Chapter 4

I sat on the couch, looking timidly about me. It was so strange, being alone in Piero's house, and I felt greatly out of place.

I took my books from my bag and sat the floor, spreading them out to study. It was too quiet in the house, so I shyly began to read my notes aloud. When I finished studying, I wandered timidly throughout the living room and kitchen looking for something to pacify myself with. There was a pile of dishes in the sink, and I put them in the dishwasher, only to discover that it was broken. So that must be why Piero hadn't done them. I looked for dish soap, and found an unopened bottle in his laundry room. I washed the dishes by hand and stacked them to dry in the dishwasher.

Then I looked for something else to occupy my time with. I saved the dish soap and noticed that the pair of jeans atop the basket in the corner had a huge rip in the side. I picked them up and found that all the items of clothing in the basket had tears and ripping seams.

I smiled to myself and shook my head.

How did he do this to all these clothes?

I rummaged around through the cabinet and found a needle and thread. I took the basket with me out into the living room and placed it on the floor. I sat crossed-legged on the couch and draped the jeans over my thighs as I threaded the needle. I sat quietly stitching up the jeans as I softly hummed songs to myself, interrupting the quiet of the house. I went back and fingered my work, and nodded in approval of the clean stitches. I folded the jeans and placed them on the couch next to me. I re-threaded the needle and reached for a jacket with tearing seams.

Sewing was sweetly familiar to me, and as I engaged myself in it, the house began to feel less empty and unfamiliar. I felt quite comfortable to keep myself busy, though I glanced over at the pool a few times, drawn to the thought of playing in it.

While I mended the last pair of jeans, I thought I heard a car pull up, but I ignored it. Then the front door opened, and I jumped and looked up at Piero in surprise.

"Don't mind me," he said, smiling. "I forgot to get some music sheets."

He strode over to the piano and dug through the scattered sheets of music until he found the ones he was looking for- on the floor halfway underneath the piano.

I smiled to myself and returned to the sewing, carefully poking the needle through the fabric and tugging it through, minding my fingers. He walked past the couch, and then stopped and watched me quietly stitching up his jeans.

"What are you doing?"

"Your clothes are all ripped," I commented, not looking up, "I'm mending them for you."

"Wow…well, thanks. But that's not what I meant when I said you could find something to occupy your time."

I shrugged and cut the strings.

"I like to get things done."

I carefully tied the ends of the thread

"You did the dishes too?" he asked, noticing the empty sink.

"Mmmm-hmmm."

He put his fists on his hips and shook his head.

I laid the jeans atop the stack of mended clothes beside me.

"There! Done!"

"Great!" he said, tucking the papers under his arm and reaching his hands down to pull me up. "Now go do something fun! No more chores, okay? Please?"

I looked up at him in surprise, and then nodded.

"Okay, sure Piero."

He nodded approvingly.

"I'll be back later. I probably won't be back for lunch, so just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge, okay?"

I nodded and looked admiringly up at him.

"Thank you, Piero."

"Sure, Julia."

He pulled me to him and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. He grinned at me and left. I walked to the door and watched him climb into his car and drive off, my fingers gingerly touching the place he had kissed.

Then I turned and quietly looked around the room.

I stacked his clothes back into the basket and brought it to the laundry room, and saved the needle and thread as well.

Then I took my swimsuit from my bag and changed into it before I went outside and draped a towel over a poolside chair. I applied sunscreen and as I waited for it to dry, I walked back and forth beside the pool, looking at the beckoning water as the hot sun beat down on me. The water sparkled in the sunlight and looked so cool and nice... Deeming my sunscreen dry, I jumped in and was immersed in the cold deliciousness. I kicked off of the bottom and went back up to the surface, pushing my hair out of my face and smiling at the refreshing coolness of the water.

I splashed around in the pool for a while, and when I got tired, I climbed out and sat on the side while I squeezed water out of my long hair. I grabbed the towel and ran it over my legs, and then wrapped it around my middle. I went inside and looked for a book or something to read while I dried beside the pool. I went to the bookshelf in the corner of the living room, but most of the titles were in Italian and Spanish. But then I spotted something at the bottom of the shelf.

