Ilaria sat at her tiny kitchen table staring into her espresso cup as if the dark coffee held the answer. She was waiting, again, for Il Postino, as she had waited every morning for six weeks.

She met Ray in her home town, San Casciano in Val di Pesa, during the town’s International Food Festival, held in June every year. He had been standing in front of the long Brazilian meats counter that night, casting sideways glances in her direction. The fifth time he looked at her, she smiled and said, “Ciao.” 

Tall, slim and good looking with wavy brown hair, he smiled back and said, “Ciao,” which, she guessed might be the extent of his Italian language skills. But, she was wrong about that. He had gone to medical school in Bologna and was reasonably fluent in the language. They spent the evening together sampling the festival’s different foods. When the vendors began to shut down, he walked her home to the second-floor apartment she shared with her mother. He explained he was from Kansas City, Missouri, where he practiced medicine as a pediatrician. He was visiting Italy, he said, to present at a medical conference in Florence.  

For the next two weeks, they were practically inseparable. Ilaria had to work, of course. She was a barista at one of the local cafés, but when the shops closed for the afternoon, they took long strolls together. She usually returned to work for the evening shift. Naturally, Ray sat on the promenade while Ilaria served the café’s customers, a mix of regulars and tourists. When her shift ended, he walked Ilaria home taking the longest route possible. Not wanting to give her the wrong impression, he never invited her to his temporary apartment.

As they walked to her apartment one night, she noticed he was being very quiet. Something was on his mind.  “Ray, what are you thinking about?” She asked.

He let out a sigh. “I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Are you teasing me?” She squeezed his hand hard.

“I wish I was, Ilaria, but I have business I must take care of. I’ve delayed it as long as I can.”

“I see. Will we ever see each other again?” She asked.

He stopped walking then. “Ilaria, I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I have feelings for you I haven’t felt in many years. I didn’t think it was possible for me to ever feel this way again.”

“Then I will see you, soon?”

“I hope so, yes. With all my heart, Ilaria.”

Ilaria noticed he said he hoped to see her, nothing definite, but she let it pass, afraid to ask what might prevent them from seeing each other again. “I must be crazy, Ray, but I think I’m in love with you.” They kissed, long and deeply then, neither one of them wanting to let go.

“I love you too,” he said.

“You know I can’t spend the night with you Ray, but if you take me to your place, I will be with you until just before the sun rises.”

They walked quickly down the narrow passageway to his tiny apartment. His hand shook as he tried to get the key into the lock. They made love the way people do who are staring into the face of uncertainty; doubt about the possibility of a future together. He wanted to walk Ilaria home afterward, but she refused. “It’s better if we are not seen together at this hour. Ti amo,” she whispered. It was after four in the morning.

Ray had already given Ilaria his address in Kansas City and they’d promised to write to each other.  

The very day he left Italy, in fact, while Ray was flying over the Atlantic, Ilaria wrote him a long and loving letter. She mailed it that afternoon, hoping it would arrive only a few days after Ray arrived in Kansas City. She decided to write him every morning but reconsidered when her friend Gianna said she shouldn’t be so pushy. They were sitting in church waiting for Mass to start. Ilaria’s mother, Elena, was sitting next to her.

“It’s better to wait,” Gianna said. “See if he writes back to you first. You don’t want to be so forward.”

Elena shook her head and made the Sign of the Cross. She had reprimanded her daughter, albeit softly, when she didn’t come home at a respectful hour the night Ilaria said goodbye to Ray. The woman knew only too well that tourists, especially Americans in her opinion, had well deserved reputations for taking advantage of naïve young women. As pretty as her daughter was, with her dark black hair and green eyes, Ilaria was shy, had always been so. This man, Ray, il dottore, was probably just another farabutto, a scoundrel.

When Ray didn’t write back to Ilaria right away, Elena’s suspicions were confirmed. She could only hope that none of her friends saw Ilaria walking home alone in the middle of the night. Ilaria’s romance with the visiting American was common knowledge in the village. Putting two and two together wouldn’t have been difficult for anyone who might have seen her hiking in the dark to their apartment.  

 

Now, sitting in her kitchen Ilaria heard the squeak of the mailbox cover open. She glanced at her mother who was standing at the stove frying a mélange of vegetables. In spite of her certainty that Ray was long gone, Elena said a silent prayer every morning that today there would be a letter. “Ilaria, via!” she said.

Ilaria jumped up and ran down the steps and opened the door. She reached for the mailbox, but the postman shook his head. No letter.

That afternoon at work, her brother, Matteo, a police officer, stopped by the café. “Ilaria, I have an idea. I have a friend who is studying in St. Louis, about 250 miles from Kansas City. Maybe he can check on Ray for you?”

Ilaria dropped the bill on a customer’s table and turned to face her brother. “Matteo, Ray isn’t interested in me. It’s time for me to face the truth,” she said. “I decided this morning to stop waiting for him. He’s not the man I thought he was.” She clasped her hands together. “Don’t put your friend to any trouble. It isn’t worth it.”

