Chapter 11

ELEVEN

MAY 2019

Sunday

Tori was busy through the weekend, packing her suitcase and purchasing last-minute supplies for her trip. She made sure to call Sheree to let her know about the new asymmetrical hemline and promised it would be ready for a fitting soon after she returned. And before she knew it, she had arrived at JFK for her Sunday evening flight.

Marilene, Molly, and Brianna had all wanted to come and say goodbye at the airport, so they'd parked in the short-term lot and walked together to the terminal. Tori checked her suitcase and then found the signs for security.

At the entranceway to the checkpoint, she turned to face the three of them. "Okay, you guys," she said. "Take care of each other. Stay in touch and I will, too." She stood for a moment surveying each one. They were her life. Even Brianna, whom they'd only known since she'd hired her two years ago, was like one of the family. And suddenly, Tori felt anxious about saying goodbye. She was safe with this little group, this bubble. It was the three of them and their love and predictability, she now saw, that had kept her together since her break with Jeremy. And it made her nervous now, to be separating from them. Who knew what she'd learn and how it would affect her while she was away?

But she had to go. She'd been feeling so lost ever since she found out about this grandmother she'd never known. Almost as if she no longer knew who she was. She hoped that if she could meet Giulia, she would be at home in her own skin again.

She hugged Brianna first. She knew Brianna was nervous about running the store alone. "You'll be fine," she told her. "I know you can handle it. Marilene can be there right away if you run into any problems. And you can also text me anytime—even if it's the middle of the night in Italy."

Brianna nodded, breathing in as she did. It seemed that Tori's sudden departure had unsettled her. Tori hadn't told Brianna the whole truth about Giulia, and now she felt guilty. Brianna had to be sensing there was more to the story than a dress in a museum exhibit. But she hadn't wanted to burden Brianna with all this drama. And maybe there was a lesson here that Brianna was still too young to understand. Life got complicated the older you got. You made a decision to leave your baby, or look after a baby, or say no to the man you loved, or leave for Europe to discover what had happened all those years ago—whatever the decision, the ramifications reverberated for weeks, for years, for lifetimes. It didn't matter if you made the choice as an impulse or if you put a lot of thought into it. A choice was something that could change lives. And the hard part was, you often couldn't know what the effect would be until the choice was long in the past. There was no way to know the outcome in advance, so that you could change your mind and pick an alternative.

Funny, she thought. She was learning this lesson only now. No wonder she was agitated, too .

She reached out and hugged Molly. "I love you," she said. "Call me anytime you want, okay?"

"Mom, it's only ten days," Molly said. "And actually, I think this is cool, what you're doing. Finally, we have something new going on."

"I'm glad you're happy," Tori said. At least someone saw this as a wonderful adventure.

She turned to hug Marilene, who felt so small in her arms. And when she pulled away, she saw fear in Marilene's eyes. "We'll be okay," Tori murmured, as she adjusted her stance so Brianna and Molly wouldn't hear her. "If I can, I will find her. And we'll both finally have the answers we need."

"I want a good reason for why she didn't come back," Marilene whispered. "And I'm scared there won't be one. I loved her and… I want to forgive her but after everything with your mother…" She stopped, as if she had so many feelings, she didn't know how to organize them in the few moments she had. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something that she tucked into the tote bag Tori was carrying. "Something to look at later," she said.

Tori went to reach for it, but Marilene grabbed her hand before she could. "Not now," she said. "I found it in my drawer last night. I don't think I could bear to see you look at it now. You'll see it on the plane. Go on," she said, gesturing toward the security line, which had nearly doubled in size since they'd reached it.

Tori nodded. "Okay," she said. "Oh, and… if Jeremy calls the house, just tell him…" She hesitated. "Never mind. It's not going to happen."

She stepped backward and gave a final wave. She hadn't been on a plane to Europe in years. The last time was when she tagged along with Jeremy to Paris for a cousin's wedding. She didn't think she'd ever gone on a flight alone. It was strange to realize that, as she'd always thought she was a sophisticated woman. But maybe she wasn't as sophisticated as she thought.

