by Wendi Dass
Mr. De Luca isn’t a boy. Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll take care of De Luca,” Sister Maria said.
“Thank you, Sister.” The words came out in a sigh. “Thank you so much.”
Sister Maria turned to go then stopped. “Sarah. Have you given any thought to returning next year?”
Sarah clutched her mug in her hands. First the stress of telling Eduardo, then De Luca’s threat. How much more could Sarah take? She gave a tight response. “A little.”
“Well, I’ll hope you’ll give it some more.”
That night, Sarah lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind on Eduardo. What was he doing? Had he gone to bed already? Or was he up worrying about how quickly she’d fled his apartment?
She exhaled and covered herself with the comforter. Scratchy and thin, the blanket was far from comfortable—not like Eduardo’s down-filled one. She rolled onto her side, and a spring jabbed her in the side. God, this bed was uncomfortable.
Eduardo’s words repeated in her head. Maybe you’d be happier if you lived with me. Who wouldn’t want to live at Eduardo’s flat? Who wouldn’t be proud to call Eduardo hers? Sarah sank deeper under the covers. Would his offer remain once he knew the truth?
Her phone dinged on the desk—a text. Sarah threw off the blanket and picked up the phone.
—Miss you, mia bella cigna—
The knot in Sarah’s stomach swelled. She closed her eyes. Enough! She’d endure no more fretful worries—no more nights contemplating his possible response. Opening her eyes, she let her thumbs find the keypad and sent a quick message.
—Miss you too. Can you pick me up after work tomorrow? We need to talk—
Chapter 31
Sarah paced in her empty classroom, wringing her hands in her skirt. Would she really tell him? Yes. I really will tell him. She stopped pacing and planted herself in her desk chair. She shifted her gaze to the clock on the wall—three o’clock. Fifteen minutes until everything could change.
Ugh! With a huff, she heaved back in her chair. How do I tell someone I’m infertile, anyway? Maybe Anna’s shirt idea wasn’t half-bad.
Her phone dinged—another text from Eduardo.
—Got here a little early. Take your time. I’ll wait out front—
A weight bore down her chest; her secret slowly suffocated her. She pushed away the feelings and retrieved her sketchbook from her desk. Turning to a recent drawing of Eduardo and Lucia, she traced the outline of their matching eyes with her fingertips. Diamond-shaped white specks, carefully placed, indicated the light bouncing off their fudge-like eyes. The exaggerated graphite strokes of their crinkled smiles captured the fondness between them. Sarah stroked Lucia’s cheek, a dimple etched in her pudgy, velvet skin.
Sarah picked up her pencil and hastily sketched in a silhouette between them—hers. Eduardo already had a family, and if she wanted to be part of it, she would need to reveal the truth. Her figure took shape on the page, and Sarah smiled. With each stroke of the pencil, the weight in her chest lifted. When her face was sufficiently sketched in, she tore out the page and tucked it inside her purse. For luck. She took a deep breath and headed for the door. Before she reached it, the door swung open.
Mr. De Luca sauntered in.
Sarah froze. “Mr. De Luca, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
He shut the door behind him.
“Where’s Lucia?” She looked past him to the door. Did any teachers remain in the building? If she screamed, could they hear her through the closed door?
“With her mother.” He crossed the room. His gaze darted from her, to the window, and then back again.
Sarah backed up, and she searched in her purse for her phone. She grasped it—thank God—pulled it from her purse, and punched Eduardo’s contact.
But Mr. De Luca lunged forward, snatched the phone from her hand, and placed it on a student desk. “Talking on the phone isn’t nice when you have guests, Ms. Miller.”
He scanned her body like a predator surveying his victim. What if he was a predator? Sarah retreated, creating distance between them. She fidgeted her shaky hands and realized she’d left the phone on the desk by De Luca. Dammit!
“You should have taken my offer.” He stared. “You’ve only made the situation worse by talking to Sister Maria. Now, Roberta is even more determined to remove Lucia from this school.”
Sarah surveyed the room for an escape. Apart from the door, which Mr. De Luca blocked, the way out was through the tiny window above her desk. She’d never wished for a petite frame more than she did now.
