To Tuscany with Love (8 page)

The beauty of the coiled glass spiral thermometers drew her eyes. The museum guide droned on about the mechanics. She tuned out the guide and studied the curled rings of the thermometer’s glass “snail” stems, studded with colored buttons to mark the degrees. It was as pretty as a sheer beaded evening gown. The guide blew her warm breath on one thermometer, and water shot out of it into the air. Meghan giggled.

“Easier to look at than the finger of a dead scientist?” Lee’s eyes twinkled.

She nodded; she thought about the finger and her lips clamped together to stifle a retch.

“This museum isn’t your thing, is it?” His eyes didn’t judge her.

“No way.” She shrugged and then stepped closer to him to whisper next to his ear. “I’m good for maybe one more exhibit, then I’m splitting. I know my way back to the hotel, so don’t let them call out the polizia. Those guys are like the Gestapo.”

A grin lit up Lee’s face. “Come with me to the medical instrument exhibit, and I’ll split with you. I figure that since I’m pre-med, I have to check that section out. But that’ll be it for me. I’ve had enough of museums, too.”

“Deal.” She had caught Lee drawing in an unlined notebook two days before. He had closed it too fast for her to see his work but confessed that he found the sculpture in Florence mesmerizing. Maybe they could plant themselves in a piazza somewhere and sketch together. She’d record ideas she had for clothing designs and he could draw, well, whatever someone planning to be a doctor draws. Organs? Body systems?

Meghan followed Lee to the second floor.

Boxes of instruments lined one wall of the high-ceilinged room. Lee grabbed her hand and pulled her along. His broad hand grasped her thin fingers casually, yet a warm sensation shot up Meghan’s arm.

One box lined with velvet held saws that reminded her of those in her grandfather’s garage, only these sported pearl handles, not paint-flecked red wood. The hacksaw looked ominous, conjuring up visions of surgeries on a battle’s sidelines. The broad-bladed saw was similar to the one she and Karen had used to cut down a sapling in her grandfather’s backyard. They never got in trouble for felling the little tree; their grandfather had a soft spot for them that seemed endless.

Lee muttered something about amputations.

Meghan ignored him. She moved closer to a series of life-size wax models mounted to the wall. Models of wombs, with babies in various positions, jutted out from the wall. She felt Lee’s palms on the caps of her shoulders.

“They used them for obstetrics instruction. Pretty cool, huh?”

Meghan wondered how twins, like she and Karen, had looked inside a womb. Crowded, for sure. But do twins have their heads in the same direction, or are they yin-yang, one up and one down?

Lee’s breath brushed her left ear. “Ready to bug out?”

She nodded.

They bolted hand-in-hand from the museum, away from the River Arno. Minutes later, the heat of the afternoon sun beat against their bare heads. They wove through the streets, Lee pulling Meghan along behind him. The streets opened into a piazza. Meghan knew where he’d brought her.

The Gothic white Santa Croce church presided over one side of the sand-covered piazza. It loomed like a smaller version of the Duomo. They had toured the church the previous week—the resting place of Michelangelo, Leonardo Bruni, and Galileo.

“Great.” Meghan raised her hands in mock exasperation. “First Galileo’s finger, now his tomb. You got a thing for him?”

Lee shook his head. “Nope.” He grinned. One hand gestured to the piazza. “Check it out. For the Calcio, the football game that started centuries ago.”

“Football?” Meghan had tuned out most of their guide’s talk about Santa Croce.

“They brought in sand for a playing surface. The players all wear elaborate costumes, like from olden days. It started right here, at Santa Croce.”

Sand covered the stone center of the piazza, and wooden bleachers lined one side of the square.

“There’s a match today.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

His mouth twitched. “I pay attention.”

“This is pass-fail, remember? You don’t need to nail an A in it. You and Stillman want to go to med school, so you need a high GPA, but this class won’t matter, not unless you flunk.”

