by Wendi Dass
Lips shaking again, she bit down—hard. The metallic taste of blood seeped into her mouth.
Her expression softening, Anna sat beside her. “Sarah. What’s going on?”
For a moment, Sarah didn’t speak. Her emotions—anger, sorrow, lust—were too varied and deep to understand. She took a deep breath. “It’s my ex. Well, soon-to-be ex.”
“I thought that was all settled.”
“It is. It’s…” Should she really confide in Anna? Children were bound to be the last thing from Anna’s mind. Then again, how long could she hide this predicament from the know-it-all anyway? A day? A week? “It’s something else,” she said. “Amanda…the woman he left me for. She’s…” She choked on the words. “She’s pregnant.”
“Oh, Sarah.” Anna wrapped her arms around Sarah.
Tears streamed down Sarah’s hot cheeks, and she buried her head in Anna’s scrawny shoulder. For a few minutes, she wept openly into Anna’s tight embrace. Finally, Sarah sniffed back her tears and wiped her nose.
“Genes.” Anna handed Sarah a tissue. “They’re not fair, right? She’s probably got big tits, too.”
Sarah didn’t know whether to start crying again or to laugh. She hadn’t given Amanda’s cup size much thought.
“Maybe she’s got fat genes,” Anna continued. “Those are the worst.”
Anna spoke in a snarky tone. The corner of Sarah’s lip twitched, but she held back her laughter.
“Hey, I’m serious. She can’t have all the good genes. DNA perfection is mathematically almost impossible.”
A single laugh escaped Sarah. Anna always knew what to say.
“So, you gonna go out with him again?”
Sarah returned her lips to a hard line. “Eduardo?”
Anna nodded.
“I don’t know. I need time to get over this loss first.”
“Fine.” Anna pursed her lips. “But don’t forget, he’s hot.”
Yeah, he is. Sarah smiled.
Anna crossed to the door then pivoted on her heel. “And Sarah, just remember, for what it’s worth, your friends, your family, hell, even Sister Maria—we’re here for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, if I ever stay with someone long enough to get dumped, I expect the same from you.” Anna left the room.
Sarah couldn’t help but muster a shallow laugh.
Over the next few days, Sarah intended to heed Anna’s advice, to call Meredith—heck, maybe even her mother—to discuss recent events. Instead, she wandered the streets of Rome. Strangely enough, on Monday evening she stood in a church of all places, among a crowd of tourists marveling at the chiseled dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.
She’d been there before, many times, and even climbed to the top of the dome along the narrow, winding spiral staircase. But tonight, as she entered the cathedral, she thought perhaps she was drawn by its reverence. Perhaps she hoped to absorb some serenity from one of the numerous cloaked men of God circulating the nave.
She didn’t head to one of the priests, however. She made her way to the stoic face of the Virgin Mary, holding the limp corpse of her son in her arms. Michelangelo’s Pietà. She placed a palm on the translucent, protective case but immediately withdrew it. The coolness of the glass was like the frost on a December morning—a stark contrast to the stifling, stale air of the cathedral. Goose pimples marked her flesh, and she was unsure whether they were her body’s response to the icy partition or the cold, chiseled stone it enclosed.
As she stared through the glass at Mary’s somber expression, she realized the statue was more than just an exquisitely carved marble. The Pietà depicted a mother who’d suffered, who’d lost, and who’d sacrificed. Yet, not one tear showed on Mary’s shiny, polished cheek—not a trace of agony emanated from her downcast gaze. No, Michelangelo’s greatest work captured the silent grief of a woman, hidden deep beneath a sculpted, serene expression.
A camera snapped behind Sarah, and the flash illuminated her reflection in the glass—her own serene expression. She thought back to the day she too had begun to wear the mask of indifference. She recalled the coolness of the vinyl on the exam table and the medicinal scent of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol. But most of all, she recalled the doctor’s sympathetic expression as he’d delivered the news she’d been expecting.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “None of the eggs implanted.”
