Seeking Sara Summers

by Susan Gabriel

  Julia put on her red kimono and crossed the room. Her apartment was cold that morning, in contrast to the warm, inviting bed.

  “I have something I want to show you,” Julia said. She went into her studio and returned with a large canvas. She leaned it with its subject matter toward the wall. “I debated whether to show this to you or not,” she added.

  “What is it?” Sara asked.

  Julia angled the canvas toward Sara, her breasts barely covered by the red robe. Julia paused and took a deep breath, as if an actor about to go onstage. It was strange to witness Julia even remotely nervous, stranger still to think that Sara was the one who was perfectly calm.

  “I did a painting of you after I heard from you that first time,” she said. “I wanted to capture what I remembered of you.”

  Sara’s resolve was weakening. She readjusted Roberto and several pillows to prepare for the private showing.

  “When I first saw you again, I wondered if the painting actually looked like you,” Julia began again. “But more and more I think it does. Especially these last few days. I think I’ve captured the new you.” Julia hesitated briefly, and then turned the canvas toward Sara. “Keep in mind, it isn’t finished.”

  An image of a vibrant woman looked out over the streets of Florence. The fountain from Max and Melanie’s courtyard filled the background, the statue peaking over Sara’s shoulder. The woman in the painting looked too alive and beautiful to be her, even an imagined version. She held a boldness Sara had never felt she possessed. But what if this was a part of her?

  “This is the kindest, most beautiful and profound thing anyone has ever done for me,” Sara said softly.

  Julia leaned the portrait against the wall. “Then why do you look so miserable?” Julia asked.

  “I’m not miserable, I’m happy,” Sara said, with a short laugh.

  Julia sat next to Sara on the bed.

  “What have we done?” Sara whispered.

  “We did the best thing we could have done,” Julia said.

  “I’m not convinced that it was the best thing. Or the right thing,” Sara said.

  Julia paused, as though carefully forming her words. “Listen, I thought I was too old for something like this to happen,” Julia said. “But I’m grateful that it did. I can’t tell you how many unsatisfying relationships I’ve had over the years. I know this development has surprised you, Sara. But you’re not the only one who’s surprised.”

  “But I can’t stay here forever,” Sara said. “I have to go back home. I have to go back to Grady.”

  Julia looked as though Sara’s words had slapped her in the face. “As naïve as this sounds, darling, I haven’t given a thought to your leaving.”

  “I don’t have the luxury of being naïve.” Sara sounded colder than she intended.

  They didn’t speak for several seconds. Roberto’s raspy purr accompanied their silence. Julia turned away, facing the portrait Sara was convinced she could never live up to.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Julia said, matching Sara’s coldness. She stood and walked into the bathroom.

  Sara followed her, spewing apologies.

  Julia turned to face her. “Why are you apologizing?” she asked. “You’re allowed to say what you need to say. I’m just surprised that you returned to reality before I did.”

  Sara leaned into the doorframe as Julia washed her face in the sink and dried it with a towel. The thought occurred to her that she could watch Julia do this simple task every day for the rest of her life. But thoughts like these were too painful to pursue. How did she get herself in this mess? She saw now her naiveté in wanting more out of life.

  “I just can’t bear getting any closer to you,” Sara said. “It already feels like I’ll have to rip my heart out in order to leave.”

  “May I remind you that your heart isn’t the only heart affected,” Julia said somberly.

  “I can’t believe how quickly I’ve managed to screw things up,” Sara said.

  “Spare me the martyr act,” Julia said.

  Their reflections in the bathroom mirror revealed a non-traditional picture of what she had always thought love to be. Her world had flipped upside down. What used to make sense now made no sense at all. What she had thought was love all along, was some sort of misguided form of comfort. Real love, she had discovered only recently, wasn’t comfortable at all. It was riddled with exposure and risks. Things Sara had expertly avoided most of her life.

