Now, almost thirty years later, the memory of that lonely march and the sad days that preceded it was as fresh in Giancarlo’s mind as if it had all happened only yesterday. Pushing away from the table, he got up and brought his coffee cup to the sink. He stood there for a time, gazing once more out the window. The dark gray skies had suddenly opened, and it began to pour. The wind beat the rain against the window, and as he watched it come down, Giancarlo wished that somehow it could wash everything away, all the heavy memories he carried around inside himself like those two bags he had carried with him out of Castelalto. Perhaps he had never looked back that day when he walked away from home all those years ago, but deep in his lonely heart, Giancarlo also knew that he had never learned to loosen his grip and just let it go.

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 40

While he waited for Antonella to rouse her husband, Carter stood in the kitchen, looking about at the bright interior of the little house, the high ceilings above, the beautiful marble floors beneath, and the stylish modern furnishings throughout. He marveled at how sharply the inside of the home contrasted with its ancient, rough-hewn, almost bleak exterior. By now of course he was becoming accustomed to discovering that in Italy, the face of things and what lay behind it were not always one and the same. How many more times, he wondered, would he have to be taken in by facades, bleak or beautiful, before he learned?

Antonella went to the back of the house and shouted up the staircase.

“Giorgio, alzati!” she called. “Get up! There’s someone here to see you!”

A minute or two later, a yawning Giorgio Rosa came down the stairs, walked into the kitchen, and stood before Carter, scratching his side. He was a solid-looking man, stockier than his more slightly built brother, Giancarlo, and with a fuller, rounder face. Nonetheless, Carter could see right away that the two brothers still bore an unmistakable resemblance to one another. At the same time, he also perceived that the two possessed markedly different personalities. Giorgio seemed to exude a relaxed, easygoing air, which was in striking contrast to his brother’s reticence and cool reserve. He gave Carter a friendly smile, and shrugged as if to ask why he had come.

“Giorgio, this is Carter,” said Antonella. “He has just come from America.”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Giorgio.

By this point, Carter was not of a mind to bother asking how.

“He comes from Rhode Island,” Antonella said with a furtive look. “He was sent here by Giancarlo.”

Giorgio passed a hand over his stubbled face and gave another yawn.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been taking a little siesta. What did you say your name was again?”

“Carter,” Carter answered. “Carter Quinn.”