Spring In Sicily (Escape To Italy 4) Read online

  The two sat in silence, her attempting to comfort him while he bore deeper into despair.

  Finally, he broke. “No, Kate, I can’t.”

  “You can’t… what, get the time off?” She had expected him to resist the idea, but he was so definitive.

  “This, Kate,” he said, looking directly into her large almond eyes, “I can’t do this.” His hand swept back a length of chestnut colored hair that had fallen from behind her ear.

  She pulled away from him, tears stinging her eyes.

  “Ed,” she said, her voice wavering, “I have to go. I have to. I can’t stay here another month just… waiting.” Her voice pleaded with him to understand her. “And if you’re not going to go with me, well then, I’ll go on my own.”

  He stood up and shuffled to the dresser on the opposite side of the bed. Then he pulled out his wallet and tossed her a silver credit card.

  “So go.” With that, her husband opened the bedroom door, walked down the stairs, and turned on the television in the living room.

  Kate grasped the card, unsure of what to do next. She inhaled a shallow breath and went back to the desk. OK, if that’s what he wanted, she would do it. She would go alone to Sicily. She was going to take a trip all for her. She wanted to sit on the beach, the ocean spray licking her feet. She wanted to walk up the side of a volcano and stare at the valleys below. She wanted to do everything that Sicily had to offer.

  With that train of thought, Kate sat down at her computer and brought up the list of options she’d been searching through earlier.

  Chapter 3

  After an eight hour flight from Toronto, Martha Walters was relieved to finally have her feet on the ground. She was never one for travel.

  And despite flying at least once a year to visit her children across the United States, she still couldn’t breath right until she had made it out of the terminal.

  Today’s flight marked the longest trip she had ever taken, and that return of breath was more heavenly than ever.

  The relief was short lived when she regained her bearings. This wasn’t just another airport in States. Leonardo Da Vinci Airport was packed with tourists speaking every foreign language imaginable while gesturing towards signs written in Italian. To Martha, it might as well have been hieroglyphics. She sat down on a metal bench and started scanning her translation book in an attempt to figure out how to find her connecting flight from Rome to Palermo.

  A man in a dusty brown suit sat next to her tying his leather loafers. She knew that she would have to be brave.

  “Sir? Pardon me. Sir?” She tapped his shoulder gently, unsure of what the cultural protocol was here. He glanced up at her, his graying mustache twitching in annoyance. “English? Do you speak English?”

  He lifted his hands and gestured a clear no. She glanced back to her translation book where the phrases were. She started slowly,

  “Dov’è terminal due?” Her looked at her and smiled. Pointing his tanned finger upwards and to the left, he motioned towards a large lit up sign with arrows pointing the direction.

  Relieved, she smiled and stood quickly. As she walked away, she shouted towards the gentleman “Grazie, grazie.” He watched her petite frame go off on a small sprint towards the direction of the arrows.

  Terminal 2 looked just like the rest of the airport she had come through. Lofty with large white beams over her head, the space reminded Martha of the airport hangers her husband worked in years ago. She had wished William was here with her today. He would have loved this adventure.

  In fact, when her children had presented her with the airline tickets to Sicily and the brochure for a cookery holiday in Taormina, it took all that she had not to break down at the thought of going alone.

  She had been a widow for five years now. William had passed away suddenly, without little warning. The loss was crushing, but Martha had powered through knowing that her children needed her to be strong. They needed a mother and a father, and she would be tasked with playing both roles.

  However, reality hit her fast. Only a couple of years after William’s death, her children began leaving the nest. And worse, leaving Canada. The twins, Julia and Jennifer went down to college in Boston first. A year later, Christopher followed his father’s footsteps and enlisted in the airforce. April was married nearly three years ago and now lived in California.

  For the last two years, the large brick bungalow in the suburbs was shared by only Martha and her youngest son, Kurt.

  However, just last week, she said goodbye to her baby as he unpacked boxes and rearranged his college dorm room, his new home for the foreseeable future.

  She was no longer a mother - or at least, it wasn’t her primary job anymore. She had taken up classes and spent hours volunteering, but her children grew concerned when Martha lost her luster for life.

  Things that had interested her previously, such as church or playing her violin, had suddenly gone stale. Most nights were spent watching television or writing emails to her children in hopes they would reply quickly.

  And now, she was here alone, overwhelmed and culture-shocked at the thought of being in Europe.

  Her children had intended for this to be a life changing experience. “You get to go somewhere new, see the world, learn how to cook a real Italian meal!” they’d insisted enthusiastically, while presenting her with a new set of luggage filled it to the brim with glossy pictures of Sicily’s coastline. The twins had even gone to the trouble of calling the community center Martha volunteered at to arrange her days off.

  And that night, Kurt led the group as they sang “Happy Birthday” to her in Italian, as she blew out the fifty candles affixed to a cannoli cake April had made.

  But the truth was, Martha hadn’t wanted any of this. At her age, travel was out of the question. Just lugging around suitcases in the airport was enough of a chore, let alone attempting to get to grips with Italian or figure out menu options. If she wanted a beach, she could have gone to Florida. And if she wanted to learn how to cook, there were plenty of cooking shows on TV or books in the store. Italy just seemed like a waste—a way to get her to leave home and stop hounding the kids, probably.

