Dean was missing something. He could feel it in the weird tension at Stella’s house. Something serious was going down with Sara and Adam, and Adam had left him in the dark. The question was, why had Adam sent him here without giving him any warning or any guidance as to what was happening in his marriage?

He felt another pang of guilt at the distance from Sara he’d let grow over the past few months. Dean had a problem with goodbyes. It was part of his background; growing up in foster homes you “got used to” goodbyes. When someone left, it was best to put that person out of your mind. The closer you were to the person doing the leaving, the further out of your mind you put them. When you were in the foster system, the people who left rarely came back. He had to admit that it was his fault that he hadn’t reached out to Sara, because there was a part of him that was mad at her for leaving. That tough, self-protecting shell he'd developed over the years had kept him from reaching out to his friend. Would he ever have a normal relationship?

He strained to put all of these stressful thoughts from his mind. After all, he was here to relax and repair, not wallow in self-recriminations.  And seriously, there was no excuse for not getting on with it. Just look where he was. Stella had fed him enough lunch for ten people and then Sara had kicked him out of the house.

“Go for a walk,” she’d said. “Explore the town and soak up the fresh mountain air and sunshine. It will help to clear your head. I should know.” She had given him a wan smile.

Maybe she thought he needed some space after her mother’s fussing and the prickly energy he could detect floating between them? Even so, Dean was glad she had suggested the walk, because she was right about the air. It was different somehow. Invigorating.

He took a deep breath and took in his surroundings. He was headed down a hill toward town, retracing the path the limo driver had taken. In front of him, he could see the church steeple and the roofs on the cluster of houses in the town center. The town of Borgotaro nestled like a baby bird, cupped in the picturesque mountains and hills that encircled it like large, protective hands. Tiny colorful houses dotted the surrounding slopes, and if he looked carefully, he could see cars winding up the mountains on cliffside roads. He quickened his pace, eager to see what else this treasure of a place had to offer. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he found the road he was on intersected with a broad street. Large, leafy trees shaded the raised sidewalk that ran alongside the street. The sidewalk was wide enough for large groups of family members to stroll together, chatting and laughing. It seemed everyone knew everyone else. Families often stopped when passing others to squeeze baby cheeks and pet enthusiastic dogs and puppies. The villas lining this street were even grander than the houses on the road he was leaving, but it looked like many of these had been turned into apartments as he could see multiple mailboxes at the front doors.

He took another big gulp of the mountain air. The air was sweeter in Borgotaro. His heart lifted with the sight of so many people outside, enjoying a good walk and time with their family. In Los Angeles folks rarely went anywhere but from a house to a car, or from a car to a restaurant. They certainly didn’t stroll down leafy sidewalks greeting other strollers as though they were long-lost family. He felt instantly at home here. This place was going to be good for him, he could feel it.

On his right was a huge park and he turned toward it, drawn by the laughing voices of children and the quaint wooden benches that lined the path. He imagined bringing down a book and lounging on one of those benches for hours. When was the last time he had read a book? As he passed the gelato shop on his right, he heard excited voices raised and steps quicken behind him. His recently acquired sense of relaxation drained when he turned and saw a gaggle of women approaching, chattering intensely with one another. He didn’t understand what they were saying, but he recognized those expressions. So much for going incognito. His heart sank.

“Rosa ha detto a mia madre che stava arrivando. Non le credevo!”

“Pensavo fosse uno scherzo!”

“Lui è qui! A Borgotaro!”

When the ladies realized he was looking their way, the excited conversation came to an abrupt halt, and they screamed in unison, “Dean! Dean!”

To Dean’s great dismay, he felt that rush of panic again. This time, instead of falling into the lens of a camera, he felt sucked into the huge smiles of the keyed up women in front of him. If he didn’t get out of here, he would embarrass himself and expose his “condition” to the public. He could picture the headline now, “Dean McLean, has ‘episode’ in Italy. Producers worried about his health.”

He forced his ‘Dean McLean: movie star’ persona to smile and wave, and then he turned back up the hill and started to walk as quickly as he could. The road was fading in and out in front of him.

Just breathe, Dean. Keep breathing steadily. Don’t hyperventilate.

There was a heavenly moment when he thought they wouldn’t follow, but then he heard their voices again.

“Dean!”

He had to get back to Sara’s house, but this hill suddenly looked like a mountain. He breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps. He walked faster.

“Dean! Dean!”

They were gaining on him. He should just turn around and talk to them. It would take five minutes of well-practiced schmoozing, and they would be satisfied and walk away, taking this anxiety attack with them, but when he willed his feet to stop, they refused. His body was on autopilot, and it was programmed to escape mode. Just a few steps ahead he spotted a left turn. He turned quickly and continued on. Could he lose them? Not a chance. The street he’d turned onto stretched before him endlessly. How could he get away? There, across the street was an old iron gate into a ramshackle house that looked deserted. Perfect. They’d never guess that’s where he had gone.