THIRTY-FIVE

“I wore my hair up, Matteo, so you wouldn’t be tempted to tug on it.”

As Sophia touched the glossy back of her dark golden French twist, I admired the ruby-and-diamond Campana originals dangling from her ears, matching pieces around her lovely, long neck and slender wrist.

“I couldn’t help myself, Sophia,” Matt said with a laugh. “You always wore those stupid pigtails. They made you a target.”

With easy elegance, Sophia approached us, the strappy heels of her dramatic designer sandals clicking on the bedrock. She gave Matt a tight hug and Continental kisses on both cheeks. Then she warmly greeted me.

“Clare, it’s been too long.”

“I know, but it’s good to see you again . . .”

The last time I’d seen Sophia was well over ten years ago.

She’d stunned me by schlepping all the way out to New Jersey to deliver an early birthday present to my daughter. It was Joy’s first birthday away from Manhattan, and she wasn’t adjusting well to my divorce from Matt and our move to the suburbs. She didn’t like the new school and was having trouble making friends.

I remember how touched I was by Sophia making the effort to find us. Her grinning arrival was a ray of warm light on a cold, rainy day.

As soon as Sophia handed Joy her gift, she tore open the wrapping to find a narrow white box with a tiny golden bell on the lid. Inside was a gorgeous chain of yellow gold with a topaz pendant the color of sunshine, masterfully cut into the shape of a many-faceted heart.

“The color of this stone makes it very special,” Sophia explained as she gently lifted the treasure from its white velvet bed. “It’s what we call imperial topaz. See the way my father cut it? You can tilt it this way in the light and it looks bright yellow, like a rising sun. Tilt it the other way and it looks more golden with a pinkish hue, like the setting sun in the late afternoon . . .”

As Sophia undid the chain and fastened it around Joy’s neck, my daughter listened with big eyes and rapt attention.

“The ancient Egyptians believed their sun god, Ra, gave this jewel its magical color. Many still believe that wearing imperial topaz brings good luck, long life, beauty, and intelligence. It’s my hope this gem will lend you its ancient earth energy and help brighten your days.”

The moment Sophia finished telling Joy about the necklace, my daughter flew to the mirror to see how it looked.

“Joy!” I called, worried the girl had forgotten her manners. “What do you say to Aunt Sophia?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” She turned and ran back. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much! It’s beautiful, I love it, I love it!”

Joy hugged Sophia with a brightness I hadn’t seen in months.

In the days that followed, Joy’s pride in her new pendant gave her the confidence to make two new friends. (No doubt relating the history and mythical power of the sun-colored gem she wore to school every day had helped melt some of the “new girl” ice, as well.)

The two classmates encouraged Joy to join their Girl Scout troop, and by the time her birthday arrived, we had a house bursting with the energy of laughing, happy kids.

Of course, I thanked Sophia, too—for giving the gift of joy to my Joy—and I wouldn’t let her leave that day without a delicious dinner.

It wasn’t until Joy went to bed that Sophia admitted over coffee and a plate of my lemon-iced Anginetti and Chocolate-Almond Biscotti that one of the reasons for her visit was to tell me about Matt and how hard he was taking our split.

A little digging and I realized she had heard only half the story.

Matt’s half.

As gently as I could, I told her the other half—about Matt’s cheating and lying, and about his cocaine addiction. I confessed that I’d stayed with him until he got clean of the drugs, but I couldn’t remain in the marriage, not for the long haul, not for my own sanity and self-worth.

I needed to stand on my own, apart from a young man who’d taken too much of my good faith, loyalty, and love—taken them for granted instead of cherishing them for the gifts they were.

I still loved Matt, but that wasn’t the problem. What we lost—what he lost—was our ability to function as a married couple. I would never trust him with my heart again.

Sophia had listened with extreme kindness. But she was barely in her midtwenties back then, and (with memories of her girlish crush on Matt still fresh) she couldn’t comprehend why I wouldn’t give “a great guy like him” another chance.

Still . . . she was kind enough to listen to my side, and she did sincerely care about me and Joy—and that’s what mattered most.

As we parted that evening, she hugged me tight, and wished me all the luck in the world.

We tried to keep in touch—a few cards and phone calls—but with her mother, Angelica, gone, Sophia had already begun taking on the responsibilities for the retail end of the family business.

In the years that followed, she encouraged her father to expand his market, and she spearheaded that vision by traveling to Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and then London, Paris, Rome, and Tokyo.

The years had changed her, it seemed to me. She was so sophisticated now, so grown-up. And one thing I knew from overhearing that private argument with her husband last week in that strident, cynical voice that I barely recognized—

Sophia Campana finally understood heartbreak.