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“It can’t be stopped, and Venice is never totally submerged. Even when it’s bad, half the island is dry, and where we are now is the lowest part of the island. The piazza gets the worst of the high water, creating dramatic photos for tourists, but it doesn’t bother residents. We expect acqua alta. Venice is an island, crisscrossed with canals. Water is part of our life. We can’t escape it, nor would we want to.”
“It’s true, though, that the flooding has been worse in recent years, and that’s due to climate change?”
“Venice has been sinking for hundreds of years, but it’s not just because of climate change and the rising seas. The more we develop outlying areas, with the pumping of water and natural gas, the more Venice is negatively impacted. It is serious. It’s devastating for those of us who love Venice.”
She chewed on her lip, as she looked past him to the wet street beyond. “I think everyone loves Venice,” she said after a moment. “How can you not? It’s otherworldly. A fairy-tale city.”
“So you could be happy here.”
She shot him a pensive side glance. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then I will. You could be happy here. It’s a fairy-tale city, a place where dreams come true.”
* * *
Worn out from the emotional day, Rachel had dinner in her room, wanting some quiet and the chance to unwind with Michael.
She held him until after he’d fallen asleep in her arms and continued to hold him for another hour. She loved him so very much. The world was unpredictable and life could be overwhelming, but she was determined to protect him and do what was best for him until he no longer needed her.
He woke in the middle of the night, needing her. She walked him around his green room, and then around her room, making huge loops.
She kept the lights low and tried her best not to engage him, but at the same time she wasn’t going to let him cry as he had last night. She didn’t want a repeat of last night, where Giovanni was up and worrying about Michael, too.
As she paced, she glanced at the huge oil canvases on the wall, the green silk curtains with the thick gold and green fringe, the high ceiling and the gilt trim. Everything here was so old and valuable, centuries of wealth, and it boggled her mind just how different her world was, and how simple her needs really were.
She didn’t need a lot. She didn’t want a lot. Comfort was relative.
For Rachel, a comfortable life meant that she didn’t have to worry about losing her home, or defaulting on car payments. A comfortable life meant that she could see a specialist when a second opinion was needed, or have a dinner out every now and then. Comfortable meant she could take a vacation once a year, renting a little beach cottage on the Oregon coast, something they’d all done in her family each summer when Dad was alive. She’d loved those annual trips to Cannon Beach and the lazy days where they did nothing but play cards and Scrabble and walk down the long sandy beach.
That had been her ideal life, the one she wanted for her children, when she had children. And now she had a child. She had Michael. She’d become a mother much earlier than she’d expected, and it’d been a shock, losing Juliet and discovering overnight that she was a single mom.
It had been beyond overwhelming. She’d never told anyone, but she’d been angry, too. She’d wanted so badly to have someone to confide in, but she’d worried that women would judge her, saying she was selfish, or lacking. But being a parent was such a huge responsibility and Rachel had wanted to do it right when she did become a mom. She’d wanted to have everything ready, in order. She’d wanted to be mentally prepared, and in a position to be able to be self-sufficient, or as self-sufficient as possible.
Not being able to tell anyone that she was scared and worried and also, yes, a little bit angry—or very much angry—had been isolating. It had left her even more alone because she had all these feelings that weren’t socially acceptable, all these feelings where people would judge her for not being a real woman. For not being a good woman.
Rachel’s eyes burned and stung. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.
All her life she’d struggled with the sense of inadequacy. She knew she was smart, capable, but it didn’t seem to be enough. People valued beauty. So many in society placed beauty as the ultimate achievement. And beautiful was the one thing she’d never be, despite her attempts to improve her appearance through makeup and exercise and good hair care.
Throughout junior high and high school she’d pored over teen magazines with their tips on how to bring out one’s natural beauty: lip pencil, eyeliner, contour and mascara. She did her face and hair every morning while in college, and continued with the full face routine every morning before work, but the makeup was a mask. It merely served to hide how plain she was beneath, and how fragile her confidence really was.
That was something else no one knew.
She looked polished and professional on the outside, but on the inside, she was filled with self-doubt, and those self-doubts and recriminations had only grown since Juliet died. Like the city of Venice during acqua alta, Rachel was drowning.
* * *
Gio was surprised to see Rachel appear in the doorway of the breakfast room at a relatively early hour. She was already dressed, wearing charcoal trousers and an oversize sweater, and didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. Her hair had been drawn back into a ponytail high on her head, with just a few shorter wisps loose to frame her face.
She looked pretty, but tired, with lavender shadows beneath her brown eyes.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was told this is where breakfast is being served today.”
“Yes,” he answered, rising and drawing a chair out for her. “Join me.”
She sat down, thanking him in a low voice. With her now seated at his side, he could feel her exhaustion.
“Michael had you up again last night, didn’t he?” Gio asked.
