It was dusk when the alarm went off and her jet-lagged body felt heavy when she rose. She showered and dressed in a simple black dress with a lightweight taupe shawl covering her shoulders, meant to hide the contours of her chest. Reconstructive surgery would have to wait until she returned, but for now she had pulled off looking halfway elegant.
Sara had the hotel call a cab and gave the driver the address on the invitation. This driver seemed in less of a hurry and Sara relaxed in the back seat. Florence was beautiful at night. Lights lit up large fountains in nearly every square. Balcony after balcony was filled with flowers and light.
The taxi arrived at the small gallery and she paid the driver and got out. For several seconds she stood outside taking a series of deep breathes, an exercise she taught her drama students to overcome stage fright. The gallery was crowded with people smiling and laughing and speaking a language Sara could not even begin to understand. The scene took on a surreal quality, considering that the day before she had been mopping floors, doing the laundry and sorting Grady’s boxer shorts. She had wanted to leave the house in pristine condition in the event that her plane went down and she didn’t return. It was her version of a mother’s warning to wear clean underwear in the event of an accident.
Thinking of home made Sara’s new-found courage falter. She turned to look for the cab that had dropped her off. But the narrow street was empty. She peered through the window to try to catch a glimpse of Julia. A tall man, impeccably dressed, gestured for her to come inside. Sara smiled awkwardly and stepped into the gallery. He handed her a glass of wine from a nearby tray and said something to her in Italian.
She thanked him.
“Oh, you’re American,” the man said. His English was as impeccable as his manner. “Are you a friend of Julia’s?”
“Yes, I am,” Sara said.
He smiled. “She’s in the back, greeting her admirers.” He motioned to the back of the gallery.
“I guess I’ll go get in line then,” Sara said.
“By the way, I’m Roger,” the man said. “I guess you could call me a friend, too.”
“Nice to meet you, Roger.” Sara smiled and held up her wine glass in a quick salute. “I’m Sara.”
He bowed. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
The crowd in the back erupted in laughter. Sara caught a glimpse of the woman that stood in the center of the crowd. Past and present collided. Her heartbeat quickened a bit. All eyes were on her old friend as if she were a queen among commoners. She hasn’t changed a bit, Sara thought. She asked Roger to excuse her and made her way toward the back. Everyone there was dressed in various renditions of black evening wear.
As Sara approached, she caught brief glimpses of the woman of the hour. Sara compared these glimpses to the girl she had once known. Her laugh was the same, as was her smile. Her long hair was pulled away from her face. Julia had always worn her hair long. Sara took a moment to run a hand through her short curls.
Sara was eight feet away but Julia’s back was to her. She debated what to say. Hi, Julia. Remember me? Or maybe she should call her Jules, the nickname she had given her as a girl. She feared an awkward exchange as she remembered their phone call weeks before. If their meeting was a repeat of that phone call, Sara would be mortified; forced to climb under an Italian rock somewhere to hide her humiliation.
Sara stepped closer. She was close enough to smell Julia’s perfume. Julia spoke to someone about her work, pointing to a canvas on the closest wall. Her Italian, from what Sara could tell was like a native and she appeared totally at ease in her surroundings.
What am I doing here? Sara thought. She was totally out of her league. She was used to mingling with teachers and soccer moms, not artists and Florentine elite. Not to mention that she was a one-breasted cancer survivor. Survivor being a relative term. She glanced toward the entrance to plan her get-away. Thirty steps, maybe forty and she could be out of there. Sara turned toward the door just as Julia pivoted toward her. Their eyes met. Julia smiled to acknowledge her, a presumed stranger and possible admirer. But then her expression changed. Julia’s smile widened. “Sara? Is that you?”
CHAPTER SIX
Julia’s smile evaporated any fear Sara had had about their meeting.
“Oh, Sara, what a surprise! It’s so good to see you!”
“You, too,” Sara said.
