Shadows of a Tuscan Moon

SHADOWS OF A TUSCAN MOON

A Novel

SANDRA CARRINGTON-SMITH

&

GIOVANNI LOGLI

Copyright© 2018

By

CROSSROADS BOOKS

This book is dedicated to men and women in our community who suffer in silence.

We would like to thank everyone who has supported the conception and creation of this book. Our friends, families, and everyone in the community who has come to our aid with information, feedback, and support – we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

PROLOGUE

I wish I could say my brain is in a fog, because it would mean that ghosts from my elusive world are still dancing beyond the soupy thickness. Instead, I see nothing and I feel nothing, as if the hard drive of my mind was wiped clean, with only emptiness left behind. I have been awake for a while, though I don’t know if it has been minutes or hours. My eyelids feel heavy, and I crave the memory of something familiar to help me make sense of this void, but thoughts slip away before I can catch them, as grains of sand spilling through dry fingers. I have been listening for sounds outside my door since I woke up, but I hear none. Is anybody even out there? The blind on the window is drawn, but sunlight filters through, and I wonder what I will see if I look outside. I push off the covers and sit for a moment at the edge of the bed, delighted to feel the cool floor beneath my feet. I wiggle my toes and run my fingers over the sheets, as I look around and take in the whole of the room. My bed is one of three pieces of furniture. The other two are a small white nightstand, and a small table with a matching chair. There are no pictures hanging on the white walls, nor is any medical equipment tucked away behind faux decorations, strategically placed to give patients the illusion they are in a hotel room instead of a medical setting. Is this a hospital room? What is this place? I stand up and walk toward the window, determined to see if I recognize anything outside of these walls, eager to find something I know, and terrified that I will be disappointed if I look. I see a folder laid out on the table, and my heart skips a beat. Is that my medical chart? Maybe if I see my name, memories of my life will come back to me. My legs tremble a bit as I reach for the folder with shaky hands, but when I open it all I see are three clean pieces of white paper. I feel anger rising from the pit of my stomach and tears burning my eyes. As though impelled, I grab the folder, crumple it between my hands, and fling it across the room…just as the door opens, and a woman walks in.

Good morning, you are up finally. A plump woman dressed in powder blue scrubs enters the room and closes the door. You have slept for several days, dear. How are you feeling?

I scan the details of her appearance, hoping for memories, but I am sure this is the first time I have ever seen this woman. Her eyes are the color of amber and set far apart, and her facial structure is round, framed by a cascade of soft, caramel curls that make her look like a middle-aged doll. I sigh deeply, and as I inhale, I detect a faint scent of gardenia emanating from the woman and hovering around her like an aura. Where am I? Is this a hospital?

Yes, dear, she says, as she strolls briskly toward the window and opens the blind. A wave of sunlight washes into the room, bringing to life tiny specks of dust floating in the air.

Why can’t I remember anything? I ask impatiently. I don’t even know what my name is.

I wish I could help you remember, but unfortunately, I don’t know what your name is—none of us does. The doctor will come to see you shortly; maybe he can help.

Well, what is your name, then?

My name is Elena, and I am one of the aides here.

Elena. I like that. It fits you.

Elena smiles, still standing by the window. Well, come on, then. Let’s get you dressed. There is a change of clothes in the cabinet in the bathroom.

I follow her into the bathroom, and watch her produce a set of clothing from a folded bag tucked into the cabinet. Are those my clothes? I ask, hopeful.

Elena just smiles sweetly. They are now, dear. I am quite sure they are your size.

"Yes, but are they my clothes? Is this what I was wearing when I got to this place?"

I don’t know, sweetheart. I was instructed to give these to you, but I was not told where they came from, or what you wore when you arrived. As I said, hopefully the doctor can provide some answers to your questions. I will step outside while you change. Let me know if you need any help. With those words, Elena exits the bathroom, leaving me once again alone with my thoughts. I look forward to meeting this doctor and getting some answers, as — apparently — he is the keeper of knowledge in this place. I strip off my gown and slip into the blue sweat suit Elena left on top of the cabinet. I can’t remember if these clothes were ever mine, but at least I like the color. I wonder if I have access to a brush and maybe a toothbrush. I open the bathroom door and call out for Elena.

