Free The House in Amalfi by Elizabeth Adler Page A

me about flowers and plants, about the earth they grew in, about the power of water in plant life and the need for sun and shade and wind. I began to learn about life from Mifune, and I never forgot what he taught.

THIRTEEN

Jammy
    Jammy sprawled languidly poolside at the Santa Caterina. A big straw hat covered her face and she gazed heavenward through the chinks in the raffia at the peaceful blue of the sky. Somewhere down below, waves broke gently on rocks, and a gull cried.
    She heard Lamour’s footsteps on the steps, quick, light, urgent. She would have known them anywhere.
    “Jammy!”
    The sun lounger next to her squeaked as Lamour plopped onto it. “Yeah?” Jammy said, acting casual and praying Lamour would too.
    “Jammeeeee!”
    Under the hat, Jammy grinned. “What?” she said. Then the hat was snatched off and Lamour’s face was beaming into hers.
    “Jammy Mortimer Haigh, stop pretending you can wait to know what happened.”
    Jammy sat up. “Okay, so I can tell it was good by the smile on your face,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bathing suit.
    “Jam, it’s still
there
! My little golden house. Of course it’s been abandoned since Jon-Boy . . . left. It’s a bit run-down now. And the garden . . . well, let’s just say it and the house need my TLC. But more than that, Jam, I met someone special.”
    Jammy listened quietly to Lamour’s story about her old friend and mentor, about the sorry state of the gardens andthe house. That is until Lamour said, “And now I’ve decided to stay on here. I’m going to fix up the house, and I’ll work hard with Mifune to restore the gardens. I’m going to live there and be myself again. . . . I’ll grow vegetables, keep chickens, a cow. . . .”
    “Are you out of your mind!” Jammy jumped upright on the lounger. “For God’s sake, Lamour,
a cow
! I know you’re excited, but at least talk sense. You
can’t
live here. Your life—your
real
life—is in Chicago . . . your work, your friends. You’ll buy a new apartment; you’ll finally get on with your life—God knows you’ve wasted enough time.”
    “I’m not coming back, Jammy.” Lamour’s eyes shone with the fervor of the newly converted. “I’m going to live in my house in Amalfi. I’m going to be self-sufficient—as far as I can, anyway. I mean I can’t grow vines on my cliff side, but I do have a pasture on the hill across the road for my cow. . . .”
    “And exactly how close have you ever been to a cow?”
    “Well, of course I’ve seen them, you know, on farms, in the countryside. . . .”
    “Driving by in a car. Right?”
    “Well, right. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn all about them, and after all, I only want
one.
”
    Jammy lay back on the chaise. She put the straw hat over her face again. “So you’re going to milk the cow twice a day, right? At five in the morning, right? And again at about seven in the evening? Just when regular people might be thinking about going out to dinner somewhere nice, with a good bottle of wine to sustain them. Hey, maybe you could whip up a batch of mozzarella to sell at your little roadside stand the next morning, along with some fresh brown eggs—no doubt with double yolks—from your charming little chickens, who just can’t wait to lay them for you in their neat little nests. And of course you’ll make fresh lemonade from yourhomegrown lemons to sell along with the eggs and the mozzarella, and of course you’ll have knocked out a batch of crusty rustic bread, still warm from the oven, to go with the eggs and the cheese. What an idyllic life, Lamour; I can see it now. . . . Away go the red-suede mules; good-bye, pretty dress; good-bye, the possibility of a sex life, because you’ll soon be a grizzled, overworked old woman in a black dress and granny shoes, wishing you were back in a peaceful Chicago apartment, tending other people’s gardens for a living. And a darn
good
living it is, Lamour.