The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (58 page)

And then realization hit me with the force of a Sherman tank, why he was struggling to find the words: he’d never done this before. Ever. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in any real sense of the word since he was 17, and that relationship had ended abruptly without any desire for reconciliation on his part. From there, he’d plunged straight into a turbulent affair with me, which hadn’t exactly honed his relationship skills either. By his own admission, he’d fucked Stacey’s best friend as his version of solving their problems. He had no clue how to cope with the complex emotions of an adult relationship. Last night, his first reaction had been to run and hide in a bottle. No wonder he was finding this so difficult. As far as relationships went, he was on virgin territory.

I considered the fact that he actually wanted to talk to me was a step forward.

I’d been married for 11 years, and although that had ended in dismal failure, at least I had some vague idea of how relationships worked, or should work. And I’d dated two guys since Sebastian. Sort of. Sure, those hadn’t panned out either, but for quite mundane reasons. Bob had moved to Cincinnati with his job; and Eric had traded up to a younger, wealthier model; I didn’t count the one night stand with Allessandro, a reporter I’d met in Mexico. We were still in touch, occasionally.

“Sebastian, you’re going to have to tell me why on earth you’d want me to stay,” I said, gently. “Last night you said some pretty unpleasant things: and I’m not going to accept your explanation about having drunk too much. It’s pretty clear that you’ve been hanging on to a lot of anger—toward me. And I don’t know what I can do about that.”

He slouched down in his chair, looking for all the world like a sulky teenager. He seemed to be waging some sort of internal battle, but eventually he straightened up and looked me in the eye.

“Caro, did you really try and find me when I turned 21?”

And here we were again.

“I’ll tell you exactly what I told you before: I wrote to Shirley, and I wrote to Donna. But no, I didn’t try and find you directly, because I simply wanted to know that you were okay. When both letters were returned unopened, I suppose I took it as an omen that it wasn’t to be. I didn’t feel I had the right to interrupt your life and risk doing further damage. I felt a great deal of guilt at the devastation I left behind me: I didn’t want to remind you of all that, or make you feel any obligation toward me. It never occurred to me that you … that you’d be waiting for me.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intense and angry. “But I
said
I’d wait for you. I promised I’d wait. Hell, Caro, it was the last thing I got to say to you. And you … you said…” he bit his lip, hesitating.

I’d promised to love him forever
.

An ugly wave of guilt rushed through me, and finally I could see how it had looked from his point of view: I hadn’t tried hard enough—I’d let him down.

“Oh, Sebastian … I’m so very sorry.”

What could I say that would wash away so many years of hurt?

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you mean it, Caro? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“Yes, tesoro, I did. I loved you very much. But you’re not the person I knew ten years ago. The Sebastian I knew was sweet and gentle and loving, but you … you can be like that, but your anger scares me. The hatred I saw in your face and heard in your words—that was hard for me. I can see that you think I let you down badly ten years ago, or seven years ago … and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that, but I can’t fix it either—I can’t change the past.”

He turned away, staring out at the sea.

“I’m confused about what you want from me, Sebastian. One minute you say we’ve been given a second chance and that we should try again, and the next minute you’re blaming me for every bad decision you’ve taken in the last ten years. If you hate me that much, if you resent me that much,
why am I here?”

“I don’t hate you, Caro,” he murmured.

“Sebastian, you called me a liar; you said you could never trust me.”

He winced, but I was determined to see this out.

“You asked me to come with you on this trip, and then the first time something goes wrong, you fling the past in my face. If you really believe I did what I did because I didn’t care, then I don’t see how we’re going to get past that.”

I hoped he’d offer something, some insight as to what he was thinking, but his lips remained pressed together.

“Look. I wouldn’t be who I am now if I hadn’t met you—that’s the truth. I’d probably still be locked in a loveless marriage. But that’s only half the story.”

Finally he looked at me.

