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The townsfolk are taking care of them. All I want is for them to have the peace they need for Morgana's mom to stay well.
We sit outside, the table piled with grilled fish and crisp-looking salads. Morgana piles her plate.
"So, do you have plans for while you're here?" George asks.
"Absolutely," I say, pouring wine. "We'll take you on a tour of the region. You need to get to know it well if you're staying here permanently."
George and Jasmine exchange looks. Jasmine puts her hand on mine.
"Really?" she asks, her eyes shining.
"Morgana tells me what you say when you call her. How much you love it here, how sad you'll be when you have to come home." I smile. "So I'm saying it—you don't have to. I'll sell your house, tidy up all your affairs. If you want to live here and be the property's permanent caretakers, I'd be grateful. You'd be doing me a big favor."
Morgana claps her hand over her mouth as George stares at me.
"I never imagined you'd turn out to be a good man, Vladi," he says. "Thank you."
"You don't even have to miss Morgana too much," I say. "She can take the jet and see you anytime, and if you want to return to America, you need only say the word."
"We'll look after the place," George says. "It's beautiful. Morgana tells me it was your mother's family home?"
"It was." I lean back in the chair and draw a deep breath, enjoying the smooth sweetness of the lavender. "This is where she grew up. She was happy here."
We eat lunch, and I'm contemplating a dip in the pool when my wife sits beside me, taking my hand.
"Don't get comfortable. We have somewhere to be."
I frown. "And you're taking me there? You don't know this place. Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise." She gets to her feet, pulling me with her. "But you're gonna have to break the habit of a lifetime and let me drive."
* * *
After an hour, we turn onto a long dirt track and pull up outside a large house. Although the place is isolated, it's well-kept, with beautiful flower beds and a neatly trimmed lawn. Morgana retrieves a holdall from the trunk of the car, then rings the doorbell. A woman in a nurse's uniform answers it.
"I'm Morgana Kislev. I called a few days ago?"
"Ah yes," the nurse replies in perfect English. "This way, please."
Now that I'm inside, it's clear that the place is a residential home for the elderly. It's a little run-down but has plenty of staff. We pass a lounge where several older people are sitting in easy chairs, watchingRoman Holidaywith subtitles.
"He's in the conservatory," the nurse says, waving us through. "Bring him back to the lounge when you're done,per favore."
I'm confused. Mama's extended family no longer live in the area, and most of them emigrated to America anyway. Who are we here to visit?
A man sits in a wheelchair, facing the window, with two chairs set out beside him. "Signore Vertolli?" Morgana says, touching his hand gently. "I'm Morgana. We spoke on the telephone?" She gestures to me. "Here is Vladi."
We sit, and the old man turns his head to look at me. He's in his late seventies and turned out smartly in a shirt and tie, his dark hair slicked back.
"Mio Dio, my boy," he says, his eyes filling with tears. "How you look like her!"
"This is Luca," Morgana says. "Stefania's love."
My mouth falls open. I know I must look ridiculous, but I can't help it. My hand flies to my chest, feeling for Mama's ring. I've been wearing it around my neck, keeping her close to my heart.
"I…I didn't know I'd meet you today," I say. I shake his hand. "Forgive me. I don't know what to say."
"It doesn't matter." He smiles at me. "I'm glad to see you. I'm an old man, and I have no family left. No one has visited me in ten years, but don't pity me." He winks. "I'm happy enough. When you get to my age, all you want is ice-cream and a good book."