Sarah winced. Three negative pregnancy tests should have been all the confirmation Sarah needed. But she came in anyway, clinging to desperate hope.
“These were the last eggs we fertilized. We’ll need to determine the next course of action. Is your husband here?”
Feeling numb, she shook her head. That expression appeared again on the doctor’s face—pinched, glassy eyes that could only be read as I’m sorry.
“Take some time to discuss it with him then.” He squeezed her hand and had gotten up. “Call me once you’ve reached a decision.”
Sarah stared at the statue. She’d had as much choice in the matter as Mary had in losing her son. Sacrifice was the only option.
The door to the nave opened behind her, and a chill rushed inside.
She turned and caught sight of the towering buildings in the distance. One of them was Eduardo’s. Heaviness weighed on her chest. What choice would he make when he found out about her infertility? She picked up her phone and checked Eduardo’s text from that morning.
—Buongiorno, beautiful.
Hope you have a good day—
How was she supposed to “just have fun” with Eduardo? How was this flirtation not the beginning of a relationship—a relationship destined to end just like her last one had? Tears blurred her eyes, and she gazed a final time through the glass. This time, she didn’t see Mary and Jesus. She saw herself, holding an empty blanket.
Chapter 18
—Meet you at the fountain—
Sarah pecked back a text to Eduardo.
—Be right there—
She examined her outfit in the mirror: black shirt, black pants, and a black sweater. She looked ready for a funeral. At the thought, she sagged her shoulders; she felt ready for a funeral. Smoothing her shirt over the slacks that gapped at her waist, she turned to the side. She’d hardly eaten since learning of Amanda’s pregnancy.
She placed a hand on her stomach. How far along was Amanda? Did her belly already swell? Tears brimmed Sarah’s eyes, and she shifted her gaze from the mirror to the window.
A tall figure in a black leather jacket stood by the fountain.
Eduardo. She wiped away the tears, tucked her long bangs behind her ears, and plodded out of her room.
Rays of sun glimmered off the splashing water. The air was crisp and clean.
Eduardo lifted his gaze as she approached, a broad smile brightening his dark skin.
Sarah struggled to return the smile. A shadow crept over her mind.
“It’s so good to see you.” Eduardo wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m happy to see you, too.” She inhaled, smelling the leather and coffee mixed with his usual fresh scent.
He stepped back and took her hand. “You up for a trip into the city? I thought we’d check out an exhibit or two and grab dinner.”
Every ounce of her wanted to go, to explore the city with Eduardo by her side and to just have fun. If only she knew how without becoming emotionally attached. If only she could stop falling in love with people who broke her heart. “That sounds lovely, but”—she drew her hand from his grasp—“I need to tell you something first.”
“Okay.” Eduardo shifted on his feet.
The descending sun shined into Sarah’s eyes. “Eduardo”—his name came out in a sigh—“I think I’ve made a mistake. I’m not ready for a relationship yet.”
Eduardo stared at her.
A silence fell between them, and the only noise was the spattering of the cascading water. Blinded by the sun, Sarah could only make out the tightness in his jaw and the
stiffness in his shoulders. She reached for him, a part of her wanting to hold him and to forget what she’d just said.
He stepped back. “I should go.”
The coolness in his tone stung almost as much as his refusal to be touched, but it also sparked something inside Sarah. “Eduardo, wait.” She grabbed his hand, drew him close, and pressed her lips against his. For a split second, she again lost herself in him, savoring the suppleness of his lips and the smoothness of his chin.
He pulled back and stared down at her.
The sun at his back, she could see his eyes clearly now. They were wide, dark, and moist with tears. Sarah’s heart pounded and, at the same time, felt like it might stop beating altogether. “I…I…” She struggled to find the words. What could she say? I’m too scared? Too confused? Too broken? She dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, Eduardo. I truly wish you the best.” His face was as stony as his sculpted counterpart—so lifeless and devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said in a tone as listless as his expression. Then he turned and walked away.
