“No, honey. We haven’t time. We’ll get one in Rome.”

“Sure you have time,” Anna said, digging out her change purse. “I’ll be right back.”

“No, Anna.”

She ran off to the McDonald’s in the station. Eliana sat down on the suitcase to wait. A gypsy woman walked by and stood before them holding out a paper cup. Eliana surrendered the last of her Italian coins and the woman blessed her and walked away. She glanced down at her watch.

“Oh my, there’s only three minutes.” She lifted her bag and took Alessio by the hand. “We need to go, Alessio.”

“But Aunt Anna went to get me a cone.”

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t miss our train.”

She quickly validated their tickets, then walked down the boarding platform, pulling Alessio by one hand and the suitcase with the other, while she kept glancing back. Come on, Anna. When they got to their car, Eliana stowed her suitcase on the entryway rack then helped Alessio up into the train.

“But Aunt Anna . . .”

“I know, sweetie.”

Eliana waited on the step until the porter blew his whistle and Eliana was forced to step back inside while the doors shut. Suddenly Anna came running by frantically looking for them. Eliana pounded on the door’s glass and Anna stopped. She walked up to the side of the train, outside the closed door holding the ice cream cone. Tears rolled down Anna’s cheeks. She blew them a kiss. Eliana kissed her fingers and waved back to her. Then the train lurched forward, and for a ways Anna walked along with it, waving and blowing kisses. Then the platform ended and the train left, taking them away from each other, filling Eliana with sadness. “You always said you’d never say goodbye, Anna. Arrivederci, my sister.”

A moment later Alessio took her hand. “Can we sit down?”

With her free hand Eliana wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart.”

They found their seats, and Eliana took a picture book out of her carry-on for Alessio. When he was content, she sat back and closed her eyes. As the train rumbled away from Florence, her mind reeled through two thousand days in Italy, weaving between languages and cultures, firsts and lasts, images of Maurizio and Anna and then Villa Rendola—her maternal hills spotted with trellises. She saw Alessio growing and changing. And she knew that she too had changed, and she wondered if she could ever totally fit back into American life. She wondered if this was how a soldier felt coming back from a crusade filled with stories and thoughts no one but his comrades could ever know or understand. But through her mind’s wanderings her thoughts always came back to Ross, as if he had been the punctuation of her story, and it made her want to cry. And his words haunted her. Remember, Eliana, love doesn’t give second chances.

AFTERWORD