Chapter Twenty-Nine Max

Caro doesn’t speak—just shakes, full body shakes, until we get her back on the train.

Her room is tiny, not a suite like mine or Rory’s, not spacious enough to fit a banquette, table, and a bed simultaneously. So two attendants arrive to effectuate the transformation typically done at dinnertime: turning the banquette into the bed. I stay with Caro, and Rory fetches the doctor on board. Once the bed is unveiled, Caro wraps herself in the huge navy bathrobe embossed in the Orient Express’s compass rose jacquard weave. She drags the hood up over her head, giving her the appearance of a member of one of those elite university secret societies. Skull and Bones. Then she eases herself onto the bed, curls into a ball, and faces the window.

The doctor arrives, and Rory and I squish together like sardines to accommodate him. The doctor asks Caro to remove the hood, then he slips his stethoscope in beneath the robe. Finally, he declares that she’s fine, fisicamente.

“Physically,” Gabriele translates from the hall, as there’s zero added room to squeeze in with us. He’s just arrived, having been summoned by Rory, I presume. Or else the author has a hidden camera on us. I wouldn’t be shocked at this point, given what Rory told me briefly in the cab. About the drawer full of stuff from our childhood. It’s bizarre.

More than that. Creepy.

“It was a panic attack, no doubt. But she should be checked out further.” The doctor indicates his head. “Terapista.”

“No!” It’s Caro’s first word since Rory and I helped her down from the arch, from the dizzying heights above the piazza. “No therapist. No. I’m fine. I wasn’t trying to… do something to myself! I just needed space. I couldn’t breathe in the crowds, the heat. It was a panic attack, like he said. Please don’t overreact. You can all leave me alone. I just need a bit of rest now.”

“But, C.” Rory sits on the bed. God, Rory’s a champ. Still so caring, putting aside her anger—her very legitimate anger. “You were so close to the edge. You almost—”

“I’m fine. Honestly. I’m tired, and I was just hot—I needed space. There were so many people, and I felt… I—Now I need all of you to leave. Please… let me close my eyes.”

I look at Rory, jerk my head. Caro’s not fine, no matter what she says. She almost—

She almost jumped, is what I want to say. But it was obvious enough.

“C, why don’t you come rest in my room?” Rory says. “It’s bigger, you’ll be more comfortable—”

“And then you can monitor me?” Caro asks. “I’m fine. Really.” She laughs—not a high-pitched, awkwardly timed Caro laugh, but a lower one, bitter. “I’m not about to pull down the curtains and off myself, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I frown. “God forbid.”

“C, we’re just worried about you,” Rory says.

“Are you?” Caro asks, sounding genuinely unsure. “Are you, or would all of you be better off if I wasn’t here?”

“Caro!” I say. “That’s ludicrous. You’re being crazy. Really. I understand that you’re”—I rummage for the right word—“upset at yourself for… sleeping with Nate, but you’re going way overboard. The important thing is you were honest.”

“Really? Are you all happy I was honest? Is honesty truly the best policy?” She sounds so strange—so undone. “Truly. I want to know.”

“Look, C, I can’t lie and say I’m not upset about what I found out,” Rory says. “And… you know.”

Silence. Caro knows what?

“But so much is going on right now with me that has nothing to do with you,” Rory says. “I… please…”

“Do you forgive me?” Caro asks, almost desperately, her voice muffled by the pillow, into which she has stuffed her face.

Rory looks at me helplessly. I shrug. I have no clue what’s right here. Honesty and lies seem almost the same thing—and entirely beside the point.

“We forgive you,” I finally say. “Of course we do. You’re family, C.”

Caro doesn’t answer, just makes a grunting noise.

“Look, we’ll leave you, but I’ll be back to check in on you in a few,” Rory says. “Max is next door, and I’m around the corner. Call me! Or—” Her eyes search around in desperation, landing on the guard’s whistle on the table. “If anything—if you—”

“If I have a single dark thought, I’ll holler.” I can’t see Caro’s face, but I know she’s smiling. I can picture it exactly—her beautiful smile—and the image strikes my system with blunt force, like a blast of cold air on sensitive teeth.

