Sometimes Dean wondered about the mental health of his friend Adam. He knew that his heart was in the right place and that he was always looking out for Dean’s best interests, but a limousine? If Dean had hoped to sneak unobtrusively into the town of Borgotaro unnoticed, this most definitely wasn’t the way to go. Heads were swinging toward him like someone had just whacked them with a baseball bat. The expressions on the faces of the good folk of Borgotaro were priceless and clued in - this wasn’t some ordinary visitor arriving. So much for under the radar!

He had climbed into the limo from the steaming, dirty pavement outside Linate airport in Milan, and, although he had been sitting for hours and the last thing he wanted to do was sit some more, , he was grateful for the air-conditioned interior.

“Is it always this hot?” he had asked the driver, a stern-looking guy with a brimmed hat pulled firmly down onto his forehead, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviator glasses.

“Si,” the driver had said and closed the limo door as Dean swung his legs inside quickly. The door barely missed his shin. He had a charmer here. Except for the occasional curse word (at least Dean figured they were curse words) on the busy highway leaving Milan, the man hadn’t uttered another word. The silence was okay with Dean. Once they were out of the confines of the city and headed toward the mountains, the scenery was breathtaking. Dean had only rarely traveled abroad for the international releases of the Rolling Thunder films. The movie settings themselves were so very American. No exotic, foreign locations for him, and lots of days spent in the hangars of studio lots. During those few trips he had taken abroad, he'd been so heavily scheduled that there was rarely time for acting like a tourist. When he did find himself with a few spare hours he was often too exhausted from the fast, furious schedule and multiple locations. This drive through an unfamiliar area, with nothing to do and no one jabbering at him about appointments and responsibilities, was fascinating, and it only got better.

During the last half hour of the trip they drove deeper into the heart of the mountains. He caught quick glimpses of it stretched out before him like a snake rushing away through a garden bush. He was glad he didn’t get motion sickness. The driver treated this bending highway as though it was an unending straight line. The lurch of the car peeling around several sudden curves had caused Dean to slide uncontrollably and slam into one or other of the padded doors on the back seat while he frantically searched for a hold before he went slamming in the other direction. They had left the highway at an exit clearly marked Borgotaro and Dean was hoping for a quick, smooth finish to the adventure, but the curvy roads seemed endless. It took another fifteen minutes before they passed under a rail bridge, then drove under an overpass and turned toward a smaller road bridge that crossed a shallow, rocky river bed into the village of Borgotaro.

Dean was instantly smitten, funny looks from pedestrians notwithstanding. Across the bridge, at the entrance to the town, was a row of ancient brick houses. Directly in front of him were steps leading up from the road and through a small passageway between these old buildings. Perhaps it led to the main street of the village or to a shady plaza. People were everywhere. Some with dogs, most with bags of shopping over their arms, and there seemed to be hundreds of kids.

The driver took a left turn then swooped around a large curve onto a street hugged by large oak trees. The trees cast lacy, dappled shade over what looked like an abandoned hotel. Rather than being a blight on the landscape, the empty building gave an air of mystery and character to the surroundings. The limo had to stop to let a family pass in a crosswalk so Dean got a glimpse down what must have been the main street on his right even as he was ducking his head in embarrassment at the children staring openly at the shiny, black limo.  On that main avenue, marked ‘Via Nationale,’ he saw crowds of yet more shoppers, strolling unhurriedly down the cobblestones. No vehicles were allowed, and the sidewalks were full of wooden decks perched outside the restaurants. The crowded tables were packed with men and women sipping drinks and chatting and laughing with each other. He felt a strong pull towards them, toward that slow, gentle life of friends, family, and food.

They were driving again now, past a leafy park on his left side. On his right, there was a square with more restaurants and outdoor tables and an old movie theatre with large Hollywood posters in Italian on the walls around it. Then the limo turned and started up a long, steep hill. He glanced at a sign and saw the street was called “Via Bellinzona.” There didn’t seem to be much “town” in front of him now, just rows of towering, stately homes. He figured they must be nearing the end of the journey.

They pulled up to a row of coral colored townhouses and he spotted Sara standing outside the front gate on the driveway, a bundle in her arms and a wide grin on her face.

“He’s here!” she called behind her, and a sturdy, robust woman emerged from the bottom level of the house followed by an even more sturdy, robust and older man. They, too, were grinning like mad people, and Dean felt his face light up in return. He had a soft spot for Sara. She’d been with Adam a long time so she felt very much like a sister to him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her until that moment.

