Free Unfurl by Cidney Swanson Page B

seemed like she had a string of No –this and No –that to get through before she would let go. Shaking her head once more, she punctuated whatever she had to say with a jabbing forefinger that stopped just short of actually taking out one of Sir Walter’s eyes.
    “ Arrivaderla, Signora ,” he called out, doing one of his little trademark bows.
    “ Buona Notte, Signore ,” she replied. She grabbed a broom that was leaning against the wall behind her and began beating the paving stones. She was muttering in Italian and still moving her head back and forth like she seriously did not approve of Sir Walter.
    “Mick,” I called, “Come here quick. Check out our landlady.”
    My sister ignored me. The head–shaking below ceased, although the mumbling continued.
    “Mick, hurry up or she’ll be gone.”
    Just then the nonna with the broom looked up and saw me in the window. The muttering got louder and the head–shaking started up again. I pulled back from the window, laughing, and headed down our short hallway to my sister’s bedroom. I passed the bathroom, empty, on the way, and knocked on Mick’s door.
    “Hey! Dinner. Wake up. You should have seen our landlady and Sir Walter going at it just now.” I waited to give Mick a moment to wake up, then I pushed the door open. “Wake up already.”
    The light beside her bed illuminated the quiet, empty room. My sister wasn’t here.
    I turned back down the hall, checking the bathroom more thoroughly and passing Sir Walter as he entered the apartment.
    “Mick’s gone,” I said. Something like panic was setting up camp in my gut. “No note, no nothing. She always leaves a note on the kitchen table.” It had been our system for years.
    Sir Walter set a large bowl of pasta on the edge of the kitchen table, which was empty except for the laptop.
    “Why would she take off?” I asked, more to myself than to Sir Walter.
    “Indeed,” said Sir Walter. “Although perhaps it would be better to ask ourselves who has taken her?”

Chapter Thirteen
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    FORGIVENESS
    · SAM ·
    Take me to Gwyn’s, I told Christian as we rose out of the valley’s tule fog and into the foothills.
    Are you certain we should go to the dwelling of your friend? Would not you prefer that your parents know of your safety? asked Christian.
    They’re going to worry for sure if they see me lying in bed looking like I’ve been shot full of drugs, I replied. They think I went to Fresno for the day. I can use Gwyn’s phone to call them after I … recover.
    Very well.
    We arrived at Gwyn’s, shivered through the rock wall of her mom’s bakery building, and rose along the stairs. As we passed the tiny bathroom, I thought of something I was going to need.
    Advil .
    Apparently I’d thought it “aloud,” because I could feel Christian’s confusion over the strange word.
    I explained. It’s a pain reliever. You had those in the seventeenth century, didn’t you?
    We lacked “ad–ville,” he replied. Will I find it in an herb garden? Send me an image.
    Amused, I sent him an image of a bottle of Advil on the counter in the Li’s tiny bathroom.
    A decoction. I shall obtain it. Saying this, he set me gently upon Gwyn’s bed.
    As I solidified, a fog wove itself through my brain, as heavy as the one we’d traversed in the valley.
    Christian had to wake me to deliver the Advil. “ Mademoiselle ,” he whispered. “The ether affects you still. Do you wish for the decoction of Ad–Ville ?”
    I rolled over, took the meds, and fell back into a dark sleep.
    I awoke to the gloom of evening, having the sense that I’d just left a church service for the second time that day.
    “You’re awake,” whispered Gwyn, sounding delighted. “Good. Finally someone to talk to who’s not completely pissed off at me or ignoring me.”
    “Gwyn?” I mumbled. My mouth felt like it had been swapped repeatedly by large cotton balls.
    “Drink this,” she said, passing me a cup with a straw sticking out of it.
    I