Seeking Sara Summers (17 page)

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 first 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 aren’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.

Francesca shook Sara’s hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”

She wore sophisticated fashions—elegant and understated, impeccably accessorized. Sara wondered if Melanie had been to Francesca’s shop because there was a similarity in the way they dressed.

“What a beautiful scarf,” Francesca said.

Sara smiled, but the moment felt bittersweet. The scarf, as well as the new life, would have to go in two short days. Sara served the brie and crackers and seconds later Julia entered the room. The conversation suspended momentarily, as though Julia’s beauty had caught them all by surprise.

Julia sat on the plush sofa and patted the cushion next to her for Sara to join her. Sara gave a quick nod no, and chose an arm chair across the room. Francesca lifted an eyebrow. Had Julia told them anything? Surely she wouldn’t, Sara thought, not without asking her first. But the intimacy of her gesture was obvious.

“Julia must be keeping you quite entertained,” Francesca said to Sara. “We haven’t seen her in days.”

“Yes, my visit has been quite eventful,” Sara said.

Julia had been watching Sara ever since they sat down. Sara purposely did not look in Julia’s direction. Francesca studied them for several seconds, her curiosity knitted in her eyebrows, and then her eyes widened slightly, as if her intuition had revealed what Julia had not confided. 

“Am I missing something?” Georgio asked, as if suddenly aware of the overabundance of innuendo in the room.

“Of course not, darling.” Francesca patted him on the arm. It was evident that she was on to them and was not so much shocked with the revelation as pleased.

“Francesca attended Bryn Mawr,” Julia said to Sara.

“Yes, of course,” Sara said. “No wonder your English is so good.”

Francesca smiled. Bryn Mawr was a liberal all-women’s college in the States, so Sara doubted she could be shocked by anything. Francesca shared some stories of her school days and Georgio spoke of his current graduate work in mathematics.

The evening progressed. The conversation was intelligent, yet also lighthearted and after dinner they lingered at the table over dessert and coffee. Despite her hesitation, Sara relaxed and warmed to Julia’s friends.

Throughout the evening, Sara and Julia exchanged longer and deeper glances. By the end of dessert, Sara was ready for Francesca and Georgio to leave so she could get Julia into the bedroom. At the same time a lingering heaviness prevailed, like the humidity in New England after a hard summer rain.

They spent the majority of the next day in bed and by late afternoon took tea and pastries to the balcony. Sara was to leave for the airport early the next morning. Julia had arranged to borrow Georgio’s Fiat to drive Sara to Milan. As the time of her departure neared, Sara found herself withdrawing more and more.

“Are you okay?” Julia asked her.

“I suppose,” she said, picking at a croissant.

Julia put her hand on Sara’s.

“You have an artist’s hands,” Sara said. “Strong, yet feminine at the same time. I’ll miss your hands,” she added. “Actually, I’ll miss every inch of you.”

Julia smiled briefly. “”I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Say goodbye.” Neither looked in the other’s eyes. “I usually can’t wait to get rid of someone,” Julia said. “But this has definitely been different.”

“Maybe I could visit again next year,” Sara said, but she didn’t even know if there would be a next year. She had told Julia about the cancer scare but she had not told her it was back. She wondered now if it was wise to keep it from her.

“I don’t know if I can go that long without seeing you,” Julia said. “I could come to the States. I haven’t been for a visit in quite a while. And I’ve been wondering if there’s a market for my paintings there.”