Miss Extra Charge

I was trying to keep my suitcase upright on the cobblestones when Alessia Vale looked at the wheels, looked at me, and said, "If you want me to carry that, it's an extra twenty." The suitcase tipped toward the gutter. "I thought you were my guide." "I am." She caught the handle before the case hit the ground. "Carrying luggage isn't included in the walking tour." She wore a cream jacket over a black dress, with her dark hair twisted into a knot that looked effortless in the way expensive things did. Her face had the composed, attentive quality of someone who could take notes during a disaster and make the disaster feel heard. I handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "Cash is fine," she said. "And thank you." "I haven't thanked you yet." "You will when we get to the hotel." Bellacosta's narrow streets climbed from the harbor in a tangle of stone stairs and laundry lines. I'd arrived that morning after a nine-hour flight and a three-hour train ride, and my hotel was somewhere above the old market. I'd chosen the city because it was supposed to be beautiful, walkable, and unfamiliar. I'd chosen the guide because I'd spent the last year telling friends I wanted to learn how to travel alone. So far, I'd learned that my suitcase was too large and that the woman helping me expected to be paid for helping. At the hotel entrance, Alessia set the case down and handed me a card. Her name was printed in elegant black letters above a phone number and a list of services: city orientation, food tour, market visit, museum escort, custom itinerary. "Can I text you if I get lost?" I asked. "Of course. A quick direction is included in today's tour. If it turns into a rescue mission, I'll quote you first." "You really do charge for everything." "I charge for work." Her expression stayed pleasant, but her eyes sharpened. "People are usually happier when they know the cost before they say yes." I put the card in my purse. "I'll keep that in mind." "Good. I'll be here at ten tomorrow. We'll start with the harbor and finish at the cathedral. Three hours." "I'm looking forward to it." "So am I." Alessia took one step backward, as if putting a boundary between us was part of the service. "Get some sleep, Nora." I watched her disappear down the hill, then carried my own suitcase up the hotel stairs. My room was small, blue-painted, and pleasantly cool. I unpacked, washed the flight from my face, and opened my phone. There was a message from my sister. Maya: You made it? Please tell me you met a handsome stranger on the train. I typed, "I met a woman who charges extra to carry luggage," then deleted it. Nora: Made it. Hotel is lovely. Maya: And how are you? The question sat on the screen. I put my phone facedown. I'd come to Bellacosta four months after ending my engagement. My ex, Ben, had left me a polite email explaining that he loved me but didn't want the life we'd planned. He'd also kept the apartment we shared, because the lease was in his name. I'd spent the spring moving into a smaller place and telling everyone I was fine. The trip was my first attempt at doing something without a partner, a friend, or a carefully scheduled group around me. At dinner, I picked a restaurant from the hotel's recommendations and sat at a table for one. I ordered pasta, then watched a family across the room argue cheerfully over a bottle of wine. When the waiter asked if I wanted dessert, I almost said I'd wait for someone. Instead, I ordered the lemon cake. It was good. I ate it alone. The next morning, Alessia arrived exactly on time. I met her in the hotel lobby with my phone, my purse, and a new pair of shoes already rubbing the back of my heel. "Comfortable?" she asked. "Mostly." "Mostly means not comfortable." "I can manage." "Sure." She started toward the door. "If you need a pharmacy, that's outside the tour." I followed her into the bright morning, determined not to need anything. We walked to the harbor. Alessia knew the names of the old warehouses, the families who had owned them, and which cafés made their own almond biscuits. She never delivered facts like a lecture. She gave me the small, human details: the baker who had taken over his mother's shop; the fisherman who still named his boats after his daughters; the local councilwoman who had fought to keep the harbor public. I found myself talking more than I meant to. I told her I worked as a freelance book designer and that I'd once wanted to spend a month in Europe. I didn't tell her why I had waited until now. At a harbor café, I ordered espresso and fumbled with my wallet. Alessia paid for her own coffee before I could offer. "You don't have to keep everything separate," I said. "I don't have to," she agreed. "I prefer to." "Is that a rule?" "It's a practice. Rules are easier to break." She said it lightly, but I heard something serious beneath the words. I wanted to ask what had happened to make her say that. Instead, I looked at the harbor. By noon, my heel was blistered and my head was buzzing from the heat. Alessia noticed me walking unevenly. "Do you want to stop at the pharmacy?" she asked. "Is that extra?" "Yes." I laughed, though I wasn't sure why. "How much?" She named a fee. I said yes. At the pharmacy, she helped me explain the problem and bought a pack of blister pads with her own money. I tried to reimburse her. "Keep the receipt," she said. "That part isn't extra." When she left me at the hotel, I had the sense that I'd paid for the help and still been given something freely. I couldn't decide whether that made me feel better or worse. That evening, I sat in the hotel lobby and drafted a message to Maya. I'm having a good time. I think. I sent it before I could edit the uncertainty out.