The sun dipped behind a cloud, and Sarah stumbled back to the bench. The water sprayed her back, and she shivered. Would she ever feel the warmth of a man again? Would she ever know love again?
****
The next few days were harder than Sarah expected. Wasn’t freeing herself from Eduardo supposed to help her avoid pain, not incite it? If the longing inside after just one date was this visceral, she couldn’t imagine how unbearable it would have been after weeks—months. Her body was sapped of energy and her mind stripped of ambition. Instead of planning what to do with her portion of the divorce settlement, she spent hours staring at the ceiling. Instead of perusing real estate listings, she passed the time sketching.
Another day of classes behind her, Sarah slumped, exhausted, in her chair at the front of her classroom. Maybe she could skip play rehearsal and go back to her dorm room. Maybe she could curl up in her too-short bed and wait for darkness.
The classroom door flew open, and Anna popped in her head. “See you in five.”
“But—”
“No buts. Those backdrops won’t paint themselves, will they?”
Before Sarah could say more, the door slammed shut. So much for feeling sorry for herself. Genius firecracker wouldn’t give her an hour’s reprieve.
The door snapped open again. “I almost forgot. Sister Maria said she wants to see you first.”
Sarah sprang to her feet. “Sister Maria? Did you tell her?” But Anna’s footsteps were already retreating down the hall. Sarah flopped back her head Great. Just great. She dragged herself to Sister Maria’s office, suddenly understanding how the students felt when sent for detention. Would Sister Maria make her copy sentences from the Bible? Would she pull out a paddle?
Sister Maria’s door was closed, and Sarah raised her fist to knock.
“Entra!”
Sister Maria’s voice bellowed. Sarah hadn’t even struck the door. She creaked open the door and stepped inside. “Good afternoon, Sister.”
Sister Maria frowned. “I see we’re still using English.”
Giving a sheepish smile, Sarah shrugged. “Anna said you wished to see me.”
Sister Maria motioned with an outstretched palm.
Rubbing her palms, Sarah eased into a seat.
“I received a call today from your mother.”
Sarah reared back, nearly tumbling off the seat. “My mother?”
“Yes,” Sister Maria answered. “She said she’s been trying to reach you. She sounded quite concerned.”
Pressing her fingertips to her temple, she gently massaged the vein that throbbed there. If she’d known Mom would stoop to calling her boss, she would have returned her calls. Why couldn’t her mom just drop the Philip and Amanda pregnancy? Why couldn’t she just move on? “I’m sorry she bothered you.”
“Her call was not a bother. I assured her you are well, just busy.”
“Thank you.” The relief in her voice was apparent.
“You are well, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?” Sarah looked up into gray eyes.
Sister Maria’s gaze searched Sarah. “You seem to not be yourself lately—taking to your room early and skipping meals.”
How much does she know? Sarah chose her words carefully. “Oh, I just needed some time to myself.”
“Would your behavior have anything to do with Mr. Rossini?”
How on Earth did she know? Sarah widened her eyes.
“Eduardo,” Sister Maria clarified.
Hearing his name jabbed at Sarah’s festering wound, tugged at the fragile strings of her composure. She dropped her gaze. “He told you?”
“Sometimes what’s not said speaks more than what is.” Sister Maria stood and crossed to the window. “He mentioned you, yes.”
Sarah shifted in her seat. “How, um…how is he?”
Across from her, Sister Maria stared out the window. “He is…disappointed. Very disappointed.”
The strings began to snap. One by one, until her heart felt as if it dangled from a lone thread. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She forced out the words.
Sister Maria turned. “I know you are, Sarah.”
Sarah? She perked up. Had Sister Maria ever called her by her first name before?
“I talked a bit to your mother today,” Sister Maria continued. “About you.”
Sarah leaned forward. “You didn’t tell her about Eduardo, did you?”
“Of course not. I didn’t tell her about anything. I only listened.”
“And what did she say?”
“Just that something happened with your ex-husband that might have upset you. Is that true?”