Elena, do you know where I can find a toothbrush and some toothpaste? And, if I am not asking for too much, a brush or a comb for my hair?

Elena is changing my bed, but she lifts her head immediately when she hears my voice and turns in my direction. Yes, dear. Open the top drawer of the cabinet. Everything you need is in there. There is also a pair of shoes, in the small compartment underneath the drawers.

I find the items I need and, within minutes, am ready to meet the doctor, so I step out of the bathroom and march resolutely toward the table by the window, to sit on the chair and wait for him. I don’t have to wait long. As soon as I sit, I hear a knock on the door and a tall, slim man walks in. His hair is thin on the top, and he wears a white shirt with no tie and a pair of black pants. I can’t really see his eyes too clearly behind the dark-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, but I think they are blue. He strolls towards me with a smile pasted on his face and his right hand extended, ready to shake my own.

Hello. It is very nice to finally see you awake. My name is Dr. Castelli and I have been following you since you arrived.

I shake his hand, and I am ready to fire questions. I am glad to meet you, doctor. Elena has been very helpful but she doesn’t have any answers for me, and I am hoping that maybe you can help me remember. What is my name, and why am I here?

Dr. Castelli flashes a fatherly smile. I wish I could help you with that, my dear. Unfortunately, you came to us in a state of confusion, and we were unable to determine what led you here.

I could feel frustration edging up again. But who brought me here? And what is this place? I am close to tears.

I suppose you could say we are a retreat of sorts. People come to us when they need to heal and figure out where they are going next. You came in on your own; nobody brought you here.

So, this is like a mental hospital?

Not quite, but it is okay if you see it that way. You will meet other patients who are also struggling to remember, and others who are trying to develop different types of coping skills. Some of our patients have lived through extremely traumatic experiences and they are working through them, but you will hear their stories directly from them, during group therapy. Maybe listening to what they say will help you remember your own events. You see, when a person experiences something extremely traumatic, their mind sometimes chooses to hide those memories, to avoid going through the same pain again. I believe that’s what happened to you. Whatever happened was bad enough for your mind to shut itself down.

Will I ever remember again? I am almost in a panic.

It depends on what you will allow yourself to accept. You might gradually come to remember everything, you might only remember parts of it, or you might choose to remember none of it. Only time will tell. Dr. Castelli’s tone is calm and matter-of-fact.

How can I choose that?

You don’t. You can only become stronger and learn to accept that certain things happen. When you reach that point, your subconscious will probably send out a sample, to see how you deal with it. If you can handle it, then it will send out increasingly larger amounts of information. Dr. Castelli looks directly into my eyes. Part of becoming stronger is to understand that you oversee how things will work out from any given moment on. Once you have a plan, events will take place and your choices will dictate the direction things will be moving. You always have a choice, even when you think you don’t.

I nod at the doctor’s words, but not a single syllable escapes my lips. I wish I knew what happened, I wish I knew if I have a family, parents, a husband, children, friends. I feel alone; displaced. Apparently, I am a prisoner of my own making.

Dr. Castelli sighs deeply. Well, I must be off to see some other patients. Will you join us in the meeting room in ten minutes? We will have coffee and pastries, and then we will start our daily group therapy.

Of course. How will I find the meeting room?

Take a right outside your door and come to the end of the hallway. It is the last door on your left.

With that he was gone, leaving me alone with even more questions than I had before.

CHAPTER ONE

Please come in. Dr. Castelli’s voice is calm and welcoming when I enter the room. Six women are mingling and talking with each other, all standing near a table at the far end of the room, and they automatically turn to look at me when they hear the doctor speak. I feel a little self-conscious about introducing myself, since I don’t even have a name, but I take a deep breath and make my way toward the gathering.

