Cruisin’ For Love, page 2
The girls were delighted with the plans, calling their grandmother in Italy to spread the good news. Mark double-checked the schedule and was given some leeway to return a few days late.
So, on a windy, light rain day in San Diego, all five of them boarded their flight to Italy for their anniversary vacation. Sophia dressed all three of the girls in red dresses, and, for the first time in weeks, began to allow a smile to creep into her expression.
Mark knew that the two other cruises he’d been on were just unlucky happenstances, and the odds were in their favor for a smooth, relaxing family trip well out of harm’s way. He wasn’t going to let his teammates spook him, either.
Earlier, when he’d announced their plans and the reason for his absence, he withstood the catcalls from the Team during their meetings and workouts, where Fredo and Cooper especially rubbed in everything they could throw at him.
“Terrorists, they got terrorists in North Africa, and you’ll be going right around the bulge, Mark. You remember the Canaries? The Azores? Morocco?” Fredo teased. “You want to show your girls cobras and have your wife kidnapped to become someone’s third wife?”
“Shut up, you asshole. That’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah, but you got to admit, SEAL Team 3 has bad luck when it comes to ocean voyages,” added Cooper. “Somehow, if there’s something going on, we seem to get right in the middle of it.”
“Now, God wouldn’t do that to me. After the first one, and then the redo to bury Gunny, he wouldn’t put me in that boat,” insisted Mark. “Besides, I earned a nice vacation with my lovely wife. She’s so grateful she’s going to get to see her mother she might stop making me clean up the dishes. I’m earning brownie points, gents. Not to worry there. My future looks bright, and I can’t wait to have it all!”
“Well,” Cooper said with his quiet drawl and tall-drink-of-water-stance, “Let’s hope the God of Navy SEALs has a heart. All that rocking and rolling. You guys might as well try for number four!”
“Hey, don’t push it, Coop. I’m not sure that’s luck. Three is a good number, and I’m never complaining about that again.”
“Ah, you’re probably right, Mark. Besides, you two would have to be bent over the railing and keeping it quiet with all those girls, and you know they’ll be watching you guys. Just make sure you don’t fall overboard. Those ships don’t turn on a dime.”
Mark brushed it off. No way in Hell was he going to be bobbing up and down in the Atlantic Ocean by himself.
Just no fuckin’ way.
Chapter 2
Sophia’s mother lived on a tiny, winding street above an Italian meat market, several blocks off the city square, a little sub-shopping center of the town of Naples. The district was known as the Artesian District, something about an artesian well that had probably dried up during Roman times, but that was what it was called, the buildings built nearly four hundred years ago.
The village was known for its charm and quaint architecture with small archways over windows and doors, front stoops made of a solid block of granite or marble, well-worn into a U pattern, as if it was a soft pillow that had been stepped on.
The smells of the city were welcoming to her, not bested by the smells of the neighborhood, where some of the best butchers and pastry makers in Italy lived. There was a huge training center for hotel chefs, in an extravagant 15th century villa, surrounded by vineyards and fresh herb and flower gardens. The whole area in this district was magical, appearing with its apricot-orange glow to the land. The burnt umber reflection of the buildings on the sidewalk and other buildings, also reflected in the faces of the people as they hurried past.
It was a rainy day, and Sophia did her best to keep the girls holding hands single file, with the other end being manned by Mark. Of course, little Domenica couldn’t walk for more than ten or fifteen minutes before she needed to be carried, and that was Mark’s job. He also carried her computer case, his computer case, and a carry-on for the girls. Each of the older two had a small fuzzy animal backpack carrying all their activity projects while on the plane, plus a change of clothes.
As they wandered through the cobblestone walkway approaching her mother’s apartment, Mark turned to her and gave her a sexy smile.
“Now it all comes back to me, Sophia.” He bent over to explain to Ophelia and Carrie Ann with loving patience. “Your mother and I met on a little street just like this. That day she was having lunch with her mother in the piazza. You remember that sweetheart?”
“Where did you have that lunch?” Asked Ophelia. “I want to see it.”
“It wasn’t here, it was in Genoa. But a very similar village. Mother moved here to Naples to be closer to her specialist. And she has several close friends in the area as well.”
In fact, one of the things Sophia was going to check on was what kind of a job her brother and sister-in-law were doing taking care of their mother, since the sole responsibility for doing so was on their shoulders, not on Sophia’s. But Mark and Sophia contributed to the fund where they could, which kept her mother playing bingo, bocce ball, and allowed her an occasional aid to accompany her to the markets. But more and more, she was confined to the apartment, and seldom left unless it was for a special occasion.
She had not seen her mother’s new apartment, but had seen pictures that her brother, Paolo, had sent, and he gave her a FaceTime video of all the shops nearby where she could hop downstairs and make a quick purchase if she felt so inclined. She was now letting others do the errands for her.
“I think this is it, Mark.” She spoke. The window of the meat market in front of them had several hanging plucked birds, sausages and salamis of every size and color, with a healthy customer line feeding out onto the roadway.
