Page 3 of Lost Dreams

But Francesca gave Lorelei a look that meant she didn’t believe her. Lorelei knew that Francesca was deeply superstitious, that she believed that spilling salt was dangerous, and that the number seventeen was unlucky, as it was the Italian version of unlucky thirteen. Her superstitions came from her Italian childhood. They were ingrained, set there by generations of superstitious Italians. Believing all those things was quaint and fun, sort of, until it got in the way of living your actual life. Until practicality was thrown out the window.

And then, when her mother didn’t say anything else, Lorelei’s eyes flickered back to her daughter, who was gazing out at the water, her expression difficult to read. Lorelei breathed, “Do you really think Aurora’s all right?”

Francesca’s eyes widened with excitement. “Aurora is better than any of us. Her spirit is pure light.”

Lorelei smiled. She still couldn’t fathom why Aurora had come all this way early without telling them a thing. But she knew Aurora liked to keep them guessing. She was slippery like that.

2

There was a great deal about her life that Aurora couldn’t tell her parents, nor anyone. Of late, the most incredible thing she’d done that she couldn’t tell most people about was hitchhiking from the airport to Hyannis Port and then again from Nantucket’s harbor to the White Oak Lodge. Twenty-two-year-old women were certainly not supposed to hitchhike, especially not in the United States. She’d seen enough movies to know that.

But she was in the mood to be reckless, if only because she felt older than twenty-two. She felt she’d been through too much.

The first ride, which she’d secured in the arrivals line at the airport after reaching the US, had been with a couple in their mid-fifties who’d taken one look at Aurora and decided to pity her. “Isn’t someone supposed to pick you up, honey?” the woman had asked, furrowing her brow. She was sweet in a way that felt entirely American.

“I can’t get a hold of them,” Aurora had said, trying to keep her Italian accent at bay so as not to frighten them with how different she was.

“Oh, that’s just terrible,” the woman said, turning to look at her husband.

Aurora was grateful that she didn’t sound overly Italian. Maybe she sounded vaguely foreign but unplaceable, as English was her mother tongue. Back in Rome, her mother, Lorelei, had spoken to the children in English some of the time. Still, they’d usually fallen back on Italian, as it was the language of the country, and Father didn’t always enjoy speaking English. It meant that Aurora was really good at English, but she spoke with a slight accent, and she had trouble mentally sorting out some grammar rules.

She hoped that a bit of extra time in the United States would help her fix that.

In any case, the fifty-something couple suggested that she throw her suitcase in their trunk and ride to Hyannis with them. As it happened, they were heading that way, although they weren’t going as far as Nantucket Island. Aurora was grateful for her luck.

“That’s okay,” Aurora said, smiling her best and most beautiful smile. “I have people in Hyannis. I’ll figure it out from there!”

The couple was remarkably naive yet very curious about both Aurora and the world. When Aurora told them that she’d been born and raised in Rome, the man asked, “Have you ever been to the Akropolis?” Aurora didn’t want to tell him that the Akropolis was in Athens, not Rome, so she said simply, “Yes, I have. It’s beautiful.” This was the truth. When the woman asked her if Italy was really dangerous, and if she’d ever been attacked in Rome, she had to bite her tongue to keep from getting angry. “Rome is safe!” she assured them both. “If you ever come, let me know, and I’ll show you around.”

“Now, I don’t care for pizza,” the man said. “I guess that would color my experience of your country.”

His wife cackled and glanced back at Aurora. “See what I have to deal with? No pizza! For thirty years! Not one we can share, in any case. Imagine having to sneak around to get a slice of pizza in a marriage!”

“That’s terrible,” Aurora said, smiling. She couldn’t imagine not liking pizza. Had he ever had a good one? Maybe if her father, Roberto, ever made one for him, he’d change his mind. Roberto still made the best pizza of anyone she knew, although she hadn’t had one of his in quite a while.

Sometimes just thinking of her father’s pizza, she felt an ache in her gut. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat down together, just the two of them, and shared a pizza. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten along.

If only she’d been able to reach out to him recently. If only he’d been there for her.

A little later during the ride to Hyannis, she learned from the couple that they had a daughter, too, but that they were no longer speaking. Aurora’s heart surged with sorrow for them. But they spoke about her as though she were someone they’d once met along the road of life rather than someone they’d brought into it.

Parents and children, Aurora thought. It was one of the strangest relationships of all.

How did anyone maintain good relationships through so many years of life?

After saying goodbye, Aurora hopped a ferry to Nantucket, where she watched her mother’s island home come toward her across the water. Ever since Aurora was a girl, she’d been endlessly fascinated with her mother’s past. Unlike all of her friends’ parents, Aurora’s mother was from the United States, where all the movies they watched were set. It was where all the music they listened to was from. There seemed to be no end to Italians’ love of American culture, so Aurora made a point of telling everyone she met that she was half American. Not everyone believed her, especially when they met her mother, Lorelei, who seemed in every way Italian.

The ride that Aurora hitched from Nantucket port to the White Oak Lodge was, incidentally, with Amos, her Aunt Nina’s boyfriend. Aurora recognized him from Christmastime and raised a hand when she saw him on the sidewalk, standing opposite the harbor exit. He blinked, as though he couldn’t quite place her. And then he called out, “I thought you wouldn’t be here for another week!”

Aurora laughed and hurried to hug him. Amos was warm and loving and terribly funny. She’d heard that Nina’s first husband, some anthropologist guy named Daniel, had been demoralizing and cruel to Aunt Nina. It made her like Amos all the more, knowing he was her second chance at love and hope.

“How were you going to get to the Lodge?” Amos asked when they got into his truck.

“I was going to figure something out,” Aurora said, grinning.

Amos cackled. “I’ll keep that to myself. I’m sure they don’t want you running around, searching for rides.” He gave her a pointed look, then said, “Of course, I did my share of that when I was your age.”

Aurora thanked him for keeping her secrets. When he asked her why she’d decided to fly over early, she said, “Rome was stifling. I had to get out of there.” She’d decided to tell everyone a different version of the truth.