I shaded my eyes. The sun was rising over the hills, heating up the undersides of the clouds and setting them on fire in crazy shades of pink and gold. Everything around me was bright and beautiful and suddenly very clear.
I didn’t get to stop missing her. Ever. It was the thing that my life had handed me, and no matter how heavy it was, I was never going to be able to set it down. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be okay. Or even happy. I couldn’t imagine it yet exactly, but maybe a day would come when the hole inside me wouldn’t ache quite so badly and I could think about her, and remember, and it would be all right. That day felt light-years away, but right at this moment I was standing on a tower in the middle of Tuscany and the sunrise was so beautiful that it hurt.
And that was something.
I picked up the journal. It was time to finish.
JUNE 19
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. I had that song lyric written on a piece of paper above my desk for almost a year, and only today does it actually mean anything to me. I’ve spent the entire afternoon wandering the streets and thinking, and a few things have become clear.
First, I have to leave Italy. Last September I met an American woman who’s trapped in a terrible marriage because Italian law says that children stay with the father. I doubt Matteo will ever want anything to do with our baby, but I can’t take that chance.
And second, I can’t tell Howard how I feel about him. He thinks I’ve already chosen someone else, and he needs to keep thinking that. Otherwise he’ll leave behind the life he’s created for himself for a chance to start things with me. I want that so badly, but not enough to let him give up his dream of living and working in the middle of so much beauty. It’s what he deserves.
So there it is. In loving Howard, I have to leave him. And to protect my child, I have to put as much distance between her and her father as possible. (Yes, I think it’s a girl.)
If I could go back to one moment—just one—I would be back at the tower, a whole world of possibility ahead of me. And even though my heart hurts more than I ever thought it could, I wouldn’t take back that sunrise or this baby for anything. This is a new chapter. My life. And I’m going to run at it with arms outstretched. Anything else would be a waste.
The End. The rest of the journal was blank. I slowly turned to the front cover and read that first sentence one more time.
I made the wrong choice.
Sonia had been wrong. My mom hadn’t sent the journal to the cemetery for me—she’d sent it for Howard. She’d wanted him to know what had really happened and tell him that she’d loved him all along. And then, even though she couldn’t go back and change their story, she’d done the next best thing.
She’d sent me.
Chapter 25
I PRACTICALLY FLEW BACK TO the cemetery. I was incredibly nervous, but I felt light, too. No matter what Howard’s reaction was, it was going to be okay. And he deserved to read her story. Right this second.
Daylight had totally transformed the cemetery, taking it from washed-out to vibrant, and I ran diagonally across the grounds, cutting through a batch of headstones and ignoring my blossoming side ache. I had to catch Howard before he started working.
He was sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, and when he saw me he stood up in alarm. “You aren’t being chased again, are you?”
I shook my head, then came to a stop, struggling to catch my breath.
“Oh, good.” He sat back down. “Do you always sprint? I thought you were more into long-distance running.”
I shook my head again, then took a deep breath. “Howard, I have to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Do you know you’re not my father?”
For a few long seconds my words hung in the space between us like a bunch of shimmering soap bubbles. Then he smiled.
“Define ‘father.’?”
My legs gave out and I stumbled toward the porch.
“Whoa, whoa. You okay?” He put his hand out to steady me.
“Just let me sit down.” I fell to a seat on the porch step next to him. “And you know what I mean by ‘father.’ I mean the man who gave me half my DNA.”
He stretched his legs out long in front of him. “Well, in that case, no. I’m not your father. But if you go with another definition, meaning ‘a man who wants to be in your life and help raise you,’ then yes. I am.”
I groaned. “Howard, that’s sweet and everything, but explain yourself. Because I have spent the last twenty-four hours completely confused and worried about hurting you, and you’ve known all along?”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know you had any idea.” He looked at me for a moment, then sighed. “All right. You up for a story?”
“Yes.”
He settled in, like he was about to tell a story he’d told a million times. “When I was twenty-five I met a woman who changed everything for me. She was bright and vibrant and whenever I was with her I felt like I could do anything.”