By the time we’d chugged away from the station in Rome, dizziness had taken hold of my head and wouldn’t let go. I squeezed my eyes closed, willing the sensation to pass, but it only grew worse. I managed to make it to the toilet before throwing up the first time, but the second time, I made sure to look right in 11C’s eyes as I hurled into the paper bag. See? See what you’ve done to me?
Fortunately for me—and everyone else assigned to my car—I had a forward-facing seat for the next leg of the journey, from Pisa to La Spezia, but it didn’t matter. By that point, my head was swimming and my stomach was rejecting everything I put in it. I considered stopping in La Spezia for the night, but it was still early afternoon and I’d intended on making it all the way to Vernazza before calling it quits for the day. I wanted to crash, but a bigger part of me just wanted to get the journey over with. I wanted a hotel room. I wanted a proper shower and a bed to collapse into.
Unfortunately, I’d underestimated how difficult the final leg of my journey would be. It was a short train journey between La Spezia and Vernazza, but the regional train was small and all the seats were full by the time I lugged my suitcases onboard. I was forced to stand, packed like a sardine, in the small compartment between two cars. My body was crushed against the side door, facing out. I desperately willed my nausea to pass; I’d used my last sick bag on the train to La Spezia and I really didn’t want to traumatize the family of five laughing behind me.
The small train sped along the coast of Italy, through long, dark tunnels cut through rock. I caught my own reflection in the door’s window and cringed. My brown eyes, usually bright and lively, had heavy circles beneath them. Strands of my long chestnut brown hair were coated with sweat and stuck to my cheeks. All color had faded from my face and the bit of throw-up crusted below my bottom lip served as the pièce de résistance to my entire haggard appearance.
I nearly caved then. It would have been so easy to call Freddie and beg him to come collect me, but in the blink of an eye the tunnel broke open and my vision was filled with an expanse of turquoise water.
It was blue in every direction, different hues painted across the landscape as far as my eyes could see. A cloudless sky met crystal clear waters. Angry waves crashed against the shore, spilling white sea foam over massive granite rocks that had tumbled down from the mountains over the centuries. I pressed my hands to the glass, leaned forward, and gasped, nearly lost in the beauty of it, right before another bout of motion sickness overtook me.
Oh bloody hell.
“Mom! The crazy lady just threw up on me!”
I PULLED MY baseball cap off my head and wiped my forehead on my shirtsleeve. It was dirty, just like my forehead was dirty, but it seemed better than nothing. I’d been out on the water all morning and had a boat full of fish to deliver to Massimo. He’d smile when he saw the sea bass; it was the biggest one I’d caught in weeks. He’d coat it in olive oil, bury it in a mound of sea salt, and bake it for some lucky tourist in his restaurant. I’d have envied them if I didn’t have half a dozen fish to keep for myself.
I cranked my motor up another notch, slicing across the sea on my way back home. The waves were choppy, sloshing water up over the sides of my small fishing boat. I could feel the winds changing; I’d felt them all morning, playing with the currents and riling the sea. I’d almost skipped the trip out on the water, but I’d compromised instead, staying close to the shore in case things went south.
As Vernazza’s tiny harbor came into view on the horizon, I let out a breath I’d been holding all morning, grateful to the sea for delivering me back home in one piece. The painted village stretched closer and I maneuvered my boat around the granite breakers. Of all five Cinque Terre villages, Vernazza boasted the largest true harbor. Even still, it could only fit a couple dozen fishing boats at once, nothing more.
My cousin was waiting for me on the breaker, smiling at the lot I’d brought back for him.
“Buongiorno, cugino?”
I threw him the line. “Molto buono.”
It was Saturday and the village was already bustling, alive with chatter. Life in Vernazza was centered around the restaurants in the heart of the village. Five of them dotted the perimeter of the square, carving out space of their own with wide-brimmed umbrellas. Tourists gathered underneath them, enjoying their lunches with enough wine and bread to last them well into the evening. Massimo and I worked together to unload the fish into a small cart. He’d roll it up to his restaurant—not one of the lucky five located on the square—and I’d head back up to my house and shower off the stench of fish and foam.
“Watch it!” I said, scolding the group of children running around the harbor, daring one another to jump into the water. It was safe to swim there; the water was calm thanks to the large partial seawall the village had built a decade earlier to shield itself from the power of the ocean.
The boys weren’t tourists. I’d watched them grow up for the last few years.
“And stay out of my boat, or tomorrow I’ll use you as shark bait!” I shouted over my shoulder before they’d run too far. I knew from their giggles it had been years since they’d taken my threats seriously. It didn’t matter; I had the boat’s key, so they couldn’t get into too much trouble.
“They call you the village grump, y’know,” Massimo said, nudging my shoulder.
I smiled, despite myself. “Good.”
The title fit.