“It was really tough for me when I got to New York. I had almost no money, no contacts, nowhere to live, no job. Do you want to know how I survived? I cleaned people’s houses; I scrubbed their toilets. For three years. Until eventually I earned enough from my writing.”

“I didn’t know,” he said, softly.

“No, because you didn’t give me the chance to answer you last night.”

I wondered if he could see how cruelly he’d behaved, but his next question took a different turn.

“You said you dated a couple of times.”

“Excuse me?”

“The first night we talked. I asked you if you were seeing anyone, and you said you’d dated a couple of times.”

“Yes, so?”

“When?”

“What, you want dates?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “I met Bob on my 35th birthday when I was having drinks with friends. We dated for three months and then he was transferred to an office in Cincinnati. Eric was a couple of years later: we dated for about six weeks before he dumped me for a younger woman.”

“That’s it?”

Oh, what the hell
.

“I had a one night stand with a reporter when I was on assignment in Mexico. That’s it. Now you know my entire sexual history. Although I very much doubt you could be as succinct about yours.”

For a moment, he looked angry, then he gave a wry smile. “I deserve that.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“Are you okay?” he said, quietly.

I shook my head slowly. “Not really.”

He sighed. “I am sorry, Caro. I just get fucked up in the head sometimes.”

“You can’t deal with it by lashing out at me. And
I
can’t deal with it if you keep blaming me for something I can’t change.”

He put his head in his hands. “Don’t give up on me, Caro.”

“Last night I thought
you’d
given up on
me
.”

A pained expression crossed his face.

“Can we start again, Caro? I promise I’ll try not to fuck up again.”

I took a deep breath.

“Sebastian, it’s not a case of ‘starting again’; it’s about working things through when we have a problem. Funny enough, it was you who taught me that, ten years ago: you made me face up to things. You can’t promise me you won’t fuck up, because you will. And I can’t promise you that I won’t fuck up, because I will. We can deal, and we can move on. Or, we can say it’s been an interesting few days, and go our separate ways.”

He reached over and tentatively took my hand.

“I want to go on. With you.”

I wasn’t even sure why I was agreeing to this. My head was screaming for me to get out now,
but my heart had gone in another direction entirely.

I nodded my agreement. “Okay, then. Let’s try.”

“And I promise not to sleep with your best friend, especially if it’s that scary British woman I saw you with in Geneva.”

I could see he was trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t quite ready to joke about it.

“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “Another foot-in-mouth moment.”

I tried to smile, but I probably just grimaced at him.

I pulled my hand free, and sat back to sip my lukewarm espresso.

He picked up some of the pieces of his eviscerated roll and chewed solemnly.

“Did they say anything about last night? The people at the villa?”

“Not really. They were mostly embarrassed. I think we’ve managed to ruin it for any other Americans who might want to stay there. But the old lady told me that you’d be back.”

Sebastian looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, and I’m pretty certain it was me not you she was applauding last night. She probably thought I should get a medal for putting up with you.”

“Yeah,” said Sebastian, smiling softly, “a Purple Heart.”

“Wounded in action?”

His smile slipped away. “I’m really sorry about what I said.”

“We’re moving on, remember? But, for the record, apology accepted.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ate some of his roll, more for a distraction than anything else, I guessed.

“I got drunk and fell asleep on the beach,” he muttered. “In case you were wondering.”

His voice was so quiet, I could hardly hear him.

“Well, thank you for telling me.”

“I panicked when I woke up: I thought you might have gone. And then I saw you walking along the road. At first I was relieved but then … I just thought you’d walked out on me. That’s why I was…”

“…such an ass?”

His smile was rueful.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Well, like I said, thank you for telling me. Now, what’s the big plan for today?”

He smiled his first, genuine, relieved smile of the day.

“I thought we could go to Pisa—take a look at that big, old leaning tower. It’s about two hours away.”

“Sure, that sounds fun.”

