I: Summer 1996
2
(excerpt)
I wake up with a start. The phone is ringing downstairs. I reach for my watch on the nightstand and see that it’s three o’clock. I’ve been asleep for two hours.
“There you are! How wonderful!” It’s Libby, calling from Castellina, a house farther up in the hills. I smile happily at the distinctive sound of her British accent. I suddenly feel less alone.
“We saw the shutters open on our way back from the Co-op. We hoped it might be you. How long has it been?”
The Parkers came to the Mugello at the same time as my family, but they live here year-round. When I was a teenager, Libby found me a summer job in Florence. We’ve been friends ever since. She doesn’t wait for me to answer her question.
“How long are you staying? You’ve got to come up and see the progress we’ve made on the house. Can you come tomorrow for tea? Richard got a whole package of bomboloni: you can help us eat them. The studio is almost finished!”
I tell her I have no water.
“Ask Renato. He’ll know what’s up, don’t worry. It’ll all be sorted out.” Talking to Libby reassures me. She is the kind of person who gives the impression that no difficulty is insurmountable if you just forge ahead and confront it straight-on.
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