"Bye," she said softly. Then she turned, and with her back to the three of them, showed her ticket to the agent.

On the plane, Tori asked for red wine with dinner, and as she took a sip, she felt herself start to relax. She enjoyed traveling. Every couple of years, she'd taken a few days off to attend Fashion Week in New York City, an hour's drive from home, to help her stay current with wedding gown trends. And then there was the weekend with Jeremy in Paris a few years ago. Before that, she'd spent two weeks after her junior year at college touring Venice and Florence with a group of girlfriends. But this was different. She wasn't a student soaking in the culture with her pals over summer break. And this wasn't like the trip to New York, with those dash-in, dash-out visits to showrooms, armed only with a notebook for writing down impressions or sketching ideas. This was a search, a fact-finding mission, and she had no real sense of how to proceed. That wasn't her comfort zone.

Although it could be, she thought. And when she let herself entertain the idea, she knew there was something fun, even exhilarating, about the next ten days. Maybe Molly was right, she thought; maybe she had been in a rut for a long, long time: working at the shop, designing for wedding clients, being a good mother to Molly and a good granddaughter to Marilene; paying the household bills, keeping up with car payments and grocery shopping and everyone's doctor and dentist appointments. It was a nice, steady life. But was it enough? She didn't know what was behind her sudden tinge of excitement, but the idea of leaving for a short time, meeting new people, and making discoveries was lighting her up.

Wanting to know even more about where she was going, she opened her computer and navigated to the "History of the Castle" page on the museum's website. She learned that the museum had opened only six months ago. It was housed within a sixteenth-century castle, which was once privately owned by a wealthy Italian family. Part of the building was still under renovation and slated to become a five-star resort in the coming year.

She read on:

The sole structure on Parissi Island, Parissi Castle, gets its name from the wealthy Parissi family, who were the original owners more than five hundred years ago. In the years leading up to the Second World War, ownership had been passed down to Patricio Parissi. Born in 1900, Patricio was an inventor and scholar, as well as a patron of the arts. Under his watch, the castle was a magnet for some of the most famous artists, inventors, architects, philosophers, and writers of the early to mid-twentieth century, who were happy to accept his invitation to stay at the castle, sometimes for years, to work on their masterpieces. The castle was reportedly a place of high-minded conversation, lavish parties, and luxurious accommodations. A staff of upwards of two dozen, many of whom were young people hoping to apprentice with the guests, ensured that the castle was spotless, the artists had ample supplies, and the meals were plentiful and sumptuous. Among the guests were Patricio's three nieces—Annalisa, Giulia, and Emilia.

Tori froze after taking in that last sentence. Could this be true? That her grandmother, Giulia Sancino, wasn't simply any dressmaker living on the island; no, she was a member of this wealthy, aristocratic family?

Oh my, Tori thought. That means I am, too.

She continued reading:

This lively and creative existence came to a crashing halt in September of 1943, when the Nazis, who'd invaded from the North following Italy's surrender to the Allied forces, stormed the castle. It was rumored that among the guests and staff was a ring of anti-Fascist activists who brought messages to the Allied forces via supply boats to the mainland. There was a warning that the Nazis were approaching, but it came too late for many. Out for retribution, the Nazi invaders killed Patricio and all of the guests who hadn't fled the castle in time.

Tori breathed out and shut her computer, suddenly aware that being in a rut had saved her from facing horrible truths as well.

When the meal service had ended and the cabin lights dimmed, she put her earphones into her ears, chose a peaceful playlist on her iPhone, and closed her eyes. Soon, she felt herself drifting off. When she awoke, the plane quiet except for the hum of the engines, she suddenly felt she was about to cry. It was the strangest thing. She took the napkin from under her cup of wine and pressed it to her mouth, trying hard not to make any noise. Lowering her head, she took a deep breath, then held it as long as she could before letting it out with a trembling exhale. Fortunately her seatmates, a young couple in the middle and window seats, were huddled together and fast asleep, both wearing eye masks. She pressed her lips together and tried to calm herself down.