I’d always found it hard to fake enthusiasm—something my ex-husband had pointed out on numerous occasions. But I was trying. For Sebastian’s sake. For our sake.

He finished his breakfast, threw some Euros on the table and stood up to go. He held his hand out to me and, a little awkwardly, I took it.

His hand was warm and dry, the skin across the top, soft, while the palms were slightly rough, as if he’d done some manual labor recently. I hadn’t noticed that before. I wondered why I did now.

When we got to the bike, he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.

“I really want to kiss you,” he said, gazing at me, a mixture of anxiety and need etched on his face.

I hesitated, and it was just long enough to see his expression change to hurt.

“Okay,” I said, quietly.

He rested his hands lightly on my waist and I raised my face to his. He touched his lips to mine and I felt the familiar tug of desire. I pulled back quickly.

“Caro…”

“Just hold me, Sebastian. Just hold me.”

I laid both my hands on his chest and leaned my cheek against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” and I felt him kiss my hair several times.

Eventually, he let me go and I gave him a brief smile.

“We’ll get there,” I said, quietly.

Whether I was reassuring Sebastian or myself, I didn’t know.

CHAPTER 7

If I hadn’t known that Pisa was a university town before, I knew it as soon as we drove along the main thoroughfare. The streets were packed with twenty-somethings, all casual-chic in that way foreign students do so well. By comparison, I felt scruffy, dusty and well-traveled. Being dog-tired didn’t help either. I was looking forward to finding accommodation where I could have a long, hot shower and sleep in a quiet, comfortable bed—alone.

It was clear that we’d arrived during some sort of festival, because music blared from every café and ristorante, competing with the street entertainers and musicians who seemed to be performing on every street corner.

Sebastian carefully steered his bike into the corner of an overwhelmed municipal parking lot, surrounded by battered Fiats and old Renaults. I was a little nervous about leaving my laptop, but at least I had all my notes stored on a flash drive in my wallet, if worst came to worst.

“Are you taking your camera?” Sebastian asked me.

“Might as well. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to sell a travelogue of biking through Italy.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “It’s got to beat reporting from shitty military camps in fucked up countries.”

I shrugged, not feeling in the mood to explain my obsession. Sebastian caught the hint and wisely let the subject drop.

The famous leaning tower was only one of a number of architectural marvels. The central plaza, the Piazza del Duomo, was also home to the beautiful Romanesque cathedral and the 900 year old Battistero or Baptistry.

It was a strange feeling, wandering among such antiquity while surrounded by irreverent youth, one of whom kept trying to hold my hand. I was glad that I had my camera as a chaperone. I didn’t feel ready for the level of intimacy Sebastian clearly felt was needed. It was hard to explain to myself: I’d said I’d try, but I felt on edge being near him, as if I was waiting for him to explode again. Our earlier, relaxed mood was going to take some effort to achieve. Instead, I felt tense and ill at ease.

After an hour of wandering, I could tell he was beginning to get bored just ogling old buildings, although he did his best to hide it, which I appreciated. I recognized that he preferred action to introspection, but right now I needed to let my mind rest on the centuries’ old mysteries I saw all around me. I found it soothing and I couldn’t help wondering if my father had ever visited Pisa. There was no particular reason why he should have, but still, he might. I liked to imagine that he wandered around here as a young man before deciding to try his luck in the New World. After all, in the sixties, he’d have heard the siren call of Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan and Woodstock. By comparison, Italy would have seemed dull and dreary, dragged down by postwar depression.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said Sebastian, quietly interrupting my musings.

“I was just thinking about Papa—wondering if he ever came here.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up and he smiled.

“I really loved your dad, Caro. I was kinda jealous of you when I was a kid—I wanted so badly to have a dad like him, not the sack of shit I was saddled with.”

He scowled at the memory.

“Do you … keep up with your parents at all?”

He shook his head.

“Last time I saw the old bastard was at my graduation from boot camp.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised, “that was … nice of him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? He only did it because he knew it would piss me off to have to salute him.”

