“I did not!”
“Yes, you did!”
Leonora stepped in and told the girls not to fight. “Here, let me get your markers and some paper. I want each of you to make a drawing of the marks for me.”
“Like a contest?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, like a contest.”
“I’m going to win!” Victoria cried.
*
Mickey announced he was picking up the tab for hiking boots and down jackets for everyone. Celeste tried to get Marcus to smile by modeling red hiking boots and a bright red jacket, but he wasn’t buying what she was selling. Colonel Carter admired a blue jacket for himself, mumbled something to the effect that it was warmer than his old one, and threw it on the counter for Zanardi’s cousin to ring up. The shopkeeper commented that there were six jackets, two extra ones—a large men’s and a medium lady’s—but Mickey told him it wasn’t a mistake. Marcus shook his head at the gesture—the old guy really expected to see his son and daughter-in-law tonight, didn’t he? While they shopped, the guide was at a nearby café to buy sandwiches, pastries, and bottles of water to carry in his backpack for a late-night snack.
They arrived at the trailhead at the village of Donetta, just north of Torriglia, about an hour before sunset. As Zanardi drove, he gave a running commentary to a distracted Mickey. From one row behind, Marcus didn’t think his boss was paying attention to anything the guide was saying about the geography of the region, the flora, the fauna, the local economy, you name it.
“So, here we are at Donetta,” he said parking the van in a clearing. “We have been steadily climbing since Genoa and here, we are at one thousand meters. To the peak of Monte Prelà it is four hundred meters more.”
“How long will it take?” Marcus asked.
“Only one hour. It will just be getting dark when we arrive, but don’t worry. I have very strong torches—what you Americans call flashlights—that will make it very safe to descend when you are ready. You said you wanted to be there until midnight?”
“Yes, midnight,” Celeste piped up from the row behind Marcus. He hadn’t been aware she was listening.
“I’m afraid that I haven’t been told why you wanted to be on the mountain at this hour.”
“That’s right,” Mickey said. “You haven’t been told.”
The guide smiled broadly. “Never mind about that. I will get you safely to the summit, I will get you safely back to Genoa, and you will be tired, but happy, as you fly to Calabria on your beautiful airplane.”
*
Leonora, ever the artist, closely observed as the girls dove into their drawing contest. They both chose black markers and white paper, but Elizabeth picked out a fine-tipped pen whereas Victoria’s had a thick nub. Victoria approached the task with intensity, her tongue protruding from her lips in concentration. Dissatisfied with her maiden effort, she made a pouting noise, crumpled the paper, and reached for a fresh sheet. Elizabeth was more precise and careful, pausing frequently and looking into space as she plumbed her memory.
When both were finished, Leonora took the sheets and stuck them onto a bedroom wall with a bit of molding clay.
“Which one wins?” Victoria demanded.
Elizabeth’s drawing was clearly recognizable for what it was, but Leonora was wise enough to abdicate the role of judge.
“Let me ask both of you,” Leonora said. “Which one is most like what you saw on the Gray Lady?”
Elizabeth smiled confidently and said nothing. Her silence enraged Victoria who shouted, “Fine! I don’t care who wins. It’s a stupid contest!” She began to cry.
Elizabeth said, “I know who the winner is.”
“And who is that?” her grandmother asked.
“It’s a tie. It’s both of us.”
Victoria looked up from her pout and said, “Yes, it’s a tie. That means I didn’t lose.”
“Bedtime, now,” Leonora said. “Go brush your teeth.”
While they were in the bathroom, Leonora snapped a picture of Elizabeth’s drawing and sent it in a text.
*
The night was clear and cool as they began their ascent of Monte Prelà. The light was fading, but the need for flashlights was at least an hour away. At the trailhead, the mule track rose, gently at first, then more steeply, through a terraced meadow until they were in a sparse wood. Their guide struck a languid clip since they were in the opposite of a rush. His clients wanted to be at the summit at midnight, so even at a snail’s pace, they’d have four hours of sitting and waiting. He didn’t have a clue what they would be waiting for, but the man paying his fee had agreed to an exorbitant, last-minute quotation, so he would happily wait for whatever might happen.
As they snaked up the path, Mickey fell in behind Zanardi, followed by Colonel Carter and Celeste. Marcus decided it was the gentlemanly thing to take up the rear. From his vantage point, he was convinced that Celeste in her tight jeans, was purposefully exaggerating the sway of her hips.
They walked in silence until Carter began complaining about his new shoes. “I think I got a size too small,” he said. “These dogs are going to be barking tomorrow morning, let me tell you.”
A creature began to call from a higher elevation. It was rhythmical, high-pitched, with the quality of a power tool.
“What the hell is that?” Mickey asked Zanardi.
“It’s a nightjar,” Zanardi said.
“Bird or insect?”
“It’s a bird,” the guide said, “it’s annoying, isn’t it, but I’m afraid it doesn’t have an off switch.”
Another sound interrupted the night, the tone of Mickey’s mobile phone.
He glanced at it and swore. “It’s my office in Chicago. I told them not to call unless it was important.” He picked it up and said, “Hello? Hello? Hello? I can’t hear you! If you can hear me, call back later!”
“The reception is always quite poor here,” the guide said. “Sometimes you can get one bar on top of the mountain.”
“I don’t care,” Mickey said. “I don’t want any distractions
