More Than Words: Stories of Courage Page 13

  Frankie laughed as she interrupted him.

  “Wait! Daniel! Take a breath!”

  “Yes, yes, you are right. But it is such wonderful news. So tell me your plans.”

  “Second Wind Dreams has already organized everything all the way to Positano, including a reserved suite for Charlotte and me at the Hotel Murat. If we called you once we got there, maybe you could come and—”

  “If you tell me when you are coming, I will be there waiting.” Then he realized that, for the first time in his life, he would have a chance to ask questions about the man who had been his grandfather. “This is the best news I’ve had in a long time. I am so happy for you, my dear.”

  “Anyway,” Frankie said, “I just couldn’t wait to tell you the news. I will send you an e-mail with our itinerary, and thank you again for being so generous with your time.”

  “Getting to know you and your Charlotte better is never a waste of time.”

  Daniel heard Frankie sigh, and imagined someone kissing her neck—or maybe the spot right behind her ear—and eliciting the same response.

  “Frankie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have never asked, but…do you have someone special in your life?”

  “You mean a man?”

  “Yes, I am speaking of a man…a boyfriend, as you Americans say.”

  “Hardly. You’ve seen my picture, so you must understand.”

  Daniel frowned.

  “Yes, I saw that most beautiful picture, but I don’t know what you mean.”

  Frankie laughed, but there was a bitterness in the sound.

  “You’re just being kind. You saw the scars. What you didn’t see is that there’s a limp to go with them. The only men in my life are all over the age of seventy, and one of them cheats at checkers.”

  Daniel’s frown deepened. His voice was calm and quiet as he answered.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca, but I think you do yourself an injustice.”

  “I’m just being honest,” she said shortly. “It saves a world of hurt. But I must tell you that I do enjoy hearing the Italian version of my name.”

  Daniel realized that she wanted to shift gears. And, to be truthful, he didn’t know that he’d called her Francesca, although he often thought of her by that name.

  “Yes, it is a beautiful name,” he said. “And I can’t wait to meet you. I feel as if I already know you, but it will be wonderful to see you face-to-face.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” she said, then added, “How about you? You must have girlfriends.”

  “I have many friends, but none of them special in that manner. I guess I’ve always wanted what my father and mother had.”

  “What was that?” Frankie asked.

  “Love at first sight. That’s what my mother told me. I never wanted to settle for less.”

  “That’s good,” Frankie said, and Daniel detected the note of longing in her voice.

  “What is good?”

  “Love at first sight. I don’t know if I believe in it or not, but I’d sure like to experience it if it’s for real.”

  “So would I,” Daniel said softly. “So would I. Now rest well, little schemer. We shall meet soon.”

  “Yes, we will,” Frankie said. “Until then.”

  “As you say…until then.”

  For the past thirty minutes, a news van had been parked in the lot of Just Like Home. Every resident had been to the windows at least a half-dozen times, giving their opinion as to why it was there.

  Frankie had had a smile on her face all morning, and there was nothing she could do to hide it. Even Charlotte had made a couple of trips to the windows with her knitting. When it was obvious that nothing was happening, she’d returned to her favorite chair in the lobby to finish Charlie’s afghan.

  Mavis Tulia bustled about like a warden, fussing with the potted plants and straightening pictures on the walls. The floors had been mopped a day early, and if the residents had taken the time to notice, the manager was wearing her best dress and her favorite perfume.

  Another van drove up and two people got out. At that point, the news crew started unloading, as well.

  “They’re coming in!” someone shouted.

  Everyone sitting in the lobby looked up. The residents standing at the window suddenly realized that if there was going to be a show, they wanted the best seats. They turned and made their way toward the empty chairs with surprising speed, and were seated when the visitors came in.

  Frankie and Mavis greeted the group, and then the camera crew turned toward the residents. Everyone held their breath.

