Bella Cigna

by Wendi Dass

  Having reached the end of a page, she stopped and nodded to Cira to continue the reading.

  The eight-year-old girl picked up where Sarah left off.

  Sarah interjected every now and then to correct a pronunciation or explain the meaning of a word, but otherwise she simply listened. With each paragraph or two, she would ask a new girl to take over, until they approached the end of the first chapter. “Lucia, dear. It’s your turn.”

  Lucia peeked over the top of her book and shook her head.

  No? Why was Lucia refusing? The girl had already shown herself to be one of the smartest in the class; her essay on her summer vacation was written as well as the primo cinque students. Not surprising, given Eduardo’s fluency. Sarah stood and crossed to Lucia. She crouched beside the girl. “Is something wrong?”

  “Signorina, um, I mean, Ms. Miller,” Lucia stammered, “I don’t want to.”

  A snicker erupted from the circle.

  Siena and Cira huddled together in laughter.

  The girls shot ridiculing looks in Lucia’s direction, and Sarah shushed them. Of course, Cira Moretti would be the bullish type. Maybe Sarah would have to put her in the corner after all.

  Sarah turned back to Lucia, whose chocolate-colored eyes—a perfect match to Eduardo’s—welled with tears. She placed a hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “How about if I read with you?” she whispered.

  With a half smile, Lucia nodded and eased her grip on the paperback.

  Sarah returned to her seat and read the first sentence, switching between keep-your-lips-shut glares at Siena and Cira and you-can-do-this looks at Lucia. Her voice overpowered Lucia’s, who spoke in a hush. When they reached the end of the paragraph, Sarah nodded for the next girl to begin, and the reading continued without further interruption.

  The bell rang, and the girls rose to leave. Chairs squeaked, and chatter filled the room.

  Sarah snagged Lucia, touching her arm. She waited until the room was clear before speaking. “I gather you aren’t fond of reading to the class.”

  Lucia nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on her shoes.

  “Has this nervousness always been a problem?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sarah pursed her lips. If she were speaking to Cira, Sarah would have sharpened her tone. “Well, has it happened before?” She softened her tone.

  Lucia shrugged. “Will you tell my mom?”

  “She doesn’t know?” Lucia looked up, her eyes pleading. Sarah winced, an ache growing in her chest

  “Please don’t tell her, Miss Miller.” She clutched her backpack. “You can tell my dad, but not her. He’s picking me up today.”

  “He is?” Sarah flushed, catching the enthusiasm in her response. She took a swift inhale before she corrected herself. “I mean, good, very good.”

  What is wrong with me? Being attracted to a student’s father was bad enough. A married father was entirely inappropriate. Thank goodness, Roberta had been doing all the drop-offs and pick-ups so far; the last thing Sarah needed was to see Eduardo again. She fanned her face, blushing at the mere mention of him.

  Sarah placed a hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “I don’t need to speak to him today. Let’s see how you do with reading next week.” She opened the classroom door. “Come on, I don’t want him waiting.”

  Lucia didn’t move. “Oh, he’s not picking me up now.”

  “He’s not?” Sarah slumped her shoulders.

  “He’s coming after rehearsal.”

  “Rehearsal?” Sarah lost her grip on the door, and it snapped shut. “You’re in the play?”

  Lucia nodded.

  The girl’s face was so ashen, Sarah might have thought she’d been assigned detention. Her thoughts in a jumble, Sarah again grabbed the doorknob and ushered Lucia into the hall, turning her toward the auditorium.

  “Mama says she was always in the school play,” Lucia said. “She says being on the stage makes you feel splendido e famoso.”

  If Lucia would finally string together sentences longer than four words, Sarah wouldn’t be the one to interrupt.

  “But it just makes me feel like throwing up.”

  A laugh rippled through Sarah. “Oh, Lucia,” she said through a chuckle, “I’m sure you won’t throw up.” Let’s hope not.

  She and Lucia continued in silence. Once in the auditorium, Sarah left Lucia on the stage with a cluster of other girls and ducked into Sister Angelica’s supply closet. She shoved a gallon-sized plastic bag in her pocket. Cleaning up her share of puke during her teaching days taught her one thing—preparation was key.

