Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

MAY 2019

Tuesday

Tori approached the display in the center of the room. The pedestal was hip height, the dress suspended, held up with wires with the skirt outstretched, the hem just grazing the surface of the pedestal. Facing the front of the dress, she stopped a few yards away from it, so she could take in the whole thing. Somehow the crowd around her seemed to fade away.

It was spectacular. Not merely beautiful, as Kelly, the bride who'd sent the postcard, had said. It was a work of art, complex and layered. The bodice was covered in beading, the neckline a blend of laces, the sleeves sheer and filmy but somehow full of body and shape. How Tori longed to touch it, to turn it over and examine all that couldn't be seen, to explore the way the parts had been put together. She knew there had to be sophisticated boning in place to keep the shape so precise, and yet the dress didn't look stiff or inflexible. Or heavy, or overdone. No, it looked light and airy and, in an ingenious way, organic—as though all the parts had emerged from a single piece of fabric directed to behave in a certain way by the dressmaker's skill and imagination. It was a perfect synthesis of textures and colors and shapes and mood.

Visionary, Tori thought. It was thrilling to think she was the descendant of an artist this brilliant. And yet, it was unsettling, too. How could Giulia—an artist who had poured so much love into the creation of this gown—how could this same person have abandoned her child? And how could she and this woman share DNA? In a million years, Tori could never come up with a reason why she'd decide to abandon Molly. If they were somehow separated, she'd search to the ends of the earth to find her.

She circled the dress a few times and, obeying the signs on the wall in English and other languages to refrain from using a flash, took a handful of photos from different angles on her phone. But she knew the photos wouldn't do the gown justice, just as the photo on the postcard and the image on the website hadn't. They could never capture the movement and sparkle and drama of the dress; they could never approximate the way the design made her imagination sing. And she wasn't the only one; she realized now that the space around her was still, the other visitors also mesmerized. People stayed as silent as if they were in a church sanctuary, moving wordlessly out of the room when they were ready to leave.

But Tori didn't think she'd ever be ready to leave. Facing the dress again, she felt her eyes sting. She knew that many people would find it silly that a dress could cause so much emotion, especially when Tori had never been one to cry. But that's what was happening.

And it was a dress, Tori now recognized, that accomplished something that her own creations never did. While her gowns were fashionable and skillful, this garment was on a whole different level. You had to believe in love for the long term to make a dress like this. A dress that was so delicate and intricate. A dress whose memory would last forever.

Tori's thoughts turned again to Molly. Though she knew it was still before dawn back home, she wished she could call her. She wanted to tell her that she loved her and would do anything for her, and that even with Jeremy out of their lives, they would be okay. Molly, in particular, would be okay—she would grow up to make good choices for herself, to do work that was fulfilling, to feel at home in the world, and to give her heart to the right person. Tori would make sure of that. She wanted Molly to feel confident about the future, to trust that she would be a happy adult with a life filled with love. And yet, how could she convince Molly of that, when her own actions were so at odds with what she wanted Molly to believe? When she'd refused to make a promise of forever to the man she loved? When she'd sooner walk away from him than move their relationship forward? How could she expect Molly to do otherwise when this was the model in front of her?

Brushing aside those thoughts, she took one last look at the exhibit. At the base, she found the short bio of Giulia that she'd seen on the website. But now she noticed a sentence in small print: " A gift to the museum by an anonymous donor ." Who could that anonymous donor be—and how had they gotten their hands on the dress? And why didn't that person or those people want to go public with the gift? Through whose hands had this dress passed? She thought that if the comment on the website turned out to be a dead end or there was no way to trace the comment back to an actual person, maybe she'd be able to learn who had donated this dress—and maybe that could be another route to finding Giulia.

She returned to the lobby to inquire about the archives. It was still morning, and she'd noticed a café on the other side of the lobby, so she could work for a couple of hours, stop for a break and a bite, and then return for a few hours more before making her way back to the ferry for the final boat. Of course, she didn't know if she would find anything in the archives. She didn't even know what items or documents could be there or how old they might be. But she had no other options at this point. Maybe if there was some information about where Giulia had been at other times of her life or about a husband or any other children she might have had, that could lead her on a path to where Giulia was now.