  Martha took out her cellphone and turned the WIFI signal back on. Searching her email inbox, she had hoped to see something from her children. Instead, it was as empty as usual.

  She drafted a short, cheerful group email letting them know she had arrived in Rome safely, and that she had another twenty minutes until her plane to Palermo boarded. She promised to call one of them when she reached Taormina in the afternoon.

  Glancing around the gate, she saw she wasn’t the only one with her head in a cell phone or computer. Directly seated across from her, a woman in her late twenties was also busy typing away at a laptop.

  Her dark brown, pin straight hair fell into her face as she looked furiously at the screen. When she was done, she dramatically closed the laptop and tossed it into her leather bag. Seemingly exasperated, she sat back with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, muttering to herself in English, and what Martha was sure was an American accent.

  Noticing Martha staring, the woman put on a quick, almost guilty smile, obviously embarrassed by her display of irritation. Martha’s motherly instincts kicked in immediately. “I know the feeling,” she said with a little laugh. “But we must remember that it is still only midnight or so back home”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Olivia glanced back at her open bag and then again at the woman seated next to her. Not unused to striking up conversations in airports, she turned back to the woman who she guessed was not US-born but Canadian, “Are you headed to Palermo too?”

  “Yes, but then I have to take a bus to a place called Taormina. I’m there for a cooking retreat—a gift from my children. How about you?”

  Olivia beamed curiously at the coincidence. “I’m also heading to Taormina. My editor set me up to review a cooking class believe it or not. Is yours the one taught by Chef Isabella?” The w
oman smiled and nodded. “Olivia Bennett. I write for The Wanderer magazine.” She stretched out an arm towards her companion.

  “Martha Walters, just a mom. That’s why I’m here actually. My children, for some reason, conspired to get me out of the house and off to an entirely different continent.” She blushed slightly at her honesty.

  “You don’t sound too excited to be in Italy. Is it your first time?”

  “Yes. My late husband had always wanted to go to Europe, but we never got the chance with raising five children. I never really had much interest. I’d rather be back home in Canada. I’m not one for travel.”

  “To be honest, I’m not too keen on this trip either. Sicily was on my do-not-travel list, but my publisher went nuts over Taormina and this cookery vacation, so it was either go check it out, or find a new job. Luckily for us, it’s only a few days, right?”

  “Right.” Martha smiled, thankful to be in the company of someone much more secure about the situation than she was. The two continued chatting, Martha transfixed by Olivia’s stories on the road, and the places she had traveled over the years.

  For Olivia’s part, she was glad to find someone to chat to, and especially happy to have met a fellow culinary student.

  She was used to being alone and independent that it was kinda refreshing to just chat with a fellow traveller and share the experience. Perhaps this whole Sicily thing would be a change of pace?

  Already she got the feeling that this trip would certainly be different.

  Chapter 4

  Spring in Sicily was as gorgeous as Kate had imagined it.

  The sun-drenched, cramped streets opened up to an expansive blue-green bay, and the low-lying stone buildings reminded her of what she had envisioned for the settings of fantasy stories of her youth. The island was a mixture of Greek, Arabic, and Italian classical architecture, and wandering the pavements of Palermo, she wanted nothing more but to open one of the many red and brown doors and step into a Sicilian resident’s life.

  She only had a couple of hours to explore the place before the next bus left for Taormina, the beautiful hilltop town set high above the sea, where the cookery holiday she’d booked was located.

  Unsure of where to start, she had her cab driver leave her at the Piazza Pretoria and instantly, she spotted the iconic Fontana della Vergogna. It was striking with its nude figures bursting out of the low lying pools of water. Certainly, it was not something you’d see everyday back home in Cork.

  Taking a seat on the steps leading up to the fountain, Kate pulled her small suitcase and backpack towards her. She watched as Italian women in their large, floppy hats and flowing earth-toned skirts passed her by. Even the men seemed effortlessly chic in their pale colored suits and small lensed sunglasses. All breezily unaware of the raw, unique beauty they were a part of.

  She breathed it all in: the sea air, the warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the delicious scents coming from the local restaurants. She allowed herself to lean back and take a moment to release her thoughts and fears. For just a moment, Kate didn’t have to focus on the baby she didn’t have or the husband that was equally absent. This moment was just for her alone.

  But in the back of her mind, there was one thing she couldn’t let go: Ed.

  She wanted him here, next to her, so that she could lean her head on his shoulder and talk about her desire to look so effortless as the Palermo women. She wanted someone to stroll the Italian streets with, point out the beautiful scenery and discuss what they might eat at lunch.

  Hearing his voice would surely bring him here to her in spirit, even if it was just for a couple of minutes. She grabbed for her phone, searching for her husband’s name in her list of contacts. She held her breath while she listened to the phone ring on the other end. She was almost giddy with excitement of all the things she wanted to share with him. A smile grew wide on her face as the familiar, soothing voice of her husband answered.

  “Ed,” she gushed. “Guess where I am right now, at this very second?” She listened closely to the sounds on the other end. She could hear voices, voices other than her husband’s.