"No way!" I cried, snatching up a copy of Looking for Alaska. "He has John Green!?"

As I headed back to the pool, I opened the freezer and was pleased to find a box of popsicles. I took one and went back outside, reclining in a poolside chair. I adjusted the towel around my waist, unwrapped the popsicle, and held the book with one hand.

My phone went off on the chair next to me, and I reached out and read the text from Piero.

"Did you find something to do other than my housework?"

I giggled and held the popsicle in my mouth so I could hold the book and the phone at the same time. I snapped a picture of myself and sent it to him.

"Looks like fun!" he answered back. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!"

I smiled and took the popsicle from my mouth and licked the juice that threatened to run down my arm. I pulled my legs underneath me and began to read.

The sun gently licked the drops from my skin and hair, but then slyly began an attempt to fry me up. I got up from the chair and went inside, into the cool living room. I found a radio on the floor, and I turned it on and listened to the fun dance beat that was playing. As I moved about the room picking up the things I had brought outside, I started to dance, and I struck a pose when I passed in front of a mirror. I laughed at myself and stayed in front of the mirror, smiling and skipping around with the beat of the music. I twirled around the whole living room and even when I slipped and fell, I laughed and jumped back up and continued dancing.

I frolicked all around the living room and kitchen from song to song, still in my swimsuit, giggling, until I began to get tired and my stomach started to growl. I left the dance floor and changed out of my swimsuit and into my normal clothes, then went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, I didn't expect anything grand, but to my surprise I found a container of roast duck!

"Goodness, how fancy!" I said as I twirled over to the cabinet to get a plate. I put it in the microwave and went to the TV to look for a DVD to watch as I ate. I passed a flyer lying on the kitchen table, advertising an Il Volo concert near the end of May, and another in July. I picked it up and studied it, looking at the picture of the three smiling Il Volo boys.

I wonder what their concerts are like…

I opened the cabinet next to the TV, and the first DVD that caught my eye was a PBS concert of Il Volo.

I smiled and reached for it.

Let's find out.

I put the DVD in and sat on the couch with my lunch. I quickly discovered that the boys' singing was more spectacular than I had thought, and I couldn't seem to get enough of the beautiful songs and their handsome voices.

When I had finished lunch, I intently watched the rest of the concert, in awe of them and the music. Goodness, why didn't I listen to them more!? This was my kind of music!

When the last song ended and the house grew quiet again, I picked up the remote and restarted the DVD. I felt somewhat drowsy now, and as I listened to their beautiful voices, I laid a pillow over the arm of the couch and stretched out, intending just to rest for a moment. The music was soothing, and I quickly fell asleep…

The sound of the front door opening broke into the silence of the still house. I was far too comfortable to open my eyes, but I knew Piero had noticed me because he closed the door very carefully and quietly.

I heard him moving quietly about the house, picking up his things, then he came up to the couch and perched on the end.

I forced myself to open my eyes, and he was looking down at me, smiling a little. I pulled my legs closer to my body so he'd have more room to sit and closed my eyes again. His sofa was amazingly comfortable.

He scooted over and reached out to touch my legs, gently encouraging me to stretch them back out like I had them before. I consented, and he reached for the remote and put the TV on cable, but turned the volume down low so he wouldn't disturb me.

My feet were in his lap, and it was warm and nice.

He rested his hand on my ankle, and the warmth radiated into my skin. I had gone home very late the night before, and all of my swimming and dancing had tired me out.

As I drifted back to sleep, Piero wordlessly took my feet in his gentle hands and began to massage them. I smiled a little. As a nurse-in-training, I do a lot of rushing about the hospital, and it felt really good to have someone pay so much attention to my sore feet. He kneaded them in his hand and worked his way up to my ankles and then back down again.

I smiled blissfully and fell asleep again, safe and comfortable in the house of Piero Barone.

