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Mariella’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up. The baby had something smeared all over his face, and his pudgy hands were spreading the mess to his hair.
“What is that?”
“Some kind of oatmeal cereal. The pediatrician is having me try it. Probably tastes like paste and feels better spread around outside than eating,” she said, trying to catch Dante’s hands to wipe them. She giggled. “He’s a mess. I’m thinking this is not one of the better ideas the doctor had.”
“You think? Hey, little man, would you like some of my papa’s sauce?”
“He’s not even six months yet. Too young for big people food.”
“A taste won’t hurt.” Cristiano dipped his pinkie into the warming sauce and then carried it to the baby. Dante grabbed his hand and pulled it to his mouth. His frown of surprise had them both laughing.
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Cristiano said.
The baby had eaten and Mariella settled him on a thick blanket on the floor when Cristiano served up their lunch.
“Wow, this was definitely worth waiting for,” Mariella said after her first bite. “What makes it so great?”
“Family secret,” he said.
“Ah. I bet Rosa has a line waiting for tables every night.”
“The economy these days makes things unsettled. It does well enough, I think.” Actually, from one or two comments Isabella had made, Cristiano wondered if that was true. Maybe he should check into it. If there was a problem, he might be able to help financially; he had some money saved.
“I know people are cutting back, but good food is always relished.”
“My sister has been pestering me to talk about the situation for a while. It’s her area, not mine. Whatever she decides is fine with me.”
“Um. I just hope she decides to keep making this wonderful sauce. Does she sell it by the jar?”
He shook his head.
“She should. Maybe I can talk to her about that. She could consider an Internet mail-order business on the side. I bet folks would pay a premium. It obviously freezes well. I wonder how it could be shipped?”
“Ever the marketer?”
She nodded, but continued to look thoughtful.
“You said you went to university in New York? What was that like? Why there?”
“My dad was American, but he settled in Rome ages ago. Ever since I can remember the plan was for me to attend school there when I hit university level. After their death, it helped that New York is vastly different from Rome, so I didn’t have lots of memories to deal with at every turn. Maybe it helped with the grief, too. To have the coursework to concentrate on.”
“So now you’re back settled in Rome?” he asked.
“I’m Italian, so is Dante. There is nothing waiting for us in New York. When he’s older, I’ll take him there and show him the sights. It’s a fantastic city. But it’s not home.”
She looked up. “It was good to grow up in Rome, but I’m wondering if it might be even better to have a smaller town, where I could build a support group. A single mom will need help. I’ve lost touch with many of my friends from high school.”
And lost her best friend, he remembered.
“I couldn’t wait to move to Rome when I graduated. More vibrant, more things to do.”
“Of course. But when you got hurt, you came home. There’s a lot to be said for a country setting. Where in Rome can you get views like you have? Sitting on the patio, seeing the lake, the gorgeous hills. It’s fantastic.”
“Doesn’t offer a lot of opportunity for young people, though.”
“Ah, but that depends on what opportunities one’s looking for. I have a job, a child. My opportunities now lie in different areas than when I was single and fancy free.”
She smiled again and Cristiano was struck by her happy outlook. She seemed not to have a care in the world, though he knew differently. What was her secret to that optimistic outlook?
Not having to deal with post-traumatic stress disorder, for one thing.
“I think I’ll take the baby to the lake later. Want to come with us?” she asked.
“Will it be warm enough for him?” he asked.
“In the sunshine. I guess you’ve done it a thousand times.”
“It never gets old. The lake is beautiful all times of the year. My ankle was broken a while ago. I’m still getting it back in shape. The sooner I’m fit, the sooner I can return to work. Want to go Jet Skiing?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Sitting on the beach is enough.”
Chapter Five
CRISTIANO drove them in the car back to the village. He and Mariella took the baby to the shore near the marina. The beach was a mixture of sand and pebbles sloping gently to the water’s edge. There was a couple sitting in nearby chairs, reading. She waved to them while Cristiano settled on a spot some distance away so as not to disturb their tranquility with their presence.