  She returned to the stage, where Anna spoke to the gathered students in a mixture of English and Italian. Sarah took a seat next to Lucia and dangled her long legs over the edge of the stage. She understood only the English portions of Anna’s Italinglish: Christmas story, rehearsal schedules, and auditions for larger roles.

  At the word “audition,” Lucia stiffened.

  Sarah leaned over. “I’ll tell her to assign you a small role.” Maybe even a silent one.

  Lucia gave a pinched smile.

  What kind of mother would make their child do something that evoked such fear? Sarah resisted a frown. Speaking in class was one thing, but participation in the school play was completely optional, and in Lucia’s case, a cause for early-onset ulcers.

  Shifting her weight, Sarah leaned back on her palms and let out a sigh. She was in no position to judge. She’d never parented a child—and she probably never would. A familiar pain grew in her chest, and tears threatened to unleash. But her students surrounded her. Anna, too. Keep it together, Sarah. She pinched the bridge of her nose and snuffed the thought. But the pain remained.

  Tuning out Anna’s voice, Sarah focused instead on the stage and auditorium. How large were the panels to be painted? Did they span the entire backdrop? What other scenery would be present? Of course, a manger and stable stood at the forefront, but Anna said they reused those pieces each year. Anna hadn’t mentioned any substantial structures—no buildings, no cutout North Star.

  North Star. That was it! Sarah bobbed on her toes. That was exactly what her panels should depict—the skyline of Bethlehem, the dunes of the Judean desert, and the North Star.

  She closed her eyes. White from the city’s lights highlighted a dark blue canvas. Waves of orange and yellow rolled across the bottom, picking up echoes of the same hues cascading from the focal point of the panels—the North Star. A tingle rushed her fingers, and she yearned for a brush. Yes, that landscape just might work. The ache in her chest subsided, and she opened her eyes.

  In the back of the auditorium, Sister Maria and Eduardo entered through the double doors, engrossed in conversation.

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. Was Sister Maria actually…laughing?

  Without uttering a word, Lucia jumped to her feet, hopped off the stage, and ran toward them.

  Sister Maria replaced the crinkled smile with her usual scowl. When Lucia reached them, she gave Lucia a perfunctory pat on the head then left her with Eduardo and strode toward Anna.

  At the front of the stage, Anna hopped to the side, yielding the floor to Sister Maria, who addressed the students in Italian.

  Sarah tried to pay attention, even translate the words, but her gaze drifted back to Lucia and Eduardo. Something about the two filled her heart with warmth. Could it be the way Eduardo lifted Lucia and swung her around? Or the playful defensive stance he assumed when he tousled Lucia’s hair? Sarah rested her head on her hand, staring. Maybe the matching gleam in their eyes, apparent even from such a distance, captivated her.

  A rumble of student voices and the scuffle of shoes drew Sarah’s attention back to the stage.

  “Buonasera.” Sister Maria flicked her wrist, waving away the students.

  “Auditions next time. Don’t forget to study your lines.” Anna cupped her hands around her mouth. “And your homework. Remember, B-squared minus four AC.”

  Some girls nodded, but most grumbled and scra
mbled away faster than Sister Maria could say addio. Sarah wandered backstage to look at the backdrops, but as soon as she walked past the curtain, she stopped. Her sight couldn’t penetrate the darkness. Some light seeped beneath the curtain, but all it illuminated was piles upon piles of boxes. She’d need to ask Anna to turn on the lights.

  She walked out front and scanned the conglomeration of backpacks, lunchboxes, students, and parents. Why did Anna have to blend in so well with the upper-school students? Hell, half the parents probably thought she was a student.

  Then Sarah spotted Eduardo, and her heart skipped a beat.

  From the back of the auditorium, he locked his gaze with her and smiled.

  His smile lifted his glasses off his nose and was one Sarah couldn’t help but return.

  Bouncing on her toes, Lucia tugged on Eduardo’s sleeve.

  He ignored his daughter.

  Maybe he didn’t even notice she was there. At that moment, his gaze remained firmly on Sarah. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe.

  Pouting, Lucia tugged harder on Eduardo’s sleeve.

  This time Eduardo’s eyelashes fluttered, and he moved his gaze elsewhere.