She joined the line for the English station at the information desk, and when it was her turn, she stepped up to the employee. "Hello, buon giorno ," she said to the woman. "I was in touch with the director of the museum, Signor Mansirio, last week, and he told me that there are archives that are open to the public. I'm here to do some research into Giulia Sancino. Can you tell me where the archives are located?"

"I see," the woman said. She had delicate features and a soft tone, but there was something in her voice that told Tori that entry to the archives wasn't all that simple. "Yes, the archives are open to members of the public with serious research interests," she said. "Historians, writers working on books, students, and so on. Can you tell me what the nature of your research is?"

"I'm looking into some family research. Genealogy," she said. She didn't feel comfortable going into more detail. It would be such an odd thing to say—that the woman she thought was her grandmother up until a few days ago had unexpectedly revealed that her actual grandmother was the designer of the famous wedding gown upstairs. Even to her own ears, it sounded far-fetched.

"Genealogy?" the woman asked, a skeptical frown on her face.

"You see, I'm trying to trace her history, her lineage…"

"Is this for an academic study? Can you show me some credentials?"

"I'm not with a university," Tori said. "This is for personal research. Didn't you say the archives were open to the public?"

"To members of the public with serious research interests. "

"But this is a serious research interest. Look," she said and pulled out her phone, then opened the mail app and scrolled down until she came to the email from the museum's director. "See?" she said. "I was invited here by Signor Mansirio. I wrote to him, and he said I could examine the archives."

The woman read the email. "Yes, I see. That does make a difference. Let me bring up the calendar…" She clicked on her keyboard, then looked up at the screen. "I can give you an appointment for August sixteenth…"

Tori was sure she must have heard wrong. "August? That's three months away."

"We have a lot of research requests since the museum is quite new, and a very small staff that oversees that department. We are booked several weeks in advance through the summer. Most researchers call ahead to book an appointment?—"

"But I didn't know I had to. He didn't say that—see? He didn't say anywhere in the email that I had to wait three months?—"

"He must have thought you'd understand that. There's been much media coverage of the museum. People are aware of the constrictions?—"

"But I wasn't. Please ," Tori said, her voice panicky. She had to get into the archives while she was here. She couldn't return in August. She couldn't afford another flight and another stay. Not to mention that the longer she waited, the more likely it was that Giulia might not be alive.

"The thing is, it's very important that I see the archived materials," Tori said, deciding to lay it all on the table. She had no other choice. "Giulia Sancino… I think she may be my grandmother. In fact, I know she is. And I've come from New York to try to find her and meet her. I don't know if she's in good health or how much longer she'll be alive."

"No, this is not correct. All the people who were at the castle when the Nazis arrived perished?— "

"But she escaped to another island nearby. Ciani Island—at least it was Ciani Island when she lived there. And then someone met her not too long ago—she sewed a wedding dress for this person's granddaughter. The person posted about it… see?" She opened the museum website on her phone and found the comment, her fingers awkward and clumsy but still thankfully functioning. She started to show the screen, but the woman waved her off.

"I don't know what more to tell you, madam," she said. "These comments that people write—we have no way to tell if they are accurate or not. And even so, the fact remains I cannot let you into the archives until August sixteenth. You are welcome to make an appointment and return then."

"But I came from New York. Please, can you tell me where I can find Signor Mansirio? I'm sure he'll want to help me."

"He won't be able to. The archives are part of the research division. He's not in charge of that department?—"

"Then who is in charge?"

Please, madam…"

"Or can you help me find the person who wrote this comment? Is there anyone who can track this person down and let them know I need to speak to them?"

"We have no way to do that. Perhaps if you responded on the website to the comment…"

"I tried. The person didn't get back to me."

"Then madam, please?" The woman pointed past Tori's shoulder toward the lobby. The line for the English information station was at least a dozen people long—way longer than any of the other lines.

"Oh, okay. Of course. Thank you," Tori said and stepped to the side so the next person could approach.

She pressed her forehead into her hand. This couldn't be happening. This whole thing couldn't be ending before it had even begun. How could she go home and tell Marilene she'd failed? How could she return with nothing to show for her efforts, for the money she'd paid to come here and the hopes she'd put into finding her grandmother? She tried to convince herself that if she had to go home this way, it wouldn't be the end of the world. She'd had a nice trip, met some interesting people, and perhaps most important, had seen Giulia's wedding gown in real life. She'd been close to it and had seen all the features including those opalescent pebbles that formed the line of buttons down the back. It would help Tori come up with new ideas for her own designs. Surely, that was a lot to have accomplished during an impromptu trip.

