Gaining Visibility

by Pamela Hearon

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Julia Berkwith's daughter has moved to Alaska, her beloved mother-in-law is in a nursing home, and her ex-husband is in Hawaii--with a younger woman. In her late forties, Julia is now used to being invisible. But even if she has to do it alone, she's determined to celebrate her victory over breast cancer by hiking Italy's Cinque Terre. Invigorated by the beauty of the Italian countryside, Julia seems unstoppable, until she's injured by a rock--one that happens to belong to thirty-something stone mason Vitale DeLuca. Reluctantly, Julia accepts Vitale's insistent offer of lodging while she recovers. But in his home, amid his exquisite sculptures, Julia sees beyond his charm and looks to something special: a talent she must bring to the world's attention.

Release date: September 27, 2016

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

She was invisible.

She’d first noticed that she was fading from view four years ago, about the same time she’d noticed the first gray hairs. The signs were subtle. No heads turning as she walked through the gym. No catcalls or whistles at construction sites. No compliments from then-husband Frank when they got gussied up for some formal affair. Alarms should probably have gone off more frantically in her head, but the changes were so gradual they remained inconspicuous and certainly nonthreatening.

And the gray was easily covered.

But the phenomenon had increased exponentially in an equation of Einsteinian proportion two years ago. E = mc2 plus total loss of breasts equaled total loss of visibility.

Scientific equations could prove how the laws of nature literally make the world go round; no equation could show why her world had been thrown into a tailspin she was still trying to gain control of.

Looking back, it seemed more like a combination of science and magic than science alone. Five hours of surgery and—poof! She’d vanished . . . at least to the male half of the world’s population.

Which is why it came as no surprise to Julia Berkwith that, at that exact moment, it wasn’t one of the male doctors working on her but rather a female nurse who asked the question.

“You doing okay?”

“Fine,” Julia answered, although she wasn’t. The next item on her self-improvement list was to quit saying she was fine when she wasn’t.

Lying flat on her back with her arms stretched out as wide as possible gave the doctors behind the white curtain of sheets plenty of room to work, but they seemed to have forgotten there was a beating heart and strained muscles below the mounds of silicone sacs.

During preparation, when they’d asked if she wanted her arms restrained, she’d promised she could keep them still without the bands. That had been over an hour ago when the surgery was ahead of her and exciting. Now, retaliating because of their awkward position, both arms were snoozing but sending telepathic messages to the muscles in her back and shoulders, demanding they redouble their efforts to bring pain in memory of their sleeping comrades. Adding to her discomfort, the temperature in the OR had been set to morgue, which worried her more than a little.

A white sheet draped from the overhead rod fell to below her chin, blocking off her view and allowing her no audience participation to her own procedure. The sheet started to sag, and now folds gathered in her mouth and nose region. In a normal setting, she would push them out of the way with a flick of the fingers, but she’d promised not to move her arms, so she blew puffs of air at them when suffocation seemed imminent.

An angel of mercy appeared at her head and gave the sheet a quick flick, sending the material away. The ensuing gust of cold air filled Julia’s nostrils with the antiseptic scent she’d grown used to over the past two years.

“They look great.” The young woman’s smile was reassuring, even viewed upside down. “How long since your mastectomy?”

“Two years.” The buzzing started again along with the odd vibration that seemed detached, though Julia knew it was occurring to her body. “Are they tattooing again?”

The nurse nodded. “They’re finishing the second areola. It won’t be too much longer.”

The conversation diverted Julia’s attention from her phantom arms and the frosty operating room. “I never realized how much design work went into building breasts,” she said. “First-stage saline sacs. Injecting solution every two weeks to stretch the skin. Implant surgery. And now this. I could’ve had a house built in this length of time.”

Her companion pulled up a stool and perched beside Julia’s head. “Can you talk about it? The cancer, I mean. I know some people don’t like to.”

Julia shook her head as much as she dared, unwilling to risk jiggling anything that might make the doctors miss and result in a third areola. “I don’t mind. I’ve been told talking about it is therapeutic. Is there something you’d like to know?”

The strange vantage point gave her a clear view of the woman’s neck muscles, and Julia watched them tighten.

Talking about cancer wasn’t a mission she would’ve chosen, nor was it one she totally accepted. But the subject was frightening to women, so guilt gnawed at her if she didn’t answer questions when they asked.