The limo pulled slowly to a stop, the driver yanking the parking brake on the steep hill, and Dean climbed out of the car.

Sara passed the bundle to the woman who must be her mother and barreled into Dean’s chest. He dropped his hand luggage on the road so he could give her a proper hug.

“Are you okay, Dean? I’ve been so worried about you since Adam mentioned you were ill. How do you feel? Have you eaten? Mama made a spread. You must be starving after that long journey. Come and see your godson!” Adam laughed at her enthusiasm as Sara pulled him toward the others. “Mama, Atillio, this is Dean McLean, one of my favorite people on the planet. Dean, this is my Mama, you can call her Stella, and this is Atillio. Atillio is the sindaco of Borgotaro. That’s like the Mayor in the US. He’s a big fan of Rolling Thunder.” Sara took the bundle back from her mother and peeled back the blanket to reveal a pink and perfect face, a miniature replica of Adam, fast asleep. “And this…,” she said, “is Andrew. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Dean leaned over and brushed a feather light finger across his flushed cheek so as not to wake him. He had visited Sara in the hospital when baby Andrew had been born, and he had looked sort of like an alien. Now he looked like a baby from a TV commercial; all fat, juicy cheeks and long, black eyelashes. How could Adam be missing this? “He is certainly that Sara. He was gorgeous in LA, and now he’s even gorgeouser. Italy is obviously good for him.”

Sara and her mother exchanged a quick look, but Dean pretended not to notice. It wasn’t his place to ask why Sara she was still here if Adam didn’t want to tell him. But it made him sad to think that they might be having problems. Sara was the best thing that had ever happened to Adam, and he was a better man when he was with her. He was crazy to be so far away from his beautiful wife and growing child. Dean felt a lump in his throat. If he had a family as perfect as this, he wouldn’t let them out of his sight for a minute. He turned his attention toward greeting the two older people. He put his hand out toward Stella, but she batted it away and stepped forward to pull him into a tight hug; so tight he had trouble catching his breath.

“You are so very welcome to our casa, Deany.” She was so short that her head was tucked neatly into his armpit and he smiled at the sound of her daughter’s pet name for him being spoken in her Italian accent. It was like the added “E” sound on the end simply wasn’t enough vowels, so she added another; the word coming out as “Deenia.” It could be worse.

“Thank you so much for having me, Stella. It is kind of you to allow me into your home during such a busy time with your grandson and all.”

“Pah!!” She stepped out of the hug and smacked his arm with surprising force. “You are family, no? There is always room for family. Family should always be first. Right, Sara?” She shot a look in Sara’s direction from under her huge monobrow. “Family should be together.”

“Ma…” Sara shifted the baby in her arms but didn’t look up.

Dean could see her discomfort and broke the tension by turning to Atillio and shaking his hand. “So, from the little I saw on the drive here, you have a wonderful town to look after. It’s a beautiful village; you must be proud to be the leader.”

The old man’s face broke into a smile, his lips stretching from deep within each plump cheek. He reminded Dean a little of Yoda. His head seemed to sink into his round body and his collar poked into the bottom of his chin. Dean imagined that he was probably an athlete in his youth, perhaps a rugby player, or more likely a sturdy defender on a soccer team, considering they were in Italy. His grip was firm and enthusiastic; his hands felt callused against Dean’s palm. This man was a hard-worker. Dean liked him immediately.

“Thank you, son. Thank you. I have so much love for my village and the people, and I have so much love for you. You are very good in acting. Your movies are happy movies. We have seen them all here in Borgotaro.”

Anxiety flickered in Dean’s stomach. “You’ve had my movies here? People here have seen them?”

“Of course we have seen them. We are so proud to have the Producer of the film as one of Borgotaro’s sons. We show them all.”

“One of the Producers?” He was confused. There were only three producers, all of them Hollywood big-wigs. None from Borgotaro as far as he knew.

Sara stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “He means Adam, Dean. Adam may have given the impression that he was the Producer. We were visiting here when Rolling Thunder Two came out a few years ago, and he presented it at the local theatre. There was some confusion from the townspeople as to his role, so he just told them all he was a Producer. You know how he is.” She turned to Atillio. “Adam isn’t the Producer, Til, remember?”

