Chapter 10

Midnight-blue latex paint flowed into a tin pan. As Sarah dipped in a foam roller, the strong scent permeated her nostrils. She applied bright white paint over the star and stepped back. The panel would need two coats for sure. She glanced around.

On the stage, Anna took command of the students.

Lucia sat among them, her legs crossed, clutching her script like a lifeline. With a creased forehead and a face tinged green, Lucia might need a barf bag.

Dropping the roller, Sarah hiked herself onto the stage, and tapped Lucia’s shoulder. “Want to help me with the set?” she whispered in the girl’s ear.

Lucia gave a pinched smile then looked to Anna.

With a nod, Anna waved them off.

Today’s rehearsal would focus on auditioning the leads, so Director Superior Anna could survive without Lucia. Sarah wet a brush with paint and handed it to Lucia. “Why don’t you work on the edges?”

Nodding, Lucia dabbed at the wooden canvas.

Large droplets of paint oozed down in streaks. “Like this.” Sarah wrapped her hand around Lucia’s and directed the brush in smooth, even strokes. After a few passes, Sarah stepped back. “Now you try.”

Lucia smothered her brush in the jar of paint and extracted a blob.

Cringing, Sarah reached to correct her again—but stopped herself.

Lucia smiled and the color returned to her cheeks.

Picking up the roller, Sarah knew she’d fix the streaks later. With Lucia by her side, Sarah fell into a rhythm. She painted the higher portions while Lucia sat on the floor, concentrating on the borders. Sarah finished her section first, and while she waited for Lucia to finish the bottom, she set down the roller and picked up Lucia’s script. The word “Oste” was written on the front in Anna’s boxy handwriting.

Sarah flipped through the pages until she found a single highlighted line, Non sei il benvenuto. Or in English, You are not welcome. Oste. That must mean the innkeeper. The innkeeper with only one line in the entire play. Well, Anna kept her end of the deal.

Memories of that botched night out flooded back: strong cocktails, Marco, Sister Maria. Details Meredith couldn’t help but remind her of every time they spoke or texted. Why had she even told Meredith? If Meredith teased her about Ben Carter after all these years, when would she let up on Marco? She would need a severe case of dementia to ever let this one go.

“Are you happy with your part?” Sarah picked up the roller again.

Lucia shrugged. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether the innkeeper is a man or a woman.”

Sarah laughed. “I suppose male roles are always an issue at an all-girls school.”

Lucia’s tan cheeks held steady in a frown and a dullness set into her brown eyes.

“Yeah.”

“So, which do you prefer?”

“Mama doesn’t like pants roles. She played Mary in her school play.”

Of course, Roberta played Mary. Her classmates probably voted her prom queen, too, if such a thing existed in Italy. Sarah bit back her judgments. “Maybe next year you’ll have a larger role.”

“Maybe. I need to figure out how to get through one line first.” Lucia frowned, and her brush rested on the panel.

Sarah cupped a hand around Lucia’s shoulder and squeezed. “It just takes practice.”

Lucia’s expression didn’t change.

“Like this.” Sarah set the roller down again and reached beneath the drop cloths for her sketchpad. She flipped through a handful of pages—her early sketches of her backdrop plan. “I lost count how many times I sketched this scene. And I haven’t even started painting yet.”

“That’s different. You’re good at art. I’m not good at…at talking.”

With a sigh, Sarah tossed aside the sketchpad and turned Lucia to face her. “Then we’ll practice. Just us. As much as you need to. And when you’re ready, you’ll speak in front of them.” She gestured at the stage. “Deal?”

Lucia gave a toothy smile. “Deal.”

As she returned her smile, Sarah extended a hand and shook Lucia’s.

Lucia’s gaze lifted over Sarah, and her smile widened. “Papa!” She tossed her brush in the pan, splashing paint.