“Did you have chemo?”

There it was—the nearly imperceptible cringe on the last word. Julia had learned to watch for it. Fear of chemo was greater than fear of cancer for many.

“No, I’m one of the fortunate ones.” The badge of guilt she wore pricked her. She’d gotten off easy when others suffered so much. “We caught it early, so no chemo or radiation, and no hair loss. I only lost my breasts.” She never added and my husband, though she always thought it, and ignored the tendril of pain that accompanied the silent admission.

“Well, the reconstruction looks fantastic.” The nurse gave a tug on the cloth shower cap working its way down past Julia’s eyebrows. “How do they feel?”

Julia stifled the shrug that would’ve moved her arms. “Honestly? Like two aliens have taken up residence in my chest.” Her companion grinned. “I have no sensation on the outside. No feeling because of the nerves they cut. Today’s procedure could’ve been done without the numbing shots, I think.” The buzzing stopped, and Julia noted pressure like she was being wiped down. A stronger medicinal scent invaded the area between her and the sheet.

“Sometimes nerves regenerate, though, so don’t give up on that yet.”

Two years and not even a twinge. Regeneration wasn’t going to happen. But nobody touched them anyway, so fretting about it seemed silly.

The nurse started to get up, then hesitated. “I have a biopsy scheduled for Friday.” Her bottom lip, which had curved up earlier, now had teeth dug into it, which still couldn’t control the tremble.

If her arms had been free, Julia would’ve pulled the new member of the sisterhood into a hug. As it was, she could only embrace her with words. “You’re doing the right thing, staying on top of it. Early detection’s the key. We didn’t even know it was in my left breast, too, until the post-op report came back.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. “You were brave, going with the bilateral when you didn’t know for sure.”

“No, honey, I was terrified, so don’t try to make me into a hero. I just didn’t want to live in fear the rest of my life.”

The woman’s chest rose and fell with what Julia hoped was a steadier breath as she tilted her head toward the sheet. “Sounds like they’re getting finished. You’ve done great.” She patted Julia’s cheek before sliding off the stool and scurrying away to take care of some post-op business.

Finished. Fabulous word, that.

Julia’s fingers curled into triumphant fists. She couldn’t clap her hands, but she hadn’t promised not to move her feet. Gleefully, she smacked her big toes together in applause.

As the doctors completed their work, she turned up the volume on the Fond Memories playlist in her mind. Listening to the music had become so habitual, she no longer needed a device—simply switched it on and off at will.

She pressed the rewind button until she was once again in the backseat of her parents’ powder blue convertible, racing down the highway on a summer night. A hot wind slapped her cheeks while a gazillion stars danced in her view, and her voice blended with her mom’s and dad’s and The Crew-Cuts on the cassette player in a rousing rendition of “Sh-Boom.”

Three repeat plays and the doctors were done.

An hour later, she stepped into the sunlight with the playlist Survivor running through her head along with a new mantra:

Invisible maybe, but not dying.

For the first time since being diagnosed, after five million tears, four panic attacks, three surgeries, two years, and one divorce, Julia left the hospital with her designer breasts and her head held high . . . in that order.

“Hold on a second, sweetie. Mosquitoes are eating me alive.”

Julia lit the citronella candle, hoping it would keep away the pests long enough to finish the telephone conversation with Melissa without having to move inside. The temperature on the deck was balmy and perfect, but the pesky insects seemed more plentiful than usual for western Kentucky in late May.

“You ought to see them up here, Mom. They’re like the size of bats.”

“I’ve heard Alaska grows them big, but that’s sort of an advantage, isn’t it?” Julia pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to smash one of the creatures who’d chosen her right pinkie for his dining option. “They can’t sneak up on you.” Wondering if perhaps the mosquitoes were coming up through the cracks between the wooden slats of the decking, she set the candle down by her feet. “Anyway . . . where was I?”

“Your tats, which, I might add, is totally weird for me to say.”

That brought a chuckle. “I’ll bet.” Julia waved her hand to direct the smoke from the candle toward her legs. “So, no, like I was saying, the tattooing didn’t hurt at all. I could feel vibration but no pain.”

Her daughter’s snort was draped in sarcasm. “Wish I could say that. The one on my lower back wasn’t too bad—”

“You mean the freedom banner you rushed out to get the day after your dad and I left you at college?”

