ALEX SPENDS MOST OF his first two days in Rome sleeping, interspersed with the occasional call home to the kids. He’s done enough travel, and enough pushing through jet lag over the years, that he feels justified indulging in rest. When he wakes up on the third day he feels more rested than he has in months, possibly since before Claudia was born. Or maybe even since Victor died.
It’s not just the sleep. It’s not having a schedule — filming, press, kids, or otherwise. For all the luxury in his life now, this one is entirely new. Even when he left Indiana for L.A., he’d had a destination and a plan.
When he finally does venture out of his room he snags a map from the front desk of the hotel. It’s not to scale, and the downright weird illustrations on it mark him out as a tourist. He isn’t