  Julia rubbed lotion onto her face and hands as regret filled Sara. We could be making love right now, she thought, muffling their screams so that the Biraldi’s wouldn’t hear. But did Julia really think that she would leave Grady?

  Sara followed Julia into the bedroom. The portrait sat against the wall like a witness to her ineptness. That woman was a stranger, an image impossible to live up to. She would never be that confident, that beautiful.

  “How can I fix this?” Sara asked.

  From her ornate wooden wardrobe, Julia chose a gray blouse and blue jeans and tossed them onto the bed.

  “Nothing broken. Nothing to fix,” she said curtly.

  Sara’s mind scrambled for the right things to say, but came up empty. Julia tossed her robe onto the bed, putting on a black bra and panties.

  “Do you have any idea how good you look naked?” Sara said, breaking her own need to be serious.

  Julia shot her a look. “Don’t do that to me,” she said, as she finished dressing. “I need to go to the market. Francesco and Georgio are coming over for dinner tonight, remember?”

  Francesca was Julia’s friend who owned a dress shop in Florence. Georgio was her boyfriend from the university. “I look forward to it,” Sara said, which wasn’t really true. She didn’t look forward to anything at that moment. Looking forward had been one of the reasons she had created this mess. She had wanted to make the most of whatever time she had left but she hadn’t realized what that might entail. Life, she had come to realize yet again, was incredibly messy when you jumped right into it with both feet.

  Julia returned the canvas to her studio. Sara instantly missed the woman she might have become if she weren’t such a coward. But at the same time she felt relieved that she didn’t have to live up to her anymore. She followed Julia into the kitchen.

  “Please don’t be angry with me,” Sara said.

  “I’m not angry. I’m just very disappointed. And I don’t want to talk any more right now.” Julia ground up fresh coffee beans in the grinder, their aroma filling the room. She brought the glass coffee pot from the cabinet.

  “Can we talk more later?” Sara asked.

  “Well, if we wait long enough, you’ll already be gone.”

  “Ouch,” Sara said. “I guess I deserved that.”

  In the last week, Sara had had glimpses of Julia as a powerful attorney, her career for most of the time they had been apart. She had seen the cold toughness that would be required of her in that job. It was still in her. A part of her. Of course.

  “I seem to have a knack for saying things people don’t want to hear,” Sara said.

  “Let’s just put this behind us,” Julia said. She paused a beat. “So what do you want to do today?”

  “If I’m the master at apologizing, you’re the master at changing the subject.”

  “Well, let me do what I’m good at, okay?” Her hazel eyes had darkened.

  Sara stopped herself from apologizing again.

  “I’ll go do the shopping. You can hang out here if you want,” Julia said.

  Any other day Julia would have invited Sara to go shopping with her. But she could understand her need to be alone. “Actually, I think I’ll explore a little of Florence on my own.”

  “Fine by me,” she said, no emotion in her voice.

  Sara felt horrible. If only she had kept her thoughts to herself. She returned to the bedroom and dressed in black pants and a taupe blouse. As an afterthought, she wrapped the red scarf loosely around her shoulders. At firs
t the color had been shocking to her, but now it hardly seemed vibrant enough. She added a light coat of lipstick from Julia’s collection in the bathroom that matched the scarf. What she had once thought was extravagant, now seemed necessary.

  Sara made up the bed, carefully lifting Roberto to smooth out the sheets underneath. “I’m envious,” she whispered. “You get to stay in Julia’s bed as long as you want.” Sara smoothed out his whiskers; his eyes closed. On the way to the kitchen she stopped to pet Bella lying on a sofa cushion. She didn’t run—a small victory. Sara thought of Luke. Would he put up with a cat if she got one when she got back?

  When Sara returned to the kitchen Julia was whisking eggs in a bowl. “Would you like an omelet?” she asked. Her emotions from before had smoothed out like the wrinkled sheets in the bedroom.

  “Yes, thank you.” Sara poured two glasses of juice and thought how unusual it was for someone to make her breakfast. When they were young, the children always made her eggs and toast on Mother’s Day; the toast blackened to a carcinogen.