When I awoke, it was almost three in the afternoon, and Piero was still awake, watching TV, my feet still resting in his lap. He had one arm slung over the back of the couch, and the other on the arm holding the remote.

I looked him over quietly. He had a sweet, soft-looking face. His eyes were a rich dark brown and had a very bright, youthful appearance. His signature thick red glasses framed them, and his dark eyebrows were just above the rims. My eyes moved up to his dark hair, which looked very soft but cutely messy. I looked down past the thin cheeks at his lips. They were fuller than most boys' lips, and were very handsome and endearing. He smiled at something said on TV, and his smile was the charming kind that makes others want to smile too. He was clean-shaven, but up close his chin had a slight shadowy trace of hair. The cross around his neck glittered in the warm afternoon sunlight, and his thin T-shirt clung to his slim figure. He raised his hand from the arm of the couch and rested it atop my ankle, gently rubbing it with his thumb as he watched the screen.

He glanced over at me and saw that I was awake and watching him, and smiled sweetly at me.

I smiled back, but didn't move from my comfortable position right away. When I finally stretched and sat up several minutes later, he turned off the TV and turned to me, my feet still in his lap.

"I guess you could say I have a thing for feet," he said, grinning and playfully patting them.

I laughed softly and moved to sit closer to him, taking my feet from his lap and tucking them under me.

"That's funny, Piero."

"And weird, huh?"

"Not really."

I smiled at him.

"I have a thing for hands."

"Hands? Why hands?"

"I'll show you."

I beckoningly held out my hands and he placed one of his into them. I looked down at it and turned it over in mine, feeling it, and he let me curiously handle and caress it.

"Men's hands are strong and handsome. They can be used to do the toughest, hardest work. There are so many astonishing things men have done with only their bare hands."

I admired the feel and warmth of his palm, and gently pressed the skin with my thumbs, feeling it.

"There's an underlying power that lies within men's hands, an irrepressible strength."

I looked up at him to see if he thought it was silly, but his expression was serious and thoughtful. I looked back down at his hand.

"They can be used to build, protect and guide. But then, men must be careful… Because too easily that strength can turn to harsh roughness and unkindness."

I curled his fingers forward to make his hand into a fist, then I released it for a moment to let him look at it. He looked down at it and uncurled it, and I reached for it and placed my hand into his. His fingers immediately curled up around my hand. He held it gently in his and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. He looked up at me, waiting for me to speak again. I smiled softly and turned my gaze upon our interlocked hands.

"And then they can also be gentle and caring. Those hands that are so strong, so powerful, become tender and loving. They hold and comfort, and they care for the fragile things that surround them."

I slipped my hand out of his, and watched his stunned expression as he held his hand up to his face, spreading his fingers and examining it as if for the first time.

"Wow…" he said, turning his face to me with a bewildered expression. "That's beautiful. I've never heard anyone speak about hands that way."

I smiled and looked away, noticing the Il Volo concert DVD case on the coffee table. I reached out and picked it up, holding it in my lap and examining the cover more closely.

"I watched your concert," I said.

"And what'd you think?"

I looked up and smiled brightly at him.

"I love it! It's wonderful! Piero, you three sing so beautifully! I can't believe I hadn't seen it before!"

He smiled and his eyes shone.

"Great! I'm glad you like it!"

"I love it! You have a concert coming up near the end of May, don't you?"

He smiled and got an exited look in his eye.

"Yes. Why?"

"I want to go."

He jumped up, startling me, and walked over to the piano, shuffling through the scattered sheets of music.

"Aha!" he said, holding up an envelope. He pulled slips of paper from it and came back to the couch.

"Here," he said, sitting beside me and handing me two front-row tickets to the concert. "Take a friend, or your mother, or a coworker with you."

"How much?" I asked.

"Free! Trust me; I want you to come and watch me more than you want to."

I laughed and leaned forward to wrap my arms around his neck.

"Oh, thank you, Piero! I'm so exited! I can't wait!"

He hugged me tightly back, and I looked up and noticed the clock across the room. I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him.