Ex-husband. Sarah winced and nodded.
“You know, Sarah, I wasn’t always a nun.”
Sarah darted her gaze to Sister Maria, so devout in her white habit and black robe.
“I don’t know much about this husband of yours, but I gathered he was no better than the few men I knew in my youth.” She swatted the air. “Good riddance.”
With a shallow laugh, Sarah squeezed out a smile.
Sister Maria mirrored it. “Unfortunately, Sarah, sometimes goodbyes are easier said than done. That is the phrase, yes?”
Sister Maria knew more about the secular world than she let on. Sarah nodded.
“Sometimes it takes a while for the scars to fade.” Sister Maria placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “That’s how I ended up in the convent, to heal myself.”
“Did it work?” Sarah asked.
Squeezing her shoulder, Sister Maria paused. “Sometimes, Sarah, in order to let go of the past, you have to confront it.”
Confront it? The ache in Sarah’s chest deepened. What did that mean? Would Sister Maria answer the question or not?
“Now…” Sister Maria patted Sarah’s back and returned to her chair. “I believe Ms. Franklin awaits your expertise with the scenery.”
As she walked down the halls, Sarah tugged on the hem of her dress, her mind riddled with thoughts. Eduardo told Sister Maria about them? And her mother told Sister Maria about Philip? She shook her head. In less than two months, her new boss learned more about her than Mr. Rosen had in two years—so much for a fresh start. She opened the door to the auditorium, and laughter and a chorus of ews spilled out.
On the stage, students pointed their fingers and covered their noses, and a crowd of raucous girls surrounded Anna. Their squeals made Anna’s shushing and threats of detention barely audible.
Sarah flared her nostrils. “Anna!”
Anna looked over at Sarah, and the darkness in her eyes softened.
Chunks of partially digested food splattered on the floor. Sarah’s stomach turned upside down and not because of the gruesome sight or the acidic stench. Lucia.
Huddled behind the left curtain, Lucia stood. Vomit covered the front of her outfit.
Sarah turned to the girls. “Ascolta!” Her voice sounded so loud and so ca
llous, she could have been mistaken for Sister Maria in a rage.
With widened eyes, the girls froze.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Mocking someone half your age.” With narrowed eyes, she scanned the girls’ faces. “How would you feel if someone laughed at you? Belittled you when you were already so scared?” She paused, letting the deafening silence knock some sense into them.
The girls dropped their gazes to the floor.
“Now, help Ms. Franklin clean up this mess. And if I ever catch any of you teasing a lower school student again, Sister Maria will be the least of your worries.”
The girls gave curt nods.
Anna stood.
The girls scampered off like wounded puppies and Anna looked at Sarah as if she’d just rattled off the solution to a complicated equation. But Sarah ignored them all—except Lucia. She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulder and ushered her to the bathroom. She helped her clean up, washed her face with a damp paper towel, and fetched a spare set of clothes from Sister Angelica’s lost and found.
Lucia cried throughout.
“You’re okay, Lucia,” Sarah said in a calming voice. “No one will think any less of you if you don’t want to do the play.”
Still whimpering, Lucia wiped her swollen cheeks. “I can’t do that, Ms. Miller.”
“I’m sure your mother will understand.”
“I know.” Lucia nodded. “But everyone will call me una bambina.”
Sarah offered her a tissue. “I don’t think they’ll call you anything after my threats today.”
Taking the tissue, Lucia sniffled and frowned. “I have to do this.”
“I understand, but…” Lucia performing in front of an audience seemed as likely as Sarah understanding Mr. Moretti’s Italian. Sarah furrowed her brow. Maybe they could help each other? She lifted Lucia’s chin. “Do you think I can ever learn Italian?”
“If you practice enough.”
“Could you help me?”
Lucia cocked her head to the side. “Of course.”
“Let’s make a deal. You help me with my Italian, and I’ll help you with your stage fright.” Sarah extended her pinky finger.
Chewing her lip, Lucia shifted her gaze to the ceiling.