“She’s in the poppy fields on the main route out of town,” Joan says. She has a look of excitement about her.
I nod. “OK,” I say quietly.
I turn and then Miranda calls me back. “I know you’ve had a rough time of it,” she says. “And I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But if you find her, and if you break her heart a second time, I will track you down and I will gut you like a fish.”
My mouth falls open. But I nod. “That sounds fair.”
I move slowly, walking away from them all, out of the garden,across the square. I know they’re behind me, watching me, but I don’t look back. I stare down at each of the cobbles underfoot as I cross the square until they form a blur, as I’m running. I’m running faster than I have in such a long time. I’m gripped by this quest now, in a way I know I once was before, last year. But it’s back: that need to see Hannah. It’s an overwhelming rush of adrenaline that hits me.
I burst into the restaurant. “I need your motorcycle,” I tell Marco. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Cosa intendi?”Marco looks up from stirring a sauce.
“It’s a long story. I need to borrow your bike. There’s someone I need to find.”
“Vita o morte?”
Now is not the time for me to dig deep, talk slow, try to respond in Italian. So I stick with my default setting of half-and-half. “I’m not gonna lie. It’s not life-or-death. This is about something else.Amore.”
“Amore.”Marco nods, reaching into his jeans pocket for his motorcycle keys. “Say no more, my friend.” He tosses the keys to me and then points to his motorcycle helmet. “Take that too.”
“Grazie,Marco.”
Marco let me ride up and down the street on his bike for fun one night, after we closed. I got the hang of it, but I didn’t enjoy it. “Donor-cycles” my mom calls them. I’ve had enough brushes with death recently. But now thoughts of falling off this thing—killing myself in the need to see Hannah—kinda feel worth it. Around the back of the restaurant I mount the bike, twist the key in the ignition, pull on the helmet, and ride it out of town toward the poppy fields.
Chapter 43
Hannah
Out here everythingis so still, except the flowers, the smudges of orange-red poppies littering the field, blowing so readily against the lush green landscape, like a painting full of primary color that’s come alive just for me. I’ve caught them in their glory. In a few weeks the poppies will start to fade away as spring comes to an end, making way for a heady Italian summer. But now they’re so blowsy, the petals so thin and delicate. A row of tall cypress trees line the pathway and I prop Jim’s borrowed bike against one of them.
Behind me the sandy-colored buildings of Montepulciano, perched on a rock and dominated by its medieval citadel, look down at me. Above me the Tuscan sky is deep blue. I sigh audibly, but there’s no one to hear. I’m truly alone for the first time in I don’t know how long, and I wonder how it is that although I live by myself I’m always with someone, with people, seeking company and never really knowing what to do with myself unless I’m busy. I never stand in silence in my flat. I’m always occupied. Or watching TV. Always moving. And so I do it now. I should close my eyes, but the scene surrounding me is too glorious for that: simple flowers, blowing gently and stretching into the surrounding fields and valleys. I need to spend less time running through Wanstead Flats and more time actually looking at the clumps ofwildflowers when they grow. I’m always running. Never pausing. Never appreciating the simpler things.
Now I’ve seen the poppies, I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I told Jim I’d be ten minutes here and I don’t want to worry Miranda on her wedding day. But the sun is high in the sky and the poppies are so abundant.
I don’t feel like Lucy Honeychurch inA Room with a View,although I should—here, like this. I feel like me. And this makes me smile even more. Being me isn’t actually that bad. Maybe I’ve been searching for something that I had all along. Good things come to those who wait. And so I’ve waited to find out if I like me, and I think: I do, actually.
The stillness surrounds me but doesn’t engulf me. I start walking further into the field. Ten more minutes. I’ll spend just ten more minutes here, because this day isn’t about me. It’s about Miranda and Paul, and I should get back. But I reach down and my fingers skim the poppies as I walk further into the field. I’ve snuck off for long enough. I’m going to go back soon. I will.
Everything around me is silent. Except for the dull roar of a motorcycle on the road behind me.
Chapter 44
Davey
I can seeher. She’s in a pale-pink dress. My stomach knots, even though I’m nowhere near her yet. This is happening. This is actually happening. I pause on the bike and, because I am not a pro, it wobbles underneath me. I kill the engine, wheel it over to the cypress trees, put the kickstand down, and position it near a push-bike that’s been left there. Hannah’s. I lift off my helmet and put it on the seat of Marco’s bike and then I begin panicking afresh. What do I look like? Is my hair neat? I look tired. The guy at the table told me that much. Will Hannah even recognize me? Will she want to recognize me? What will she say? Whatever it is, I can take it.
I start clicking my fingers nervously and then run my hand through my hair, which has grown back a little darker blond than before. I can’t stand here all day. It’s now or it’s never. I’ve come this far. It has to be now.
Chapter 45
Hannah
The motorcycle noisehas stopped, thank God. I look around and can’t see it or the rider, so they must have carried on down the road. I turn back to spend a minute more here and then it really is time to go.
As I turn to work my way back through the sea of poppies toward my bike I see a man walking through the cypress trees and into the field.
I continue moving and half wonder if he’s the rider, stopped because he’s seen a lone woman in a field and now is a great time for him to stop and mug someone unsuspecting. He’s still at a distance, but as he moves closer I can make out how tall he is. He lifts his head and looks directly at me. I can’t make out his features, but something makes me stop and stare. I glance around and then slowly begin walking again, but this time I’m at half the pace I was before. We’re the only two people here, so it would be rude—strange—if I didn’t at least acknowledge another person as I pass him. So I’ll do that. I’ll say hello and then I’ll keep going, begin the cycle ride back to the wedding.
