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“Can I please have a bottle of water?”
She gets up, shuffles over to the fridge behind her, and pulls out a bottle of still water. She places it on the counter, confirming the amount I owe her.
“How long has this shop been open?” I ask, wondering if my dad ever purchased a cool drink here before?
“Oh, my goodness, almost seventy years now, I think. My memory is getting a bit faded, though.”
“And have you worked here the entire time?”
“Yes, ever since I turned eighteen, my father used to run the store alone before I started helping,” she says, and I feel a tug of pity pulling at my heart for this old woman who has lived her entire life in the four grubby walls of this cafe.
“Did you ever meet a man called Marcus Moretti? I understand he worked at the furniture shop next door.” I know it's a long shot, but I have to try.
“Marcus, of course I did. He was in here every day when that furniture store was still open.”
“Do you maybe know where they buried him?”
“Buried? Is he dead? Oh no, he was such a good man, always had good manners. I mean, I saw him just the other day, and he looked fine. When was it now? Spring? No, Autumn. What happened to him?”
“Oh, no, I think we are thinking of different people. Marcus died many years ago.”
“Did he? That’s terrible. You know he used to live in town here.” She smiles at me.
“Do you know where?” I'mnot even sure if we are talking about the same person anymore.
“Oh yes, let me write it down for you.” I wait while she scribbles down an address. I don’t have too much hope attached to it. She hands me the piece of paper.
“Can I get you anything else, dear?”
I put my money on the counter and pick up the water. “Just this. Thank you so much. Keep the change.”
I step out of the little cafe and back into the city sunshine. Unscrewing the cap, I take a sip of cold water and smile. That poor old woman knows what day it's. I wonder if she ever met my dad. I walk over to the now abandoned building that used to be where he worked. I glance up and down the street, picturing him arriving here every day, going into the office, and talking to the surrounding people.
What I would give to go back in time and see him walking past me now.
I type in the hotel's address on my phone's map. It's too far to walk. I caught a taxi this morning to get to this side of town; I guess I'll have to call one to get back to the hotel.
I think about Antonio. I wonder what he is doing today. I smile, looking forward to seeing him later this afternoon. I have to be careful around him now that I'mfinally in New York.
Today was unsuccessful, but I felt like I'mslowly adjusting to being in New York. The first few days were crazy. I guess I never understood the term culture shock until now. Thank goodness Antonio seems so confident around here. Almost as though he has been here before. I still think about that. Wondering about whether he perhaps has - perhaps he has been meeting with his family here. I don’t know, but soon I'll find out.
When I arrive back at the hotel, I'msurprised to find Antonio already back.
“Seraphina?” I hear his voice calling me from inside the room when I open the door.
“It’s me. I didn’t expect you to be here?”
He comes out of the room, a sly smile across his lips. “And are you disappointed or pleased to find that I am?”
My eyes graze over his naked chest and hover over his hips, above the line of his pants.
“Well, seeing as you are topless, I might say that I'mpleased.”
He chuckles and pulls me into an embrace. He kisses the top of my head. “Did you find your father’s grave?” he asks, holding me against him.
I sigh in frustration. “No. Can you believe the system has no record of him to show where he was buried or if he was cremated? It's driving me crazy.”
“That is odd, isn’t it?”
