He nodded. “That’d be nice. We’ll have to see them at Massimo’s. I doubt Katerina would want to trek all the way up to the villa.”
She was just beginning her seventh month of pregnancy.
“True—although, I did it.”
“Sure, though I seem to remember quite a bit of moaning about it.”
I grinned. “Only there at the end, when I was more beach ball than woman.”
Antonio came round with our espressos and we settled back into our seats to enjoy them. The street was busier than usual. It was Tuesday, so the open-air market would start soon and vendors were bustling around getting everything ready. Katerina wasn’t there—she was too tired to manage the shop and the market so close to the end of her pregnancy.
I reached into our diaper bag and handed Luca a toy for Julianna. She jingled the colorful, oversized keys in her little hand and for a few minutes, I sipped my drink and watched her playing, content to enjoy the slow morning.
A train pulled into the station and we heard the first lot of tourists chattering and winding their way down the main street. In a few minutes, Vernazza would be flooded like it was every day during the summer months. I loved sitting back and people-watching, and that’s what I did, taking in all the different people coming to enjoy a little slice of heaven. I loved hearing their shocked sighs when they got their first proper view of the village and the sea.
One particular family stuck out to me: a mom trying to corral her children away from the cakes and cookies on display at the market. I followed their journey down the main road until a flash of fabric caught my attention. It was on a woman walking alone, and my flipbook view of her was dependent on the motion of the swirling crowd. She was wearing a dress I recognized. It was bright yellow and had lemons printed all over it. It was light and cheerful and I had absolutely seen it before.
I muttered to Luca about wanting to check out a new vendor, jumped out of my seat, and took off down the street after her, trying to dart around groups of tourists stopped to shop in the market. She’d gotten so far ahead that I thought I’d never catch her. I picked up the pace, all but sprinting.
“Excuse me! ’Scuse me!”
I pushed past a man, offered up a weak apology, and then continued down the road. I shouted her name above the crowd, but she never turned. She rounded the corner into the square and I lost her. There were too many people on the streets. Too many people had come in on the train all at once. I spun in a circle, looking around the square, and then I spotted her standing near the granite boulders, looking out to the sea.
I knew in my gut that it was Allie.
It was her long pale blonde hair. Her delicate profile. Her lemon dress. It whipped in the wind around her legs as she propped her hands on her hips. For a year and a half I’d longed for this moment, a chance to walk up and tap her shoulder, to have her turn and offer me a gentle smile.
I wanted to step closer, and yet, I didn’t.
There was no need.
I wasn’t fooling myself—I knew it couldn’t have been Allie—but what else is left of a person on this earth after they’ve died except their old clothes, their memory, and the loose strings they leave the rest of us holding on to? By that rationale, it was Allie, and seeing her standing there on the boulder with her head tilted to the sun told me everything I needed to know. More than closure, it was assurance that Allie was at peace now. She knew her magic had worked.