Page 52 of The Roman Holiday Rule

Gia edges me off to the side so she’s front and center to gaze atthe scene, which is good because one more second and I would have burst into tears. “Ooh, it’s lovely. Look at how she makes the light so bright and strong, like it’s responsible for all truth. The details—the stone and flowers, the wall behind it. It makes you want to stand there and ... I don’t know, confess or something significant.”

I know what she means. Mom’s work provokes emotion, and this one always feels likeavowal, like if I look at it long enough, I’ll openly declare everything I think and believe, even the things in me I’m afraid to face.

I still miss her so much it physically hurts.

Italy changes my grief into something I can’t name or understand. A sorrow thatgives as much as it takes.

I’m afraid of how I feel about Mark.

I clear my throat and take another step back, glancing away from the painting. “Do you have any idea where this is?”

Gia taps her stylus against her palm, thinking. “I’ve never seen it before. Are you sure she didn’t make it up?”

“She had a grainy picture of it. So I’m sure it’s here.” It’s real, and it’s in Rome, even if it’s obscure. The rest of her Rome paintings were public tourist sites, which makes the mystery of this location even more striking. “I’ve called around at most of the museums and a lot of the older private properties to make sure it’s not on the grounds out of sight from the street. I’ve scoured Google Maps aerial view too.” Google Maps and I are pretty tight.

“Well, an ancient temple might be closer to the Roman Forum, so you might try the Rione Campitelli district.”

“That’s my plan. Wish me luck.”

“Look hard.Where is itwill be everyone’s first question at the unveiling.”

No pressure.

I sling the trash bag over my shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“In a minute.” Gia is still gazing at the artwork.

I hesitate, wanting to ensure the painting is locked safely behindus both. But I’m donating it to the city. I’m relinquishing ownership. This is a good step toward releasing my possessiveness, letting go.

Good as in healthy, not as in pleasant or easy.

I’ve always been able to separate Mom from her public fame and art. This painting was our family’s, though. Setting it free, watching Gia react to it, unsettles me. Like at Mom’s funeral when someone shared stories of her as a young woman, remembering her differently from how I saw her. Grief is unreasonable—I want to know everything about my mom, but I want everyone’s facts and impressions to confirm my memories, not shift them into something unrecognizable.

Gia half turns to where I linger at the door. “I’ll keep it safe. Don’t worry.”

I take a deep breath and head out, leaving Gia to care for the painting while I take out the trash.

Thirty

Lexi

The twohoursbefore dinner of scouring the neighborhoods around the Roman Forum for the temple from Mom’s painting yielded nothing except blistered feet. After attending the opera this evening, I buy a Passito on my way home and prop my sore feet up on the balcony, a wineglass and a bowl of peaches by my side, and my mother’s two opened letters on my lap.

Below me, the city is still loud, pulsing and alive, and I like it. Left in silence, I might sink into numbness, but Rome won’t let that happen. I have to face my grief here, make a way through it. Not to eradicate it, but to let it find its place in my heart. A place where it can coexist with joy and contentment. A place where it’s acknowledged but not consuming. But right now, that doesn’t feel possible.

I gaze at Mom’s words until her graceful, loopy handwriting goes blurry. She told me, at the end, when the cancer came back and we knew we had no time left, that plans fall apart sometimes, and that’s okay.“I have a new plan,but that’s not what’s important.”That’s when she showed me the first half-painted envelope, eyes twinkling even though her hand shook with frailty.

For as carefully as I arranged this trip over the last year, this new plan isn’t better. I needher. I need her laughter to lighten my life, her wisdom to guide the way through heart matters. I need to make memories with her here.

What are you trying to tell me,Mom?

Where is the temple?

Why couldn’t you be here with me?

How are the watercolors appearing in real life?

How do I get Mark out of my head?