They embraced. Had it really been nearly thirty years? A scent of wildflowers permeated Julia’s clothing and her hair. Sara breathed her in, as if taking a hit of oxygen after being depleted for years. Julia had aged, of course, but at the same time had become more beautiful. Was that even possible?
“I can’t believe you came,” Julia said.
She stepped back to look at Sara again. Julia took Sara’s hand and Sara felt giddy; drunk with the knowledge that Julia was happy to see her.
“How did you get here?” Julia asked.
“The usual way,” Sara said. She flapped her arms like wings and instantly blushed her embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said. “I could get the Pulitzer for being lame these days.”
“Don’t be silly,” Julia said. “I always loved your sense of humor.”
Julia had not stopped smiling and Sara had to divert her eyes to withstand the attention.
“It means so much to me that you came,” Julia said. “Is Grady here, too?” She quickly scanned the crowd.
“No, he’s at home,” Sara said.
Julia asked where she was staying and Sara told her. “Very upscale,” Julia said. “But I insist you stay with me. I have a great little place and then we’ll have time to catch up.”
The owner of the gallery apologized for the interruption and spoke to Julia.
“He wants me to meet someone interested in buying one of my paintings,” Julia told her. “Don’t go anywhere. We have so much to talk about.”
Sara watched Julia be whisked away and turn on the charm with the potential buyers. She could sell anything, Sara thought. She had even sold Sara on staying with her. But this was something Sara didn’t mind being sold on.
Sara walked around and for the first time studied the art on the walls. Julia’s paintings were mostly abstract. Bold and with bright colors; lots of reds. Some things never change, Sara thought. Julia’s paintings had an energy to them that felt like Julia: dynamic, compelling. Sara translated the prices on the paintings from euros to dollars. Could you really make that much money painting? Too bad I can only draw stick figures, she thought.
Sara found a corner away from the crowd and observed the scene around her. She had never been around this level of sophistication. The women actually wore jewels. Sara suddenly felt tired. Considering how much sleep she had gotten these last few days, it was amazing that she could even stand. But none of this changed the fact that she was in Italy.
Several minutes later Julia reappeared with an elegant looking couple by her side. “Sara, I’d like you to meet my good friends Melanie and Max.”
“Welcome to Italy,” Melanie said. She greeted Sara with a quick kiss to each cheek. She was forty, at the most, and dressed in an elegant black pantsuit with short heels to match. She was almost as tall as her husband and slender.
“A pleasure,” Max said. He extended his hand to Sara. A slight middle-aged paunch was evident underneath his black jacket, but otherwise he appeared tan and fit. Because of his dark hair and eyes he looked like an Italian businessman.
“Max and Melanie live in Siena,” Julia said.
“But you’re American, right?” Sara said.
“Yes,” Melanie said. “Living in Italy is a dream come true for us. Thank God Max got in and out of tech stocks when he did. Or we might still be living in New Jersey.”
Sara liked Max and Melanie instantly. She and Grady didn’t have friends like this. They hardly had friends at all.
Roger approached and a look crossed Julia’s face that Sara tried to decipher. Was she irritated with him? Or just slightly intolerant.
�
��Sara, this is Roger,” Julia said. Her smile dulled.
“Yes, we met earlier,” Sara said.
Roger’s expression was slightly puppy-like, his gaze leaving Julia for only short amounts of time. Sara suddenly recognized the look. She had seen it on the faces of the high school boys that Julia had briefly dated. It was the look Julia’s admirers got when they had been shown the door.
The evening was just getting started but to Sara it felt like the middle of the night. She made her apologies and announced her need to go back to the hotel. She had no idea if she were on New England time or Italy time. She felt like she was still hovering somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.
“It’s so nice to have met all of you,” Sara said. “But it’s been a long day.”
Julia handed Sara a card with her address and phone number on it. “Check out of the hotel first thing in the morning,” Julia said, “and come to my apartment for brunch. And I insist that you stay with me for the rest of your time in Florence, okay?”
“Okay,” Sara said. Following Julia’s lead, even after all these years, felt familiar to her and, at this moment, comforting.