“Okay,” Rory says doubtfully. And then we do leave.

“What happened out there?” Rory asks once we’re in my room. “At the Colosseum, I mean?”

I pour vodka into an art-deco-inspired Murano glass with hand-painted amber and navy geometric motifs. I plunk a few ice cubes in from the bucket.

“Join me?”

Rory shakes her head. Then says, “Oh, what the hell.”

“A double,” I say, making hers and then handing it over. “Just what the doctor ordered.” I clink her glass. “Nazdarovya.”

“Nazdarovya.”

We sip, and trade aahs back and forth. I crack my neck. What a day. What a fucking day. What a trip.

“What happened?” Rory asks again.

I settle on the bed, stretch my arms behind my back. There’s another satisfying crack, and then it’s gone—the relief fleeting.

“I honestly don’t know, Ror. We had a guide—”

“Where was Nate? And Gabriele and Chiara? Weren’t they all supposed to be on the tour, too?”

I shrug. “Gabriele and his daughter were there for the earlier part. But Gabriele had stuff to take care of. Said they’d meet us back on the train. And Nate didn’t join in the first place. Not sure where he went. Haven’t much cared. You know?”

She exhales deeply. “Okay, so where was the guide when I found you guys? And how did you get to that part that was all shut off?”

“We went up with the guide, you know, to the top, and she was talking about—oh, yeah—she was telling us about all the holes in the stadium—”

“Holes?”

“Yeah. You see them everywhere. Apparently, they used iron to shore up the structure, the emperor back then, I mean—”

“Vespasian.”

I smile. Rory is so smart. Maybe I get more credit for that, between the two of us, given Hippoheal, but my sister is brilliant in ways that I’m not. She retains information; she can ask the smartest questions, remember the smallest facts. Speed read. The station never should have fired her for such a stupid mistake. What blazing idiots.

“Anyway, there was a shortage of iron in later years, and so the Roman people pillaged the iron from the gaps.”

“Got it. So…”

“Right. So I don’t know, at some point, I realized Caro had disappeared. Completely wandered off. And I told the guide to stay where she was, and I went off looking for her, and then, I don’t know, the way that you spotted us, probably, I saw her, and it looked—it looked—”

“Like she was gonna jump,” Rory says quietly.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Maybe it was just a panic attack like she said.” My stomach swishes, and a panicky feeling returns.

“You worried, though—that it could be—that she could be thinking about… hurting herself.” She shivers. “That was your instinct?”

“Yeah. I guess. I started running toward her, but I didn’t know what exactly to do. I was wishing I’d read more—we had a training at work—it’s why we keep the windows sealed. I remembered they’d said intervention is always the best choice, even if you’re worried about making it worse. So I got up close to her, and she told me to go away. That we’d all be better off if she was gone, and she didn’t want to stay around to ruin our lives anymore.”

“That’s what she said?” Rory rubs her eyes. “Jesus.”

I nod. “And I was trying to reason with her. God, Ror, we were so high up. She could have—”

“She didn’t.” Rory sounds like she needs to convince herself as much as me.

“She didn’t. But, Ror, I’m scared she’s not okay. I’m really scared.”

Rory heaves a deep breath. “Me, too. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s so crazy. Caro’s always been—”

“Full of life.”

“More than that. Steady. Stable. Like Papa in a way.”

I realize it for the first time, the similarity between them. Neither is stable in the financial way, but Rory is right. There is something earthy to them, rooted. Dependable.

I shrug. “No one is immune from mental health issues.”

Rory nods. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Positano. We need to get her real help. And last night was probably the worst possible trigger. Having to tell us about Dubai. I mean, it was… I can’t believe she did it, but it proves what a dark place she was in. Although I still don’t really understand why. I need to get to the bottom of it. As much as I—as angry as I still am—Caro loves us. I know she does.”

I nod, bite my lip. “We’re her family.”

“The only one she has. Maybe I wasn’t… maybe I should have been—”

“You can’t beat yourself up, Ror. Caro is okay. And you had reason to be furious.”

“Still, family is supposed to be there unconditionally.”

“Loyalty is everything,” we both say in unison.

“But I don’t think Papa was contemplating someone in the family sleeping with another’s ex.” I laugh dryly.

