Free Matala by Craig Holden

“Do you mind walking?”
    â€œI like to walk.”
    â€œThen let’s.”

Six
    T HEY FOUND A PAY PHONE not far from the American Café. She got through to an American operator and made it collect. If things went perfectly, Mommy and Daddy would be out and Ellie, the housekeeper-cook, would answer and take a message. But it was her father who accepted the charges.
    â€œHi, Daddy,” she said.
    There was a pause and then in his usual voice, low and modulated and so throaty it sounded almost vicious—it was the exact yang to Mommy’s yin—he said, “Where in Jesus’ name are you?”
    â€œGosh,” she said, “it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”
    â€œDarcy, goddammit. Those people called here. They said you just up and took the hell off or something. They didn’t know what the hell happened.”
    He was a concrete contractor, Daddy was. He’d made millions of dollars paving over the shit that was Cleveland, as he put it. He was one of the biggest cement layers in the State of Ohio, and, he was fond of saying, there was one goddamn shitload of cement in Ohio. My eloquent dad, she’d called him to her friends.
    â€œWell, I guess that’s right,” she said. “I did just up and take the hell off.”
    â€œWhat’re you doing?”
    â€œHaving fun, Dad. Believe it or not.”
    â€œDarcy—”
    â€œLook, I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. I went out with some friends and I got sick—”
    â€œDrunk, you mean. Stinking, I bet. You’re good at that, like your mom.”
    â€œGreat. But no, actually I didn’t get stinking. I missed the train to Florence, so my friends were going to bring me up, and we got on the wrong train.”
    â€œSo where are you now?”
    â€œVenice.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s another city in Italy.”
    â€œYeah, Darcy. I know that.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful, actually. I love it here.”
    â€œSo how far is it to wherever you’re supposed to be?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œHadn’t you better look into it? Get a ticket and get your ass over there?”
    â€œWell, it’s almost midnight here, so I can’t do anything now. But I don’t know. I like it here so much.”
    Another long pause. She could hear him smoking now. He only smoked when he was really pissed off.
    â€œDarcy, goddammit—this was so expensive, this bullshit tour. If you were just gonna go off and wander around with some other drunks, then I coulda just got you a plane ticket.”
    â€œAnd that’s what I said I wanted, isn’t it, Dad? Do you remember that conversation? I said just get me a ticket and maybe a Eurail pass. That’s all I asked for. But Mommy had like three heart attacks, and you were all ‘You can’t do that. A girl all alone over there.’”
    â€œSo you pull something like this.”
    â€œListen,” she said. She was crying now, but she covered the phone when she sniffed so he wouldn’t pick up on it. “I was still thinking about going back to the tour. But I’ve decided now I’m not going to.”
    â€œWhat’re you gonna do?”
    â€œI don’t know, Daddy. I’ll send you a postcard. How’s that?”
    She hung up.

    L ATER , W ILL HELD HER . T HEY’D found a lonely bridge somewhere in the fog and the night, as alone as they could be, and she wept, and he kept her close to him until she had it all out, and he never asked a question. He just understood. She knew he understood. Everything. When she had calmed down and dried up, she looked up at him, and they kissed for the first time since that night in Rome. But this time it went on and grew more heated until he was pressing her back against the abutment and moving against her, and neither of them wanted to stop, but they finally did.
    â€œDo you think AmEx is open?”
    â€œI