“I’ll get you a cab back to the hotel,” Roger said, as he left Sara to say her goodbyes to Max and Melanie.
“Promise you’ll come visit us,” Melanie said. “We have a quaint little farmhouse on the Tuscan countryside.”
Sara hesitated. Suddenly the whole trip was too much. Julia wanted her to come for brunch and then stay with her. Max and Melanie wanted her to visit. Since when had she gotten so popular? Julia had always had a knack for sweeping people along in her wake. Sara remembered that now. No wonder she had missed Julia so much after she had gone.
Roger returned to tell her a cab was waiting. Julia gave Sara a long embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Julia said.
“Me, too,” Sara said. But this was the understatement of the year. Being in Italy felt crucial to her existence at this point. It gave her a B12 shot of hope. It didn’t make sense, but somehow it felt like being in Italy was going to save Sara’s life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning the taxi delivered Sara to the address on Julia’s card. The large wooden door to the building opened just as Sara was reaching for the buzzer. An elderly couple stepped out of the building. The gentleman held the door for Sara and said something in Italian. She apologized for not understanding.
“Are you Julia’s friend?” he then asked, in practiced English.
“Yes,” she said.
“We are Julia’s neighbors, the Baraldis,” he said.
Sara shook his hand and curtsied to his wife like she had suddenly become Maria in The Sound of Music meeting Captain Von Trapp. The woman nodded regally and ignored Sara’s awkwardness. Sara’s eye was drawn to the cameo brooch of the Madonna and child adorning the collar of her dress.
“Julia is looking forward to your visit,” Mr. Baraldi said.
Sara’s relief spread into a smile. “I’m surprised she told you about it already. She only knew I was here last night.”
“Of course,” he said. “We saw her at the market early this morning.”
“Your English is very good,” Sara said to Mr. Baraldi.
He smiled and bowed slightly. His gray eyebrows and mustache were of equal thickness and a hint of gray tuft protruded from his ears. He had the kind face of a grandfather. He pointed to the stairway. “Third floor,” he said. Sara thanked him and stepped inside.
A row of tall, thin mailboxes lined the wall just inside the door. On one of the boxes was an engraved nameplate that read J. David. A surge of anticipation chased away the exhaustion that had not quite left Sara since her flight. She ascended the stairway. The marble steps documented every footstep, their solidity slightly worn and shiny in the middle, as if a thousand pilgrims had made this trek over the last two centuries. Sara’s wheeled luggage thumped loudly against each step.
She passed the second floor landing, and then reached the third. At the top of the stairs she glanced again at the Julia’s card to make sure she was in the right place. Sara raised her hand to knock and stopped. What if their meeting didn’t turn out as well as she hoped? She had forfeited her hotel room during the busy tourist season.
Sara took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. She waited. No one came. Several thoughts went through her mind at once. Had Julia forgotten she was coming? No, she had told the Biraldi’s about it that morning. Did she knock too lightly? But then a latch released and the door opened. Julia greeted her with open arms and an embrace. Any hesitation Sara had felt quickly disappeared.
Julia wheeled her luggage into her apartment saying again how happy she was to see her.
“This is lovely,” Sara said, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. A small gray cat appeared at her feet. “Who’s this?” Sara asked.
“This is Roberto,” Julia said.
Roberto rubbed his face against Sara’s leg. “Can I pick him up?”
“You’d better check with him,” Julia said. “He likes to make his own decisions.”
“Hello, Roberto. May I hold you?” He raised his head, and Sara lifted him into her arms. Despite his cool demeanor, his heart beat rapidly underneath her fingertips.
“I’m impressed,” Julia said. “He usually doesn’t let strangers hold him right away. He must like you.”
“I like him, too.” After several affectionate rubs Sara returned Roberto to the floor.
“His sister is here somewhere, too,” Julia said. “She’s quite the shy one. A little afraid of life.”
“I can relate,” Sara said.