  Her chest burning, Sarah inhaled.

  With heels dug in, Lucia pulled Eduardo toward the door.

  As he struggled to maintain his balance, he shuffled his feet, his gaze flitting between his daughter and Sarah. He gave Sarah a brisk wave, and Lucia dragged him toward the exit.

  Heat rushed her cheeks, and she raised a trembling hand and waved back.

  Eduardo and Lucia disappeared through the door.

  “Who are you gawking at?” asked a voice.

  With a sigh, Sarah dropped her hand at the snarky tone.

  Anna stood in front of the stage, chomping on her bubble gum.

  “I’m not gawking.” Sarah pressed her fingertips to her burning cheeks.

  “Yeah, right.” Anna ticked up a brow.

  Sarah hoisted Anna up onto the stage. “Would you just show me the panels already?”

  Anna exhaled heavily. “Fine.” She ducked behind the curtain.

  She walked straight into the darkness.

  A series of thunks and swooshes echoed through the dark. The lights crackled on. Anna weaved through a maze of neglected props, pushing aside blocks of straw and reams of fabric, and stopped in front of three panels, each about ten feet high and eight feet wide, all of them painted black.

  They looked more like the walls of a cell than the backdrops to a Christmas play. “These are what you used last year?” Sarah asked.

  “Yep. Pathetic, right?” Anna stepped to the side.

  A large, misshapen star came into view. She forced a smile, doing her best not to look like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “They just need a facelift.” She ran a hand across the rough wood panel and gave it a slight nudge, but the panel didn’t budge. “At least they’re sturdy.”

  “The casters are to make them mobile, but”—Anna leaned a shoulder into the panel nearest her—“they’re still too heavy.”

  “Well, I can’t paint in this mess. We need to move them.”

  “Don’t worry. Mr. Moretti will help us.” Anna started back through the maze of props.

  Sarah gasped. “Mr. Moretti?”

  “Yeah,” Anna called over her shoulder. “He made them.”

  Sarah tensed her shoulders. She looked from the kindergarten-level painted star, to Anna, and back. Mr. Moretti made these? Why hadn’t Anna mentioned he was involved before? Why hadn’t she—

  The lights flipped off, one by one.

  “Hey!” Sarah stepped over a trunk overflowing with costumes. “Wait.” She reached Anna just as the last light shut off. “Mr. Moretti. Did you tell him I’m redoing the panels?”

  “Don’t worry.” Anna flashed a smile. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  Sarah couldn’t tell if Anna’s expression was legitimate or filled with sarcasm.

  Chapter 9

  Saturdays were reserved for touring the city, but Sarah skipped the journey to Pompeii in lieu of picking up supplies. With a can of basecoat purchased at a nearby hardware store in one hand and a bag of tubes and brushes in the other, she nudged her bedroom door open with her foot. She shoved the supplies under her bed—any other place would be a tripping hazard—and flopped on the bed. If only she could start on the backdrops today! But in no way could she start until they were out in the open. And that meant—her stomach knotted—enlisting the help of Mr. Moretti.

  His beady eyes and nasal tone filled Sarah’s mind. Maybe waiting a few days to get started wasn’t such a bad thing.

  A floorboard creaked above, and Sarah gazed at the ceiling. Please let the little sprite be right about this one. If she wasn’t, and Mr. Moretti took offense to her covering his North Star, she might just need one of those plastic bags she’d stashed for Lucia.

  Lucia! She sat upright. How could she have forgotten? She jumped up, aching feet and all, and headed upstairs. A flight of stairs later, a large wooden door, identical to her own, greeted her. Sarah had been here a month, and Anna’s room remained one of the only unexplored places at the school. She knocked on the door and waited. What kind of blackhole lurked beyond? Half-eaten slices of pizza probably littered the floor, and dirty laundry likely hung from the rafters.

  Sarah knocked again, harder. The door creaked then slipped open. “Anna?” She peeked in the opening.

  Inside, a room identical to her own, only more lived in, stood. Stacks of textbooks teetered in a pile by Anna’s bed. A collage of photographs pinned to one wall created a homey feel. Anna sat at her desk, with her back to the door, facing her laptop. Oversized headphones covered her ears like she’d just joined the Air Force, and the bass thumped to a steady beat. “Anna,” Sarah said at a volume just below shouting.

