“Oh my God!” she says. “Like Jeffrey Epstein!”
“Yep,” I say. “There’s always one of those guys.”
“That’s terrible. Those poor children.” Hannah shakes her head. “Did he go to prison?”
I pull up Wikipedia on my phone. “No criminal charges, but he was eventually booted off the island—and out of Italy, for that matter. Later, they changed the name of Krupp Gardens to Augustus Gardens.”
“They should have changed the name of his stupid path, too,” Lainey says, frowning. “Are you sure you want to take that route? Isn’t there a straighter shot down?”
“Nice try,” I say, knowing she’s just trying to get out of the trek. “But if it helps, I read that the walk is very Instagrammable.”
She smiles and says, “In that case, I’m in.”
—
True to form, Lainey takes photos the whole way down the footpath. Mostly, she takes pictures of the scenery or selfies with Hannah, but occasionally she insists on a group shot of all three of us, which is a tedious process. First, she recruits a stranger, never bothering to gauge whether said stranger is in a hurry or in the middle of a conversation or has their hands full. Second, instead of just giving her Good Samaritan creative license, she issues detailed instructions about her preferred composition. Vertical, please. Just a tad higher! Did you get the sky? Make sure you don’t cut off our feet! Third, and my least favorite part, is that once the favor is granted, she holds the stranger hostage while checking their work, deciding whether to release them or ask for “one more shot.” I keep waiting for someone to lose patience with her, almost hoping that they will. But not only does everyone indulge her every request, they seem downright enchanted by her.
Needless to say, her shenanigans slow us down quite a bit. By the time we get to the bottom, we are all starving, having long since burned off our breakfast. I suggest we get lunch before we hit the beach.
“Can we go to La Fontelina?” Lainey asks.
“Is that the beach club you showed me on TikTok?” Hannah asks.
“Yes,” Lainey says. “With an attached restaurant. Okay with you, Tyson?”
“Sure,” I say, consulting a map, then leading us down a path lined with wildflowers and sea grass.
About three hundred meters later, we arrive at what is clearly a very popular spot. The open-air restaurant has a line of people waiting to get in.
“Darn,” Hannah says. “We should have gotten a reservation.”
“Hmm. Let me call Alessandro. I bet he can hook us up,” Lainey says without missing a beat.
We haven’t even been in Italy for a full twenty-four hours, and she is already working her connections.
A few seconds later, Lainey looks over and gives us a big smile and a thumbs-up.
“All set,” she says as she rejoins us. “Alessandro’s best friend is Chef Mario!”
She beams at us, like we’re supposed to know who that is, and a moment later, we are being seated at a prime table under a rustic straw-covered pergola, overlooking a small rocky beach. Instead of sand, there are slabs of limestone scattered with blue-and-white lounge chairs and matching parasols. The jet-set crowd is chic but laid-back.
Hannah and Lainey are seated across from me, and they keep up a running commentary on attractive men in our vicinity. They seem to be especially taken with a guy behind me who Hannah says is giving her Jude Law in The Talented Mr. Ripley vibes.
Lainey slaps the table and says, “Oh my God! Yes!”
I glance over my shoulder, then turn back to face them. “The foppish dude with the sideburns?”
Hannah nods as Lainey tells me to stop being so obvious.
I shrug and look out into the distance, my thoughts making their way back to Summer. I picture her now, warming up before a race. The determination and concentration on her face as she went through her routine, a combination of light jogging and dynamic stretching. Then, at the starting line, she always did one explosive jump, high into the air. I never asked why, but I assumed it was to wake up her nervous system—give it a jolt before the gun.
I tune back in to hear Hannah pointing to the cliffs. “That’s the spot where the Sirens bewitched Odysseus,” she says.
“The who?” Lainey says.
“The Sirens,” Hannah says. “In The Odyssey.”
“Oh. Never read it,” Lainey says, looking proud.
“Didn’t everyone have to read The Odyssey?” Hannah asks.
“I did,” I say. “Twice. In high school and college.”
“Well, I didn’t go to a fancy prep school,” Lainey says. “So don’t leave me in suspense—who are the Sirens?”
Hannah explains that they were mythological winged monster women, part bird, part human. “They’d hypnotize sailors with their angelic voices, luring them off course before drowning them,” she finishes.
“How ruuude,” Lainey says with a laugh. It’s one of her catchphrases from college, which she got from some sitcom.
“Wait!” Hannah suddenly says. “Do you remember what book Summer was reading the night we all met?”
Lainey shakes her head. “No clue.”
I look over at Hannah, thinking. I remember a lot about that night. I remember I was watching the Yankees–Orioles game. I remember thinking that all three girls were attractive and seemed cool. I remember being impressed with Summer as we discussed her running. But I do not remember what Summer was reading—if I ever knew in the first place.
“The Odyssey!” Hannah finally says.
“Oh, wow. That’s wild,” Lainey says. “Do you think that had anything to do with her wanting to come to Capri?”
