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“He was the mayor. He was a good mayor. He tried to fight for the rights of the village, tried to make the politicians in Palermo tax us less. Worked hard to get running water into the village. From what I have learned he gave Serafina the land. His family was not using it. Some say it was because they were lovers,” Giusy explained.
The accusation lingered in the air as Luca appeared with another bottle of wine. He was happy and sweet and oblivious, like a yellow Lab just purchased from a country breeder.
“Enjoy it, beauties,” he said as he hustled back to the kitchen to get the dessert.
We ate and drank in silence for a few moments.
“Do you think he was the one who murdered her?” I finally asked. “The mayor?”
Fina looked uncomfortable with the question. “I believe there is a strong chance she was murdered by members of the Cosa Nostra, that she crossed the wrong person. The way she was hurt before she died. It reeks of them.”
Luca chose that moment to bring out a sugary sweet black currant granita.
“No matter what I bake, a granita is my favorite dessert,” Luca said as I drank directly from the bowl to finish the dregs of the icy sweetness. “Centuries ago, it was made from snow dug up from ditches on Mount Etna, which meant you had to eat it moments after it emerged from the earth. I think about that every time it melts on my tongue.”
“You should write a book on the history of Sicilian cuisine,” I teased him.
“You should finish licking that bowl,” he teased right back.
Luca was blissfully unaware of the gravity of our earlier conversation. He grinned and looked out at the sea. “It is a beautiful day. We could go for a swim.”
Giusy and Fina were easily swayed even though all I wanted was for them to keep going, to keep explaining, to tell me more about these women who were left behind. But I wanted other things too, things I hadn’t wanted in a long time. I wanted to be close to Luca, if only to smell his skin and stare at his delicious body.
We walked down a dusty path lined by squat, spiny palm trees, prickly pears, and electric-pink-and-purple flowers to the tiniest rocky beach inside a cove hidden by the cliffs, and without giving it a second thought I stripped off my shirt and slid out of my pants. As soon as I stood up in my underwear, I realized I was tipsy, but in a good way. I was squiffy and light, nearly weightless as I let my feet sink into the fine warm grains. A speckled lizard startled as I walked, escaping by skittering over the top of my foot.
The water was sun-warmed and calm, a gap between the tides slowed the waves. I didn’t change my pace as I dove beneath them and swam out beyond the small breaks, surprised at how good it felt to be back in the water. How long had it been since I had had a swim? A year? More? The last time was that trip to Rhode Island with Jack, the house in Little Compton, morning swims in the freezing Atlantic, thick-cut greasy bacon and creamy scrambled eggs for breakfast afterward. Sophie burying the two of us in the sand. My tears at the memories mixed with the salty sea. I flipped on my back and floated on the waves letting my ears sink below the water so all I could hear was the pulse of the ocean. The past fell away and for the first time since my plane touched down I felt like I was on vacation, like I could relax and enjoy myself.
But suddenly something yanked me violently beneath the surface. The darkness swallowed me. I couldn’t breathe. Salt water poured into my mouth and nose as I tried to kick my way back up. My foot hit something soft, flesh. I could see the sunlight through the surface of the water and I flailed toward it, finally breaking through, gasping, choking.
I was alone. No sign of who or what grabbed me, and I wondered if maybe I was losing my mind. But then a head of dark hair broke the surface, blood darkening the water around us. It was Luca, red gushing from his nose and I realized that nose was what connected with my foot down below.
“Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace.” Luca kept apologizing.
“What the hell was that?”
“I am so sorry. A joke. It was only a joke. I thought you heard me coming. That you knew I was messing around.”
He cradled his battered face with his hands as his legs paddled furiously beneath the surface.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I know that now.”
“You can’t pull a person under the water like that. I thought I was going to drown.”
“I am very sorry.”
“Your nose,” I said, softening.
“It is fine. You didn’t kick me that hard.”
But I knew that I did. He was being kind. Still, I didn’t know why he thought it was OK to sneak up on me and yank me below the surface. Was it a silly flirty prank or something more treacherous?
I looked back at the shore and realized we were further out than I thought. The current must have been strong.
“We should go back. Are you sure you’re OK? Can you swim back?” I asked him.
Luca was sheepish, embarrassed. “I am fine. I am so sorry that I scared you. That was not my intention. I-I’m...” He was stuttering. “I’m clumsy.”