Hi! Thank you for joining us, one woman chimes in. Don’t be nervous. I was unnerved myself, the first day I came to a group meeting, but we are all friends here. It won’t take you long to get to know everybody.

I nod with a smile, and study her for a moment. She has long, black hair, and her olive complexion is blemish-free. She is probably just a little over five feet tall, with a medium build, and her smile appears sincere. She extends her hand and waits for me to shake it. My name is Giulia. It’s great to meet you.

Hi, Giulia. I don’t know my name, but it is nice to meet you, too, I reply a bit awkwardly.

Giulia smiles knowingly. A shadow of sadness darts across her eyes, but vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. Yes, I struggled with my own identity, too, when I first arrived. But, they prefer that we choose a new name here, anyway. It helps with recovery. Dr. Castelli explained that assuming a new persona creates a distance between ourselves and the pain we have experienced, and it makes it safe to remember. I really liked the name Giulia, so that’s the one I picked, and I think it fits me. Is there a name you like particularly?

I am not sure…

Giulia reassures me as soon as she feels my hesitation. Don’t worry about it now, you’ll think of something. Let me introduce you to Rita, Gina, Arianna, Romina, and Olivia. We all came here looking for answers. As you will hear from our stories, once we begin our group meeting, we all share similar situations, and we find strength in identifying our past suffering with one another. The worst feeling one can experience is to be alone, to feel like no one understands. Knowing that other women have gone through similar ordeals really helped me put things into perspective.

The first woman steps forward and, rather than shaking my hand, she hugs me tightly. I am not sure what her name is, since Giulia mentioned all their names at once, but it feels good to hold someone, and for a second I don’t want to let go.

I am glad you could join us she says. Giulia is right. I, for one, came here with a very dark outlook on things, and I gather now that I was just really scared, but once I realized it wasn’t just me — that other women know what I went through because they also lived through similar events — I was suddenly able to look at my own situation without shame. I have come a long way since I arrived.

How long have you been here? I am a little hesitant to ask, but I am fishing for something to say.

The woman laughs heartily. I am not sure. I once asked Dr. Castelli why we don’t have clocks or calendars anywhere in the facility. He told me that keeping track of time adds stress, because one feels pressured to achieve certain milestones within time frames, and it is best to just focus on healing instead of keeping logs. But, if I had to guess, I would say that I have probably been here a few weeks. It feels that way, at least. And my name is Romina, by the way. I am sure that hearing all our names at once made it a little confusing for you.

I suddenly like this woman, and I am grateful she told me her name before I had to ask. There is something about her appearance that puts me at ease. She looks unpretentious, with shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes framed by glasses, and a slightly chubby build. I am unsure of how old I am, but at first look, we appear to be about the same age: mid-thirties, early forties at most. Her smile is friendly and contagious, and I find myself smiling back at her, exhilarated by the instant connection.

One of the other women smiles timidly and approaches to hug me as well, but just as her hand touches my arm, Dr. Castelli’s voice preempts her greeting, and she retreats gracefully. If you ladies are ready, we might as well begin.

I follow the other women to a circle of chairs in the middle of the room, and sit beside Romina. The others take a seat and wait quietly for the doctor to start.

Good morning, ladies. I hope you are all doing well this morning. We have a new member in our group, who arrived here in a state of confusion. She doesn’t remember who she is or what happened to her, and she can benefit from these sessions to regain a sense of identity. Have you thought of a name you would like yet? The doctor’s question suddenly turns the spotlight on me, and I shift nervously in my seat.

I haven’t really given it much thought. In all honesty, all of this is still a bit surreal. I feel like a child who was just born, and now I must pick a name to write on the birth certificate. Will I be able to change my name back once I remember my real one?

Dr. Castelli nods softly. It will be up to you. You are the only person in charge of your own life.