  Anna gave a little jump and pulled off her earphones. “Oh. Hey.”

  “I did knock.” Sarah jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “Door slid open.”

  Music still blaring from the earphones, Anna nodded and swiveled back around to her screen.

  “I needed to ask you…” Anna was awfully quiet, especially for Miss Can’t Keep Her Mouth Shut. And she leaned so close to the monitor she could practically kiss it. Sarah peered over Anna’s shoulder but saw nothing—a security visor. Go figure. “What are you up to?”

  “Just doing some research.”

  “Research?” On a Saturday night? Fat chance. She stepped closer. “On what?”

  “Grad school.”

  Huh. Anna wasn’t kidding. Sarah sat on the edge of Anna’s bed. “Where at?”

  “Oxford.”

  “Wow.” Anna’s choice of schools was more elite than Sarah’s tea collection. “Think you’ve got a shot?”

  Anna looked over her shoulder and smirked. “Of course. I graduated summa from MIT.”

  “Right.” Sarah chewed her lip. Which was better summa or magna? Regardless, cum-anything from MIT was no small feat.

  With a heavy sigh, Anna leaned on her elbow.

  “What’s the problem then?” Sarah asked.

  “Eh.” Anna lifted her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. “Not sure I’ll apply.”

  Sarah stood. “What? Why not?”

  “Why not?”—Anna snapped shut her laptop—“Applying is a pain in the ass is why not. Essays, transcripts, letters of recommendation…”

  She couldn’t let someone as bright as Anna throw away a dream because the application process took too long. “Right. Like you don’t have a lot of time on your hands.”

  “Like you don’t?” Anna glared.

  Shifting on her feet, Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, you’re right.”

  Anna spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. Sarah lifted her gaze.

  From her desk, Anna gave a sideways glance. “In fact, we both have a lot of free time.”

  Her grin and dark eyes suggested s
he was up to something. “We do?”

  “Yep.” Anna jumped up from her chair and planted herself in front of Sarah. “Tonight, for instance. Bet you don’t have any plans.”

  Sarah took a step back. Her calf hit the bed, and she steadied herself against the wall.

  “Do you?” Anna cocked a brow.

  “Well, I planned to do some sketching. Enjoy a cup of tea.” Sarah rolled her lip. She sounded like a spinster.

  “Ugh!” Anna dropped her smile. “You can’t be serious. You’re in Rome, Sarah. Why don’t you come out with me?”

  “Anna,” Sarah said through a laugh. “My days of partying have come and gone.”

  “That’s bull”—Anna slapped a hand on the chair—“and you know it. Come on—just this one time?”

  Sarah sighed. Maybe she could make this arrangement work in her favor. “I’ll consider it. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need your help with someone. Her name is Lucia.”

  ****

  At just past nine, Anna parked her red scooter in a dark alley.

  Raucous young locals in tight clothes filled the street.

  Sarah climbed off the back of the ride. Thank goodness the breakneck drive through narrow streets was over. How had she let Anna convinced her to jump on the back of that thing?

  Well, maybe it had been a little fun—just a teensy bit. She ran her fingers through the knotted ends of her wind-blown hair and followed Anna into a stuffy, dark club. Music blared, and smoke hazed the air.

  Anna headed straight for the bar. “Let’s get a drink!” she called over her shoulder.

  Behind a counter framed with neon-blue lights, a man in a metallic shirt greeted Anna.

  She was clearly a regular. Sarah approached the bar.

  He handed them two cups.

  Sarah took a sip. A sweet syrup, followed by the bitter finish of vodka, hit her mouth. “I don’t usually drink.” The warmth of the liquor spilled down her throat.

  “I figured.” Anna sauntered over to the dance floor.

  Bright lights flashed in a chaotic pattern, illuminating smooth-skinned faces and sweaty bodies. Girls with underdeveloped curves wearing short skirts gyrated to a techno beat. A wave of nausea hit Sarah’s stomach, but the malaise wasn’t just from the booze and strobe lights. Was everyone in this building at least five—hell, ten years—younger than her?