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She stopped and looked at me with confusion. “Oh, we can’t help you with that.”
“I don’t need your help with it. I just wanted to know if it is valid identification if I wanted to open a bank account.”
“It should be. Why are you opening an account? Not that it’s any of my business or anything, but most tourists don’t come over here and do banking. And if you want to stay here and live here that is a totally different visa process. You’re just on vacation, right?”
“I inherited some land and I need a bank account if I want to sell it. That’s what they told me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “They?”
“The notaio in the town my ancestors are from and the woman who owns the hotel I’m staying in. She’s helping me. It’s a long story. I know it all sounds crazy.”
Harper replied with no punctuation. “You don’t know crazy until you spend a year at the Sicilian consulate... Trust me... I applied to work in Rome, but they were short-staffed here with all the migrants coming in and they gave me extra pay and actually now I sorta love it and its weirdness... Bank stuff and land stuff is way above my pay grade though. I could maybe make an appointment for you to meet with someone here, probably not today but in like a week or so... anyway, you should be careful... I gotta tell you we’ve been seeing an uptick in scams about land and inheritance. Ever since those genealogy sites got big and people started searching for their relatives in different countries. Everyone here thinks people in America are super rich and when Americans reach out to their third and fourth cousins they often find out about an old villa or a family olive oil business that is looking for an all-cash investment and then they come to us and say, ‘Get my money back,’ and we say, ‘We can’t help you. You got scammed.’ That’s not really what we say, but you get what I mean. I can get you a passport today though, mostly because Agata asked and she has been my only real friend here in Palermo. She rescued me from some terrible men on my first night here after I had too many spritzes. I owe her a lot.”
We arrived at a small office with nothing in it but a laptop and a metal desk with two rickety chairs on either side. The pale gray walls peeled beneath two framed photographs of the president of the United States and the current secretary of state, who I was hard-pressed to name. I had discovered in the past couple of years that the more dire your own personal crisis, the less impressive the bureaucratic office that fixes it will be. The space in the federal courthouse where I filed my bankruptcy paperwork and dissolved all my professional dreams was a six-by-six-foot cubicle with a yellowed photograph of Prince William and Kate on their wedding day.
Harper played Scrabble on her phone while I filled out a stack of forms. Then she took my police report and a photocopy of my passport and entered me into the system.
“I have to run a quick check to make sure you are who you say you are,” she said in a lilty singsong.
My pulse sped up at the thought of a background check. I imagined Harper’s silent judgment. Why should we let you back into America with your bankruptcy and credit score in the toilet, you loser?
But her expression didn’t change as she scrolled through whatever dossier came up on her screen. She typed some more and then got up from the desk. “I’ll have you out of here in five.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate how fast you’re getting this done for me.”
“No problem at all. Anything for Agata.”
My phone rang as I walked out of the consulate. “Where have you been?” Giusy’s voice was wired and frantic. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for more than a day.
“They scheduled an emergency municipal meeting about the land. It is tomorrow night,” she said.
“So fast? How is that possible?”
“Things move slowly here until they do not move slowly. Then they happen right away. The land developer is in town. He is visiting from the Emirates and only here for twenty-four hours. He is apparently pissed off that this is more complicated than he expected. He wants his deal closed. He wants his resort built before Italy puts in their bid to host the World Cup. And apparently he has heard about some new American TV show or movie that is going to be filming on the island and he thinks it will make more people come here.”
“But the water test. The well. Weren’t they doing more tests or something?”
“It is done. Your land has the reserves. Or the land that should be yours. We will not know if it is yours until after the meeting. Are you going to make it back here?”
“I’ll be there.” My brain churned when I hung up the phone. It was funny how checking a single thing off your to-do list—in this case, getting my new passport—could make you feel like you could accomplish anything. I hadn’t been so energized in a long time. I grabbed my phone and scrolled until I found the right number. He answered immediately and within a half an hour he met me in front of the consulate.
“Ciao, ciao, bella.” Pippo kissed my cheeks. “Are you finally ready to go see the ruins, maybe the fish market?”
“Actually, I need to hire you to help me with some business here in Palermo and then take me back to Caltabellessa tomorrow. I need to visit a bank to inquire about some old documents and then open my own bank account and find a real estate attorney I can trust here in Palermo.”
“This will be much less interesting than the ruins or the cathedral, but I can help you.” He took a step back and surveyed me. “You look good. You have a shiny face. No, that is the wrong translation. You have a glow, maybe that is what I am supposed to say. You look healthier. Like a horse.”
I laughed, which felt fantastic. “I think I’m just filthy and I need a shower. But you are right. I feel good.” I walked to Pippo’s car. “Let’s go. I have a lot to do and if we get it all done maybe we will make it to the fish market.”
TWENTY
SERAFINA
I woke to the slam of the front door. It was barely light out, just past dawn. My first thought was that it was one of my boys sneaking into the house. They had reached an age where they came and went as they pleased.
Against my better judgment I hadn’t locked the front door before I went to sleep because Cosi had begged and begged to stay late at a friend’s house and promised he would be home shortly after I went to bed. I should have known better. It had become too obvious that someone in the village wanted to do me harm.
On more than one occasion over the past few months I had found broken glass shattered on my doorstep first thing in the morning. At first I thought it was an accident, but after the second time I knew someone had put it there purposely, hoping I would step out in my bare feet. Our insolent family cat went missing last month. Since he was a kitten, he never neglected to return for at least one meal a day even when the boys were smaller and used to tie bits of twine and bells to his tail, doing everything they could to make our home a circle of hell for him.
