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.There was an undercurrent here that she didn't understand.Maybe because she wasn't Italian or because it was a guy thing.Whatever it was, soon they were back at the dining table, everyone but Marco, and it was hard to tell there'd been a disaster outside.Marco's grandmother was ladling sauce onto the pasta and urging everyone to eat.Rocco was pouring wine and Magdalena's baby had fallen asleep in her lap.As far as Anne Marie could tell, listening to the babble in Italian with Rocco translating from time to time, no one spoke of the accident, or the non-accident, whatever it was.When Marco came in, his grandmother passed him a plate of pasta and he began to eat as if nothing had happened.Only the set of his jaw and a deepened line between his eyebrows hinted that anything was wrong.After a few minutes of trying to follow the conversation Anne Marie felt bold enough to ask a few questions of her own.“Is everything straightened out?” she asked Marco who was seated across from her.“I mean with the police and so forth.”“More or less.As you saw, the car is damaged.I don't know if it's worth repairing or not.The tow truck is on its way.In the mean time I must rent a car, but there isn't anything available.The tourists have cleaned out all the rental agencies.”He certainly didn't sound like a man devastated by the loss of a beloved car, Anne Marie thought.Perhaps Rocco exaggerated or maybe Marco was good at hiding his true feelings.“I still don't understand how someone could have hit a parked car from behind with such force,” she said.“I was wondering if it had something to do with being followed when we were.”She stopped abruptly when Marco sharply nudged her with his knee under the table.“Followed?” Rocco said, setting his fork down.“Who was following you?”“No one,” Marco said.“She is mistaken.Americans have imaginations which are, how do you say, overbaked?”Rocco reached for Anne Marie's hand.“Don't worry, my car is here and I'll drive you wherever you need to go.”“There must be another way besides the bus or car,” she said, pulling her hand back.She did not want to get involved with another Moretti or be indebted to anyone.She looked around the table.“Train.boat.?”Magdalena nodded.“Si, barca per Salerno.”“That's right,” Marco said.“There is a boat to Salerno.We can take you to the dock where you can catch it.From Salerno you can take a train or bus to Paestum.”“Perfect,” Anne Marie said with a surge of relief.She would be on her own, away from the man to whom unexpected violent things seemed to happen and away from his eccentric but charming family, too.She would be on her way to meet Giovanni at last.And alone.“What is not so perfect is that your suitcase has been damaged.” Marco said.“I am afraid your clothes have been soiled by petrol when the gas tank ruptured.I'm sorry.”Her heart sank.She'd forgotten her suitcase was in the trunk.How could she continue her vacation without the clothes she'd so carefully selected from catalogs for their easy wash n' wear characteristics, their many pockets and sturdy zippers, their matching coordinates and wrinkle-proof fabrics?No matter how anxious she was to survey the damaged suitcase, she soon realized that nothing could or should interrupt an Italian meal, no matter how casual the gathering.Not until everyone had eaten at least two helpings of pasta and several pieces of warm crusty bread, and drained their wine glasses, could she go outside with Marco to look at her bag he'd placed on the front porch.She gasped at the sight of the smashed suitcase with a gash on one side and a huge ragged hole on the other.The lock had sprung open and she could see her clothes were indeed coated with thick, smelly gasoline.“Mamma mia,” his grandmother said from the doorway.She pressed her hand to her heart and exclaimed at the sight.Magdalena, who'd left her sleeping baby in the living room, wrinkled her nose when she got a whiff of the flammable liquid.Rocco hovered over Anne Marie's shoulder, surveying with undisguised interest her once-pristine new underwear, now gasoline drenched and reddish colored, and Marco looked like he wished he'd never seen her or her suitcase.She was sorry about his car, but glad that he had more to worry about than getting her to Paestum and being her tour guide.“It's all right,” she said quickly.“I can get some new clothes.When I go home I'll have these all cleaned.They'll be as good as new.” Thank God she'd put the yearbook in her tote bag
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