forgetting that. Do you know what I think we should do?”
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“I want to go to church and see the St. Matthew Caravaggios, especially the one with the dusty feet. I want to pray and light candles for Freddy. And then I want to go to the Trevi Fountain, throw two coins in, and find some more great panini.” Her voice caught at the last words, and she ended with a sob.
Tom stroked her hair. “This sounds perfect. Just what he would have wanted us to do, I’m sure.”
Faith shook the napkin out and wiped her eyes. Several pigeons swooped in to peck at the crumbs. She kissed her husband, their embrace lasting long past the pigeons’ consumption of the unexpected treat. The roof was completely empty of all forms of life when they finally let go of each other and went down the stairs to pack.
It wasn’t until she got to Termini, the train station, and saw all the families crowding the platforms for a day out, the women holding bouquets, that Faith remembered it was Mother’s Day here, too, Festa della Mamma. Sitting on the train, waiting for it to leave, she thought back to last year’s Mother’s Day. Her family had served her breakfast in bed and she had pretended to be very surprised. Both kids were comfortable in the kitchen, having started cooking with her at an early age. Ben had produced a delicious omelet oozing with fontina and thin shavings of smoked turkey, as a change from ham, he’d explained. Amy had made popovers, and Tom, well, Tom gave her flowers. After church they’d driven down to Norwell, Tom’s hometown on the South Shore, where they’d had a late lunch with the Fairchild clan, afterward piling into canoes for a paddle on the North River.
Faith’s own mother didn’t believe in Mother’s Day, declaring that every day was mother’s, father’s, and children’s day. That the May date was invented to sell cards, flowers, and perfume. She’d always thanked Faith and Hope for the cards they’d made at school and then the whole occasion had vanished once they were older until Tom appeared, askance at the attitude. His mother got flowers; Faith’s would, too. And Faith noticed that Jane very quickly began to enjoy the custom. She was glad she’d remembered to order them for both mothers before she’d left. But here she was, childless in Italy, and she felt quite a pang looking at all the happy families on the train and with such good things to eat, she suspected, tucked in all those baskets and boxes.
It was almost departure time, and as usual one lone traveler was making a dash for the doors. Faith was amused to see Goth Girl from the hotel lunge in at the last moment and then search for her seat, the cool expression on her face replaced for the moment by confusion and finally, relief.
It seemed they were almost immediately in the country, and Faith tried to focus on the passing scenery. A lone line of cypress trees atop a distant hill stood out against the blue afternoon sky. They looked almost human, with their stark limbs lined up for some kind of danse macabre. She instantly recalled the image from Ingmar Bergman’s film The Seventh Seal, and shut her eyes tightly.
“Honey, we’re almost there. Wake up.” Tom was gently shaking her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. The train was slowing. They were in the outskirts of another city. It couldn’t be Florence. Much too soon. Although the Eurostar train cut the time in half, to under an hour and a half. How long had she been sleeping?
“Come on. If we don’t get off, we’ll end up in Venice.”
“Not a bad thought,” Faith said. “Another time.”
She grabbed her carry-on bag and followed Tom to the storage area where they’d stowed their two cases. She’d put together a wardrobe of white tee shirts and jeans plus two sweaters, black crop pants, the one dress, shoes for walking, sandals, and flats. A raincoat, socks, and underwear completed her packing, except for some scarves and a necklace she’d bought several summers ago in Brooklin, Maine, at Sihaya Hopkins’s glassblowers studio—a thin gold wire with a selection of beads in several sizes. Sihaya worked in the tradition of Italian glass, molten layers of dense color, so it seemed appropriate to bring her work as Faith’s only jewelry.
“Did you catch what the conductor was announcing?” Tom said.
Faith had been aware of something coming over the