  “I didn’t mean to screw up our morning,” Sara said. “I guess everything was just too perfect.”

  “It’s okay, darling. We’re in the deep end now; let’s just try to stay afloat, shall we?”

  Sara nodded.

  They finished breakfast and the phone rang. Julia answered it, and then covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s Melanie. Do you mind if I talk?”

  “Of course not,” Sara said.

  Julia took the phone into the living room while Sara finished her omelet. Minutes later she found Julia on the sofa petting Bella. She waved a goodbye before leaving the apartment, and felt relieved when Julia returned the wave.

  Sara had only been in Italy a few days, but felt comfortable finding her way around Florence. She walked toward the center of town as sunlight claimed the sidewalk in front of her. The buzz of motor scooters filled every corner of Florence, like bees buzzing out of a hive. The city is incredibly alive, Sara thought. Florence being yang to Siena’s yin.

  On one of the side streets Sara stopped inside the open doors of a church. In seconds she moved from bright sunshine to the dark, cool, ancient sanctuary. She covered her head with her scarf, tying it under her chin as another woman was doing just inside the door. The walls were stone, accented with rich, dark wood and lined with stained glass windows. A few people were milling around, looking at the different statuary and paintings. They whispered their comments out of respect for the sacred quiet. Footsteps, overpowering the voices, echoed through the corridor. An alcove to the left was lit up with hundreds of small candles. A bigger, more ornate version of the Mary in the fountain at Max and Melanie’s towered above her.

  Sara deposited a euro in a wooden box nearby and lit one of the remaining candles. She kneeled, thinking she should pray, but uncertain of what she should pray for. Forgiveness? Healing? Courage? Her life seemed too complicated for even God or sacred virgins to figure out and so she just allowed her thoughts to rest.

  After several minutes she stood, bowed awkwardly, and made her way back to the open doors. The bells began, announcing a clear, steady heartbeat of the city. Sara stopped in the archway and closed her eyes. She let the bell’s vibration ring in her body; the heartbeat of Florence mingling with her own.

  For the remainder of the afternoon Sara explored the ancient streets of Florence. She eventually found herself at the city wall. As she had realized in Siena, she was quite good at putting up walls herself. Psychological ones, as effective as any manmade fortress. She had started to build the wall, stone by stone, when her mother died. Now, this many years later, the walls had become a fortress. For however briefly, Sara had allowed Julia inside. But that morning, she had managed to blockade the massive doors to guard against further damage.

  When Sara returned to Julia’s apartment it was late afternoon. Jazz music played softly on the CD player in the living room and she was humming along in the kitchen and preparing dinner. When Sara entered the kitchen Julia smiled and to Sara it felt like the sun had returned after a long, hard rain.

  “Hi, darling. Did you have a nice afternoon?” Julia was wearing her robe again and her hair was wrapped up in a towel after showering. The robe fell off her shoulder on one side, leaving the artistry of her neck exposed. When had Sara started to notice these things?

  “My afternoon was good,” Sara said. “How about yours?” How many times had she asked Grady for information about his day and not really wanted to know? Yet, she waited with anticipation to hear what Julia might say.

  “I talked to Melanie for a long time,” Julia said. “Then I went to the market.” She sliced a large zucchini into thin strips.

  “Can I help with anything?” Sara stepped closer and smelled the scented body lotion Julia used.

  “No, I’ve got it covered,” Julia said. “I think we’ll have fun tonight. Francesca and Georgio are sweet together.”

  “I have to admit I feel a little selfish of our time,” Sara said.

  “Me, too, Sweetie, but I had already arranged this before we…” Julia smiled again. “If it’s any consolation they probably won’t stay late. They have work and classes tomorrow.”

  “You’ll like Francesca, I think,” Julia continued, “and Georgio is equally nice. He’s getting an advanced degree in mathematics. You two have teaching in common.”