“Yes, it looks like it’s the green door to the right of the glass front. Did I get the number?”
“I think so. Ring the doorbell.”
That got the two older girls’ attention. “I want to do it!” shouted Carrie Ann. She soon was arguing with her sister.
Mark knelt and whispered to both his girls, “Let’s push the button at the same time, okay? And you both can greet grandma when she answers, how about that?”
“Okay.”
As they pressed the smooth black button, a scratchy crackling sound came over the radio. “Hello?” Said a very faint and raspy older woman’s voice.
“Hi, grandma!” Both girls said exuberantly.
“Ah, belle bambini! I am most pleased you have come to visit. You are early, no? I will buzz and you will enter, girls.”
“Hi, mom,” inserted Sophia. “Yes, we’re all here. Do you need anything first before we come up?”
“No, dear, I’m all prepared. I’ve baked you some light dinner. Just prepared a little something, not much.”
Sophia stepped back and rolled her eyes creasing her forehead. It was her signal that Mark picked up on immediately, her mother had probably stayed up very late for two nights in a row making homemade pasta and anything else she could muster, since it was a sacrilege for anyone to leave her home without being totally stuffed to the gills.
The buzzer sounded and Mark quickly turned the handle and carried the little one upstairs, rehoisting the computer cases over his shoulder again, bringing the handled bag as well. The girls noisily clop clopped up the stairs like young horses. Sophia made sure that the door downstairs was closed and locked behind her. At the top of the landing, she began to smell that glorious olive oil, tomato and basil combination that was almost like apple pie to an American. That familiar scent of good home cooking and that regardless of what else was going on in the outside world, everything that was going to happen in the kitchen, would be ample, warm, extremely tasty, and filling.
She found her mother’s appearance quite changed. Sophia was taken aback at the arc of her mother’s upper spine, causing her to bend down and strain to look up to anything taller than about five feet. She had thinned out quite a bit, and her fingers contained swollen joints of arthritis, her movements were shaky and not graceful, and her voice was cut to half the decibels it usually was, very raspy and almost like she had a chronic smoker’s cough. She was not a smoker, but her body was suffering from several ailments including a mild case of emphysema and high blood pressure. But she had aged probably twenty years in the last five years since Sophia and Mark last visited her.
Even with her bowed and frail body, she relished the hugs from her grandchildren, even the little one, Domenica, coming up and grabbing granny’s knees with both her arms nearly to the point of causing her to lose her balance. Mark helped his mother-in-law and helped maneuver the group into her tiny living room overlooking the cobblestone street, a small blue sliver of the Mediterranean visible beyond the town.
“Mm-mm, I have been dreaming of this kind of aroma for weeks and weeks. Mom, I think you outdid yourself again.” Mark said.
“Well, son, this is a very special day. I have not met this little one here, Domenica, named after me I understand, is that correct?”
She was holding the baby who reached out and tried to grab her glasses but got a clump of graying hair instead. That wasn’t going to stop the baby, who continued to poke at and pinch all sorts of things from the buttonhole on her sweater to the edge of her collar where she had tiny flowers embroidered along the collar’s edge, the safety pins she wore in her hair, and the gold-rimmed spectacles she wore which flashed in the sunshine and was just pure eye candy to Domenica. She was desperately looking to get into trouble.
“Here, mom, I’m going to take her. She’s a real handful. I’ll wait till you’re seated and then we can perhaps have her sit on your lap. That’s probably safer.”
Her mother didn’t argue.
“Well, you come here and have a seat, girls. We have a nice table set for you and I put out all the crystal and the silver. I have your little cups here; I don’t know if you remember I bought them when each of you were born. This is yours, Ophelia, and this is yours, Carrie Ann, and I even have a small stainless-steel cup for Domenica.” She held up the tiny cup and Domenica, understanding that it probably belonged to her, reached out and was able to grab it before anyone could stop her.
Mrs. Negri chuckled, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. “She is so willful, just like her mother. I’m sure you’ve noticed, Mark.”
“Actually, mom, they all have her spirit. They are little hurricanes in progress, tornadoes, every room they go through is destroyed. We are a very active family, and it’s hard to keep up with them sometimes. I think I get more exhausted playing with the girls than I do working.”
Sophia knew it was an exaggeration, but she didn’t mind. She was basking in the glow of her aging mother’s countenance, the kind woman who raised her, cared for her under very difficult circumstances when her American pilot father was killed, and she never remarried. She lived a very simple life, taking on several jobs at once, and allowing Sophia to go to dance and music school, which worked very well as a glorified daycare setup for her and her jobs. Sophia was filled with pride at how she bore her simple life and had never heard her complain or be angry at anyone, except for herself. And her brother.
Just as she’d expected, the dinner was huge. She made cannelloni, chicken cacciatore, her favorite lobster raviolis with the scallop cream sauce. She had put together a pear currant and fresh lettuce salad with lots of grated Parmesan cheese and a thin oil and vinegar dressing that Sophia had not been able to recreate, even though the ingredients were so simple. They drank two bottles of wine, her mother nearly finishing off one all by herself. This surprised her, as it was a new occurrence.