  “Can I call you back?” Ed said then. “I’m, ah, a bit busy right now.”

  Disbelief overcame her.

  “Excuse me? Ed? Where are you? Why do I hear in the background? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” A million questions washed over her. She couldn’t understand why Ed would just forget about her so suddenly without another thought. He didn’t even care enough to check if she was safe, or actually in Sicily.

  For all he knew, she could be in China wandering along the Great Wall.

  “Its just the, television you hear. Everything’s grand. But I’ll have to call you back.” With that, she heard a click, and the sound on the other end go from flooded with sound and movement, to nothingness.

  Kate wasn’t sure what to feel. She angrily tossed the phone into her bag. Sitting in this spot, with the happy tourists passing her by, she began to feel light headed and sick. She needed to get away. She needed some sustenance.

  Unsure of exactly where she was heading, she turned right past an ancient cathedral near the fountain. The winding streets became a maze of curves and criss-crosses as she passed through corridor after corridor.

  Stores and shops buzzed with commerce. Outdoor vendors set up shop with all kinds of wares: flowers, newspapers, seafood stands, gelato. The smell of briny winds grew nearer, indicating that she was nearing the bay. Thank goodness, she thought to herself.

  As she rounded the next bend, her stomach rumbled audibly; she needed something to eat. With only an hour or so to spare before the bus left, it would have to be a quick bite, but she was not allowing herself to skimp out on quality or experience. Her plan was to stop at the first restaurant with an outdoor patio to get the true Palermo experience.

  Rounding a stone corner, she stumbled into the outdoor seating area of a pretty little cafe. She glanced around nervously looking for an English menu, but with no luck, she took her seat at the very back of the patio and put a menu to her face. She took out her phone once again and this time pulled up her translation app, quickly looking up menu items.

  Two tables away, a young man of about late-twenties, in a white button down shirt, watched Kate intently, smiling at her panicked expression. He stroked his stubbly beard, debating if he should take pity on the poor foreigner. Subtly, he took his cappuccino and napkin and moved to the table next to her.

  “Pardon me.” His accent was thick, but gentle. It had hints of humor in it. “Do you need help ordering?”

  Kate barely registered the younger guy now sitting less than ten feet from her. “Oh. No, thank you. I’m grand.”

  Just as she was about to turn away, a female waitress approached. She spoke quickly in Italian as Kate nervously looked away. She was sure she had asked her what she wanted to drink, so Kate responded by pointing to a random wine on the wine list. The waitress chuckled a little and repeated what she said again slowly and deliberately. Kate again held up her menu and pointed a finger at the same wine.

  The woman held up her hands and firmly said, “No. No today.” Kate pointed to another wine on the list, and looked up at the dark-skinned Italian with hopeful eyes. The woman shook her head furiously. Reaching over, she flipped the large food menu to the back page and pointed annoyed, at the bottom selections. Kate still could not comprehend what was going on.

  The man next to her again leaned over. She is saying that those wines are not for this afternoon. Those are dinner wines. You must order a lunch wine.”

  “Oh. Really?” Kate felt flushed as she realized what a fool she must look: just another ignorant tourist.

  The man continued, “Would you allow me?” She nodded and he began to speak to the waitress, who scribbled furiously on her pad as he ordered. When he finished, she smiled brightly at him, ignoring Kate altogether, and headed back inside.

  “So, what did you order?”

  “A white table wine to start,
” he winked, “and a glass of flat water. For food, I started you off with an octopus salad and then ordered my favorite meal, the caponata. It’s an aubergine stew. If you’re sharing, I may even order you dessert.”

  Despite his forwardness, Kate smiled. The guy was certainly blunt and outgoing, but she liked how friendly and charming he was too. She agreed to share a dessert with him if he ordered her something with chocolate, her ultimate indulgence.

  The wine and octopus salad came out quickly, and immediately, the mouthwatering combination of olive oil, lemon, and oregano melted away Kate’s residual anger towards Ed. Without a care in the world, she tore into the plate, devouring each oily and lemon zested morsel. The juices trickled down her chin carelessly, freely. She didn’t even dare to use a napkin in fear of losing another taste.

  As she cleared her plate, she turned back towards the man. “Thank you so much. That was… I don’t even know. I don’t think delicious would describe it accurately.”

  He laughed and outstretched his long arm to her.

  “Marco, and I am glad that you enjoyed it.”

  “Kate. It is great to meet you.”

  “Ah,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Like the English princess!” She blushed slightly as he continued. “So, what brings you here to Palermo, Principessa Kate?”

  She beamed back at him. “Just passing through,” she said. “I’m actually supposed to be moving on in about,” she checked her watch, “about thirty minutes, actually. Heading to Taormina.”

  “Taormina? Really? I am actually headed there as well. My business is there. I am just in Palermo to check on some family. Are you taking the 2:30 bus?”

  “Yes, that was my plan. I need to be at my accommodation by five.” She was leery about giving this stranger more detail. Yet, everything in her said he could be trusted, that he was relatively harmless. Still she knew that as a solo female traveler, she had to be a bit more aware and less ‘chatty Irish’.