“Yeah, that one.” A little sheepishness accompanied the tone, but Julia could still hear the smile that hung on the fringes. “It wasn’t bad at all, but the one on my ankle—ghah! Halfway through, I seriously considered stopping him. But I figured it would look stupid to have a charm bracelet that only went part of the way around.”

“Well, it is pretty.” Julia admitted that only grudgingly. “But two’s enough, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mom. Two’s enough. Or it was until today.” The laugh that came over the line was throaty and mature, reminding Julia that her precious daughter was an adult now—all grown up and living three time zones away. “Since you have two, I may have to get another one. Can’t be bested on tats by my mom.”

“To the world, you’ll always be ahead by two because nobody but me will ever see mine.”

“You don’t know that.” Before Julia could wonder if her child was making commentary about her nonexistent sex life, Melissa added, “The doctor might want to use photos of you on his Web site. You know . . . to show how good he is.”

“I can’t see that happening.” Julia cringed at the thought of her scars bared to the world. Frank’s reaction to them still haunted her.

“Well, you never know.”

A long, uncharacteristic pause ensued, and Julia kept quiet . . . waiting. Conversation came easily between them, so pauses were signals. Whatever was on her daughter’s tongue right then bore some weight.

A sigh. Julia braced herself.

“Dad came for a visit last week.”

The apologetic tone took a swipe at Julia’s gut. She and Frank worked hard to keep their daughter from feeling that she had to take sides. Julia forced a smile onto her lips, hoping it would give a lift to her voice—or, at least, take the bite out of it. “Was it a surprise? I didn’t know he was planning a visit.”

“We’d talked about him coming, but, yeah, there was a surprise.” Another weighty pause. “He brought Dawn with him.”

“Oh.” Julia swallowed the retort that appeared on her tongue—the one that would confirm Frank’s insensitivity. It left a bitter trail going down. “Was that . . . okay . . . with you, I mean?”

“It was okay.” Julia sensed the shrug that accompanied the answer. “He looked good. Brown as a biscuit. And I could tell he’s been working out.”

“Good for him.” A shallow answer, but it would suffice.

Another pause and then Melissa changed the subject, obviously not wanting to discuss her dad and his young girlfriend, which was fine with Julia. Preferable, even. “I went ahead and accepted that three-year offer, by the way.”

Julia’s breath left her in a rush. Three years. She tilted the phone up so Melissa wouldn’t hear the shocked gasp. “You did? That . . . that was quick. You were still just considering it the last time we talked.”

“Yeah, I know. But Michael’s got some cool stuff in the works, and Dad thought it sounded like a good deal, so I decided to grab it before somebody else did.”

The excitement in her daughter’s voice caused a tug-of-war in Julia’s conscience. She wanted Melissa to be happy—wanted her to be confident in her decision making—hoped the impetuous decision to follow Michael into the wild was the right one.

But committing to three years?

The nagging fear she was too far away to care for her daughter’s broken heart should the relationship go south never completely went away.

The remainder of their time was taken up with Melissa’s ongoing saga of life in Alaska with Michael, and Julia’s recently added details about her upcoming trip to Italy in July.

By the time the conversation ended and Julia sat alone with only the mosquitoes for company, the Far North seemed more familiar and real to her than ever . . . and farther from Paducah, Kentucky, than she could’ve ever imagined.

The following day, Julia sauntered into Room 187 at the Manor Hill Convalescent Center bearing a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand and a box of Godiva chocolates in the other. “I have nipples!” she announced.

At eighty-three, Hettie Berkwith still cut a fetching image in her pink silk gown with her silver braid of hair lying sleekly over one shoulder. “So do I,” she countered. “And I’d show them to you, but at present, they’re tucked snugly between my knees.” The stroke, which paralyzed the left side of Hettie’s body, might’ve made her grin one-sided, but it hadn’t slowed the speed of her one-liners.

Julia laughed and gave her mother-in-law’s cheek a peck before presenting her with the chocolates and arranging the flowers in the vase that always awaited them on Thursday.

“So, do I get to see them?” Hettie already had the cellophane off the box and sat poised to pounce on the foil-wrapped dark chocolate medallion.

Julia set the flowers on the bedside table and eased into the La-Z-Boy. “Not today. The bandages don’t come off for a few days, and then I have to keep them protected for a couple of weeks.”