A smile had not left Julia’s face since Sara had arrived. Sara suddenly wondered how she had managed to live this many years without seeing it.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Julia said. “Of course, we’re both a bit older.”
“Just a bit,” Sara said.
“Come in, come in,” Julia said, leading the way into the living room.
Sara placed her handbag on a large, overstuffed chair near the entryway and followed Julia into the living room. The room was full of light. Large windows ran floor to ceiling and overlooked the rooftops of the city. A door stood partway open to a small balcony filled with flowering geraniums. The furnishings inside were antique, sophisticated, yet comfortable, accented with rich fabrics and colors. Sara was struck instantly by the absence of clutter. Yet Julia’s apartment had warmth and a lived-in quality.
“It’s beautiful,” Sara said.
“I’ll give you a quick tour, if you’d like,” Julia said.
“I’d like,” Sara said.
Julia showed Sara her kitchen where a rich assortment of eggs, fruit, and pastries awaited. The kitchen overlooked a courtyard with several small trees. Next was a small studio, which had a large blank canvas sitting on an easel close to the window, and then the bath, and the bedroom.
“I know it’s small,” Julia said. “But you wouldn’t believe how expensive property is in Florence. There isn’t much turnover, either, as you can imagine. I was able to get this for what a small mansion would cost in the States.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s too small at all,” Sara said. “But are you sure my staying here isn’t too much of an inconvenience?”
“Are you kidding?” Julia wrapped her arm around Sara’s shoulder. “We must have had a million sleepovers when we were girls. Was that ever an inconvenience? The sofa becomes a bed, and I’ve been told it’s very comfortable. We’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said.
Julia directed Sara to the small terrace. From there they could survey Julia’s little corner of Italy. Colorful laundry hung on clotheslines outside many of the windows. The scene could have been from a hundred years ago, if not for the small silver satellite dishes along the ancient roofs.
Sara took a deep breath, wanting to memorize the scene. She told herself not to cry. Just being in Italy had let loose a fount
ain of emotion and her eyes watered with this awareness.
The city appeared golden in the afternoon sunlight, the stone buildings baked to perfection for hundreds of years. Small clay pots of red geraniums lined the short black iron terrace, a perfect compliment to the city. The fiery crimson of the flowers softened the look of the iron and stone. Julia had learned what Sara imagined Florentines had known for centuries: how to make the best of small, exquisite spaces.
Sara felt Julia watching her as she took in the scenery around them. Julia offered her a chair, one of two on the small terrace. Roberto joined them. He rubbed his whiskers against Sara’s slacks to get her attention. She invited him up and he leapt gracefully into her lap. The sounds of the city were unusually hushed. An occasional scooter shot through the alley searching for a shortcut. Neighbors talked quietly in the street below. Small children played, and the bells of the nearby cathedral tolled three times.
“This is the most beautiful place in the world,” Sara sighed.
Julia’s smile widened. “I’m so glad you think so. I love it, too.”
A smaller orange tabby appeared in the doorway, cautiously sniffing in Sara’s direction. “Here’s Roberto’s sister, Bella,” Julia said. “Come here, my shy little one.” She wiggled a finger to entice her. For a moment Bella teetered at the cusp of the doorway. But then she backed away, into the safety of the living room.
“She lacks confidence,” Julia said. “Unlike, my other little friend here.” Roberto eyed a pigeon on a nearby rooftop, his tail swishing his primal desire.
“It’s hard to believe I’m really here,” Sara said, looking out over the city.
“How long can you stay?”
“Two weeks,” Sara said, but she wanted to say forever.
“That almost gives us enough time to catch up,” Julia said.
Julia’s warm greeting had surpassed Sara’s expectations. Italy was the dream of a lifetime but seeing Julia was more of a gift than she had realized. She still didn’t know how much she would tell Julia about her current situation. Julia had no idea that Sara had, in essence, run away from her life back in the States and that the amount of time she had left of that life was also in question.
Seeking Sara Summers Page 6