The mountain of wet tissues in front of Hazel was growing. The scribbled to-do lists and shopping receipts spread about the kitchen table were now hidden under a growing pile of tears.

Indigo had her chair scootched as close to Hazel's as she could and was rubbing her back with long soothing strokes. Indigo could be difficult but Hazel loved her mother. She'd walked in here this morning, seen Hazel crying and hadn't said a word. She'd been sitting with her now for ten minutes without saying a word.

Hazel put her out of her misery. "I had lunch with Liz yesterday."

Indigo stopped stroking and banged her other hand on the table, tissues jumping. "I knew it! Liz again! That girl is out to get you, sweetie."

"No mother, the girl on top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa making out with my supposed boyfriend has it out for me."

"What?" Indigo rubbed again. "You're not making sense. What would Dean be doing making out with another girl? He loves you."

"First of all, Dean has never said any such thing. Second, I don't know. But he was there. And he didn't look like he hated it. She must be some kisser. Dean was plastered against the side of that tower like he could melt into it." When Dean and that woman had come into her view she'd frozen, for a full fifteen seconds she couldn't move. She’d stood there watching them. It had looked so passionate, like a scene from a movie.

"Wait," Indigo said, "Why were you up on the Tower of Pisa, anyway? And what’s Liz doing in Italy?"

She sighed. She didn't want to get into this with her mother but she'd started the conversation now. "I was meeting with Liz to see if I could get the company to advance me some cash. But she told me there is no chance of me getting my job back. She said we should sue. I'm doomed."

"Mmmm... I agree, sweetie," Indigo was staring off into space and clearly hadn't been listening. "I think I need to talk to Stella. Wait here."

Indigo leapt up from the chair, bashing her shin in the process, and sped out the back door. Even if it seemed sometimes that Indigo didn't have her brain, at least she had her health.

Hazel hadn’t stuck around to find out who the girl was who was snogging Dean. She'd turned and pushed against the tide of tourists, aching to be back on solid ground. Dean had yelled her name as she tumbled down the worn, sloping, stone steps. If her life were a movie, then he would have come chasing after her with logical explanations. He'd beg for her forgiveness in front of hundreds of iPhone wielding spectators on the lawn of the square. That hadn't happened. He hadn’t followed her. He didn’t care. She was crazy anyway. What made her think a movie star would find anything interesting at all about her. She was a neurotic, uptight mess, and a total plain Jane next to that vision of Hollywood perfection slobbering all over Dean.

She stared at the pile of tissues in front of her and hiccupped a sob. Right now she had no job, no boyfriend, no money and no options other than an expensive lawsuit she was bound to lose. Why had she even come to Italy in the first place? This had all been a huge mistake.

It was time for action. Not moping. Time to take matters into her own hands and get something, anything, done that would move her forward. She'd take a walk to the real estate office downtown and get this house appraised “as is”, and get it on the market. The price would be significantly lower with these half-finished renovations, but at least it would be something. She'd persuade Indigo to give Stefano a portion so he could get back on his feet, and she'd move Indigo in with her in Florida. At least then they could go back to Jax with a little money in their pockets and make a plan.

* * *

Antonio, the real estate guy, was laughing. He was snorting with laughter; like real, uncontrollable snorting and there might have been tears as well, but Hazel couldn’t bear to look at his laughing face long enough to find out. He had come highly recommended from the old men drinking at Gio’s - but Hazel didn’t think this was professional behavior.

“You want to sell before the month is over? Is that what you said?” He had calmed down just enough to lean forward, fold his arms across his desk and ask Hazel this question.

“Yes. I would like to sell this month. It’s a good house and I will offer it for a good price so it will move. What’s the problem?”

Antonio pulled a tissue out of the box on his desk and wiped his eyes, remnants of his giggle fit popping from his grinning mouth like hiccups. “The problem, sigñora, is that, perhaps no one told you, we are the middle of a crisis here in Italy. No money. No one has money. No one has money to buy a new house, especially one that needs even more money to live in it. Not a house that big. You have no chance of selling that house.”

Wait. This made no sense. The entire point of coming to Italy in the first place was to renovate and sell this house. That was Indigo's plan. In her US centric brain, she hadn’t considered the economic market. People were flipping houses in Florida all over the place; she’d seen it on the home improvement channel.

“By no chance, you mean…” She left the question hanging, having no clue how she'd intended to finish it.

Antonio smiled at her, this time with real sympathy in his eyes. “The only person who would buy a house like that in this market is a foreigner like you. I have maybe one foreign purchase a year and they look at houses for years before buying. That’s your only chance of selling, but it won’t happen this month. Or even this year.”

Hazel stood up from her chair, the legs scraping across the tiles. She needed to move quickly before she needed those tissues for her own tears.

“Thank you, Antonio. You’ve been helpful.”

She ran from the office. Once again tears were blurring her vision. She'd cried more in the last few days than she had in her entire life. She staggered across the street, ignoring the concerned "ciaos". If she didn't get herself together her lack of response and her appearance would start a round of intense gossip amongst the Borgotarese. She needed to stop somewhere quiet and get herself together before she stumbled home. A crumbling brick wall appeared in front of her so she sat down gratefully and wiped her arm across her eyes. As her vision cleared she realized where she was sitting. Right in front of the old hotel. She laughed. She laughed at those naïve daydreams of renovating this grand old lady. Her silly dreams of a quiet life in this lovely town living la dolce vita with Dean at her side.

It was crazy to think she'd even considered it. She belonged in Jax. This entire trip had been a mistake and had achieved nothing. She was worse off now than she’d been the day she left. Today she was yearning for her quiet apartment in Jacksonville. She should get back to quiet nights at home with her work and the occasional Netflix treat. She wanted to go home where she didn’t have to talk to anyone, where she could sink herself into work again, and where she could avoid any chance of human interaction. Look where human interaction had gotten her this time. She'd leave as soon as she could. They'd put the house on the market, leave it there, and cut their losses.

She crossed the street to Via National and headed toward the travel agency. Franco, the owner would take care of her. She'd be better off at home.