Lost in Italy by Stacey Joy Netzel Page A

enough to put on her shoes.  She straightened and searched for something familiar.  Something... any thing to point her in the right direction.
    Nothing appeared much different from where Ben and Rachel left her.  Pedestrians filled the walkways and cars streamed past.
    Her feet refused to move, frozen to the sidewalk.  She took in the activity in every direction.  So much going on, people going about their everyday normal lives, but she was all alone in this foreign country.  Lost.  With no clue which direction to turn.
    Her shoulders slumped.  What had made her think she could do this on her own?  She crossed her arms over her stomach, wishing for a reassuring hug from her sister.
    That thought brought her up short.  Before the debilitating anxiety fluttering in her stomach could multiply, swell, and take over, she dropped her hands to her sides, squared her shoulders and gave herself a stern admonishment.
    Quit being such a wimp.  You’ll fail for sure if you give up before you even try.  You got out of the house, didn’t you?
    A loud wolf whistle to her right made her jump.  Two black haired boys waved her over, their wide grins glinting white against tanned skin.  A smile quivered on her lips.  They looked no older than teenagers, but if they knew English, she could ask them directions to the police station.
    The cool lake wind blew a damp strand of hair across her mouth and she reached one hand up to tuck it behind her ear.  One of the boys called out in Italian.  She couldn’t understand the words, but the suggestion in his tone was universal.  Didn’t even need the vulgar hand gesture in his lap for translation.
    “If you are wet, fighetta , we can get wild.”
    The other one stood, spread his arms and then pointed to his crotch with both hands.  Gross .  She flushed straight to her roots and then the heavily accented words registered.  Halli glanced down at her shirt with the forgotten shiny blue rhinestoned words.  Frickin’ Trent Tomlin .  He’d obviously planned to amuse himself from the choices he’d given her, and now she was the one who had to pay for it.
    Both the boys laughed and another whistle split the air.  Halli spun away from them to the left, even though it would take her right past Trent’s place.  She was probably screwed either way.
    A taxi cruised toward her, its light on top the roof of the car a blessed beacon of reprieve.  She may live in small town Wisconsin, but she’d seen enough movies to recognize that widespread symbol.  She practically jumped in front of the darn thing to wave it down, then ran around to slip into the back seat.
    “Police.  La polizia ,” she implored, interrupting the driver’s rapid, scolding Italian mid-stream.  “ Please , take me to the nearest police station.”
     
    ****
     
    Halli’s fingers clenched on the small plastic cup in her hands.  A conscious effort loosened them again.  The stupid shirt was bad enough without adding an ugly stain of black espresso.
    She stared through the window of the bare-bones room the female officer had put her in.  Greco she’d introduced herself.  Without a clue how to address the police in Italy, Halli went with Officer Greco.
    What was the holdup?  Did it really take the woman an hour and a half to call the US Embassy or Consulate to verify the photocopy of her passport was legitimate?  It shouldn’t take a genius to figure out she was the live version of the black and white picture.
    She’d requested to call Ben on his cell phone or at the hotel, but the man in charge insisted on filing paperwork before allowing her a phone call.  He hadn’t been mean about it.  On the contrary, despite taking forever, they’d been nothing but nice to her so far.  So she tried to tell herself things were different in a foreign country, that’s why where was a delay.
    It didn’t help.  Based on her childhood experiences with her parents, she couldn’t help but feel like a criminal.
    She