Will I Ever Laugh in Italian? - Karis Vail (ebook and pdf reader TXT) 📗

PROLOGUE

Craigslist: Milan, Italy. August 2, 2009

“Family looking for EMT to babysit 4:30-8:00 PM, Monday-Friday. Responsible for picking up 9-year old from school every day and getting him to afternoon activities: tennis, soccer, and catechism. Occasional babysitting in the evenings or weekends by request.

Studio apartment offered in Navigli, Italy with all expenses paid in exchange for speaking only English with two boys, 9 & 12 years old. Help them perfect the English language, enjoy dinners with family, and have mornings, early afternoons and weekends to yourself. Work to start first week of September.”

My first thought was, why does this family need an Emergency Medical Technician as their babysitter and English tutor? I applied despite my lack of training hoping it would be overlooked. Ten days later, when I was offered the position, I didn’t mention we hadn’t discussed the EMT requirement. Perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal after all. I chuckled to myself when I discovered just prior to my departure that what they wanted, and were getting in me, was an English Mother Tongue caretaker.

So, why was a professional 47-year old mother of 5 grown children applying for a babysitting job? I would love to say, “fulfilling a lifelong dream”; “for the love of children”; or, best yet, “career advancement opportunities”.

The simple truth is I ran away from home.

And I use the word home loosely. If home is where the heart is, than I, an empty vessel, was surely homeless. If home is where you hang your hat, well, ditto. Within a 2-month period I found myself without my job, my boyfriend and any semblance of a place to call home, for my heart or my hat. Running away from all that I had lost seemed the only reasonable thing to do. I did it quickly and without reservation.

What in the hell

was I thinking?


Chapter 1

May, 2003

Anxious to share my excitement of the past several weeks with my husband, I forsake the evening graduation festivities at Hostelliere Bérard with my peers. Slipping out unnoticed, save for Kim, whose husband was also awaiting her arrival in Nice the following day, I boarded the train for the jaunt to the sea from the Provençal countryside. I swore my friend and classmate to secrecy, knowing full well the boys would call to inform us once they arrived safely from Denver. Wanting to insure my surprise would be just that, Kim and I cooked up a story as savory as the bouillabaisse we learned earlier in the week to prepare to perfection from Master Chef René Bérard himself.

It’s nightfall when I arrive at the station with map in hand and one brimming suitcase. I’m instantly thankful to Sally, who offered to lug my other one back home, as I wind and weave through narrow sidewalks on less than smooth surfaces. I am impressed once again with the women of Europe who manage to stay upright and poised while gracefully sashaying over centuries old cobblestones balanced on stiletto heels with my-feet-aren’t-that-narrow

pointy toes.

Rounding the corner to Hotel Le Grimaldi, my heart flutters a bit as I take a deep breath. It is only in that moment when it occurs to me Bob might not be there. No bother, I’ll wait in our room if he hasn’t arrived or is out to dinner with Joe.

Through the front window I see the familiar balding head tilted slightly backwards knowing he’s laughing at something and am at once both pleased and giddy. Clearly embroiled in a jovial conversation, neither man sees me approach the lobby entrance. I’m glad they’ve had a chance to get to know one another - Kim and I have been seriously contemplating joining forces upon our return to Colorado. After all, we were deemed the “best tongues" in culinary school and always, like a firm-bodied Cabernet and prime rib, worked seamlessly when paired together.

Leaving my wheelie bag at the front desk, I press the finger of one hand to my lips, while pointing towards the bar and the two men with my other. The clerk gives me a knowing wink and approving glance while observing what unfolds. I caught Joe’s eye first, quickly repeating my gestures. He watchfully ignores me with flawless timing. Gently embracing my husband from behind, I murmur in his ear, “Surprise, I love you”.


Chapter 2

I’m happy we'll go immediately back to Italy where my journey had begun a month ago. As beautiful as the French countryside was, I felt more at home in Asti, surrounded by our warm instructors and local townspeople alike. Of course, the fact that I took a handful of Italian classes back in the States didn’t hurt - I could ask for the things I needed much easier than I could in French.

Bob was amazed at how well I was communicating those first few days. I was able to order our meals, check into rooms and rent a car with little difficulty. What he didn't know was that I managed by stringing several memorized words together, forgoing any verb conjugation or proper sentence structure. It all sounded just foreign enough to make an impression on him and I was happy for that.