Mr. De Luca flashed his black eyes. As he took a step toward her, the right side of his lip curled upward. “This is the last time I’ll extend my offer.”
Sarah halted. “I haven’t changed my decision.” She spoke in a firm voice.
His mouth shifted from a grin to a smirk. “That’s all I needed to know.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Sarah relaxed her shoulders; his smirk may have been sour but the change in behavior was as if someone flicked a switch. She let go of the stagnant air burning her lungs.
On the desk, the phone dinged.
Mr. De Luca whipped around, lurched for the phone then raised his upper lip in a snarl.
“Your boyfriend. You want to talk to him?”
Nodding, Sarah approached and held out her hand.
Mr. De Luca deepened his sneer and smashed her phone on the floor. He grabbed her forearm and shoved her against the desk. “Who do you think you are?” he said through gritted teeth.
Pain shot through her hip. “Stop!” She pushed him with her free hand.
He grabbed that, too and slammed her down on the desk.
Sarah opened her mouth to scream.
“Shut up!” He smacked her face.
A sting rushed her cheek, and a metallic taste coated her tongue—blood. Sarah clawed at him with her free hand and lifted a leg to kick him.
Shifting his weight, he pinned her to the desk and pressed his scruffy face against hers.
How stupid of her to think she could match his strength. Again, she screamed, thrashing her head from side to side.
De Luca released her left arm to cover her mouth with his hand.
With her arm free, she found a resurgent strength. She pushed against his chest with all the energy she could muster.
He stumbled backward.
“Get off her!” Eduardo shouted in Italian.
A relief washed over her. Her body sagged. Thank God, Eduardo came.
De Luca screamed something back in Italian.
Sarah had neither the strength nor desire to translate. Her body drooped and shook, and she leaned against the desk for support.
Both men hurled obscenities at each other.
Eduardo, who stood several inches taller than his opponent, grabbed De Luca’s shoulders and threw him against the wall. He gripped De Luca’s shirt with one hand and pressed his other against De Luca’s throat. Anger raged beneath Eduardo’s Italian curses, and his skin turned a new shade of burnt orange.
“Ascolta!” shouted a shrill voice.
Exhaling a sigh, Sarah turned. Thank, God, she’d come.
Sister Maria stood in the doorway. “What is this?” She spoke in rapid Italian.
Eduardo loosened his grip. He and De Luca both spoke simultaneously, gesturing with their hands.
Sister Maria held up a palm and turned her gaze to Sarah.
The line between Sister Maria’s eyes read of concern. Sarah sat on the desk, wiping the blood from her lip with one hand. “Mr. De Luca.” Her voice quavered. “He tried to…”
The words wouldn’t come out—she didn’t want them to. Judging by the expression on Sister Maria’s face, they didn’t need to.
****
For minutes—or was it hours?—everything was a blur. Faces blended with bodies. Black robes mixed with blue polizia jackets. They all huddled around Sarah: Sister Maria, Eduardo, Anna, and even Siste
r Angelica. Their voices were distant, as if she were submerged underwater, the sounds coming through in muddled bits and pieces.
“Are you hurt?”
“What happened?”
Sarah moved her lips, but no sound surfaced. Her lip stung, and she touched her fingers to the wound. A rough scab scratched her fingers. She shifted her fingers to her cheeks and winced. Her left cheek throbbed.
Sister Angelica brought her ice.
Anna wrapped her petite arms around Sarah. “I’ll ruin him. I’ll friggin’ ruin him.”
From her fetal position, Sarah didn’t laugh nor did she say a word.
Eduardo enfolded her in his embrace.
Why did his gentle touch bring no comfort? Why couldn’t she stop trembling?
“Sarah, I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her tighter, nuzzling his face in her hair. “Leonardo,” he growled and stomped his foot. “Stronzo! How could he do this? How could he hurt mia bella cigna?” He shifted, moving his mouth close to Sarah’s ear. “He’ll pay for this, Sarah. I promise you, he’ll pay.”
