Lessons Learned, Healing Hearts

The Evolution of Relationships (Chapter 33)

The hum of the engine and the gentle rocking of the boat stirred Marlow awake. Morning light spilled across her bed, casting golden streaks on the cover. Blinking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned toward the window. Sure enough, they were on the move. Stretching, she pulled herself out of bed and got herself ready.

Coming up from below, Marlow discovered she was the last to wake.

"Buongiorno."

"Buongiorno," Piero, Audrey and Francesco chorused back.

Sliding into the seat beside Piero, Marlow poured herself a glass of fresh orange juice. Offered some pastry and fruit, she apologized for keeping everyone waiting.

"The sun really did me in yesterday. I think I was out the second my head hit the pillow."

"The sun can do that," Audrey said with a knowing laugh. "It took me a while to get used to it, too."

Being the typical big brother, Francesco instructed, "Just make sure you wear a hat today and keep well hydrated."

Piero lightly touched his fingertips to her forearm. "How's your sunburn?"

Marlow tugged down the collar of her shirt, revealing a golden tan line. "It's gone. You can't call me a polar bear now."

Audrey chuckled behind her hand. "I know all about turning our pale North American skin into a golden Italian suntan. I can't believe that you would call her a polar bear. That's rude."

"I didn't call her that. She...she called herself that," Piero insisted.

Everyone at the table laughed.

"So, what's the surprise for today?" Marlow asked.

Piero pulled up a map on his phone, leaning close enough that his shoulder touched Marlow's. "We're going to go explore Cinque Terre. We'll start on the Via Dell'Amore trail and see how far we get."

***

The good thing about holidays is, if things don't go as planned, one can always change them. Discovering that the trail was closed, both couples debated whether to wait for the next train or take an alternate route. Not wanting to waste a good portion of the day waiting for the train, all four decided to hoof it over the mountain.

Made more accessible by railings and stone stairs, they walked alongside terraced vineyards and clusters of cacti. Cooled by the breeze rushing up the side of the mountain, it brought with it the scents of flowers and fruit, and the distinct smell of the sea. Every few steps, Marlow paused to breathe it in—and like a summer day—Italy warmed you from the inside out.

Rewarded with spectacular views of the coastline, the group stopped for a rest.

"Though the lower trail is much easier," Francesco said, wiping his brow with his hat, "but this view? It's worth every step."

The girls echoed their agreement.

As they finally crested the ridge, the town of Manarola spilled out below them like a painted postcard, and the four of them cheered, quickening their pace.

Manarola felt like stepping back in time, the feeling of a place that remained unchanged for centuries. Narrow alleys twisted between sherbet-coloured houses perched precariously on the cliffs. "This place is breathtaking," she murmured, brushing her hand along a sun-warmed stone wall. "But I would be terrified if a storm came in." Then, with curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, "How on earth do they get supplies up there?"

"They either carry them," Francesco said, "or in smaller villages like this, they use pack mules."

"But what if it's something too big or heavy that a pack mule can't carry it?"