He brought a blanket and soon Dante was taking tummy time facing away from the water, so he was facing up hill. When he grew frustrated, Mariella sat him up, holding him lightly so he wouldn’t fall over. He could almost balance by himself. He settled in first gnawing on the plastic keys, then throwing them down. She retrieved them and handed them back.
Again
And again.
Cristiano stretched out beside them, laughing at the baby’s antics. Mariella tossed him the keys.
“You try it,” she said.
Dante turned to see the keys and grinned at Cristiano.
“Don’t want to lose your keys,” he said, dangling them in front of the baby. “Especially when you’re older and that means wheels.”
The tranquility of the setting soothed. Mariella coughed again, wishing she’d get over the smoke problem soon. Her chest felt dry and tight. Taking a deep breath, she relished the clean air scented with evergreen. The sun sparkled on the water. In the distance she could see a boat bobbing near the center of the lake. Was that a fisherman?
Dante threw the keys again.
Cristiano retrieved them and handed them to Dante. He threw them again and looked at him, a wide smile on his face. Her heart contracted. She loved this precious baby.
“It’s so lovely here, even if we can’t swim today. Maybe we’ll come back for a visit when Dante’s older. Maybe continue the search for his father if we don’t find him this time.”
“How can you have spent so much time with your friend and not found out more information?”
“She was in the late stages of pregnancy and very ill. We spent more time talking about our shared memories, reliving good times. She changed the subject anytime I brought up who Dante’s father might be. He could be named for the man, for all I know. She spoke of what she hoped for in Dante’s future. The future she’d never see.”
“Maybe she truly didn’t want her son to know his father.”
“Maybe.” She wondered if she was doing wrong trying to find the man. He obviously wasn’t as nice as Cristiano. She couldn’t imagine any woman not want a child of his to know him.
“It’s nice here,” she said, turning slightly and fussing with the baby to cover the fact she was studying Cristiano’s profile. He made her heart happy. He could have been in movies, she thought. The rugged hero rescuing the heroine from danger then kissing her silly. And her heart almost melted when he played with a baby. Why was a strong man giving his attention to a baby so sexy?
She sighed a bit, wishing he’d pay that much attention to her.
“Problem?” he asked, glancing at her, one eyebrow raised.
“No, just thinking how nice it is here and how horrible the other night was.’ She shivered involuntarily. “We could have died.”
“But you didn’t.” His voice came sharp.
She brushed her fingertips over Dante’s head. He was perfectly content sitting on the blanket and throwing his plastic keys. She wished she could be so easily satisfied.
“I know that. As a firefighter, you’ve probably seen lots of death.”
He frowned and sat up, resting an arm on his upraised knee. “It’s not something anyone gets used to,” he said.
“I imagine not.” She could have bitten her tongue and not said anything. How many other lives had he saved, and how many had he not been able to save? There was more to firefighting than just pouring water on a fire.
“Do you think I can raise him?” she asked a few moments later.
“You can do anything if you want it enough. Remember that. From what I see, you are doing a fine job.”
“Tell me more about growing up around here.”
“Weekends are busy times for restaurants. My father worked hard. My mother with him, until she died. But even though we didn’t see much of them our childhood was still magical. Especially when my grandfather was alive. His life was different from our everyday life. He knew the trees, the forest, fish in the lake.”
She fell silent, thinking about the vacations she and her parents had enjoyed. It seemed so long ago and far away. Would visiting some of the spots bring the memories closer? Or only emphasize she was alone? She wanted Dante to see all of Italy. They’d make new memories.
“I’m going into Monta Correnti tomorrow. The doctors at the hospital wanted to check me and Dante again, make sure there are no lasting effects. I need to get access to a printer so I can print up another picture of Ariana. Maybe check around in Monta Correnti to see if anyone recognizes her.”