A blue jacket pushed through. “Ho bisogno di una dichiarazione.”
The words skidded off her brain, incomprehensible.
“A statement,” Eduardo translated. “He needs a statement.”
Sarah blindly stared at the police officer.
He spoke in too-fast Italian.
“He needs you to come to the station,” Eduardo said.
She just stared at the man’s uniform: the brass buttons, the shield patch on his sleeve, and a white belt—a floppy loop where the handcuffs should have been. Was Mr. De Luca in the handcuffs?
“Sarah,” Eduardo said softly. “We have to go with him.”
Sarah searched the room, but Mr. De Luca wasn’t there. The cacophony of murmurs around her faded into background noise, and in its place sounded Mr. De Luca’s voice, harsh and forceful. “You whore!”
She shook her head, freeing herself of the memories, but she couldn’t. She relived the scene in her mind, as if she were in two places at once.
I must get away—must leave here. I must get away from him.
Eduardo rested hands on her shoulders. “Sarah, please say something. Please.”
His voice was pinched. Sarah stared into his concerned gaze, hoping his care would take away her pain. But her hands shook and her wounds throbbed. “I want to go home.” Her voice came out in a whisper.
He rubbed her shoulders. “Of course, I’ll take you home.”
Sarah dropped his gaze. “No, not your home—D.C. home.”
Chapter 32
Sarah huddled in the corner of her childhood bedroom in the US—her soul, a cavernous pit. No light penetrated the damp, jagged walls of her mind. Nothing alleviated her torment: not chamomile tea, not Choctella, and not her fuzzy slippers.
She forced herself to her feet, her knees aching from her prolonged crouch, and crossed to her dresser. She turned off the whirling ballerina nightlight. Hollow blackness surrounded her.
“Sarah,” her mom called from somewhere in the house. “Come down and eat something.”
Foggy with jetlag, Sarah plodded down the stairs. She found an overcooked chicken breast and mushy peas set on the dining room table. When was the last time she’d eaten? Yesterday? The day before? Who knew?
She floated into a chair and poked at her food. At the best of times, Mom’s cooking was about as enticing as a jar of baby food. With no appetite anyway, she didn’t feel guilty pushing away the plate.
Mom sat at the table. “I told you this job was a bad idea.” She jabbed a fork into her own food. “Look at you. Just look at you.”
Sarah turned her attention to the window. A light snow fell, and the sun cast the last of its rays off speckles of silvery ice. She shivered.
“You should’ve stayed here with me,” Mom continued. “Kept your old job and met someone else.” She leaned a forearm on the table. “Maybe I was wrong about Eduardo. Maybe he isn’t that great after all.”
Shoving back from the table, she glared at her mother. “This isn’t his fault.” She stalked into the kitchen, yanked open the cupboard, and found a box of sugary cereal. She stuffed a handful into her mouth.
“You won’t finish your dinner?” Mom called from the dining room.
“I’m going to bed.” The box hugged to her chest, Sarah climbed the stairs.
Mom called her name.
Sarah drowned out her voice with crunches. She couldn’t take this haranguing by Mom now—not while she kept thinking about…She blinked away the thought, entered her room, and stashed the box of cereal under her bed. Desperate for sleep, she slipped beneath the covers. But as soon as she closed her eyes all she saw was the image of the haunting scene. De Luca scratched her cheek with his scruffy chin, the acrid saliva of his kiss turned her stomach, and his fist struck her cheek.
Sarah whimpered and curled into a ball. What would have happened if Eduardo didn’t come? A mixture of half-chewed, corn-puff squares and bile mounted in Sarah’s throat. She knew exactly what would have happened.
Her phone dinged, and she stared blankly in the direction of the sound. Anna and Eduardo were kind enough to get her on the plane to D.C.—the least she could do was return their calls. She picked up her phone. Her texts were full of a days’ worth of messages saying:
—How are you?—
—I miss you—and
—When are you coming back?—
She pictured Eduardo’s sympathetic eyes and felt the warmth of his comforting embrace. She snuggled deeper into her fleece blanket. As she reread his messages, she felt a soft light glow inside her.