  Charlotte’s knitting was forgotten as she, too, was caught up in the excitement. Nothing like this had ever happened at Just Like Home.

  Margie had announced to everyone that she had it figured out. She was positive someone had won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes and had stuck to her story until she saw that the visitors weren’t carrying balloons.

  “They always have balloons,” she’d said. “It’s not them. It’s not them.”

  Frankie’s heart was pounding so fast that she was afraid she might pass out. One moment she wanted to laugh and kick up her heels, the next she felt as if she was going to cry.

  “Oh, please God, let this be good,” Frankie whispered, and then, as they’d planned, she went to stand beside Charlotte’s chair.

  To Charlotte’s surprise, the cameras stopped where she was sitting. She looked up at Frankie.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Frankie knelt down beside her.

  “Honey…we have a surprise for you,” she said, and then nodded toward the Second Wind Dreams crew.

  One of them stepped forward, then sat down beside Charlotte.

  “Charlotte Grace?”

  “Yes, I’m Charlotte Grace.”

  The woman put her hand on Charlotte’s arm.

  “Charlotte, we’re from Second Wind Dreams. If you’ve never heard of us, then all you need to know is that we make it our business to give senior citizens in this country a chance to realize lifelong dreams that they think have escaped them.”

  Charlotte took a slow breath.

  “A little fairy told us that when you were young, you had a sweetheart named Daniel Morrow. She said that even though life carried the two of you in different directions, you still hold him close to your heart. Is that true?”

  Charlotte nodded, then clutched at the locket around her neck, unable to speak.

  “We also understand that he died during World War II and is buried in a cemetery outside a small village in southern Italy, and that your one big regret in life is that you never got to visit his final resting place. So we at Second Wind Dreams have made it our business to see that your wish comes true. In eleven days, you will be flying nonstop, first class to Milan, Italy. There you will take a smaller plane to Naples. A car will be waiting at the airport to take you to Positano. Upon your arrival, you will be the guest of the luxurious Hotel Murat, once the palace of the brother-in-law of Napoleon Bonaparte. You will have a translator at your disposal, and can spend as much time at Daniel’s grave site as you wish.”

  Charlotte covered her face with her hands and started to cry. Frankie put her arms around her and cried, too. The camera scanned the lobby, capturing the shocked expressions of the residents, which quickly changed from surprise to delight and then tears.

  “So, Charlotte Grace, are you ready to take a trip?”

  Charlotte looked at Frankie, her face streaked with tears.

  “Is this real?” she asked.

  Frankie nodded.

  “Yes, honey, it’s real. And guess what else? You won’t have to go all that way alone. I’m coming with you.”

  Charlotte threw up her hands and fresh tears flowed, but they were tears of joy.

  “What am I going to wear?” she asked.

  Everyone laughed. It was the perfect question for a woman to ask, no matter what age.

  Eleven days late
r

  The flight was almost as exciting to Charlotte as the news of the trip had been. Frankie took pictures constantly, so Charlotte would have a photographic record to show the girls back at the home. There were more perks on the first-class flight than either of them had ever experienced.

  Champagne cocktails. Pasta salad with lobster. Chicken Cordon Bleu with steamed asparagus. Cheesecake and ice cream sundaes for dessert.

  And all served on fine china and silver.

  Frankie was just dozing off in the spacious reclining seat when she felt a tug on her arm. She quickly sat up.

  “Charlotte, is anything wrong?”

  “No. Were you sleeping?”

  Frankie smiled.

  “Not now. Can’t you sleep?”

  “No. I’m too excited, and at the same time a little nervous, you know?”

  Frankie took Charlotte’s hand.

  “Yes, darling. I know…or at least, I can imagine.” Then she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Charlotte’s ear. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened, then filled with tears.

  “Oh, no, no. I could never be mad at you. You’ve given me the world. I thought you understood that.”

  Frankie relaxed.