“Oh, right. What about Estelle?”

He shrugged. “She’s still in San Diego. Ches sees her around now and again. He banned her from the country club—drinking.”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at me. I didn’t say anything, but I hoped he was aware of the parallels in their behavior. Of course, being in the military didn’t make for many teetotalers.

“They got divorced a few years back. Dad shacked up with some stripper. I don’t really know. What about your mom? Do you see her?”

I shook my head. “No, we’re not in touch. I know she’s living in a retirement home in Florida, but that’s all.”

“Why aren’t you in touch? She couldn’t have been as bad as my mom.”

“Don’t be too sure about that.”

He hesitated, but I could tell he was curious. “What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything, Sebastian. That’s the point. When I … when I left David, she told me I’d ‘made my bed so now I could lie in it’. She didn’t want anything to do with me. Wouldn’t lend me a red cent to help out when I went to New York. She wouldn’t even send me any photographs of Papa. I only have a couple of old pictures of him.”

Sebastian tried to pull me in for a hug, but I resisted him without even being aware of it. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Do you see anything of him … David?”

“No. We had to correspond over the divorce papers, but that’s all. I believe he stayed in the Navy. You said you tried to see him … when was that?”

Sebastian frowned and stared off into the distance.

“About four months after you’d left. It was killing me not knowing how you were, or where you were, or how to get in touch with you. Dad had already trashed my computer and deleted all my email accounts before I went to live with Mitch and Shirley. I didn’t even think the bastard knew how to do that stuff. Took my cell off me and smashed that, too. Anyway, I was getting pretty desperate, so I went to your old house—but it was a waste of time. The asshole yelled at me that I’d ruined his marriage; I told him he didn’t deserve you and was a bastard for the way he’d treated you. He threatened to call the police. That was it.”

I sighed.

“You don’t feel sorry for him do you, Caro?” said Sebastian, angrily.

“A little. He just married the wrong woman, but he wasn’t a bad man.”

I could tell from Sebastian’s expression that he disagreed strongly.

“But you didn’t ruin my marriage: David and I managed to do that all by ourselves. You … freed me.”

His angry expression dissolved, and his eyes gazed at me with wonder.

“Please let me hold you, Caro. It’s driving me crazy that you won’t let me touch you.”

He reached out, but I stepped away from him.

“Just … just give me some time, Sebastian. I don’t deal with rejection well.”

“Is that how you see it? That I rejected you.”

I stared at him. “Of course. There’s no other way to see it.”

He ran his hands over his hair in frustration.

“Fuck, Caro! Last night was about my shit, not about you. Don’t you see that?”

“No, I don’t. Not really. But I don’t want to go over that again. I’m trying to put it behind us … I just need time.”

He sighed and his shoulders sagged slightly. “Okay.”

There was an awkward silence, but I’d learned that there were two ways to guarantee Sebastian’s good humor—and sex was off the menu.

“Do you want to go find somewhere to eat?”

He gave a small smile.

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d say that. Do you feel like Italian?”

“Oh, very funny. You should be on ‘Saturday Night Live’.”

We wandered through the crowded streets, trying to enjoy the party atmosphere. I began to relax—a little.

“What about that place over there because…?”

Suddenly, I was shoved from behind and I lost my balance. Sebastian caught my elbow but my camera strap had been tugged off my shoulder.

“My camera!”

I pointed at the fleeing figure but Sebastian was already off the blocks and running. The would-be thief got perhaps a hundred yards down the road before Sebastian tackled him, knocking him to the ground.

By the time I got there, the man had blood pouring down his face from where Sebastian had punched him—more than once, by the look of him.

“Sebastian, no!” I gasped, as I ran up behind him.

At the sound of my voice, he uncurled his fist and stood up, handing my camera back to me. An angry crowd had started to gather, and without knowing what had happened, their sympathies were with the bleeding man.

“We’d better get out of here,” Sebastian muttered.