"Okay…let’s see…I feel like I should open up. Flowers open when the light of the sun warms them, and they know the time is right to unfold. I will call myself Rosa. Hopefully it will prove a good omen.

The circle of women nod, welcoming my suggestion. I like that! Roses are beautiful, says the woman two chairs to my right. She has short, light blond hair, dark eyes, a beautiful smile and, somehow, the impish gleam in her eyes reminds me of a mischievous tomboy. She appears to be around 45 or 50 years of age, dressed in a pink sweatshirt and jeans.

As I scan the faces around me, all I see is kindness. I don’t know what led these women here yet. Whatever it was, though, they all seem to be at peace now, connected by a common thread of soul survival, and — although they are perfect strangers — I feel linked to them. I want to pick their brains, see if anything they have seen or done can trigger a memory of my own; but I know I must be patient and, as Dr. Castelli explained, give myself time to recall my life gradually. I will be happy when I can at least remember something. Anything.

I really like Rosa, also. Dr. Castelli says. with his usual fatherly smile. Well, let’s get started by introducing ourselves. Giulia, I noticed that you took the lead in welcoming Rosa when she first came into the room. Would you like to start?

Certainly. Giulia places her notebook and pen on the floor and crosses her legs, as she relaxes against the chair. Let’s see, where should I start? She purses her lips as if absorbed in deep thought for a moment. Yes…my name, as I said, is Giulia. I have decided I am not going to use my old name any longer, because doing so would only bring me back to my old reality. I used to be married to a man I thought was the epitome of masculinity and charm. He was strong and imposing, and he always made me feel like he was in charge. I didn’t really have a problem with that—my family is from the south, and historically, men are the dominating figure in a family structure. I don’t even know when my husband’s assertiveness morphed into abuse; it was such a gradual shift that I was taken completely unawares. Lots happened, and eventually things got worse, but I will tell you more in detail later. Regardless, I am here now, and I am at peace. Giulia pauses and smiles, then looks at the woman beside her. Gina, would you like to take it from here?

Gina nods and tucks a lock of blond, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. When she looks at me, I notice a hint of sadness in her soft blue eyes. She is wearing an olive green, short-sleeved shirt and a white skirt to her knee; the only jewelry she sports is a pair of tiny diamond studs on her lobes. Gina looks a bit older than the rest of the crowd, and her demeanor and appearance make me think of a teacher.

My name is Gina; my story is different from the others, but the common denominator is that I allowed another person to crush my body and my soul. I believe now that the reason I didn’t see it coming is because I, like many others, had come to think it was normal to be treated like an object. I felt uneasy about the attention I was receiving, but I hid those feelings from everyone: my family, my close friends, my students.

Students?! So, she really is a teacher?

I wanted everyone to believe I had a good life and a handle on things. I couldn’t stand the thought of being pitied by anyone, or for any of my friends to see me as weak or vulnerable. Now I think I should have handled things differently, but unfortunately what happened cannot be undone. Gina touches the corner of her left eye as if to stop a tear from escaping. Whatever she went through is obviously still affecting her emotionally. She is quiet after that, and for a moment, the pain she is experiencing impregnates the air.

One of the other women takes the cue, breaking the wall of silence. She is petite and blond, with her hair cut short. Her hazel eyes are warm, and she smiles frequently. Hi, Rosa. My name is Arianna, and I believe I am one of the veteran residents here. I came a long time ago, and although I feel completely healed, I have decided to stay and help others on their path of recovery. The life I had before is gone — one can never go back to trusting blindly again — so I accepted my new identity and asked the doctors if I could just continue living here, as a support to other women who have undergone similar experiences.

From the corner of my eye, I notice one of the other women nodding while Arianna speaks, and I wonder if her story is similar to the one I am about to hear. I nod as well, silently encouraging Arianna to continue.

As I was saying, Arianna continues softly, "I arrived here unsure of what to do, and almost literally eating myself up with anger and fear. My life was quite ordinary and, in its