"Oh, goodness, I've stayed here a long time!" I said, pulling back from him. "I can go home now."

He nodded. I sat still on the couch, looking at him quietly, and he smiled back at me.

"Thank you for letting me stay here," I said softly, "It means a lot to me."

"Sure, Julia."

He didn't move to get up, and we were both looking quietly at each other. Then he reached out his hand to me, and I gingerly slipped my hand into it. His fingers tightened around it and he gently pulled it toward him as he leaned forward. I sat nervously still and let him come closer. His face came right up to mine, and I closed my eyes and felt his soft lips touch against mine. He kissed me gently, and then pulled back and smiled wide at me, releasing my hand and waiting for my reaction. I paused, and then a smile spread across my face.

"I'll drive you home," he said cheerfully as he stood up. He offered his hand down to me again to pull me up. I took my bag and slung it over my shoulder, taking his hand and walking with him outside.

When we were in the car, he glanced over at me and said, "I suppose it would be useless to ask for any more information?"

I looked over at him.

"I'm sorry. It'd be better to keep it to myself."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

I didn't answer, and he didn't press me.

When we reached my home, a small but nice house beside a forest, I stared at the man sitting on the steps with surprise. Usually he refused to leave the living room on Saturdays.

"Wait," Piero said as I reached for the handle to the door. "I thought you said your father isn't present."

"I did."

"Who's that?"

I nervously tucked a loose wave of hair behind my ear, casting my eyes downward in shame.

"That's my mom's boyfriend. His name is Ray."

"He looks…disheveled."

"He looks like that a lot. He … he lives with us."

"He lives with you? That's…"

He struggled for an adjective.

"It's wrong, I know. But my mom thinks it's fine." I looked up at him, and he raised his eyebrows. "My mom doesn't exactly have a history of making good decisions."

I reached for the handle of the car door and opened it, but before I stepped out he reached out and took my arm.

His face had reverted to a seriousness that frightened me somewhat, and he asked quietly, "Is he the reason you couldn't go home?"

"Julia!" Ray called from the porch, standing up. "I need to talk to you!"

I stared into Piero's waiting eyes, unsure of how to respond.

"Julia!" Ray called impatiently, and I glanced over at him.

I stepped out of the car, taking my arm from Piero's grasp.

"Don't worry, Piero," I said, "Thank you for today, and for the tickets. I'll text you, okay?"

He nodded suspiciously, and I smiled reassuringly as I closed the door. I walked up the porch to speak with Ray, cheerfully looking back at Piero.

"Come here," Ray demanded calmly, sitting down and patting the space on the step next to him.

I sat beside him, and looked up at him expectantly

"Yes?"

"Why is he still here?"

I looked over at Piero, who was sitting unmovingly in his car.

I pulled out my phone and texted him, "It's okay. Go home, Piero."

He read my text, and then backed out and left, and I waved good-bye to him.

I turned to Ray and smiled patiently.

"There. Now what were you saying?"

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at me until my smile dimmed and vanished, and I looked down nervously at my hands folded in my lap.

"I just want to make sure that you're not thinking too much about this morning." His voice dropped into a quiet tone. "I don't want you getting yourself worked up and doing anything…rash."

I glanced up at him, and quickly looked away when he leaned closer to me. I fearfully listened as he spoke softly and threateningly to me.

"I don't want to have to…employ disciplinary methods on you or your mother if you go off and do something stupid."

He waited for me to speak, and I said softly, "I'm not telling anyone."

"Good girl."

He moved away, and I slowly stood up and then hurried away when he didn't object. I went inside, and I was tempted to lock him out.

When my mother rushed to greet me, I told her for the millionth time that I disliked him and that she should get rid of him, but for the millionth time she refused to listen. She was blinded by the hope that he would change, and she refused to pay attention to how he treated me. She quickly grew frustrated with me and sent me to my room to make me reflect on my "harsh words."

So I went, locking the door behind me, taking the concert tickets from my bag and hiding them where no one but I could find them.