Door to Yesterday: unexpected complications

Door to Yesterday

There's a special kind of satisfaction in the slamming of a door, she thought, as the reverberating rattle of the windows settled into silence. She could hear the thudding of his feet stomping down the steps. She listened for the Mediterranean waves, but the sea was quiet.

So that was that. She crossed into the brick walled kitchen of the rental and took a tea cup from the cupboard. If she wasn't going to become Signora Matteo Casoli, her stay in Italy would be short.

His mother would be disappointed. She'd have to find someone else to badger about grandchildren. On the other hand, his father would be delighted that she was back on the market. He hadn't kept his eyes off her. She set the kettle onto the stove and lit the burner.

A fist hammered on the door.

"I'm not home!" she called.

The door handle jangled. She heard the squeak of rusty hinges as the door swung open. Of course he hadn't locked it when he'd left. She sighed. "What do you want, Matteo? I told you, we're done." She stepped out of the kitchen and stared at the old woman standing in the doorway. She didn't look like she had any teeth. "What are you doing here?"

The woman stared at her, taking in every detail of Guiliana's knitted dress and stiletto heels. She scowled. "You should leave this place."

"I am. Didn't you hear the break up? I was sure all of Vernazza had heard."

"I know what you are."

Guiliana shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't feel. "I'm no one in particular."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "I know."

"Yes. So you said." She hadn't heard that there were any crazy old ladies in town, but she'd only arrived a week ago. Matteo had been so excited to introduce her to his family. The kettle squealed behind her. "Um. Thanks for letting me know." She crossed the room and opened the door wide, "Nice to meet you. Arrivederci."

The woman backed out, and Guiliana shut the door firmly behind her, turning the lock, her heart thundering. She wanted to scream, but the kettle was doing it for her. She hustled into the kitchen to make the tea. Had the old woman seen? She shuddered. Matteo could never know the truth.

She was pouring the tea into the cup when there was a tentative knock at the door. She jumped, spattering tea onto the table. She set the pot down with a shaking hand.

I should ignore it, she thought, but she crossed the living room and glanced through the curtain. Matteo's father was holding a bouquet. And wine. She smiled in spite of herself as she opened the door. He was as handsome as his son. "Hello, Signor Casoli."

He kissed her on both cheeks, then enfolded her in a tight embrace, whispering gruffly, "I'm sorry for you both. You'll tell your mother I never stopped loving her?"