Hettie cocked an eyebrow. “So that would mean no heavy sucking.”

“Not even if there were someone who wanted to.” Julia returned the look with a cocked brow of her own.

Hettie drew a long, dramatic breath. “Man, that just sucks.” She popped the medallion into her mouth and replaced the lid on the box. “So, what other news you got? Heard anything from my son, the prick?”

Julia had grown so used to Hettie’s “term of endearment” for Frank, it no longer fazed her. “Sort of.” She pulled the handle to raise the footrest a notch and tilted the recliner back a bit. “I talked to Melissa last night. She said he and his new friend Dawn flew up to see her for a few days. Apparently he looked tanned and fit.” Julia noted that whereas talking about Frank used to stir her anger, now it mostly made her tired. She stifled a yawn.

“Tan and fit, eh? I’d like to tan him. Guess that’s what Hawaii does for you.”

This was a day for celebration, not one to dwell on her ex, so Julia eased the conversation in a different direction. “Melissa and Alaska seem to be a good fit. She took that three-year offer they gave her.” She’d advised Melissa against the move—losing her “little girl” to adulthood, a man, and Alaska in one fell swoop was enough to make any mother retaliate. But talking to Melissa last night had loosened the hounds of contrition, and they were nipping at her heart. “I was wrong, trying to talk her out of going,” she admitted, more to herself than to Hettie. “But thank heavens she knew her own mind and didn’t listen to me. Following Michael to Alaska was the right choice for her.”

If she repeated it often enough, maybe it would stick.

“Doesn’t anybody want to stay at home anymore?” Hettie grunted as she started to work on the box lid again. Julia watched the struggle but knew better than to offer help. If Hettie needed it, which she seldom did, she’d ask. “My son, the prick, in Hawaii. My granddaughter up in the Alaskan wilderness. You traipsing off to Italy.” She shook her head and drowned her disgust in a caramel cream.

“That’s still two months away, and I’ll only be gone three weeks. Then I’ll be back home to stay.” They’d been over this all before, but this was the first time Hettie had acted the least bit upset about the Italy trip. Her mother-in-law was out of sorts about something.

She wagged her finger in Julia’s direction. “Just be sure to stock me up on chocolates before you go.”

“I will even splurge on the large box of truffles if that’s what it takes to keep you happy while I’m—”

“Good afternoon. Mrs. Berkwith, is it?”

A man Julia had never seen before strolled into the room like he owned the place. Hand extended, he stepped closer to her mother-in-law’s bed as Julia brought the recliner to the upright position, quickly taking note of the salt-and-pepper hair framing dark eyebrows and eyes that looked like drops from the Caribbean had found their way to Kentucky. She did a quick check of his hand. No ring.

“I’m Joe Proctor, the new administrator.” His voice was like a toasted marshmallow—warm crust surrounding a tender center—and Julia’s mouth watered at the sound. “I’m making my way around, trying to meet everyone this afternoon.” His eyes bounced from Hettie to her, then back to Hettie without so much as a pause.

Invisibility at work. She sighed mentally and again eased the recliner back.

“Nice to meet you, Joe.” Hettie gestured toward Julia. “This is Julia, my daughter by marriage.”

“Glad to meet you.” He glanced and nodded cordially, but immediately shifted his eyes back to Hettie. “Mrs. Berkwith, if there’s ever anything I can do—”

“She was married to my son, who’s a prick.” Hettie continued her introduction. “But they’re divorced now.”

Joe Proctor’s eyes widened ever so slightly at what must have been surprising language coming from one of the residents, but he recouped quickly and smiled. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But if there’s ever anything—”

“She got new nipples yesterday. So, are you married, Joe?”

Maybe invisibility wasn’t as bad as she originally thought, Julia decided as she looked around for a hole to slither into. With any luck this guy would totally forget what she looked like three minutes after he left this room. Which happened quickly.

A shake of his head and a rapid “Congratulations” shot in Julia’s direction, then Joe Proctor beat it out of Hettie’s room as fast as his long legs could carry him.

Julia lolled her head against the corduroy back of the chair and groaned. “Hettie, why would you say that?”

“Because I can get by with it.” Hettie set the box of chocolates off her lap. “Life’s too short to mince words.”