  “I didn’t give you the world, Charlotte. Second Wind Dreams gave you the world. I’m just along for the ride.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The driver who was to take them to Positano was waiting in the arrivals area at the Naples airport. It took a good half hour to retrieve their luggage, and another fifteen minutes to make their way through the small, but busy airport.

  It wasn’t until Frankie had Charlotte safely seated in the car and they were headed south out of Naples that she began to breathe easier. It was exciting to be in such a romantic country, but it was daunting not to know the language. Frankie kept thinking of Daniel waiting for them in Positano and finally allowed herself to relax.

  Daniel glanced at his watch, then ordered another lemonade from the waitstaff at the Hotel Murat. He wasn’t thirsty, but it was something to do to pass the time.

  Two men he’d grown up with waved at him as they walked by on the street beyond the gates, but they didn’t stop to visit. The outdoor patio of the Hotel Murat was for guests, although locals often gathered there in the evening for drinks or dinner. Daniel didn’t regret their haste. He was too excited about Frankie and Charlotte’s imminent arrival to spend time in idle talk.

  Another five minutes passed and the ice in his lemonade began to melt. The scent of flowering vines filled the air, masking the faint, but ever-prevalent scent of fish and salt air coming from the Mediterranean and the beach below.

  Finally, he abandoned the lemonade and walked around the patio to where he could better see the view. He knew this village as well as he knew his own face, but wondered how it would appear to the American women.

  Tiny houses had been built all up the side of the mountain, linked by winding and narrow cobbled streets. Storefronts lined the spiral pathways in colorful array as owners spread their wares on tables or hung them along the high walls that bordered every pathway. Three-wheeled motorcycles had been modified for use as miniature trucks, complete with a cab and a small wooden bed in which to transport goods. They wheeled up and down the streets, weaving in and out among the locals and the tourists with surprising skill, while down on the beach, cafés and restaurants catered to the weary and hungry.

  Small, privately owned fishing boats rocked upon the water, their anchors holding them close to the rocky shore. Farther out was an island that appeared to be floating on top of the sea. Gulls and other seabirds perched on mastheads and roofs, darting in and out among the swimmers braving the waters.

  Would Frankie see his village for what it really was? Could she see beyond the tourist trappings to the good people who had endured for generations, living out their simple lives with no excuses or explanations? He hoped so. For reasons he didn’t want to admit just yet, he wanted Frances Drummond to love his Italy as much as he did.

  As he was gazing upon the pure blue of the sea, he became aware of a small car stopping outside the gates to the hotel.

  He turned, and then his heart skipped a beat.

  It was them.

  Unaware he was holding his breath, he stood motionless, watching as two women stepped out of the tiny vehicle. One was young and slender, with wavy hair the color of dark chocolate. The other was small and fragile. Her silver hair was short and curly, and she leaned on the young woman as they walked. He saw the scars that Frankie was so self-conscious about, and he noticed her limp, as well. But they amounted to nothing to him. It was that near-perfect face that intrigued him, as well as the tenderness of her behavior toward the elderly woman.

  He began to move, willing Frankie to look up.

  Closer and closer he came until he could hear the younger woman’s laughter. He felt himself go weak inside. He’d known it would sound like that.

  Look at me, Francesca. Look at me.

  She kept walking, her head bent to the older woman’s ear as she helped her up the steps.

  Francesca…Frankie. Turn around and look at me. I am here.

  Frankie was relieved to have reached their destination. As exhausted as she was by the traveling, her main concern was still for Charlotte’s health. Charlotte had slept some on the plane, but not nearly enough to maintain her normal routine. Right now, Frankie’s focus was on getting them to their rooms, then making sure Charlotte got some rest.

  She was laughing at something that Charlotte said, a half eye on the man who was carrying their bags up to the hotel desk, when the skin suddenly crawled at the back of her neck.

  She paused, almost stumbling, then caught herself and steadied Charlotte.

  Again, the feeling came, only this time stronger.

