Page 78 of The Villa

(From chapter two ofThings My Mama Never Taught Me.)

Chess takes a breath now and looks at me, her eyes full of compassion. “He said he’d be on the next flight.”

It hurts to hear.

But that’s good.

That makes it easier.

TRAGEDY IN ITALY

Author and wellness guru Chess Chandler was struck by tragedy this week while vacationing outside of Orvieto, Italy. The frequentOprahguest and self-help star had been renting a villa just outside the city with two guests when one of them, Matthew Sheridan of Asheville, North Carolina, drowned while swimming in a pond on the property. Both Chandler and Sheridan’s wife, Emily, were away from the house at the time. Sheridan, thirty-five, was apparently a strong swimmer, but, early reports say, may have been drunk or otherwise incapacitated at the time.

Of course, the villa was also the scene of an infamous murder in 1974 when up-and-coming musician Pierce Sheldon was bludgeoned to death by Johnnie Dorchester, a drug dealer and wannabe writer also staying at the property.

Chandler and Sheridan are already understood to be back in the United States, with Chandler’s lawyer issuing the following statement:

“Ms. Chandler is deeply distressed at this tragic accident, and requests privacy at this time. She and Mrs. Sheridan have no further comments.”

“The house is just cursed,” a local resident who wished to remain anonymous told us. “It’s a bad place, and I don’t know why anyone would rent it.”

Others scoff at such superstitious ideas. “It’s a house like any other,” another local said. “The only thing this has in common with what happened all those years ago is that both times, people got stupid on vacation. It happens here. It happens everywhere.”

—People, July 29, 2023

MARI,1980—NEWYORKCITY

He’s changed, but then haven’t they all?

Mari stands outside the tiny restaurant he’d suggested, stamping her feet against the cold as she watches Noel walk toward her, hands in the pockets of a greatcoat, that same rolling gait she remembers so well.

But she can see even before he reaches her that he’s different.

The changes are small in Noel, subtle. He was already completely himself when they first met, had probably been completely himself from the day he was born, and yet—he isn’t the same man he was in Italy six years ago.

There’s something more haggard about that beautiful face, as a lifetime of excesses has finally caught up with him, and he’s thinner, his body seeming less solid than she remembered as she hugs him.

“So kind of you to make time for me in your busy schedule,” Noel says, opening the door for her.

Heads turn when they enter, and they’re all for Noel. Authors, even ones as successful as Mari, are not nearly as recognizable as rock stars.

Noel hasn’t put out an album since 1973, but he still commands a room, and they’re ushered to a large booth by a window. Outside, it’s begun to snow, the streets slick and wetunder the orange lights, but inside the restaurant, it’s almost too warm, thick scents of garlic and roasting meat hanging in the air.

“When was the last time we saw each other?” she asks, and he leans back. He’s still wearing his coat despite the heat, and she thinks again how pale he looks, how drawn.

But the smirk is classic Noel. “I think it was your book signing in London three years ago.”

Mari snorts, picking up the menu. “You nearly caused a riot coming to that.”

“That’s precisely why I came,” he tells her, and she laughs.

She’s missed Noel, she realizes. More than she’d thought. Sometimes he feels like the last person standing from her past, like she became a completely new person after that summer in Italy with completely new friends, a completely new life.

Cut yourself free,he’d told her on that sunny day by the pond. And she had.

She just hadn’t known how lonely that would turn out to be.

The waiter comes then, depositing a bucket on the table, a wine bottle inside, and Noel gestures to it. “I took the liberty of calling ahead to make sure they had this,” he says, and when the waiter lifts the bottle, Mari sees the familiar word curling across the label.

---