“I dig Florence.” His eyes looked serious, reminding Meghan of a professor. “I’ll live here someday.”

“Why?”

His head ducked low, as if he were embarrassed to answer the question. “The art. Mostly the sculptures.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. “C’mon.”

They walked around the piazza, then down a tiny street off to the side. Shadows edged the narrow street. Lee stopped near a window that displayed a single black leather jacket and matching handbag. He pulled her inside the store.

Her eyes adjusted to the subdued light after the glaring sun of the piazza. Glass ceiling fixtures—identical to those in her grandparents’ small frame house in Chicago—lit the store. Their cozy house always felt welcoming and warmed by love. This tiny leather goods shop had the same feeling. It was exactly what she hoped one day to capture in a boutique of her own.

Six jackets hung side by side on the left in the shop. Narrow walnut shelves lined the opposite wall. A scant dozen purses and three belts comprised the rest of the visible selection. Below the shelves, splotches of color peeked out from narrow cubbyholes. Pink, yellow, tan, white, black, red, shades of brown and cordovan. The cubbyholes held leather gloves for every occasion—dress gloves, not the knobby knit mittens Meghan used to warm her hands against the blustery winter cold.

The rhythmic hum, punctuated by steady thumps, that came from the rear of the store suddenly stopped. Only the whir of an oscillating fan cut the silence.

“
Buon giorno
.” A thin man in his sixties stood beside the sewing machine in the back of the room. Thick, straight, steel-gray hair covered his head. He pulled his bifocals off, cradling the lenses in his palm. He grinned at Lee. “You are back, American.”

“
Buon giorno.
” Lee moved with purpose to the older man. He clasped the man’s right hand in both of his own. “I brought a friend. She likes leather and fashion.”

Meghan’s face erupted in a smile. She took her turn clasping the man’s rough hand in both of hers. She bobbed her head to each side of his face as she gave him a double kiss. “Your work,” she said, glancing back at the hanging jackets, not sure if he would understand her words, “is beautiful.”

“Grazie, grazie.”

“Prego.”
She smiled, then broke eye contact, afraid he’d speak Italian to her. She patted the sewing machine, identical to her grandmother’s. Black, with a cord running from the wheel on the right to the foot platform below, the machine was powered by the pumping action of the operator’s feet. Her fingertips traced a line along the smooth surface of the top. “Could we watch you work?”

Laughter erupted from deep within the man’s chest. “Of course.”

The afternoon flew by. Ideas for new designs bombarded her head. Shadows covered the street when Lee and Meghan stepped out into the cool air.

Meghan threw herself at Lee and kissed him square on the lips. “That shop was great.”

Lee placed one hand under Meghan’s long hair, sliding it up her spine to the back of her neck. “So was the kiss.” His mouth found hers.

Her skin tingled all over. His left thumb traced a pattern up and down her right side, his hand finally lingering at her bra line. Shivers raced from his touch and extended to parts of her body that his hand was nowhere near. Lee nibbled on her lower lip. “Umm, this beats the middle finger of Galileo’s right hand all to hell.”

Acting like young Italians who take their love to the street, Meghan and Lee explored each other’s faces, ears, and necks in the cool alley street. Time melted away.

The sound of beating drums, reminding Meghan of those in Chicago’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, came from the nearby street, the Borgo Santa Croce.

Lee grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the noise. A crowd sat in the bleachers and circled the piazza. Cheers and clapping erupted when men wearing yellow and red tunics and black bloomers inset with yellow and red silk reached the sand field. Rows of marchers followed the drummers. They carried either blue and green flags or red and white flags–all embellished with designs of animals and symbols.

Meghan’s fingers ran through the back of Lee’s frizzy curls. “Now what?”

Lee slipped his arms around her waist. “It’s the Calcio Storico. It’s about to start.” He bent his head, nibbling the side of her neck. He took a break from his playground to peer into her eyes. “It’s today’s event.”

