It was making me sad, and it felt like a mistake to have come here.
“We don’t have to stay, Caro,” said Sebastian, squeezing my fingers.
I sighed. “It’s okay. I don’t know what I was expecting: Papa always said it was a one-horse town where the horse had died. I guess he was right.”
“Look, that guy over there is just opening up his café – let’s go get a drink, okay?”
The café owner was surprised but delighted to have some business. I imagined he didn’t get many customers.
Sebastian ordered a beer and I opted for an espresso. Maybe a shot of caffeine would help to lift my mood.
The beer was served in a frosted glass, and my espresso arrived in a miniature coffee pot with raw cane sugar and a glass of water.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Sebastian, politely. “But my girlfriend’s father came from this village. We were wondering if you might have known him: his surname was Venzi.”
The man scratched his head. “That name seems familiar, but I’m not sure. Let me ask my wife: she’s lived here her whole life.”
My heart began to beat more rapidly, and I sat up anxiously in my seat.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Caro,” Sebastian said, gently.
“No, I’m not,” I lied, unable to beat back the sudden expectation that had flared.
A moment later, the owner’s wife appeared.
“Buon giorno. You are asking after the Venzi family? How can I help you?”
“I was just wondering… my father, Marco Venzi, he was born here. Did you know him?”
“Goodness! Marco Venzi! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. He was the boy who left to live in America. Your father, you say? Yes, I knew him.”
She knew him. She really knew him. I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“It’s so exciting to meet someone who remembers Papa,” I choked out, gazing at the woman’s warm and sympathetic face.
“Yes, we were at school together: he was a few years older than me, and always in trouble. He had the devil in him, that one.”
“His daughter is just the same,” said Sebastian, with a quiet smile.
The woman laughed. “And how is dear Marco? Did he make his fortune in America like he said? He was crazy for your American movies. Said he was going to be a big star, like Valentino.”
“Mr. Venzi died some years ago,” answered Sebastian, knowing I was finding it hard to speak.
“Ah, I see,” she said. “Forgive me, young woman, my condolences. Your father was always so full of spirit. Too big for this little town.”
“Do you know if he had any relatives here?” said Sebastian.
“Well, there was his mother, but she died a long time ago. Marco had a sister who was much older than him, I remember. But she married and moved away, to Naples, I think. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name of the man she married, so that’s all I can tell you.”
She nodded, and moved back inside the shadowy café.
Sebastian held my hand, stroking his thumb over the back of my knuckles.
“We could try and find her,” he said, gently. “She might have had kids – you could have cousins you don’t know about.”
“Yes, I might. I probably do.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the happiness my father found in everything to do with America: the music, the movies, the TV shows, the cars – especially the cars. A large, pale blue Cadillac had been his pride and joy. The damn thing drove like a bus: I used to get seasick just from sitting in the back seat.
But that was in the past; it was all in the past, and I was planning a future.
“It doesn’t matter, Sebastian,” I said, slowly. “Signora Carello was right: even if there are cousins, they’re not my family – not really. I have my friends and I have you. You’re my family now.”
He bowed his head and held my hand to his lips. Then he stood up, taking me by surprise.