—Miss you too—
She hovered her thumb hovered the Send button, and a voice inside stopped her. When would she see him again? She erased the message and tossed her phone to the floor. She trudged to the bathroom, found a bottle of Sleepquil, and took a generous swig. Would she see him again?
****
The numbers on the alarm clock changed. Her phone rang. Sarah alternated between hot showers and stolen sips of sleep medicine from the medicine cabinet. After some time—hours? days? Did it really matter?—Meredith visited.
Sarah met her at the dining room table, where her mother left a steaming pot of Earl Grey.
Meredith greeted her with a bear hug. “How are you?”
“Hanging in there.” Sarah reached for the tea. “Where are Steven and Amber?”
“With Brian.” Meredith eased into her seat. “I can bring them by later. I wanted to see how you were doing first.”
“That would be nice.” Sarah poured milk in Mom’s dainty teacup and raised it to her lips. The redness of her hands matched the flower embellishment on the cup. How many times did she scrub these hands? She traced her gaze along her arm. A faint bruise tarnished her left forearm. She set down the cup, tugged on her sleeves, and hid her hands under the table.
Meredith popped a mini-muffin in her mouth and washed it down with a gulp of tea. She held Sarah in a steady gaze. “Your mom thinks you’re on drugs.”
The words were as calm as if she remarked on the weather. Sarah pursed her lips. “I figured she’d say something to you. Just like her not to confront me herself.”
Meredith widened her eyes. “So, it’s true?”
“I don’t think Sleepquil counts as drugs.”
Meredith frowned.
Sarah rubbed her chafed hands then her forearms. She felt De Luca’s hands on her and smelled his musky aftershave. Again, she lifted her cup. If only she could spike it with vodka or antihistamines—hell, anything to erase the memory. “I’ll stop,” she said. “I promise. As soon as I stop seeing him—stop feeling him—when I close my eyes.”
“Oh, Sarah.” Meredith smacked the table. “You’ve got to make that bastard pay.”
Sarah’s hands shook. Her teacup rattled on the saucer so she set it down.
“You will press charges, won’t you?” Meredith asked.
How could she press charges? Sh
e’d have to give a statement—would have to give a detailed account of the scene she wanted so badly to forget.
Meredith exhaled audibly. “I know this is hard, but you can’t run forever—can’t keep downing sleeping pills.”
Sarah winced. “Sleepquil, not sleeping pills. And I’ve only taken it for a few days.”
“Five. Five days. Five days that he’s been out there—he could hurt someone else. What about his wife? What about Lucia?”
A prickle ran over her skin. “Lucia,” she whispered.
“What did you say?”
Lucia was in the house with him. She might even be alone. De Luca could…could hurt her. Sarah jumped to her feet and clasped Meredith’s shoulders. “Lucia. I’ve got to protect Lucia.” She rushed to the hall closet and yanked it open.
Meredith followed. “Sarah! What are you doing?”
Sarah pulled out her suitcase, only just recently unpacked. “I need to get back to Rome. Now.”
****
“We have everything we need,” the detective said in Italian. He smiled at Sarah. “You did great.”
Eduardo wrapped an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, tucked her bangs behind her ears, and kissed her hair.
Sarah leaned into him. His warm chest was the only glimmer of comfort in the sterile police station.
“I’m so proud of you.” He led her to the exit.
Sarah smiled but didn’t reply. Going straight from the airport to give her statement seemed like the best idea, but now, her aching legs made her doubt her decision. If she didn’t get into bed soon, she’d topple over.
Eduardo placed her in the passenger seat of his car with a gentle touch. He walked around and got into the driver’s seat then paused with the key in the ignition. “I should tell you something.” He turned the key, and the engine purred. “Roberta…she’s decided to leave De Luca.”
The statement awakened Sarah more than three pots of black tea could. She gripped Eduardo’s forearm. “Thank God.” The color in Eduardo’s hazy eyes melted back to their warm chocolate hue.
He cupped a hand over hers and cocked a brow. “I didn’t realize you’d taken up the faith.”