  “Wait,” she said softly.

  Charlotte stopped.

  Frankie lifted her head, then slowly, slowly, began to turn, scanning the faces of the people around them.

  And then she saw him, standing just outside the hotel beside a table with a wide, colorful umbrella. His eyes were dark, his expression fixed, as if he was waiting for a sign.

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled on a sigh.

  Daniel.

  He was here, just as he’d promised.

  She lifted a hand in a tentative wave and stifled the urge to run into his arms. Instead, she put a hand over the scar on her neck in a halfhearted gesture to hide it.

  What’s wrong with you, Frances? You don’t know this man.

  Even as she was dealing with that truth, there was another she still had to face. Something had happened just now that she couldn’t explain.

  When he started toward them, she didn’t realize she was holding her breath.

  Closer and closer he walked, until she could see the shadows his lashes cast upon his cheeks. He was wearing light-colored slacks and a white shirt, open at the collar, with the long sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. His stride was long and graceful, and there was a steadiness in his expression that calmed her.

  “Daniel?”

  He clasped her hand, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it. She felt his breath, and then the firmness of his lips as they brushed the surface of her skin.

  While her greeting had been a question, his was a confirmation.

  “Francesca.”

  She smiled. “Yes, it’s me.” Then Frankie remembered herself and stepped aside to introduce Charlotte. “Charlotte, this is my friend Daniel. He’s going to be our guide and translator. Daniel, this is my friend Charlotte Grace.”

  Charlotte knew she had stopped breathing. It wasn’t until a butterfly flitted past her line of vision that she took a quick breath and shuddered.

  A ghost. She hadn’t expected to see Daniel’s ghost. Was he going to haunt her? Was he still angry after all these years for the way she’d let him down?

  Oh, Lord, why did I come?

  The man before he
r reached for her hand, as he had Frankie’s, and brushed a soft kiss upon the thin, papery skin.

  “May I call you Charlotte?” he asked.

  Charlotte nodded, but her gaze never left Daniel’s face.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said, and cupped her elbow with one hand, offering Frankie his arm. “Come, ladies, let me help you get settled in your room. You must have traveled all night. Did you get any sleep on the plane?”

  Despite his lovely accent, it was the ordinary questions he was asking that settled Charlotte’s nerves. She kept glancing at him off and on as they made their way to the suite that was to be their home for the next six days, until her notion of a ghost had passed.

  Of course he wasn’t Daniel’s ghost. Just because they bore the same name didn’t mean anything. Yes, he was tall as her Daniel had been, and he had a way of holding his shoulders as he walked that reminded her of Daniel, as well. But her Daniel’s hair had been chestnut, his eyes a bright blue, and he’d had a cleft in his chin. This man’s hair was dark and wavy, with eyes so dark they looked black, and a face that could have been carved by Michelangelo himself.

  By the time they reached their rooms, she had regained her composure.

  “Thank you for all of your help,” Charlotte said, as the bellman unlocked their door.

  Daniel looked at her and smiled. “You are most welcome…both of you,” he said, and his gaze shifted to Frankie.

  Frankie was speechless. There was an invisible something in the air between her and Daniel that was almost frightening. She’d never felt so helpless. She was out of her element with this magnificent man.

  “Are you hungry?” Daniel asked, as the bellman led them inside.

  “Yes,” Frankie said, and then gasped as she looked at their suite. “Lord have mercy. Would you look at this.”

  Charlotte was beaming, but far more practical in her acceptance.

  “It used to be a palace, my dear. It’s to be expected that some of the grandeur would have survived.”

  The blue-and-white floor tiles were Italian marble and the ceilings at least twenty or thirty feet high. The furnishings were old, but elegant, and spoke of a time long past. The bedroom was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened out onto a small terrace, and there was a closet that ran the length of one wall. The bed was at least twice the size of an American king-size bed, and Frankie had a childish urge to jump on it, just to see how high she would bounce.