But no, she thought. That wasn't enough at all. She'd come with a purpose in mind, and she didn't want to go home without achieving it. She knew she was stubborn and a bit of a control freak, although she didn't like to admit it. Molly had similar tendencies. So maybe the best thing, she thought, would be to leave Italy and go home with a goal unreached. Maybe teaching Molly that some goals are simply unattainable, and some efforts don't produce the desired results, would be a good outcome of this trip. Maybe recognizing the limits of even a very control-oriented mind would be valuable for her daughter. And for herself, too.

She thought for another moment about this, then sighed and shook her head. This wasn't about control, about twisting and turning all the aspects of her life to assure there were no surprises. It wasn't about winning or reaching the finish line. Coming up with a way to locate Giulia when it seemed all but impossible—that wasn't the endgame. No, the endgame was very different. Because Tori couldn't shake the feeling that her life was unraveling. Jeremy was gone, Marilene was getting older, Brianna would leave soon for her internship, Molly was fast growing up, and as far as opening her own shop went, it seemed pretty likely that the landlord would rent the place out before she had enough money to feel comfortable approaching him about the lease. Something was going on in her life, something she couldn't understand but that needed to be addressed. She knew it was illogical, but she truly believed that meeting Giulia could help her figure out where her life was meant to lead.

Yes, she was mad at Giulia for leaving her mother behind and causing so much anguish. She was mad at her for leaving Olive with Marilene's family, and putting Marilene in an impossible situation. And she was mad at Giulia, too, for how Giulia's selfishness had affected her life. And Molly's. She deserved an explanation. She deserved the chance to confront Giulia and make her understand all the sorrow she had caused.

There was something inside Tori that demanded to be heard. By the person who should be there for her. Tori didn't need control; she needed connection.

She sighed and went to a wooden bench near the wall to get away from the crowd. What would she do now? She supposed the most sensible thing would be to view airline schedules to see how much it would cost to change her flight back to New York. If she wasn't going to get any further with Giulia, she might as well cut her losses and go home.

That's when she noticed Emilio walking through the front entrance, zipping up his official sweater vest with the museum's logo.

He had said she should ask him if she needed any help. She supposed it couldn't hurt to seek him out now.

She rose from the bench and wove among the people heading toward the information desk and grand stairway until she reached him. "Emilio?" she said.

He looked startled for a moment, then grinned. "Tori! What are you doing out here in the lobby? I was sure that by now, you'd be hidden away in the back, elbow-deep in old documents."

She scowled. "I intended to be. But you have to make an appointment to get into the archives. And the soonest appointment I could get is in August."

"August?" he said. "That's three months away!"

"The woman said they have a lot of people coming to do research, and their staff is small."

"Who would have known?" he said. "I never imagined this would be a problem for you."

"Me either," she said. "I hate to ask but… is there any way at all you can help me?"

He looked around, then rubbed the side of his eye with his index finger. "I don't know… I don't know how that department works. I'm not very important here at all, my friend. I just walk around and try to look intimidating so people don't touch the artwork or carry drinks from the café up to the exhibit halls…"

She watched him for another moment, then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I didn't know what else to do. I can't go home and come back in August. This was my only shot." She looked up at the ceiling. "I'm such a fool. Why didn't I think this out? Why didn't I…"

"No, wait," he said. "I do have an idea. Can you stay here for the rest of the day, find a way to occupy yourself?"

"Stay? Of course! This is the story of my family."

"Then meet me here, right here, at four fifty. On the dot. Okay?"

"But you said I needed to catch the last ferry at five. I won't be able to get back to the dock that quickly."

"I have an idea. And I think it will work. I'll see you then. Don't be late."

With that, he walked past her and toward a door marked Ufficio di Sicurezza .

She watched him go through the doorway. She didn't like depending on others, especially strangers. And she certainly didn't like asking strangers to break the rules, which seemed to be what she'd done . The way he'd sounded, she was pretty sure his idea involved doing something prohibited.

But at this point, her only choices were to give up or put herself in his hands.

So it wasn't a choice at all.