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He nodded. “It took longer than expected to get here, and the time we spent in the cemetery... My wife is waiting for me.”
“Go. I’m fine.” But he didn’t move.
“Seriously. I can wait for a hotel to open. I’m a big girl.”
He checked his phone again and made his decision.
“You have my number if you need me.”
I nodded. “Thank you for everything,” I said.
“I am sorry you did not find what you wanted in there.”
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding,” I replied, yet I couldn’t get the priest’s anger out of my head.
I paused for a second and wondered if I should ask about Serafina one more time, but instead I simply said, “And thank you for being a friend to my aunt.”
Pippo kissed me on both cheeks and brought me in for a hug.
“You will be safe here alone?”
I brushed off his sincere concern. “Go!”
“Allora, Sara. I know you have much to do. You will call me if you want to take a tour out of the village. There is much I can show you. And Rose already paid me to bring you back to Palermo when you are ready to go to the airport next week. We will see that teatro!”
Alone, I sat on the stoop of the hotel and stared at my phone. No service. I rang the bell again and then leaned my head against the cool yellow exterior, closed my eyes, and dozed off. It could have been twenty minutes or an hour later that the door opened, and I was startled awake. A tiny woman with a heart-shaped face and a mess of disheveled black curls emerged from the front door of the hotel. She was probably a little older than my sister and dressed like a Russian assassin or a lippy soccer mom from New Jersey with her curled bangs and bright pink Adidas tracksuit. She made no indication that she had heard me ring the bell twenty times.
“Ciao, ciao.” She looked me up and down like she was inspecting a mangy stray.
“Ciao. I’m Sara. I think someone booked a room here for me.”
“Sì. Sì. The American. I have been expecting you. You come with me. I’m Giuseppina. Giusy.” She pronounced it Juicy, in a way that was unexpectedly luscious even if her voice sounded like she smoked twenty Camels a day.
The inside was cool and dry from being shuttered for siesta all afternoon. The front room was massive with ceilings at least fifteen feet high. Giusy rummaged around the front desk to find a key while explaining that I would be on the second floor and that the door was probably already unlocked, so I didn’t actually need the key because hardly anyone was staying at the hotel. I said I’d like the key if she could find it, which made her sigh in annoyance.
“Your room is clean, but do not expect too much,” she answered when she found it, showing no interest in accompanying me, just shooing me upstairs with a flick of her wrist before mumbling something about needing to shop.
My room, really the entire second floor, was a riot of curiosities, lavishly decorated in the manner of what I imagined a nineteenth-century bordello would look like—massive canopy bed, green velvet curtains, a painting of a menagerie of mermaids, griffins, and angels cavorting on the ceiling. It could also have been a storage space for things someone had bought by mistake at a Sicilian garage sale. A boulder-size bust of Julius Caesar smirked from a corner next to a lamp that at first seemed askew but on second glance was merely carved in the shape of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
I snapped a few photos. My phone service sucked, but I texted them to Carla anyway. Then I did something ridiculous. It wasn’t the first time I’d done it in the past few weeks, but it felt more absurd every time I pushed the buttons. I texted the photos to Rosie’s phone along with a message.
Wish you were here.
Whenever I sent it into the universe, I expected an instant response, one of the stock ones she always sent.
Have a great goddamn day sweetheart.
Grab the world by the balls!
The shower stall was tiny compared to the size of the claw-foot tub on the other side of the bathroom, and the spigot was way too short. I ducked beneath it until all the hot water ran out. Hotel Palazzo Luna only provided one tiny bottle of shampoo that might as well have been dish soap but I massaged it into my scalp anyway.
Finally clean, I collapsed onto the oversize bed and passed out. It was dark when I woke up. I fumbled for my phone but it was dead. There was no clock in the room, so the only option was to dress, go downstairs, and try to figure out the time and where I could get food.
The woman who wanted to be called Giusy was downstairs at the front desk playing Candy Crush on her phone.
“Is the driver coming back to take you for dinner? We don’t serve it on Tuesday nights,” she said without looking up.
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