I was keen on him being proud of me during this trip. It was a dramatic shift in attitude from when I proclaimed I was resigning as operations manager and developer of our jointly owned technology firm. Emotions had run exceedingly high that cold November day in 2002. Any explanations I offered appeared to fall on deaf ears. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to enlighten him on why it seemed a matter of life or death to pursue my avid interest in cooking to any degree beyond a weekend class at Williams-Sonoma.

Now, thousands of miles away from our collective five children and daily rigors, this excursion was designed to reconnect us. I had high hopes we could recover from the insult our marriage had taken five months previously. The healing had begun while my full-time program was in session in Colorado. I observed Bob slowly moving from disbelief and anger to a place of resignation to finally sensing a glimmer of support. He recognized how ecstatic I was; my joy having quite the positive effect on our large family, and that he could not fail to notice.

Looking back on the photos taken at my stateside graduation I saw a content and adoring husband, someone full of pride. I left for Europe feeling optimistic and with the fortitude to see any remaining challenges through.


Chapter 3

“Cakes?”, Bob whispers my pet name as I’m doing my morning bed stretch; back arching, arms over my head with a slight high-pitched moan escaping my mouth. I’m in our large bed in a small room in Cortona on day 7 of our action-packed journey. “Yeah baby?”, I say as I stretch the other way, always having to be symmetrical. “Um”, he says, pausing, “I have something I need to talk to you about”. Words like this should never be heard or spoken on a vacation unless, of course, there's no “um” followed by a very

pregnant pause. This is a telltale sign that whatever follows can’t be good.

Laying next to my weeping husband two hours later, I can’t quite believe what finally comes out of my mouth, “Honey, it’s okay - we are bigger than this, we will survive. Truly, I’m not mad.” Groping for his own words, I can see he doesn’t fully trust the sentiment, but for now is content to accept it. We shower, dress, pack and head to the next town.

We’re in the made-famous-by-Rick Steeve’s

town of Varenna our last several days. Our adventures have taken us from Nice to the Cinque Terre, Florence, the countryside’s of Tuscany and Umbria, and finally to the peaceful village on well known Lake Como. Our time together has been picture perfect. It has been a honeymoon all over again. The only exception was the confession in the hillside town, but I was determined to see to it that a drunken one-night stand that didn’t see its way past some sloppy body rubbing was not going to ruin: a) my time in Italy, or b) my marriage. It wasn’t until 24 hours before we were to depart from Malpensa Airport that Giovanni threw me a curve ball.


Chapter 4

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, asks Chip, sitting on his couch thousands of miles away in Denver. “You have

to take this job. Seriously, when will you ever have another opportunity like this in your life?”

I can almost see my first husband’s overflowing excitement while my second is sending heat waves of rage in my direction. I’m sitting on the floor leaned up against the bed with my back to Bob, who is wordlessly fuming, and I can feel it.

My close relationship with the father of my children has never been something Bob has been comfortable with. In spite of the fact that we have now been together over nine years, close to surpassing the years I shared with Chip, he has not accepted this part of my life. My bond with my ex went against the grain for Bob who only experienced hatred, lies and resentment in his own life's past relationships. The fact that I was now discussing my immediate plans with Chip was not boding well and I knew it; however, I simply didn’t give a damn and continued.

“Are you sure you don’t mind having the kids full time for the five months I would be gone?” I inquire. I press on, “It means everything I do you’ll have on your plate. I know you’re more than capable”, and then to lighten the mood a bit add, “but what happens if Cass has to go to the ER again?”

Chip laughs and reassures me, “You know he only gets hurt when it’s your day”.

The reminder is all too true. Our middle child is a magnet for accidents, but seems to have a guardian angel on call, making sure he’s in my level headed presence for such situations. His dad is the first to admit how lucky the kids are when they’re with me should they be sick or get injured. I appreciate his complimenting affirmation.

“Okay”, I say with a slight groan and a heavy sigh, only because I know what is ahead of me, “if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll know I’m on the plane”.

With an 8-hour time difference, it will be 2 am in Denver when I am either elbow’s deep in dough with Giovanni’s sister at Nilus Bar in Varenna, or at 30,000 feet headed home.

“And Chip”, I add with warmth, “Thanks. I love you”.

With that we hang up. I sit for several very long minutes. The deafening silence rings through my head like the clanging church bells of Italy. What I thought seven months ago was life or death paled by comparison with the territory I was preparing to enter.


Chapter 5

It is now November as I head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. With each passing month, since my return from Italy, I’ve pondered all I would have missed had I stayed.

All five kids had birthdays between June and October - the girls turning 13; the boys 15, 16, and 18