Their footsteps echoed on the beautiful marble floor as they walked, and as she looked around, she saw other people milling about. Sightseers.
Despite its great beauty, Caitlin could find no hidden messages, nothing of any great significance. It was basically just an empty structure, with a small altar at one end of it. And her father, of course, was nowhere in sight.
She looked around, again and again, looking for any clue, any message. Frustrated, she finally gave up.
“I don’t see anything,” she said.
“Neither do I,” he said.
She thought again and again.
“What exactly happened in your dream?” he asked.
She thought of her dream again, tried to remember every last detail, wondering if she’d left anything out.
Suddenly, it struck her.
“What if the answer doesn’t lie
He looked at her, puzzled.
She took his hand and led him out of the building.
They stood back outside, before the doors, and she stared intensely at all the carved figures. She circled the structure slowly, walking all the way around, inspecting each and every door. Each had different carvings. She could feel the electricity running through her veins. A message was embedded in one of these carvings, she knew it.
She ran her fingers along them as she walked, trying to sense which one it could be. She closed her eyes, and circled the structure again and again.
Finally, she stopped, feeling something. She opened her eyes and stared.
There it was. Before her was a carved figure of a structure, an old church, with a distinctive shape, tall, capped by three triangles, before which knelt a winged figure. To humans, it might look like an angel, but she knew it was one of her own. This was it. She felt certain of it.
“This place,” she asked Blake urgently, breathless. “What is it?”
He came close, examined it. “That is the church of Santa Croce. It’s not far from here.”
She felt it, more strongly than she ever had. Her father was here. And that was where she had to go.
She turned and took his hand. “Let’s go.”
Caitlin’s heart swirled with a range of emotions as she continued down the streets of Florence with Blake. She felt she was coming close, once again, to finding her father, and her heart beat faster at the thought of it. It also brought up a whole series of questions. Had he been living in Florence all this time? What had he been waiting for? What was he like? After he gave her the Shield, would that be it? Would it be over? Or would they be able to spend time together, as father and daughter?
Most of all, would he love her? Be proud of for? In her dreams, she felt that he was. But this was real life. Would it be the same?
She also felt nervous about Blake. Just being with him, holding his hand, walking down the streets of Florence, she felt so at peace, at ease. She had been so heartbroken over Caleb, and now it felt so good to have a man by her side.
But it had all happened so fast, and it was so hard to think clearly around him, and she still couldn’t quite sort it all out in her mind. Did she love Blake for who he was? Or did she only love him now because of what had just happened with Caleb? She wanted to get clear, to know that she truly loved him for
Whatever it was that they had together, she didn’t want it to end. At least for the moment, it felt right. She wanted him by her side.
But as they continued walking through the majestic streets of Florence, each block more romantic than the next, she couldn’t help but worry that this would all soon come to an end. She wanted to freeze this moment, to make it last—but she knew that, like everything else in her life, it could not. She feared for what could happen next. What if her father really was there? What about Blake? Would he stay? And did he plan on sticking around? Or flying back to Venice? She was afraid to ask him. She didn’t want to know the answer.
But in the back of her mind, she suspected that she already knew: nothing could last forever.
They were on a beautiful, amazing journey together, but eventually, she feared, she would find what she was looking for, and he would have to go back home. When or how they parted ways, she didn’t want to contemplate right now. She just wanted it to last. She wanted so badly for everything to last.
And this tainted her enjoyment of the moment. She wished she could push all of her worries out of her mind, and just enjoy the moment, just enjoy the beautiful weather, the breeze, walking down the idyllic streets of Florence. And she did enjoy it. But not as fully as she would have liked. She couldn’t help feeling as if she were just in the eye of the storm.
She also felt worried because, for the first time in a long while, she felt at home. As much as she had disliked Venice, she loved Florence. It felt so comfortable, with its red tiled roofs everywhere, its abundance of art, its amazing architecture, fountains, rivers, bridges….For the first time since she’d come back in time, she felt really at peace, at home. She wanted to live here. She wanted to settle down, in one place, one neighborhood, one time. She wanted one family, one husband, to call home. Would this all be taken away?
As they turned down another side street, it opened up into a huge square, with a sign that read
“Santa Croce.” It was one of the bigger squares in Florence, sprawling for hundreds of feet, and lined with stores and cafes. It was dominated by a huge church, nearly as big as the Duomo, with similar coloring. It rose up in a distinctive shape. She recognized it immediately from the image on the doors. This was it.
“The church of Santa Croce,” Blake said, looking at it. “A very special place. It is the burial ground for many luminaries, including Michelangelo and Galileo. It is also home to a cloister.”
Caitlin felt more sure than she ever had. Whatever secrets she was searching for, she would find behind those doors.
They circled it, taking note of all the entrances. As they walked behind it, Caitlin saw that the structure stretched backwards for hundreds of feet, and saw, attached to it, the cloister.
“Our kind once lived here, for thousands of years,” Blake said. “It is a very special place.”
“And now?” Caitlin asked, her heart beating. She wondered if her father was living there now.
“I don’t think so,” Blake answered. “I believe it was abandoned centuries ago.”
Caitlin found a large, arched door leading to the cloister. She reached up, grabbed the metal ring and knocked. The sound reverberated throughout the courtyard.
She tried to open the door, but it didn’t give.
She looked over at Blake and he nodded back. She looked both ways, then leaned back and kicked it in. The door went flying open. They hurried inside, and she closed it behind them.
It was dark in here, lit only by the sunlight streaming in through a small window. It took a moment for Caitlin’s eyes to adjust. Once they did, she saw how beautiful it was. Like most cloisters she had been in, it was made of simple stone, with low arched ceilings, a courtyard, and open-air arched windows all along its side. A narrow corridor ran along the courtyard.
As they walked it, Caitlin looked at the interior, rectangular courtyard, lined with neatly trimmed grass. On all four sides of it were arched walls, so typical of cloisters. It was tranquil, very serene, and very empty. She felt like they had the place to themselves.
“It’s empty,” Caitlin said with disappointment. “I don’t sense my father’s presence. I don’t sense anyone.”
They walked down another corridor. As they walked, Caitlin noticed how much it felt like the cloisters in New York, and the cloisters on Isola di San Michele. They were all so medieval, so spare, so empty.
“I’m sorry,” Blake said, finally. “He’s not here.”