“What about the police?” I gasped, my eyes mesmerized by the blood fountaining from the man’s nose.

“Fuck them!” he snorted, and grabbed my hand, towing me through the ring of people who were watching the show with grim fascination. There were a few angry voices aimed at our backs, but no one tried to stop us.

Sebastian darted down a side-alley, pulling me after him and a moment later, we emerged into a wide piazza. I began to breathe normally again, but I was feeling shaky. I knew it was a combination of an adrenaline rush on top of an empty stomach.

“Are you okay, Caro?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, weakly.

He didn’t look convinced.

“Come on,” said Sebastian. “You should eat something.”

I nodded, and didn’t argue when he led us into a small café that looked like a fifties diner, with high stools ranged along a Formica bar.

“Thank you for saving my camera,” I said, quietly.

Sebastian looked surprised, then pleased. “I was waiting for you to chew me out for hitting that guy.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped punching him when you did, obviously, but I’m very fond of my camera. I worked hard to afford to buy it. Thanks, Chief.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Caro,” he said, shaking his head.

I didn’t know what he meant, but right there and then, I didn’t really care either. I reached over and took his hand. “How are your knuckles?”

He chuckled quietly. “Much better now,” he said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.

The waitress sauntered over to take our order and I could see her taking a keen interest in Sebastian. He saw the direction of my gaze and smirked at me.

“Not my type,” he whispered.

“I’m glad to hear it. She’s not mine, either.”

For just a moment, Sebastian was caught off balance, then he smiled wickedly at me.

“Not interested in three-ways?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, casually. “Do you have friends in the Marines who are as cute as you?”

He frowned. “No. I don’t.”

I laughed. I’d finally won a round of verbal teasing. Things were looking up.

Over dinner, we began to talk naturally with each other again. Sebastian told me more about his life in the Marines and the work that he did—although I sensed there were things he couldn’t tell me, as well.

He asked me about my assignments, and more about Liz and Marc; when and how I’d met them. And I told him about my little bungalow in Long Beach, and about Jenna, Alice and Nicole, and how they’d been among the first people I’d met when I’d arrived in New York.

I was relieved to see that he stuck to just the one bottle of beer, which also helped me to relax. I was putting off the moment when I’d have to tell him how much he scared me when he’d been drinking. But not now.

I stifled a yawn.

“Are you tired, Caro?”

“Yes, definitely ready to head for bed, Sebastian. To sleep.”

He smiled, but didn’t comment.

“Okay, let’s see what we can find. There were a couple of streets I saw online that are mostly pensiones. Should we try one of those?”

I liked the idea of staying in one of those small hotels: they were usually family run and, although modest, friendly and fun, too.

“Sounds good.”

Sebastian paid for the meal, waving away my suggestions that we take turns to pay, or split the bill. I was too tired to argue, but added it to my mental list of ‘things to talk about’. It was quite a long list.

There was, however, a tricky subject that I wanted to bring up, and I didn’t know how he was going to react.

“Sebastian, don’t get mad at me, and don’t read too much into this…”

His expression was already worried as I plowed on.

“…but I’d really like to have separate rooms tonight. Just…”

My voice trailed off as a kaleidoscope of emotions flitted across his face. The predominant emotion seemed to be hurt, but there was anger and frustration mixed in there, too.

My body tensed, a primal fight or flight reaction, but he nodded his head slowly.

“Whatever you need, Caro.”

I let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Thank you.”

But our relaxed banter had, predictably, vanished, and we walked in silence.

“This is the street,” he muttered, pointing toward a long line of narrow townhouses.

The first two pensiones were fully booked and the third could only offer a single room. It wasn’t looking too good.

“We could try going more upscale,” said Sebastian, obviously irritated, although whether that was with me or the accommodation, I couldn’t tell.

“Well, we have to walk along this street to get back to the main hotel area, so we may as well try a few more on the way,” I suggested.

“Yeah, okay.”