An odd, gravelly texture to the ancient voice made Julia sit up again. “What’s up with you today?” She pushed out of the recliner, mindful of her stitches, and cleared a spot to sit on the side of the bed.

Hettie’s tone flattened like a deflated balloon. “Thelma from across the hall passed away during the night.”

“Oh, Hettie.” Julia’s throat tightened around the words. “I’m so sorry. I know how fond you were of her. You were good company for each other.” She laid her hand on top of Hettie’s cold one in a futile attempt to transfer some life and emotion into a soul being weathered away by loss.

But her mother-in-law’s eyes were clear, and no tears clouded either them or her voice when she spoke. “Yeah, well, life goes on. People pass in and out and through our lives. It’s the ones who stay and visit who leave their mark.” She squeezed Julia’s hand with a strength that belied her age.

Julia wished with all her heart she could get Hettie out of this place and take her home to live. But her own home—the one she and Frank had shared—had too many levels and no full bath downstairs. And Hettie’s house was built before handicap accessibility was even a term. Not a single door was wide enough for a wheelchair to pass through. Realizing that going home was never going to be an option, Hettie had sold all of the big pieces of furniture. The old, stately home with the shady corner lot now sat shuttered and empty.

Julia rarely drove by anymore. The good memories were too overshadowed by the sad.

“Tell you what.” Julia patted Hettie’s hand, trying to conjure enough enthusiasm to raise both their spirits. “It’s a gorgeous day, and the peonies have started to bloom. Whatcha say we go for a walk?”

Hettie’s eyes flashed with appreciation, and she started kicking the covers off using her good leg. “I can’t go strutting my stuff in my gowntail. We’ll have half the men here chasing after me.” She eased her right leg off the edge of the bed and reached over to grab under the knee of her left one.

“Be careful.” Julia took a small step back to give her room but stayed close enough to help.

“Quit hovering,” Hettie snapped, and pointed toward the closet. “Grab my turquoise housedress, will you?”

Julia found the duster that buttoned up the front while her mother-in-law struggled to a sitting position on the side of the bed, panting from the exertion. She didn’t protest when Julia took over the job of getting her out of her nightclothes and fully dressed. They’d moved her from the bed to the wheelchair and back often enough to know what worked and what didn’t.

“Got this down to a science, don’t we?” Hettie gave a loud grunt as she settled into the seat.

Julia lifted her foot and set it on the footrest. “That we do.” She shot her a grin as she unlatched the brake. “Ready?”

“More than you’ll ever know.”

The trip to the front door took a while since everybody they passed wanted to stop and talk. They all knew Julia, treating her as something special because she chose to take care of her mother-in-law when Frank bailed. But, like with the cancer, Julia assured them she deserved no medals when the subject came up, which it rarely did these days.

She loved Hettie as much as she loved her own mother. When her parents were killed while she was in college, her soon-to-be mother-in-law became mom to her in every way except name.

Jim Overby was parked in his usual spot in front of the TV in the lobby. When he saw them coming, he used his good leg to propel his wheelchair toward the front door to intercept them.

“Morning, Hettie. Hi, Julia.”

“Good morning, Jim.”

Jim always spoke to her and Julia always answered, but he seldom looked her way, and when he did, it was merely a quick glance. It was fine to be invisible to Jim. When Hettie was around, the whole world was invisible to Jim. The old man had eyes only for her mother-in-law, and it had been that way since the day Hettie moved in.

“My daughter sent me a new Celtic Woman CD. I’m going to listen to it this afternoon if you’d like to stop by.” The hope in his voice was unmistakable.

Hettie gave a one-shoulder shrug. “We’re going for a walk, but I will if I’m not too tired.”

Jim nodded. “Okay.”

To Julia’s delight, he actually winked at Hettie before he pushed back. She held her giggle until they got outside in the sunshine. “Oh my goodness, Hettie. He was flirting with you.”

“The doofus.” Hettie chuckled. “He got that CD last week, and we’ve listened to it at least five times.”

They had a good laugh together as they made their way into the garden at the side of the building.

“Know what you should do?” Hettie tilted her head back to make eye contact. “Find yourself a man in Italy. A good man.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “I’m going to Italy to hike—not to find a man.”

“Three weeks should give plenty of time for both.” Hettie pointed to where the hummingbirds darted around a feeder in aerial combat. “That damn rubythroat thinks he’s king of the realm. Runs all the rest of them away. Did I ever tell you I fell in love in Italy?”

