But as many questions as I have, I’m also excited. Because this is promising. And it was so easy. One e-mail and bam! I might just be teaching English to two cute Italian children. I bet they’re just darling and say mama and eat politely. Sure, I don’t have a lot of experience with children, but I figure I might become a mother one day so this is good practice. I mean, the maternal instinct has to be in me somewhere.
I tell Ana and Henrik that I’m meeting someone down at the dock. I haven’t told them about my financial problems and don’t plan on it, so they’re a bit suspicious about this meeting, even when I try to play it off as if I met a guy yesterday and I’m meeting up with him again.
I mean, it could be true, in a way. I assume that the children will have a father and he might want to interview me, too.
I leave at three o’clock because the hill takes its time to wind down, and Italians walk slowly (yet drive frighteningly fast). I’m at the dock with plenty of time to spare.
Positano is absolutely gorgeous from the water and the pebbled beach is packed with bronzed men in Speedos and brightly-striped umbrellas and chairs. Tiny boats and Jet Skis zip back and forth, sloshing the low dock with water. I stand there and wait, my face to the sun, still pinching myself that I’m here, in Italy, and it’s a gorgeous day.
Time seems to drag on a bit. I look across the dock and slowly realize that no big ships are docking here, only small boats. I look over to my left and notice a large hydrofoil pulling out from the area around the rocks.
Oh shit. Is that the dock she meant? Have I been standing in the wrong place this whole time?
I whip out my phone and look at the time. Four ten. Just fucking great.
I’m about to start running across the beach toward the bigger ships when a woman yells out. “Hey you!”
I stop in my tracks, pebbles flying everywhere and getting in my sandals, and see a woman striding toward me. She’s short and round with gray hair pulled off her face, showcasing her very sharp nose. She’s still beautiful, though, in an older, classy woman way. Or she would be if she didn’t look so scowl-y.
“Show me your hands,” she says in a thick accent, stomping over to me, and for a moment I’m afraid that this is all a misunderstanding. Is she mistaking me for a thief or something?
But I have no time to say anything. She grabs my hands, turning them over and back again. “Okay, fine,” she says and peers at my face. Her eyes are a light gray. “You will do. Come on.”
And then she starts to storm away, hiking up her skirt so it doesn’t brush against the pebbles.
What the fuck was that?
“Um, excuse me,” I call after her, unsure whether I should follow or who she even is. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”
She shakes her head and keeps walking. “No. You are Amber. Come or we miss the boat.”
“Felisa?” I ask and then run after her, my soles slipping all over the place. “How did you know who I was?”
“Only tourists would go to wrong dock,” she says. She eyes me over her shoulder. “Also, I Google you. You have many pictures.”
Well, I have been updating my travel blog quite often. At least I know someone’s looked at it.
I walk fast to keep up with this woman. I’m a short girl with short legs, and though Felisa seems to be the same height, she walks like a giraffe, with impossibly long strides. It’s not long until I’m panting, totally out of breath, and we’re standing in front of one of the hydrofoils. A few people are dragging their luggage onto metal ramps that move with the swell of each wave.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
Felisa hands two tickets over to the man collecting them.
“You come to the house, you meet the children. And Signor Larosa.”
So many things happening at once.
“Wait, wait,” I protest, reaching out to grab Felisa’s elbow.
She shoots me daggers so I quickly let go, but at least I’ve stopped her.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t know I would be going to the island. How would I get back?”
“Tomorrow there is a ferry. Many ferries.”
The ticket guy is eyeing us warily now.
“But where do I stay? I don’t have any money. I’ve paid for my hostel here in full.”
“You stay in the house.”
“What house?”
“Signor Larosa’s. Where the children are.”
“Is he their father?”
She shakes her head. “Older brother. Long story.”
“How much older?”
“Older!” she yells. “Now come on, we will miss it.”
The ticket guy clucks his tongue in agreement.
I sigh, feeling all out of sorts, and follow Felisa onto the ramp and inside the ferry. She takes a seat on one side of the main aisle in the middle of the ship. I notice that everyone is kind of arranged the same way, with few people on the outer edges. I wonder why but there are bigger things to wonder about.
I sit down next to her. “Okay, let’s start again.”
“You start tomorrow, when you get your things back from Positano.”
“But you haven’t interviewed me yet. You don’t know if I’m right for the job.”
“You are on the ferry right now, aren’t you?” she asks, giving me a sharp look. “Then you are right for the job. You could have said no. Also, you have nice, strong hands and you need those when handling children. Now I have to bring you to Signor Larosa and see how you are with him. And the children.”