“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Something different,” she said. “There is more to life than just continuing to do what we know.”
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I do now. They didn’t get much time to travel, but in that one year they had, they did a lot—they went to Mexico and Nashville and the Bahamas. My dad learned how to play the guitar. My mother learned how to make pottery and pound cake and redecorated the family room, then my dad’s home office. They were constantly in motion.
There is more to life than just continuing to do what we know.
What got you here won’t get you there.
“Are you married, Marco?”
Marco’s face erupts into emotion. “I am too old for you!”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Marco laughs. “Yes, yes, of course I am married.”
“Where is your wife?”
“She does not love the life in Positano. She stays in Naples, quite often. I see her seldom in the summer.”
“I went to Naples today!”
“You went?”
“Adam took me. I really loved it there.”
Marco smiles. “It is a family place.”
“You must miss her,” I say.
“Of course, yes, but this is life, no? You miss. We miss. It is okay.”
“Maybe if you had some more help here, you could see her more often.”
Marco considers this. Then his face changes. “You agree!” he says. “You are one of them! You go away!”
But he is kidding, his hand waving me off with a playful flourish.
“Is there a restaurant you would recommend in town?” I ask him. We walk side by side down the stairs to the lobby. “Somewhere I can have a drink.”
“Alone?”
I nod.
Marco looks pleased. “Terrazza Celè,” he says. “Beautiful.”
He gestures for me to follow him, and we cross out into the street. He points to the left. “You go down, down, and then up. On the right side. You take a map, but you do not need it. It’s all blue.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Marco darts inside and returns with a map of Positano, the location of the restaurant circled.
“Have a wonderful evening!” he says. “Enjoy the magic of Positano!”
I turn left out of the hotel, and the moment I do, I hear my name being called. It’s her.
“Katy! Katy, wait!”
There Carol is, dashing down the street toward me.
“You’re here!” she says. She’s out of breath, in a blue cotton dress, the straps falling over her shoulders, her hair tied down loosely at the nape of her neck. “I couldn’t find you today!”
Emotion floods my body, but it’s not relief, not exactly. It’s happiness. At the sight of her. At the living, breathing incarnation in front of me. My friend.
“Carol,” I say. “Hi. Where have you been?”
“Working, mostly,” she says. “Where have you been?”
“I went to Capri! And then Naples today.”
Her eyes get wide. “With who?”
“This guy. He’s staying at my hotel.”
“I wanted to invite you over for dinner,” she says. “Are you free?”
“With Remo?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Just the two of us.”
“Now?”
“Why not?” she says. “Unless you have plans?”
“No,” I say. “No, I actually have no plans.”
“Great. Come with me. I just have to pick up a few things before we head back to mine.”
“Of course,” I say.
She smiles. She cocks her head to the right, for me to follow. “Wonderful.”
We start walking. I have to hold my dress up, so I don’t trip all over it.
“You look great, by the way,” she says. “Very elegant. I love that dress.”
It’s yours, I want to tell her. I took it from your closet. You once wore it to see Van Morrison play at the Hollywood Bowl. You were so beautiful.
“Oh, thanks.”
We keep winding up the hillside, and then Carol points to a little bodega up to the right. “Just here,” she says.
We go inside. An older woman sits behind the register. Two young children play on the Formica floor.
“Buonasera,” I say.
“Buonasera, sì,” the woman says. She turns to Carol. “Ciao, Carol.”
“Buonasera, signora. Hai i pomodori stasera?”
“Sì, certo.” The woman leads Carol to a small produce section.