gotten so popular? Julia had always had a knack for sweeping people along in her wake. Sara remembered that now. No wonder she had missed Julia so much after she had gone.
Roger returned to tell her a cab was waiting. Julia gave Sara a long embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Julia said.
“Me, too,” Sara said. But this was the understatement of the year. Being in Italy felt crucial to her existence at this point. It gave her a B12 shot of hope. It didn’t make sense, but somehow it felt like being in Italy was going to save Sara’s life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning the taxi delivered Sara to the address on Julia’s card. The large wooden door to the building opened just as Sara was reaching for the buzzer. An elderly couple stepped out of the building. The gentleman held the door for Sara and said something in Italian. She apologized for not understanding.
“Are you Julia’s friend?” he then asked, in practiced English.
“Yes,” she said.
“We are Julia’s neighbors, the Baraldis,” he said.
Sara shook his hand and curtsied to his wife like she had suddenly become Maria in The Sound of Music meeting Captain Von Trapp. The woman nodded regally and ignored Sara’s awkwardness. Sara’s eye was drawn to the cameo brooch of the Madonna and child adorning the collar of her dress.
“Julia is looking forward to your visit,” Mr. Baraldi said.
Sara’s relief spread into a smile. “I’m surprised she told you about it already. She only knew I was here last night.”
“Of course,” he said. “We saw her at the market early this morning.”
“Your English is very good,” Sara said to Mr. Baraldi.
He smiled and bowed slightly. His gray eyebrows and mustache were of equal thickness and a hint of gray tuft protruded from his ears. He had the kind face of a grandfather. He pointed to the stairway. “Third floor,” he said. Sara thanked him and stepped inside.
A row of tall, thin mailboxes lined the wall just inside the door. On one of the boxes was an engraved nameplate that read J. David . A surge of anticipation chased away the exhaustion that had not quite left Sara since her flight. She ascended the stairway. The marble steps documented every footstep, their solidity slightly worn and shiny in the middle, as if a thousand pilgrims had made this trek over the last two centuries. Sara’s wheeled luggage thumped loudly against each step.
She passed the second floor landing, and then reached the third. At the top of the stairs she glanced again at the Julia’s card to make sure she was in the right place. Sara raised her hand to knock and stopped. What if their meeting didn’t turn out as well as she hoped? She had forfeited her hotel room during the busy tourist season.
Sara took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. She waited. No one came. Several thoughts went through her mind at once. Had Julia forgotten she was coming? No, she had told the Biraldi’s about it that morning. Did she knock too lightly? But then a latch released and the door opened. Julia greeted her with open arms and an embrace. Any hesitation Sara had felt quickly disappeared.
Julia wheeled her luggage into her apartment saying again how happy she was to see her.
“This is lovely,” Sara said, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. A small gray cat appeared at her feet. “Who’s this?” Sara asked.
“This is Roberto,” Julia said.
Roberto rubbed his face against Sara’s leg. “Can I pick him up?”
“You’d better check with him,” Julia said. “He likes to make his own decisions.”
“Hello, Roberto. May I hold you?” He raised his head, and Sara lifted him into her arms. Despite his cool demeanor, his heart beat rapidly underneath her fingertips.
“I’m impressed,” Julia said. “He usually doesn’t let strangers hold him right away. He must like you.”
“I like him, too.” After several affectionate rubs Sara returned Roberto to
Roger returned to tell her a cab was waiting. Julia gave Sara a long embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Julia said.
“Me, too,” Sara said. But this was the understatement of the year. Being in Italy felt crucial to her existence at this point. It gave her a B12 shot of hope. It didn’t make sense, but somehow it felt like being in Italy was going to save Sara’s life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning the taxi delivered Sara to the address on Julia’s card. The large wooden door to the building opened just as Sara was reaching for the buzzer. An elderly couple stepped out of the building. The gentleman held the door for Sara and said something in Italian. She apologized for not understanding.
“Are you Julia’s friend?” he then asked, in practiced English.
“Yes,” she said.
“We are Julia’s neighbors, the Baraldis,” he said.
Sara shook his hand and curtsied to his wife like she had suddenly become Maria in The Sound of Music meeting Captain Von Trapp. The woman nodded regally and ignored Sara’s awkwardness. Sara’s eye was drawn to the cameo brooch of the Madonna and child adorning the collar of her dress.
“Julia is looking forward to your visit,” Mr. Baraldi said.
Sara’s relief spread into a smile. “I’m surprised she told you about it already. She only knew I was here last night.”
“Of course,” he said. “We saw her at the market early this morning.”
“Your English is very good,” Sara said to Mr. Baraldi.
He smiled and bowed slightly. His gray eyebrows and mustache were of equal thickness and a hint of gray tuft protruded from his ears. He had the kind face of a grandfather. He pointed to the stairway. “Third floor,” he said. Sara thanked him and stepped inside.
A row of tall, thin mailboxes lined the wall just inside the door. On one of the boxes was an engraved nameplate that read J. David . A surge of anticipation chased away the exhaustion that had not quite left Sara since her flight. She ascended the stairway. The marble steps documented every footstep, their solidity slightly worn and shiny in the middle, as if a thousand pilgrims had made this trek over the last two centuries. Sara’s wheeled luggage thumped loudly against each step.
She passed the second floor landing, and then reached the third. At the top of the stairs she glanced again at the Julia’s card to make sure she was in the right place. Sara raised her hand to knock and stopped. What if their meeting didn’t turn out as well as she hoped? She had forfeited her hotel room during the busy tourist season.
Sara took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. She waited. No one came. Several thoughts went through her mind at once. Had Julia forgotten she was coming? No, she had told the Biraldi’s about it that morning. Did she knock too lightly? But then a latch released and the door opened. Julia greeted her with open arms and an embrace. Any hesitation Sara had felt quickly disappeared.
Julia wheeled her luggage into her apartment saying again how happy she was to see her.
“This is lovely,” Sara said, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. A small gray cat appeared at her feet. “Who’s this?” Sara asked.
“This is Roberto,” Julia said.
Roberto rubbed his face against Sara’s leg. “Can I pick him up?”
“You’d better check with him,” Julia said. “He likes to make his own decisions.”
“Hello, Roberto. May I hold you?” He raised his head, and Sara lifted him into her arms. Despite his cool demeanor, his heart beat rapidly underneath her fingertips.
“I’m impressed,” Julia said. “He usually doesn’t let strangers hold him right away. He must like you.”
“I like him, too.” After several affectionate rubs Sara returned Roberto to
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