Fierce disappointment mixed with relief washed over me. At least I didn’t have to face his recriminations again. Wake-up arguments definitely didn’t do it for me.
I headed for the shower, but the tepid water did little to relieve my heavy mind. I didn’t feel much like breakfast, but the least I could do was apologize to the hosts for our behavior. His behavior.
I wandered out to the patio and saw that the little table had been laid for two. I felt hot tears prick my eyes and I angrily scrubbed them away.
When I heard footsteps behind me, I turned hopefully. But it wasn’t Sebastian and it wasn’t the owner; instead the little grandmother was walking stiffly towards me, carrying a pot of coffee.
“Sit, young woman,” she said. “And don’t worry: it will all seem better once you have eaten. He’ll be back.”
I swallowed and tried to smile. She patted my shoulder sympathetically and left me alone.
The coffee was very good: rich and strong and just the shot in the arm that I needed. I drank almost the whole pot, then managed to eat a small plate of fette biscottate with salted butter. And I did feel better. And angry. Really fucking angry. How dare he talk me into this road trip, then drop me in the middle of nowhere the minute it suited him!
Or maybe this was his plan all along: maximum humiliation. Screw him!
I marched back to my room, scooped up the overnight bag and went to find the owner.
“Ah, signorina,” he said, worriedly.
“Please accept my apologies for last night’s disturbances,” I said, with polite formality. “How much do I owe you for the room?”
He twisted his fingers unhappily. I could tell he felt bad about charging me, but I was determined to pay my debts. I pulled out my wallet expectantly.
He sighed. “Forty Euros, signorina.”
“Thank you, signore. You have a very pleasant establishment.”
“Grazie, signorina.” He bit his lip and tried to smile.
“Can I book a cab to pick me up and take me to the airport?”
“Ah, regretfully, signorina, taxis do not like driving up my narrow road, but if you walk two kilometers towards Quinto Al Mare, you will find a taxi office.”
I thanked him, hefted the bag over my shoulder, and strode out into the beautiful Spring morning.
I’d got as far as the main road when I heard Sebastian’s bike roaring up behind me.
My stomach lurched, twisting with anxiety. When I heard him cut the engine, I put my head down and walked as quickly as I could.
“Caro, wait!”
He jogged up behind me and grabbed the handles of the bag, forcing me to stop.
“Caro, I’m sorry. Okay? Are you going to talk to me?”
“I think you’ve said enough – for both of us.”
“Fuck, Caro! It was the alcohol talking, that’s all.”
“It was more than that and you know it, Sebastian.”
“Can’t you take a fucking apology?”
“I don’t know: can you make one?”
We stood staring at each other; both hurt, both angry.
He ran his hand over his hair and scowled. “Can we just go somewhere and talk? Or are you going to walk back to Geneva?”
I folded my arms and glared at him. “Yes, frankly. I was going to get a cab to drive me to the airport. I’m sure I’d have no trouble getting a flight.”
“Don’t leave like this, Caro,” he said, in a slightly less aggressive tone. “Let’s just talk and if we can’t… fix this, I’ll take you to the airport myself.”
Damn him!
I nodded coldly and let him carry the bag. Silently he passed me my helmet, and stowed our solitary piece of luggage in the saddlebag.
He climbed on the bike and held out his hand to help me, but I preferred to scramble on by myself. And, instead of fastening my hands around his waist, I held on to the small grab-bar at the rear of my seat. It was uncomfortable and I didn’t feel very safe, but it was preferable to touching him.
He swung the bike around in a slow U-turn and headed southeast, away from the airport, following the coast road. After a few miles, he pulled into a parking lot next to a beach café in the small town of Bogliasco.
“Do you want a coffee?” he said, stiffly.