“So, are you being well taken care of? Is there anything you need?” She asked her mother.
“I’m fine. I don’t get out to see my friends as much anymore, and I have a young girl that comes to wash and cut my hair every other week. She is learning to be a hair stylist, but she’s not passed her exams yet. She also helps me do some house cleaning when I feel up to it.”
“Do you see Raphael and Julia?”
“No, my dear, I have not. Your cousins are very busy. I only see Paolo on certain occasions, but he telephones me. And we have a good chat now and then.”
“So, how often do you see the doctor?”
“I go every three months, for a checkup, I have a monitor that I wear, that reports directly to my doctor. It gives him all sorts of information including my pulse, so in case I am in a danger zone, they can send an ambulance. It’s quite a handy thing. But I think the worst part of living alone and being this age is not having friends. The television has never been something I enjoy, and I can’t figure out how to work my computer or my cell phone. Some of my friends do, but I don’t. I prefer to read.”
“I actually think that’s better for you, mom.” Mark added. “They say, reading and playing games, as well as walking, some little exercise at least, is what keeps you young. I think you’re doing all the right things. And if you eat well, take your medications, I think you could go quite a while without any serious complications. Don’t strain yourself, don’t stand on ladders, and don’t try to go down those stairs by yourself, those are awfully steep and tiny.”
“But I am a size four shoe, Mark. The stairs are no problem for me with the handrails on both sides. I glide down those stairs almost like a fire pole at a station.” She gave Mark one of those loving smiles that Sophia imagined the Virgin Mary might have looked in one of the frescoes in several of the churches they attended as she was growing up. Her mother was the picture of peace.
“That’s good to hear, mom.” Said Sophia.
“Why don’t the girls go sit in the living room, I can bring out some cards,” she said without asking permission. “How about playing cards the two of you?”
The girls agreed and Mrs. Negri went to the cabinet and brought out a deck of cards with kittens on the backside. The girls were more interested in pictures of the kittens than they were setting up their card game.
Mrs. Negri returned to the table and sat down with a grunt. “Sophia, I am slowing down. And I really don’t know how long I will be here. I do not want to be a burden. They do have state facilities here in Italy, but I don’t want to be housed in one of those places. I would prefer to live with Paolo and his wife, but they have no room. Do you suppose, if I could pay for the plane fare, that someday when the time came, I could live with you in California?”
Mark’s eyes got as big as saucers. Sophia knew he was wondering where the heck she would stay, and yes that more than likely he was making a private joke to himself that she might have to sleep in the Land Rover since there would be no room in their tiny house.
He spoke up immediately. “Our place is not much bigger than this apartment, mom. We have two bedrooms, all three of the girls stay together, and Sophia and I have the other.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, I can sleep just fine on a couch.”
Mark leaned into the table and with his right hand put it on top of Mrs. Negri’s gnarled fingers maintaining a knot on the tablecloth beneath. “Mom, if you want to come live with us in California, we’ll make it work. Somehow, we’ll make it work. I’m not sure whether this house would work, but perhaps we can find something that would be bigger. We live a very simple life, but I would be honored if you’d come live with us, and the girls would get to know their grandmother. I think it would be wonderful. In fact, I’m going to consider it my anniversary present. Please come. You are more than welcome.”
Sophia’s eyes filled with tears. She had never seen or heard anything so beautiful coming from Mark’s mouth before. She held her mother’s hand with Mark’s on her left side and reached out for Mark’s other hand with her right.
The three of them formed a perfect circle.
Chapter 3
The ship terminal in Napoli was a complete zoo. They had spent two relaxing days with Sophia’s mother, taking her shopping, getting her ready for Christmas, and exchanging little gifts, mostly for the girls. But transitioning from the little sleepy village she lived in, to the boat terminal with the masses of international population, was quite an adjustment.
There were four cruise ships docked, and each terminal had a staged embarkation setup, to try to mitigate traffic. But this being Italy, Mark was extremely familiar with how delivery vehicles, tour operators, and the general European public did things so he knew it would be a complete clusterfuck.
He didn’t mind large crowds when he was doing surveillance for an upcoming op. He could blend into the audience and watch certain people, because he was generally targeting specific individuals rather than the crowd. That was an unmanageable thing to do. He would never do well trying to run a massive exodus of tourists from all over the world, no matter how patient or skilled he was in communication.
But it was different when his natural training as a SEAL, made him suspicious of absolutely every person in the terminal. He was uncomfortable because he was not allowed to be near a doorway or a window for a speedy exit in case of an emergency event. He was smack in the center, waiting in line, and, even if he wanted to bolt, it would be impossible without climbing over old ladies, children, dogs, and porters with huge carts piled high with luggage.
It was claustrophobic, hot and sweaty. The tour operators were trying to keep their buses of passengers together, holding signs above their heads and screaming in their language of choice. Since this cruise was going to stop in several countries that bordered the Mediterranean, including France and Spain, there were passengers arriving on board who would be leaving the next day or two. It was more like a ferry terminal than an actual cruise ship embarkation.