The lack of segue caught Julia off guard. “You did not,” she challenged.

“Yes, I did.” Hettie’s eyes twinkled as she looked back again, and her cheeks took on a rosy hue that wasn’t only from the heat of the sun. “It was before I met Lon. I was there with my aunt. His name was Carlo Panicci, and he was the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on.”

Julia couldn’t believe she’d never heard mention of this man’s name from Hettie’s tell-all mouth. “Well, what happened? You can’t start a story like that and leave me hanging.” She pushed the wheelchair over by a bench and took a seat. This story needed face time.

Hettie shrugged. “I came back home and met Lon. I stopped answering the letters, and eventually they stopped coming.” She smiled slyly. “But those Italian guys are amazing in the sack.”

“Hettie!” Julia had always assumed her mother-in-law had only been with Frank’s father, so this shift in the paradigm hit her from out of the blue.

“Does that shock you?” The glimmer in Hettie’s eyes dared her to deny it.

“Yes.”

“Do you think less of me?”

“No.” Julia touched her forehead to her mother-in-law’s. “It gives you more . . . dimension.”

“Helps you see me in a new light, eh?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.” Hettie held up her right hand and extended her little finger. “Now pinkie swear the story will never go any further than us.”

“Agreed.”

They hooked pinkies and swore their oath, but when it came time to pull apart, Julia held on. “By the way . . .”

“What?” Hettie’s eyes narrowed to wary, thin slits.

“You remember the last time we pinkie swore?”

“Yep.” The silver head bobbed curtly. “My eightieth birthday.”

Julia kept her face straight, not giving in to the smile that tugged at her lips. “And do you remember what we swore?”

Another nod. “Yep, to get tattoos before we died.”

Julia gave a triumphant chuckle. “Ha! My dear Hettie, my reconstructed breasts now sport two of them, so it’s your turn.”

Hettie’s eyes took on an impish gleam, and she crooked her finger tighter. “Okay, so I want to modify the oath a tad. The new agreement is to not only get a tattoo, but to bed a sexy Italian before we die.”

Julia protested. “But you just told me you’ve already done that.”

Hettie squeezed the pinkies together and then gave them a quick jerk apart to seal the bargain. “And you just told me you already have a tattoo, so we’re halfway there and even steven.”

Julia slouched down low enough in her desk chair to rest her head on the back. She ran her fingers into her hair, grasping the roots for a quick squeeze. “How did people travel to foreign countries before the Internet? If I hadn’t read the comment on that blog, I wouldn’t have considered taking a bus from La Spezia to Lerici. It’s a lot cheaper than a taxi and runs every twenty minutes.”

Her business partner, Camille, glanced up from the catalog she was ordering from. “Will a bus take you to the hotel, though?”

“No.” Julia rolled her head from side to side to loosen the tight bands of muscles in her neck. “But I checked that out, too. It’s only a short walk.”

“Two miles is short to you.” Camille jotted something on the paper in front of her. “Remember, you’ll have luggage.”

“I’m packing light.” Julia sat up and stretched her arms over her head. “The heaviest item will be my hiking boots.”

“You’re sure your boobs are ready? It’s only been six weeks. What’s going to keep the friction from rubbing those new nipples completely off?” Camille flipped the pencil she was holding and rubbed the eraser roughly across the paper. Then she lifted it to her lips and blew away the debris. “Like that.”

“Thanks for that visual.” Julia shook her head as she covered her eyes. “Only you would come up with that comparison. The doctor says I’m already good to go, and the trip is still two weeks away. Trust me, the girls are ready.” Grasping a breast in each hand, she bounced in her chair. “And so am I.”

Camille’s chin buckled, putting her face in serious mode. “I worry about you. Going by yourself. Hiking alone in a foreign country. Nobody to take care of you.”

Camille could be such a mother hen, despite being sixteen years younger. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. You know that.” Julia used a firm tone, hoping to put this subject to rest for good. “You know I’ve done my research and checked everything out.” She held up the brochure she’d been looking through yesterday. “The hiking trails around Lerici are popular, so there’ll be plenty of other people on them.” She dropped that one and picked up another. “And the Cinque Terre trails will be filled. I’ll probably have to step over the slow ones who get knocked down in the stampede.”

That brought a giggle from her . . .