  Sara sat at the kitchen table. She had forgotten all about teaching and returning to her lackluster job at Beacon High. The sound of the knife on the cutting board added a sharp percussion line to the soft jazz piano playing in the background.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said this morning,” Julia said. She turned to face Sara, the knife still in her hand.

  “Are you going to use that?” Sara asked, pointing to the knife.

  Julia grinned and disarmed herself. “This morning was a slight misunderstanding,” she said. “I assumed our feelings for each other had changed things. But I was wrong. And since you’re the one in a committed relationship, I guess I have to respect whatever you decide.”

  Sara glanced out the window into the courtyard below. The words committed relationship struck a dissonant chord. Twenty-five years of marriage did constitute a committed relationship, she supposed. But what if you were absolutely bored to death with each other? Of course, she couldn’t speak for Grady, but maybe that was one of the reasons he had had an affair two years before. Sara inhaled her sadness.

  “What’s wrong? You look awful,” Julia said.

  “I don’t want to leave,” she said softly.

  Julia walked over and leaned her shoulder against Sara’s, as if to steady them both. The jazz pianist improvised the melody in a minor key. “Maybe this is absolutely the wrong thing to say,” Julia began. “But I think you should consider not going back.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Sara said. In her imagination Sara heard the city gate close and latch, Julia on the other side. “I have to go back,” she said. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you have a choice.” Julia seemed to be gaining the strength Sara felt she was losing. “You can stay here with me. We can see where this might take us.”

  Sara broke their connection and sat at the kitchen table. Julia’s invitation threw her into a tailspin of pleasure and guilt. The judgment and fear that had all but disappeared when they first got together now returned with the force of a tsunami.

  “Loving you is wrong,” Sara began, teaming with the critical voice that she hated. “It doesn’t matter if it feels absolutely right. Not only am I married to Grady, but I’m married to my old life. End of story.”

  “This seems like emotional suicide,” Julia said, not hiding her disappointment.

  “Maybe if I was brave like you, Jules. But I’m not brave. Besides, I don’t deserve to be this happy.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Julia said. “Since when are you up for victim of the year? I guess it’s understandable after all you’ve been through, but a
ren’t you getting tired of it?”

  A landslide of anger, fear and sadness vied for Sara’s attention. Julia was the only person in Sara’s life who she could count on to tell her the truth, even if it was about herself. But she wasn’t always thrilled to hear it. A knock at the door startled them both.

  “That must be Francesca and Georgio,” Julia said. “God, I’m not even dressed yet. We’ll have to talk about this later.” Julia took off her apron and draped it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “It won’t be the first time I’ve greeted them at the door in a kimono.”

  Sara went into the bedroom to freshen up while Julia greeted their guests. Julia’s laughter filled the apartment and sent an ache through Sara that was only just beginning to take root. Georgio’s voice sounded robust, foreign; an added bass to Julia and Francesca’s treble. Sara sat on the bed trying to gather those parts of her that were spiraling out of control. She didn’t have the energy for new people, but she also didn’t want to disappoint Julia. You can do this, she said to herself. You’re good at pretending nothing’s wrong.

  Julia came into the bedroom and quickly got dressed, and then went into the bathroom to start on her hair. “They’re opening a bottle of wine. Could you take in the brie and crackers? They’re on the kitchen table.”

  “Of course.” Sara joined her in the bathroom and applied another light layer of Julia’s lipstick that matched her scarf.

  “You look beautiful,” Julia said, kissing her lightly on the lips. Sara took a quick look in the mirror. Despite her current crisis her face looked lighter, younger. If she weren’t so miserable, she’d have to admit she looked the happiest she had ever been.

  Sara took a deep breath and walked into the living room where an attractive younger couple sat waiting. She had told herself initially not to like them too much or they would be something else she would have to leave behind. But this was going to be harder than she thought.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Georgio stood and introduced himself and then kissed Sara’s hand. He was a teddy bear of a man, perhaps early 30s, dark hair, a bit round, and inviting in his persona.