they wished they had been born an only child. But only in private. Vi wished, now, that she had spent more time telling Fern how much she had admired her and that her jealousy had been fueled by thinking herself an inferior copy.
How clearly she could see that now.
“Virginia Heart, what are you doing out there?” Sue called from the deck stairs.
Vi jerked back to the present. “Sorry. I thought I lost an earring, but I found it!”
Hurrying inside, Vi resolved to write an additional letter home, and this one to Fern and Fern alone. She would apologize for being such a brat and say all the things she should have years ago.
It also made her think she should be more like a big sister to Marcie, rather than a babysitter. Someone like Fern. A confidante. Someone who would stand with Marcie against a common enemy. Someone who would also shore up Marcie’s defenses where she was most vulnerable. Because that was what Vi had needed five years ago and didn’t get. In her case, there hadn’t been enough love in the world to make her feel whole, because she had always believed Fern was better, and that was what had left her vulnerable to Robert.
Vi suspected Marcie had a similar weak spot, in that she didn’t see her own value. Which meant anyone who made her friend feel desirable would be “in like Flynn,” and Vi would not—could not—let that happen.
Vi had promised Sal she would take care of Marcie, and so she would.
Because no one should have to go through what she had.
Chapter 11
“So that’s Italy.” Marcie sounded singularly unimpressed as the mountainous coast came closer.
“Not what you expected?” Vi asked, squinting to see if she could make out anything more than cliffs and peaks in the bright morning sunlight. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hot yet, allowing the girls to stand along the rail and sightsee without wilting in their uniforms.
“I don’t know.” Marcie turned her back to the view and shrugged. “The way some people in Little Italy talk about it, one would think wine flowed in the rivers and citrus trees bloomed on every hillside while birds of paradise flitted in the breeze.”
Vi shot her an amused look. “In other words, heaven on earth.”
Marcie huffed a soft laugh. “Precisely.”
Vi returned her attention to the rugged landscape, wishing she could remember more of Italy’s geography. She knew the Alps were in the North and Venice had canals, but wasn’t the rest of Italy flat, with lots of grapevines? “It doesn’t look like heaven from here.”
Marcie sighed and tilted her head back to catch the sun. “You know what’s funny? Italy was never a place I dreamed of visiting, or even really thought about. London, maybe. Or Paris. But not Italy, and yet here I am.”
“Not even Rome?” Vi was surprised. She had naively assumed every Catholic person wanted to go there, in particular to the Vatican, to meet the Pope.
Marcie shrugged. “I guess I was never bitten by the bug, despite my mother dragging me to Mass every chance she got.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing the Sistine Chapel,” Gertie said, sounding wistful. “But I doubt Frances would be up for it, and Sue said we couldn’t go anywhere without our travel buddy.”
“I’m sure Sue would make an exception as long as you’re with someone in the cast,” Vi said, giving the girl a brief squeeze.
“Assuming you could find someone else to stay with Frances,” Marcie said, her face still to the sky. “Of course, we might not even make it to Rome. We could be stuck in the South, entertaining flyboys.”
“Where did you hear that?” Gertie asked in surprise.
Marcie shrugged. “Here and there. And speaking of Fran, where is she?”
Vi looked around, surprised the girl wasn’t with them. It wasn’t every day one got to sail along the coast of Italy.
Gertie continued gazing longingly at the horizon. “She’s around . . . somewhere.”
Vi’s eyebrows rose as she spotted a very flirty Frances entertaining a small group of sailors.
Poor Gertie, Vi thought. She didn’t stand a chance trying to keep Frances in check, though that wasn’t really her job. Unlike Vi, if Gertie’s travel buddy ended up pregnant or kicked out for immoral behavior, no one would hold her accountable. Vi wasn’t so lucky.
“It’s so strange to think that this time last year, Italy was our enemy,” Gertie continued in her soft, sweet voice.
“Italy was never our enemy,” Marcie said sharply. “Mussolini, yes. And his fascist party, to be