“Park near the town square. Easy to get to an Internet café, shops and the hospital.”
“We’ll find it,” she said cheerfully, wishing he’d offered to drive them into town.
After visiting the hospital the next morning and getting a clean bill of health for both her and Dante, Mariella wandered the center part of Monta Correnti. First stop after the hospital was the Internet café where she was able to print a color photograph of Ariana. Staring at the picture of her friend, she remembered how vital she’d always been when younger. The illness had robbed her of so much.
Then she pushed the baby in the stroller, wandering down side streets, walking around the square. When she saw a likely tourist spot, she showed the photo. No one recognized Ariana.
It was after one when Mariella turned back onto the wide piazza and gazed at the buildings. Rosa seemed to leap out at her. That was Cristiano’s family’s restaurant—the one with the excellent marinara sauce. She pushed the stroller along, wondering if she dared try Dante in the restaurant. So far the baby had been in perfect harmony with all they’d done. But she’d hate to be in the middle of a meal and have him start screaming his head off.
As they approached, Mariella saw a nice open-air space connected to the restaurant. Much better for the baby, she thought. The day was warm enough to sit outside.
Once seated, with a baby highchair for Dante, Mariella perused the menu. She’d try the tortellini with the famous sauce. She sat back to enjoy the ambiance while waiting for her order. The waiter had brought bread sticks and she gave one to Dante to drool on. He beat the table, put it in his mouth and looked surprised. She laughed. Hadn’t he expected it to be food? He couldn’t eat it, but she thought he could gum it a bit. Once it got soggy, she replaced it with another.
The courtyard was delightful. Tables were scattered around as if awaiting company, two others occupied. None too close to impede a private conversation. The bougainvillea spilled down a trellis, their flowers faded now as winter approached. She bet they were spectacular in the height of summer. A fountain’s melody gave a pleasant sound to soothe and enhance enjoyment of the food. Mariella suspected the restaurant was a favorite of many.
When the meal was placed before her, Mariella smiled in anticipation. She looked at the waiter. “I can’t wait to eat this. I had this sauce recently at Cristiano Casali’s place. Do you know him?”
The waiter bowed slightly. “Of course. He is son of the owner, Luca.” He frowned. “He has not been to visit recently. I shall tell his sister you are here.”
Mariella took a bite of the tortellini. It almost melted in her mouth. The sauce was even better than she’d had at Cristiano’s. She savored each mouthful.
“Signora?”
A pretty woman wearing an apron approached Mariella.
“Sì?”
“I am Isabella, Cristiano’s sister. You are a friend of Cristiano?”
Mariella smiled. “He rescued me and my baby from a fire at Lake Clarissa. I consider him a hero.”
“Ah. May I?” Isabella said, holding onto the back of a chair.
“Please.”
“How is he?” she asked when she sat down.
“Fine. He said he is recovering from injuries?” How odd his sister asked a stranger for an update on her brother.
“He was a first responder to the bombing in Rome last May,” Isabella said slowly.
“I knew that. That’s where he was injured.”
“A burn, a broken ankle. Yet it’s taking a long time to heal. Does he walk okay?”
“Fine.”
Isabella stared at Mariella for a long moment.
Growing uncomfortable, Mariella smiled again. “I had some of your marinara sauce at Cristiano’s and so when I had to come to Monta Correnti and saw the restaurant, I thought I’d eat it again. It’s delicious.”
“Thank you. So you ate at Cristiano’s home?”
“The cottage near the lake,” Mariella clarified.
“I know where he’s staying. Did he bring you here?” Isabella glanced around quickly.
“No, I drove,” Mariella said.
Isabella looked at Dante. “What a blessing he is safe. Cristiano rescued him?”
“We’re staying at the cottages rented by the Bertatalis. The unit we rented burned. Faulty wire in the heating device. I was asleep, so was the baby. We both would have been killed if Cristiano hadn’t discovered the fire and come in to rescue us.”
