Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The walk is difficult. I have to maneuver over rocks and around bushes as there isn’t a road or a path. On a flat road, the walk would’ve taken me one and a half hours. If I jogged, even less. At home, I often jogged from Great Brak River to the neighboring towns along the beach, easily covering ten kilometers in less than an hour.
The thought jostles me. Great Brak River isn’t home any longer. That life feels not only miles away but also ages ago. Brushing the unsettling notion away, I force myself to focus on nothing but my steps. I only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.
I don’t reach the village until two strenuous hours later. My relief is so great I forget about my aching soles as I stumble down the first road.
It’s quiet. What day of the week is it? My sense of time got muddled between the wedding and Angelo bringing me here.
I do a quick calculation. It’s Tuesday. People must be at work and children at school.
At the first house where a woman waters the flowers outside, I stop.
“Hi,” I say, waving from the fence.
She comes closer, her face drawn with suspicion.
This part, I haven’t thought through yet. I don’t have money. As much as it irks me, I don’t have a choice but to ask Angelo for some. And I don’t even know his phone number. During that first year when we communicated regularly, his number was always masked. It must be a necessary precaution when you’re a wanted criminal. How young and stupidly naïve I was not to have questioned it then. I can only hope the house number is listed.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say, offering her a friendly smile. “Do you have a phone I can use? It’s an emergency.” When she starts shaking her head, I continue quickly, “I’ll be grateful if you could just call…” I can’t say my husband. Instead, I settle for, “Angelo Russo.” I point toward the hill. “He lives there, on the big property.”
A mask drops in front of her face.
Surely, they know him in the village?
“Angelo,” I repeat slowly. “Russo.”
She crosses herself, says something under her breath, and scurries away.
My shoulders drop with dejection. Setting on my course again, I try at a small park where a few elderly people sit on benches, but I get the same reaction. The moment I utter my husband’s name, they make the sign of the cross and turn away.
Clearly, my strategy of calling Angelo and begging him for money isn’t going to work.
I wander deeper into the village, crossing a maze of cobblestone streets until I reach a square with a fountain in the heart of the tiny settlement. A few shops are situated around the square. When I spot a green cross flashing on a sign above a door, I blow out a sigh of relief.
Peering through the glass door confirms that the pharmacy is devoid of customers. Just as well. I don’t want to contaminate anyone, not to mention that I’d hate for someone to witness my embarrassment.
The bell chimes when I push the door open. It’s warm inside. A smell of eucalyptus perfumes the air.
A woman with short brown hair and black-rimmed glasses enters from a room at the back. Her eyes are lined with kohl, and her lips are painted red. I judge her to be in her late fifties. The white tunic she wears over a rollneck sweater tells me she’s either the pharmacist or the shop assistant.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a frown, scrutinizing me where I’m hovering in the door.
“You speak English,” I say with a pathetic gush of air that leaves my lungs in another bout of relief.
“Of course I do.” She looks down her nose at me. “Everyone does. Just because we live in a small village doesn’t mean we’re uneducated.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just happy to find someone I can communicate with. I don’t speak French or Italian, so thank you for making the effort.”
Her haughty tone remains intact. “We speak a Corsican dialect here.”
“Oh.” I fumble with the doorknob. “I’ve only been here for a day.”
“Either come in and shut the door or stay outside. You’re letting the cold in. The central heating is on. You’re wasting energy.”
“Sorry.” I make a face. “I’m afraid I can’t come in. I have a problem, you see.”
The long breath she inhales puffs out her chest, making her seem to grow taller. “What do you need?”
“A shampoo for lice,” I admit, shame heating my cheeks. “As well as a spray for the house.”
She studies me from over the rim of her glasses, not hiding the judgment on her face. “Wait outside.” Her lip curls with obvious distaste. “I’ll be a moment.”