“He’s not just my ex,” Rory says, the pain branded on her face.

“I know. Of course, Nate’s more than an ex. And he really regrets ending things. I believe him about that, at least.” I find myself scowling. “Even if I’ve also learned that he’s a total ass.”

I wonder briefly if Rory will still contemplate taking Nate back after this trip. I would have said no, that certain things would be unforgivable, but this trip is challenging that, making me wonder if boundaries have gotten stretched—if we all haven’t contemplated things we wouldn’t have conceived.

“And there’s—” Rory stops. An odd look comes over her, then fades.

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s a lot. Max, why do you think Ginevra had all that stuff about us?”

“Because she’s planning something sinister?” I chuckle. “Tonight, when we’re asleep, she’s gonna pop out of the darkness like Chucky, with a knife?”

Rory frowns. “Seriously.”

“I’m being serious.” I shake my head. “This trip is bonkers. Getting more bonkers by the minute. So I honestly have no clue why your author I’ve never met has science fair awards from when I was eleven in her drawer.”

“The beautiful one and the ugly one. The sisters.” Rory drums her fingers on the table. “That has something to do with it. I just don’t get it yet. I don’t get how it all fits.”

I shake my head. Rory’s pushed this theory of hers already, but I hardly understand it or remember Papa’s childhood fairy tales.

“I need to go stare at a wall,” Rory says. “And meditate.”

“Go ahead. Sounds like a good idea to me. You’re really dedicated to this new habit.”

Rory blushes. “I’m trying. It’s like…”

“I know. Zen. Staring at trees in the wind.”

She pokes my side. “Don’t you think I’m less intense than usual?”

I laugh. “You’re still pretty intense!”

“Ha.” She laughs. “Fair. Listen, will you—”

“Yes, of course.” I drain the last of my vodka. “I’ll go check on Caro.”

“Thanks. She needs us right now. It’s just… I have so much in my head… and I wanna call Papa, too.”

“I got it. Send Papa my love. Caro’ll be okay. Don’t worry. It’s been a full-on trip, for all of us. I don’t really think she’d…”

“No, I don’t think so, either.” We sit in quiet for a few moments. Then Rory reaches over a hand to squeeze mine. “What a vacation, huh?”

“What a vacation. Do you feel like for all the dollar signs, it should be more…”

“Spacious?” Rory offers.

I smile. “Bingo. I’m getting sick of running into that old, crotchety man every time I open my door.”

Rory laughs. “What, you don’t want more ashes in your face?”

I laugh, too, and shudder. “Please, no. And the Californians. So chipper, with all their therapy…” Rory and I exchange a mischievous glance.

In unison, we both declare, “Ira!” and spear imaginary hiking poles in the air.

“That won’t get old,” Rory says.

“Not ever.”

Rory squeezes my hand. “What would I do without you? I’m beyond glad you’re here, Maxie.”

“All for one and one for all. And extra, because I gotta have your back for Papa, too.”

“Love you, BB.” Rory comes in for a hug.

“Love you, LS.” I tug her closer. Men aren’t supposedly big on hugging, but I always have been. I’ve sunk into Papa’s hugs, Rory’s. Caro’s. I haven’t always felt the most lovable. Strange, for sure. But I have so much love in me, so much that is bursting to get out. And anyway, no one would ever describe me as your usual suburban Michigander, with the respectable job, who got married at twenty-six, starter home at twenty-eight, popped out two point two kids by now. But I’ve come into myself, blazed my own path.

Rory stays inside my hug—for the first time I wonder if she likes it, too, or if our long hugs are because she knows I need them. My sister’s hair is a soft familiar fluff, poofy from the humidity, wafting the spicy scent of the Orient Express that seems infused in the air, as well as in the shampoo and soaps that are lined up so perfectly uniform in our suites. I always forget how small my sister is. Deceptively so, because she’s stronger than me. Maybe she was once braver than me, too, but I’m brave now, as well. Daring. Serving the Aronov name well. I hope—I know—that’s what Papa would say, if he were still capable of expressing himself fully like that.

My heart throbs as my sister detaches from my grip, and I watch her slight frame slip out my door.