No Ordinary Home. Mary Sullivan

Day after day, grapes bathe in the warm, magical sunlight particular to the Mediterranean and scent the region with their sweetness. Then the little darlings are plucked and made into the delectable wine for which the region is known.

      I sit here contemplating how good life is, how one needs little more than the sun on one’s face and a glass of wine for all to seem right with the world. The ennui of daily life fades to nothing and one is left in a state of bliss.

      She cast long tentacles into her memory to fill out the post, unearthing details of her own trips to Italy years ago, memories flowing from her fingertips like old friends. Those were the days. Only they weren’t. All of the beauty of the land couldn’t erase everything around those trips. The people. The circus atmosphere. The dreadful hoopla. Here, in her blog, she shared only the best. When she felt she had shared enough, she closed off.

      Tomorrow will find me in La Morra and the day after in the Barbaresco wine region, where I will visit Neive, a picturesque town, and later will sample the delightful Spumante in Alto Monferrato.

      Until then, fellow travelers, be well. Arrivederci.

      Lina Vittorio

      Gracie Travers posted the blog—yes, the room had Wi-Fi—turned off her computer and sighed.

      Thank goodness for her alter ego, Lina, who gave her a rich pretend life. Where would she be without her fantasies to lighten the unrelenting darkness of her reality?

      She had once traveled those very roads in Italy, but that was a long, long time ago, with the few golden moments committed to memory. She’d been a girl then. Now she was a twenty-nine-year-old woman, alone, with no one to depend on but herself. That suited her just fine, most of the time, except for those rare moments when it wasn’t enough. When she wanted more. When loneliness could no longer be kept at bay.

       Stop it, Gracie. Save the pity party for a night when you aren’t sitting cozy and warm in a soft bed.

      If wishes were horses, she would either really be in Italy, or she would live in the home of her dreams, nothing grand, just a roof over her head and regular meals. Despite her upbringing, she wasn’t spoiled. She really did need very little, only the basics. Food.

      Now so close to the end of her odd, self-imposed lifestyle, she had reached her limit. She could no longer tolerate the moving, having no place to call home, without anchor, companionship or loved ones. In her travels, she’d envied each and every couple she met and the homes they lived in, whether large farmhouses on rural land, or tiny urban bungalows on postage-stamp lots.

      She wanted to belong, but on her own terms, and so she kept on traveling.

      She’d been on the move for too long and it exhausted her, but what else could she do? She had only one talent and had already tapped it dry. Too early. A burnout and she wasn’t even thirty yet.

      Crap, she was tired. She closed her eyes to rest. Just for a minute.

      * * *

      “WHAT THE HELL are you doing?” Finn eyed Austin across the restaurant table with the mulish jut to his jaw that had been there since Austin had picked up Gracie. Finn was a good guy in general, solid, salt of the earth and all that, but he could get mad like nobody’s business. “Haven’t you had enough of taking care of a woman? You need to cut yourself some slack and just have a good time.”

      Austin figured Finn had a right to be angry. This was their buddy fishing vacation. They’d both needed this for a long time and had turned themselves inside out to make sure it happened, Finn by getting a veterinarian from the next county to cover his calls, and Austin by dealing with his mother.

      “Let it go, Finn.”

      “I can’t. You’re being irresponsible.”

      Austin couldn’t have heard that right. “Irresponsible? Me? I’m the most responsible guy on the planet.”

      “Yeah, okay, maybe that was the wrong word. How about impulsive?” Finn amended.

      Impulsive fit. It never had before, but it did where Gracie was concerned.

      Her hunger, her need, resonated with him, but there was more. He liked the fight within her, her drive for independence and her refusal to give in. He even kind of understood why she’d stolen from him. But, cripes, the woman needed a long-term goal to get herself into a safer life.

      “You shouldn’t be doing this, man.”

      No, he shouldn’t, but Finn had his own thing going on, too.

      “What about you?” Austin asked.

      “What about me?”

      “We’re on vacation, but you’re going to see a girl you knew nearly twenty years ago. Why?”

      “She needs help.”

      “So does Gracie.”

      “Gracie is a stranger.”

      “So’s your friend.”

      “Nope. We’ve been in touch for ten years.”

      “But you haven’t seen her in twenty.”

      “So what? When I told her we were going to Denver, she asked me to stop in on the way.” He picked at his food. “Don’t you remember how great she was?”

      “I wasn’t in your orbit at that time. I was a year younger than you and you were new in town. I heard a bit about it, but not much.” He’d been too busy trying to find sustenance and keep body and soul together.

      “But you know the story, right? It was huge. The paper carried it for a week.”

      Austin didn’t remind Finn that the only newspapers he ever saw as a kid were at the bottom of trash bins covered in garbage. He shook his head.

      “Her mom was driving past my dad’s ranch just as a deer jumped out. She crashed into the tree at the end of our driveway and the car caught fire. Man, I’ll never forget how brave my dad was that day. Melody’s mother got thrown from the car, but Melody was trapped in the backseat. Dad didn’t hesitate. Just reached right into the fire and pulled her out. Saved her life.”

      The waitress hovered ready to pour more coffee, her eyes on Finn. He’d inherited his dad’s good looks.

      “That’s cool.” Finn’s father was cool. Austin, yet again, felt the lack of a father figure in his life. Every boy should have a father. Austin had had two of them. One had died when he was only six and the other hadn’t wanted him.

      Not that he cared.

      Really.

      For the tenth time, Finn glanced across the street.

      Austin checked out what he kept looking at. Storefronts. What was so interesting? Ah. The apartments above them.

      “She’s in one of those, isn’t she? That’s why you chose this restaurant?”

      Finn nodded.

      “Are you going to see her after dinner?”

      He shook his head. “She isn’t expecting me until tomorrow. I’ll go across after breakfast.”

      Finn had a lot of confidence. So why the edginess? “Why are you nervous about seeing her?”

      “She left town suddenly. One minute she was there and the next gone. I never had a chance to say goodbye.”

      “You’re angry about that?”

      Finn’s mouth angled grimly down on one side. “You know what? You see too much.”

      “I had to learn to be perceptive.” Living with an alcoholic did that to a kid.

      “Yeah, I’m still angry,” Finn admitted, “but I want to see her, too. We’ve been writing letters for over ten years. Well, she writes letters. I email my responses.