She realized that she'd been having a dream, one of those terrible dreams where she had to be somewhere but couldn't get there. Slowly the details came to mind. She'd been in an unfamiliar building, and she knew that Molly was on her way home and would be wondering where she was. Tori walked down a hallway searching for an exit, and then suddenly she was rushing into a classroom to take a test that she wasn't prepared for. She looked through the test questions helplessly, and then she was back in the hall, and Molly was facing her, screaming: "You never do anything, you always get it wrong, you left too soon, and now Marilene is dead!"

Then the scene switched, and Albie was lost, and Tori was running through the neighborhood to try to find him, furious with herself because she'd allowed him to leave the house on his own. She ran all the way downtown, and then she spotted Molly through the window of the store, reconstructing the hem of Sheree's wedding dress by hand. "You don't have to do that," she said as she tore into the store. "Go to school and be with your friends!" But Molly kept pushing the needle through the fabric that was spread onto her lap, saying she didn't mind, it was okay, it was all okay…

Tori rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, hoping that recalling the dream would help her settle down. But it had seemed so real—Marilene's death, Albie's disappearance, Molly's willingness to do her mother's work. And she'd felt so guilty about all of it.

She remembered that when Molly was little and had bad dreams, she would sit alongside her on the bed and urge her to imagine the end of the dream with a happy ending—where Molly tamed the tigers or scared the bad guys away from the house or turned off the faucet in the bathtub before it could overflow and cause a disastrous flood. She thought about trying to do that herself now. But there seemed no way to end her dream happily. She'd always prided herself on managing things at home well, but suddenly she regarded her life as forever on the brink of unraveling, with Marilene and Molly and herself one step away from catastrophe. It felt at this moment as though she was hanging onto everything she'd created by a thread, like the one Molly had been using in the dream to sew Sheree's hem.

What had brought this all up? Was it Jeremy's proposal? This impromptu trip to Italy, which had no clear agenda or goal?

Or was it the revelation about a grandmother she'd never known and distant relatives murdered by the Nazis that was messing with her head?

A flight attendant came by and handed her a packet of tissues and a cup of cold water. Embarrassed, she smiled and thanked him. She took a few sips, then remembered that Marilene had slipped something into her tote bag at the airport. She leaned forward to reach inside, then pulled out a square cut from an old newspaper. It had a black-and-white photo of three young women in ball gowns with their arms around each other—and when she looked closely at it, she realized they had to be Giulia and her sisters. Sure enough, the caption identified them: Annalisa, who looked to be the oldest, tall and thin with dark, wavy hair; Emilia, the baby, with her hair in braids, her face full, her smile wide; and Giulia, there in the middle. She was the most beautiful of the three. Her hair was lighter than her sisters', shiny and combed under just above her shoulders, with her bangs parted on the side and rolled away from her forehead. She looked like she could have been a model, with her big eyes and delicate, heart-shaped face.

These women were her family, she told herself. Her grandmother and her great-aunts. And yet she didn't know them. Theirs was not a story she'd grown up with, but they were part of her. And her story was an extension of theirs.

She shook her head and took another sip of water. What if, after all this, she actually was able to find Giulia? What would it be like to meet her? Would there be something in her eyes, her mannerisms, her smile that she would recognize as familiar, as family? Or would Giulia be a stranger?

And what if, after she'd tracked Giulia down, her grandmother had no desire to meet her? What if she had no good reason for abandoning her baby, other than that she simply didn't want one in the first place? What if she didn't even care about the sacrifices Marilene had made, the sad life Tori's mother had led, or the beautiful little person that was Molly, her great-granddaughter?

It was too much to worry about.

The only way to proceed was to treat this whole trip as a dress pattern.

One step at a time.