Free The Chapel by Michael Downing Page A

fell straight from the inside of the almond eye of a red-veiled mother, streaking past her unbelieving, open mouth. And a faint tear stained the upturned, pleading face of the woman behind her, too, the mother in blue whose wide-eyed, terrified baby was being wrenched from her embrace.
    S HELBY , A NNA, AND I SAT FOR A LONG WHILE ON A SUNNY bench, the gusty breeze buffered by the abundance of roses on either side of us. We had wordlessly agreed to sit out the tour of the 3-D presentation in the visitor center and the collection of Paduan paintings in the museum next door. Moreover, none of us wanted to visit the Church of the Eremitani, and Anna and I didn’t want to take the tram to the basilica, either, but only Shelby was bold enough to break all ofthis news to Sara. While she did the heavy lifting, I braved the ticket counter in hopes of securing us a return visit to the chapel, but all of the spaces for the remaining tours had been sold.
    On my way back to the bench, I saw Shelby waving me over to the gift shop. She had already picked up a commemorative T-shirt and two silk scarves, and I could only hope they didn’t stock togas in her size. I didn’t say a word, but I must have been making that face, which had staved off any number of fashion disasters for Rachel, because Shelby claimed the shirt was for a niece and then decided she would wait on the scarves.
    I told her we were locked out of the chapel for the rest of the day.
    â€œWell, we’re on our own for a while. Sara was not happy,” Shelby said, “but mission accomplished. I do think I may have spoiled any chance I had for getting in on the trip to Vicenza tomorrow.”
    â€œIs Sara the guide for Vicenza, too?”
    â€œOh, if Lewis was here—you haven’t met him yet, but he’s a doll. He’s traveling with the bigger bunch in Venice. He’s one of the co-owners of EurWay, so he can make executive decisions. He’d let me ride in the luggage rack if there wasn’t a seat.”
    â€œYou have to take my place,” I said. “I’m not going to Vicenza.” I didn’t continue. I wanted to tell her I was leaving, tell her she’d been one of the bright spots on this ill-begotten adventure, but I knew she would feel it was her job to talk me into staying.
    â€œAre you on the list? A seat on the bus is not the problem,” Shelby said. “It’s the meals and the pass for the Palladio building that will matter to Sara.”
    â€œI am signed up and prepaid, and I am absolutely not going to Vicenza tomorrow.” This was a pleasure and a relief, like giving away opera tickets. “You have to take my place.”
    It was clear Shelby wanted to ask why I wasn’t going on the side-trip, but instead she said, “Then I won’t take a run till later this evening.You go on to the basilica, and I’ll take Anna to lunch and back to the hotel for a nap, if she wants.”
    â€œTake your run now, and then you can meet up with Sara and the others at St. Anthony’s. Ushering Anna back to the hotel is just about what I can manage by way of social life this afternoon.”
    Shelby said, “Okay.”
    Her readiness to countenance my antisocial tendencies did sting. “Okay, then.”
    She said, “Let’s plan—tentatively—to have dinner, the three of us.”
    â€œI’d like that,” I said. I hoped T. was up for another night in the role of the dashing younger man.
    Anna and I ate an early lunch of frittatas at a window table in the hotel’s surprisingly bustling restaurant. We agreed they were good, but not good enough to make me rethink the plan to return to the Piazza dei Fruitti for another round of those superb pizzas. Midway through our meal, we saw Shelby jog by in pink spandex biking shorts and a matching tank top.
    â€œIt’s lucky she found herself a husband, isn’t it?” Anna said. “She’s awfully