“Of course, of course.” Atillio’s arms waved around in the air as if there were mosquitos attacking. “I say producer, you say director.”

“Well, he wasn’t the director either,” grumbled an irritated Dean. What happened to, ‘No one will know you, Dean. You’ll be invisible there, Dean.’ Adam had known he wouldn’t be invisible, but he’d sent him here anyway. That was annoying.

Atillio grabbed the suitcase at Dean’s feet and took Dean by the arm with his firm grip, guiding him towards the townhouse. “So you have wonderful timing, Dean. You see, next week starts the tourist season in our humble town, and we have parties, big parties. Will you host the first party for us?”

Sara jogged up behind them patting the baby on the back as she ran and he gurgled. “Til means events, not parties Deany. They have events in the squares. Like concerts and stuff, you know? The first one is next week, and Atillio was wondering if you wouldn’t mind opening the season. Kind of like a grand marshal kind of thing, you know? I asked him to wait for you to settle in before he asked you, but…” She shot Atillio a playful scowl.

Dean stopped in his tracks, Atillio took a few seconds to realize they were now standing still and jolted to a stop in surprise. Dean turned to the three of them, desperation molded onto his face. “I was kind of hoping to go incognito while I was here. I was hoping we just wouldn’t tell anyone it was me and I could maybe enjoy a little quiet time?” Stella and Atillio exchanged an amused look and Sara didn’t even bother trying to hide her giggle.

“How do you propose to do that?” Sara said, her giggle infecting Stella who gave a tiny snort of mirth.

He felt his heart sinking. It was just as he had suspected. All of the people of Borgotaro knew who he was, and next they’d be asking what he was doing here. What was wrong with him. This was not going as planned. He hadn’t been here for more than a few minutes, and already he realized that he might have been played. Why would Adam send him here at all?

“Sara, Adam said it would be fine here. That it was a small town and no one would know who I was. No one would recognize me.”

Sara’s smile dropped from her face. “Well, there was your first mistake, Deany. Listening to Adam.”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I listen to Adam?” Dean looked around in confusion, but the other two wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Since when did Adam start telling the truth about anything?” Sara sighed and shifted the bundle in her arms; the baby hiccupped from within his cozy cocoon. “You’re a really sweet guy Dean, but sometimes you can be blind where Adam is concerned.”

Dean felt his stomach drop. What had Adam sent him into? He knew Adam had been having some marital difficulties, but he’d decided to stay out of it because he didn’t think he could be a neutral party, he loved them equally. Now it sounded like maybe their problems were worse than he’d thought, and Adam had dropped him right into the middle of it.

“Sara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Sara took a deep breath and pulled the baby closer to her chest. “No - I’m sorry, Dean. It has nothing to do with you. I told Adam that we mustn’t bring you into it. I almost said no to your visit, but it sounded so good, having you here with us. Anyway….” She smiled weakly at her mother who patted her on the arm. “Let’s go inside and get you settled. Til, how about we give Dean a few days to adjust before we start throwing gigs his way, huh?”

“Gigs?” Atillio said, “I don’t know this word, gigs.”

Dean felt awful. Here he was worried about being recognized when Sara was struggling with some real problems. He crossed to her and pulled her into a hug. “I don’t know what’s happening with you two, Sara, but as you know, I love you both. I’m not taking sides if there are truly sides to be taken. Okay? And I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I should have. I just thought that you both wanted time and space. It didn’t occur to me that you might be struggling and that’s pretty crappy of me. I’ll be a better friend now I’m here. I promise.”

Sara smiled at him, although her eyes were shiny with pooled tears. “No, I’m sorry Deany. This is a terrible way to welcome you to what is supposed to be a respite of peace. Why don’t we have a cup of coffee and then you can go out for a walk and explore a bit? This mountain air will do you good, no doubt. You can keep your head down, and maybe you won’t be accosted... if you’re lucky.” She jabbed an elbow into his side and grinned at him. “Want to carry Andrew, and I’ll show you to your room?”

Dean accepted the warm, wriggling bundle. Looking down at that perfect, little face, he felt a mixture of crazy gratitude that he was here and terrible guilt that he'd been such a bad friend. He should have called Sara sooner. Once again he felt that uneasy edge of anxiety creeping in. Was it Hollywood that was making him so self-involved? Was his job changing who he was? He vowed to use this time in Borgotaro to figure out what this constant anxiety was all about. Was his body trying to send him a message? If so, what was it?