Page 138 of True Blue

It’s like stepping into a piece of artwork, stepping into the past. The energy here feels calmer to me, or maybe I feel calmer because of the fun I’ve had over the last two weeks.

It helps that the girls and I chat almost daily, and give me ideas on where to visit.

Go see the pig! Lupita had texted me, and I smiled, knowing just what she meant. I went back and forth with it, thinking maybe it was just nonsensical, but when in Florence, do as the tourists do.

I stand in front of Il Porcellino—the piglet fountain. Tradition is that you rub its snout, and it ensures a return to Florence. Then you make a wish, drop a coin into its mouth, and if it falls through the lower grate, the wish will be granted.

I wait, along with other tourists speaking different languages, all gathered in this one place, hoping for good luck. Children giggle when they walk up to the silly-looking pig; adults take photos and laugh with each other, believing, for one moment, in the magic.

And when it’s my turn, I step up and rub its snout. The statue is bronze, but the snout is a golden color from people touching it, which makes me smile. Closing my eyes, I consider my wish for a moment.

What do I want most at this moment?

For Bluewater to go well.

For me to like New Jersey.

For me to have a successful rest of my trip.

For my heart to mend itself, though it feels like that is happening day by day.

And then I realize it all comes down to one thing.

“I wish for peace,” I whisper.

For me. First and foremost.

…and for him, too.

I place the coin in its mouth, hear it clank, and watch it fall down through the grate.

“Huh,” I say with a grin, before stepping back and letting someone else make their wish.

The entire walk to dinner, there’s a smile on my face, and I feel Ellie’s hand on my shoulder.

At the Uffizi Gallery, I study The Birth of Venus, the goddess of beauty and love, standing on the scallop shell. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. The design and care put into the painting—beautiful. And still, I kept turning to the side, my hand twitching.

The ache of missing him has lessened, or maybe it’s been replaced by the joy of all the wonderful sights I’ve been seeing. Or maybe I am finally healing. Maybe that pig is fulfilling the wish, or maybe it’s me… or maybe it’s him.

I’m a doctor, and I never like to deal in maybes, but… maybe this trip is changing me.

For the better.

I feel more relaxed, less stressed, and less rigid. I had an entire itinerary planned out for this vacation, down to the minute, and I threw it out the window after the first day. I ate enough gluten-free pasta to cause a wonderful stomachache. I don’t set an alarm anymore to wake up; I sleep until I feel rested. I had it built up in my head for so long, planned it so strictly, that I forgot to take a look around and enjoy it.

On my next-to-last day in Florence, I’m almost expecting it at this point. I don’t even know how he’s doing it. I know he knows which hotels I booked, and I talked about them with him, and I’m sure he’s also getting confirmation emails, but I don’t know how he’s getting the drawings to the hotel staff to leave on the tray.

But I don’t feel smothered, because I haven’t seen him since London. I was saying guardian angel sardonically, but… he kind of has turned into that.

Dropping off gifts and good luck while staying out of sight. Letting me choose him—or not.

And it is appreciated.

While the wound is still there, it’s scabbing over now, soon to be a scar and a story. To be remembered.

“What did you draw me as today?” I joke as I chew on my breakfast, but when I flip the paper over, I drop it on the bed in shock. “Oh…”

It’s beautiful. The most beautiful, detailed one by far. It’s like Florence made something inside of him come alive. The passion bleeds through every line. The shading is careful and meticulous. I don’t know that much about art, only what I’ve looked up myself so I could talk with Teddy about it, but this… this is divine.