Allora

By Ginger

 (I know, I can't believe it either.)

Author's Note: This one is dedicated to nightowl, who is #1 on the list of things this fandom brought into Ginger's life. Heartbreakingly, nightowl left this far-too-often cruel, unfair planet far too soon in May 2014 after a long illness that she fought valiantly - truth be told, she kicked ass in finest Miss Parker style and more than doubled her doctor's estimate of "good years." I miss my dear friend every day and will miss her every day for the rest of my life. I am and will always be profoundly grateful for the privilege of knowing her. It's been over two years and this is the first time I could even think of rejoining Miss Parker and her lab rat, and could only do so by placing them in one of my favorite places in the world, an ancient city of beauty and earthly delights that is probably the most life-affirming place I've had the good fortune to visit. Here's to peace, love and kick-ass women everywhere. XOXOXO

Sezione Uno:  Quando a Roma vai, fai come vedrai... When in Rome do as the Romans (do)

Café, Piazza del Popolo, Roma

As she settled into her seat overlooking the Piazza, Parker noted the heat hanging in the air even as sunlight yielded to dusk. Summer was rolling in quickly, which meant that it would likely be months before she'd enjoy another Aperol spritz in her favorite resting spot after a long afternoon of shopping on the Corso. Soon Central Rome would be overrun by overheated, sunburned tourists and it would be time to get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak, and retreat to the relative quiet and cool of the mountains. Hence one last shopping trip, not for herself for she had long ago simplified her wardrobe just as she had simplified her life (anyway, once you've worn a bright orange jumpsuit every day for three years you pretty much stop sweating the small stuff), but to stock up on gifts for the visitors she'd be welcoming to her house in Umbria this summer, as she had every summer since she relocated to Italy a decade earlier to rebuild her life.

The guest list was small that first year, just Syd, but had grown incrementally and considerably since. While she was still plagued by guilt and feelings of unworthiness, and had made peace with the fact that such feelings would likely always be with her to some extent, she now willingly accepted the love of the people she was stupendously fortunate to have in her life, and did her best to return that love tenfold. And, yes, therapy had helped. Who'd have thought? Well, besides know-it-all Sydney, who during his visit that first Italian summer had referred her to one of the most respected trauma therapists in Europe, a brilliant woman who'd spent the last two decades treating victims of war, genocide and various other manmade calamities.

This year would be special, though, because she would be welcoming one visitor for the first time. She smiled at the thought of it. She hadn't expected Debbie and Sean to make the trip this year but was as close to giddiness as she was congenitally capable of getting when Debbie insisted that "Oliver meet Nonna Parker." Broots and Juliette would be joining them, Grandpa and Grandma Broots serving as welcome additional hands to manage an eight-month-old baby on a transatlantic flight, and Parker was looking forward to seeing a man for whom she held deep reservoirs of affection bask in the glory of grandfatherhood almost as much as she was looking forward to meeting Oliver. If Juliette's reports were accurate it was something to behold. Grandpa Broots... wonders never cease.

So momentous would be the occasion that Thomas had opted to forego science camp at Princeton this summer to spend his entire break at the Umbria house. Then again, what self-proclaimed "geek" needs science camp when they have Uncle Broots? Her only concern, she thought wryly, was how to keep them from hacking into the European Central Bank for that was a headache she did not need. She missed her baby brother, hardly a baby now and more a man with each passing day, and was counting the days until he'd be home from school. It seemed much longer than a month had passed since she'd dropped him back at school after their Easter road trip through the Black Forest, and it wouldn't be long before he'd be off to college and, as ever-more-frequent murmurings about MIT suggested, an ocean away.

Parker was so deep into her mental checklist for closing the Trastevere house and opening the Umbria house that she wasn't even conscious that she'd replied "Sì" when the waiter asked if she wanted another until a fresh drink appeared before her. Waste not, want not she mused, running her finger over the sweating glass. She was in no hurry. She loved the city, the anonymity it afforded. Who'd have thought that she, of all people, would become so enamored of simple pleasures? A Prosecco cocktail (ok, so maybe everyone who knew her could imagine that part), basking in a warm spring evening, quietly ruminating and watching people living life in this ancient place as they had done for millennia - an old woman in widow black shuffling to one of the Piazza's three churches to light candles and pray to the Blessed Mother and favorite saints (for everyone has their favorites); young lovers holding hands as they rush by on their way out for the evening; an affluent-looking Chinese couple stopped in the near corner of the Piazza, their eyes affixed to a smart phone presumably to place themselves geographically; a young Roma man selling cheap plastic flying toys by the fountain.

"A penny for your thoughts... or, more accurately, a cent since we're in the Eurozone."

That voice... from behind her. As inclined as she was to spin around to confirm with her eyes what she already knew from that old familiar tingling of every single cell of exposed skin, she restrained herself. She just couldn't, wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Some old habits die hard. Instead, she replied in a voice that conveyed a nonchalance she did not feel,

"A cent doesn't buy you much these days, Jarod."