyone would be so exhausting. But here I am, feeling out of breath and worn out.
Those first two weeks blow by way too quickly, and all the money I had saved disappeared before I had a chance to really enjoy it.
Now I’m lost in Italy, debating on whether to head to the airport and jump on that plane home, or stay here and continue detaching from the life that I once led.
I wander for hours. Past colorful buildings stacked like crooked teeth, laundry fluttering from windows, and old mensmoking and playing cards like the world doesn’t dare interrupt them. Eventually, I find myself sitting on a shaded bench outside a bakery, the smells wafting into the street making my stomach rumble with bitter excitement. I wish I could eat, but whatever money I have left I need to save. Everything I had planned has already happened, and it feels like I saw barely anything. Maybe because I was just too depressed to really go out and experience Italy’s heart like I always dreamed.
“Are you lost,” a woman asks, interrupting my thoughts with her rich Italian accent. She’s old, maybe in her seventies, could even be older, but it’s hard to tell because she’s wearing a red linen scarf that perfectly hides her silvered hair, and her skin that’s wrinkled and aged in all the right places.
She has trusting eyes. The kind that explodes with kindness and acceptance. Like everyone is her grandchild even though they don’t share her blood.
I nod. “A little.”
“You are all bones,” she says, extending a flour-dusted hand. “And your eyes are tired. You must be starving!”
I blink. “Is it that obvious?”
She shrugs. “I have eyes. You look like you’ve been running for days.”
“Oh, I’m not running—”
Her smile spreads. “And yet your eyes tell your truths for you. People don’t just come to Italy with that many suitcases to visit. You came here to hide.”
Defeat etches into my shoulders and I collapse forward, everything in my body sagging in tandem.
“I came here to hide once too. Italy has its way of accepting you like you’re lost kin. My name is Antoniette Vianetti, but people around here call me Nonna Etti, you can call me that too if you like?”
“I’d like that. You’re the first friendly face I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to pick me up or seduce me. I’m Amber, by the way.”
She laughs, and it fills the street with a strange happiness that’s highly infectious. “That’s Italian men for you. Always looking for their next wife. I should know, I’ve been married five times.”
“Five?”
Her smile widens to show a gap of missing teeth, but it only makes her more charming. “That’s a story for another day, Amber. Very pretty name, might I add. Have you ever seen an amber stone glitter in the highest Tuscan sun?”
I shake my head.
“You will. It’s just one of the many gifts Italy has to offer you. You’re meant to be here, Amber, I feel that in my bones.”
“I feel it too. I’m just not sure where I should go. I’m out of money and—”
She cuts me off. “You look hungry? Follow me and I’ll fatten you right up. Don’t worry about having a place to stay for the night? My home is a bit of a walk, but I have a guest room with no one in it, if you’re looking for a place to hide. I’m told it’s the best place in Tuscany to rest your soul.