Matteo could see the determination in his younger sister’s eyes. But he could see she was also fighting back tears. “Come to my house Sunday after church. I’m grilling veal chops,” he said.

 

A week later, a young man walked into Doctor Ray McGillick’s office without an appointment. The receptionist explained that Dr. McGillick treated children, not adults. “I understand,” the man said. “This is not a medical situation. I am a friend of a friend with an important message for the doctor.” 

“I see. What is the message?”  

“It is personal in nature. I must see the doctor myself to deliver it.”

The receptionist was already getting irritated. “Your name? Does the doctor know you?”

“As I said, I’m a friend of a friend. My name is Francesco Altimari. May I see the doctor, please?”

The receptionist got up and slammed her pen onto her appointment calendar. “Wait here.” She walked through the door to the exam rooms and closed it behind her. For good measure, she locked it, worried their visitor might be up to no good. Ray was standing at a computer desk tapping in a prescription for a patient. “What’s up Donna?”  

“There’s a Francesco Altimari waiting for you. Says he’s a friend of a friend. He has a very important message for you.” She rolled her eyes as she said this.

Ray nodded. He’d been waiting for something like this. “Show him into my office.” He walked down the hall and around the corner to his office and waited.

As soon as Altimari stepped into his office, he motioned for the man to sit. “Is this about Ilaria?” He asked.

“Yes, it is,” Francesco said. “And I’m grateful that we don’t have to play guessing games, doctor.” He pulled from his vest pocket the letter Matteo had written to him, but Ray held his hand up.

“Her family wants to know why I am ignoring Ilaria after promising to write.”

“That is true. You made more than simple promises with her, no?”

“It’s a very complicated situation, Mr. Altimari.”

Altimari smiled. “In my experience, doctor, even the most complicated situations can be explained.”

Ray spoke to Altimari in Italian then, explaining his worries and his reasons for not contacting Ilaria. He assured Francesco Altimari that while his feelings for Ilaria were very real, his problems were too burdensome to ask a young woman to bear. He asked Altimari to explain all of this to Ilaria. He implored him to express his sorrow for breaking her heart if that was the case. “I know I should have explained these things when I was with her in San Casciano,” he said.

Francesco Altimari, a serious, young man, listened to everything Ray said without moving a muscle. He made no attempt to interrupt him. Nor did he ask any questions. He just waited until the doctor stopped talking. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the doctor’s desk for what seemed like an eternity to Ray. Finally, he stood and addressed Ray again in Italian. “Non parlerÒ di questacose a Ilaria o alla sua famiglia. Devi farlo da solo.” 

Ray nodded, his face filled with sadness. “So, you refuse to give Ilaria my message? You do realize you’re asking me to give her a chance to break my heart in person.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but isn’t there a chance that she will surprise you?”

 

Ilaria was busy at her job. It had been a month since her conversation with her brother. Her heart was mending, but very slowly. Matteo had tried to get her to go out with one of his fellow police officers, but she told him she wasn’t ready. She assured him that she was making progress, though. “I only wait for the postman on Saturdays now.” They laughed, but Matteo was worried about his sister.

It was a Saturday and she was assigned to the early shift at the café. It was quite busy; an unusually high number of tourists were walking the cobblestone streets. When her shift ended, she couldn’t wait to get home to take a shower. As she approached her apartment, she saw a man in the distance walking in front of her. From behind he looked like Ray, but that wasn’t the first time she’d imagined she’d seen him. Still, she felt a tiny surge of excitement and quickened her pace. As she got closer to him, her hopes were crushed. The man was pushing someone, perhaps a child, in a wheelchair. But when the man stopped in front of her door, her heart leapt, sure it was Ray now. Ilaria watched him closely. She saw him reach for her doorbell and stop, his hand in midair, only to drop his hand back to his side. She hurried to catch up with him. He turned when he heard her footsteps.

“Ray!”

They embraced and kissed like long-lost lovers. He pulled away and said, “Ilaria, I want you to meet someone. This is my daughter, Cassie.”  

Cassie smiled, her face and body contorted. She said, “Hi Ilaria.” Cassie had cerebral palsy.  

“Is this why you never wrote back?” Ilaria asked.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about Cassie. My wife left us when she was five because she couldn’t cope with the demands of caring for her,” he said. “You and I were having such a wonderful time together. I allowed myself to escape from my own life for a little while. When we fell in love, I became frightened.”

“Afraid I would turn away from you?”

“Yes. No one would blame you.”

Ilaria took this in, trying to make sense of what Ray was saying. She looked down and toed a loose stone. “Why are you here now, Ray?”

“I love you. And a very wise young man convinced me that I owed it to both of us to give you a chance to decide for yourself what’s best for you.”

“I see.” Ilaria looked up and saw her mother staring at them from the kitchen window. The woman made the Sign of the Cross. “Are you Catholic, by any chance, Ray?”

“No, but I’m willing to learn.”

“Good. My family will insist that we marry in the Church.”