“Oh.” Meghan frowned. “The event we’re all supposed to watch together. Think the rest of the group is here?”

Lee’s eyes sparkled. “We could watch five or ten minutes—maybe from over there, in the shadow of the awning—and then split. We can go to my room.”

She thought about his roommate. “What about Rune?”

“He and Stillman are going to get stoned.” Lee winked. “Besides, we have a signal when we don’t want to be disturbed. We drape a towel over the doorknob. It means, ‘I’ve got a girl inside, so don’t come in.’”

Meghan peered at his face. “Have you used that signal this summer?”

“No.” Lee blinked and his face was as solemn as if he were in church. “There’s only one girl I want to use the signal for, and you’re it.”

Hours later, Lee walked her back to her own room. His mouth probed hers again. Meghan rested her palm against his damp chest. “You can’t come in. I don’t know if Karen’s back yet.”

“I know.” He sighed. “Tomorrow?”

Meghan bit her lower lip. She nodded.

Inside her tiny room, the still air smothered her. Karen hadn’t returned yet. Meghan ran to open the window, then flicked on the fan. Now the hot air moved. Sweat covered her face and body. She stripped to her bra and panties and danced around the narrow beds. Her hands moved to their own rhythm, the rhythm they had discovered together. How had she not seen this coming? She had been drawn to Lee since the first afternoon they met, but never imagined she’d lose her virginity this summer.

The warm stickiness between her legs made her look down. A sheer smear of blood crossed her thigh. She remembered a bit of pain, but her passion had made her forget it. Karen seeing blood on her leg was not the way Meghan wanted to tell her twin about Lee, and how much she cared for him.

Karen knew all about having a boyfriend. Ed and Karen had dated for two years and had been having sex for over a year. Karen teased Meghan that if she didn’t get busy, Meghan would be a virgin when they turned thirty.

Meghan grabbed a towel and fresh panties and threw a sundress over her head. At this hour, her odds with the communal bathroom looked promising. As she moved through the door, Karen’s foot accidentally stepped on hers.

“Where were you?” Karen’s lips pinched together. “You canned the museum. And I didn’t see you at the Calcio, or at the phone booths.”

Meghan grinned. “I had the most amazing time.” With her wide smile, she probably resembled a circus clown, but Meghan didn’t care. She waited for Karen to pump her for information. But instead of questions, Karen gave a whoop and her words rushed out.

“Meg, you won’t believe it.” Karen spun in a circle, her arms waving over her head. “Ed proposed.” She stopped her spin and grabbed her twin by the arm. “I'm engaged.”

The warmth of the lovemaking evaporated from Meghan’s body. She froze. She couldn’t tell Karen about Lee now. Karen’s engagement trumped her news.

Disappointment washed over her as if it were a cool, slimy gel. Then, like she had so many times before, Meghan thought about Karen, about her twin’s excitement. Meghan had a lifetime of Karen’s triumphs outshining hers. Karen’s part in the play was bigger. Karen, not Meghan, was soccer team captain. Karen’s prom dress was more elaborate, and more expensive.

Meghan tossed her towel and panties onto the closest bed. She hugged Karen and pulled her close.

The twins sat together cross-legged on the bed. Meghan had her face in control now. She widened her eyes. “Tell me everything.”

Partway through Karen’s recounting of her brief phone conversation with Ed, Karen stopped mid-sentence. “Hey, what happened to you?”

Meghan inhaled a deep breath. This was Karen’s moment, not hers. “Lee and I watched a man make leather jackets and gloves. A real artisan.”

Karen grinned. “Get some ideas we can use in the States?” They had long planned to open a boutique together someday.

“Of course.” Meghan patted her sister’s hand. “But tell me more. When are you going to tell Dad?” While Karen chatted on, Meghan’s mind drifted back to her time with Lee. She thought of his gentle touch, his quiet whispers, and the fairy-tale future she had imagined while lying naked in Lee’s arms.