All the Way to Heaven

Chapter 39

We broke into the food in the basket, both of us curiously ravenous. The croissant rolls were stuffed with a variety of ingredients, much to our delight. There was ham and cheese, plum jam, apricot jam, and one with slices of cinnamon apples that tasted like an apple pie. There were two stout-bottomed tumblers in the basket and we each had a conservative glass of the wine. Paulo told me he rarely drank, mainly because he didn't like how it made him feel, but he believed a glass of wine now and then, taken in moderation and in the right situation, was good for the health and for the spirit. "It means we have to sit here and enjoy the day a little longer, though. You don't mind, do you?"

I didn't mind at all. Sitting there beside Paulo's favorite river, beneath the gnarled branches of a tree likely planted well before either one of us was born, our bellies full, I felt a deep contentment settle over me. I wasn't much of a drinker either, and I said so. He laughed at me and reminded me that he'd been there last Sunday night.

"I will be keeping my eyes on you, Anica Tomlin."

I didn't mind that either, but only said, "Still not funny."

"Look over there." He pointed across the water at what looked like a tall hitching post with a roof tucked into the trees on the far bank.

"Is that a shrine?" I'd seen a few like it on our drive today, and I'd read about them before coming, that they were fairly commonplace in people's driveways or along well-traveled roads, but this seemed like such an odd place for one, across the river where no one could get to it.

"It is. Dedicated to the Madonna. Do you see the relief of the Virgin and Child?" I squinted my eyes against the sunlight flickering off the water, and could just make out the stone carving of the famous duo below an alcove where a vase of flowers was perched under the A-frame of roof tiles.

"But how do people get to it?"

"Just beyond those trees are homes. It is tended by someone who lives there, I am certain. From this side, there is a place where the water is shallow down there at the sand bar. I have only been in this spot one other time before, but the water is not deep and I was able to make it across by stepping from rock to rock and only getting my feet wet. In the wheelchair, though?" He shook his head. "I think we will stay here and just look. But it is nice to see, yes? Like she has been waiting there to give us her blessing on this day."

I glanced over at him, not really surprised by the sentimental notion, but appreciating the fact he'd shared it with me. He kept his eyes on the shrine, though, so I just made an agreeable sound and fell silent again, finishing the last few bites of my crisp apple.

We saved the foccacia, the olives, and some of the fruit for later, tucking it all back into the basket. Paulo took it to the truck to discourage a few bugs that were making a concerted effort to join our picnic. I thought he'd meant to prove to me that he was all right by walking to the truck, but he was most definitely still gimping along. I sighed, exasperated at his stubbornness, and sympathetic for his suffering. I lay my head back against one of the wheelchair handles behind me and closed my eyes.

"I have something else for you," he called from inside his open door.

"Another surprise? What is it? Another wheelchair?" I called back to him, my words slow and lazy. I was being lulled into a semi-stupor by a full belly and warm sunshine. "Maybe you should keep it for yourself, Paulo."

"It is something even better than a wheelchair. You will like this one, I think." I turned to see him making his way slowly around the front of the truck, a pair of crutches still wrapped in crinkly cellophane in his hand. "For you," he said. "From the good Dr. Lazzaro."