Sarah froze. Marco’s words replayed in her head. You called me Eduardo last night. She knelt to wipe the splattered paint, keeping her back to Eduardo. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her. Maybe he would just leave. Maybe—

“Good afternoon, Miss Miller.”

Maybe she should learn to stop lusting after married men. Sarah turned. Eduardo stood right beside her, close enough for her to catch a whiff of his cologne and to see a hint of tanned skin beneath a loosened tie. Definitely lusting. “Good afternoon.” She gave him a professional, polite smile.

Eduardo spoke to Lucia in Italian.

She scurried off in the direction of her backpack.

“I see you’ve enlisted Lucia as your assistant?” Eduardo pointed to a long drip of paint on the panel. “Not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s fine. The next coat will cover any imperfections.”

“You’re an artist then?”

Sarah shrugged. “I can’t say I agree with that statement.”

“Well, I’m sure your skills with a brush can’t be worse than your Italian.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes, only to catch his cheeky grin. She laughed. “I guess not.”

“About that. I’d be happy to help you with your Italian.” He drew a card from his pocket and extended it. “My mobile’s on the back.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s awfully kind of you.” Kind of you to tempt me.

“Great.” He smiled. “Addio.” With a nod, he started in Lucia’s direction.

Sarah examined the card. Rossini and Associates, International Corporate Attorneys. On the back, a number was scribbled in black ink.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. How had Philip and Amanda exchanged numbers? Had he given her a business card, too? She looked from the card, to Eduardo, and back again. Was Eduardo just being friendly—or something else? Friendly. Definitely just friendly…right?

“Did he just give you his number?”

“What?” Sarah jumped then shoved the card in her pocket. Anna stood by her side. “No. I mean, yes.” Heat rushed her cheeks.

Anna’s gaze tracked Eduardo and Lucia. “He’s pretty hot.”

“He wasn’t asking me out.” I think. “He offered to help with my Italian.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” She elbowed Sarah in the side.

“Please. The gesture was friendly, I assure you.” Just friendly.

“Riiight. Well, I’ve had one too many gestures from the dads around here.”

“What?” Sarah’s voice came out in a squeal. “You can’t be serious.”

Anna pulled a compact out of her pocket and applied bright red lipstick. “I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to meet Juan.” She spoke through puckered lips.

“Juan?” Sarah stood upright. “Who’s Juan?”

“A doctor I met.” She popped the makeup back in her pocket.

“Doctor?” Sarah took a step closer. “Spill it.”

“Well for starters, if I don’t leave now I might miss my ‘check-up.’”

Sarah rolled her eyes.

Anna winked then dashed toward the exit.

Wait—Anna had a new boyfriend already? A father made unsolicited advances? And Eduardo…?

Sarah reached a hand into her pocket. The card remained safe inside. Friendly. Definitely.

The next morning, Eduardo’s advance made Sarah contemplate attending student drop-off. But what if Eduardo brought Lucia? Sarah’s stomach lurched. Or worse, what if Roberta did? She’d just stay in her classroom and get ready.

In her classroom, she finished sorting the black pieces of construction paper from the colored assortment—who could draw on black paper anyway?—and went to file the papers with her craft supplies. But as she opened the file cabinet, she had a thought—maybe they could use the black paper for a Halloween project. Bats, ghosts, witches’ hats, and cauldrons—

Did they even celebrate Halloween in Italy? The minute hand on the clock gave a subtle click. Eight o’clock. Stop thinking about future art projects, Sarah. The kids are here in ten minutes! She shoved closed the file cabinet drawer and strode to her desk. Her calendar showed September. That month ended two days ago. How had she forgotten?

Right—head wrapped up with married men was how. She tore off the page then stopped. Red pen screamed at her. The circled date on the calendar meant the divorce papers.

She stepped back. They would arrive in less than a week. Only a week? In a few short days, she would be officially free of Philip Flynn. Her breath caught. She stepped back again, her back bumping the whiteboard. Philip’s bright green eyes and husky voice flooded her mind. “I love you,” she heard him say.

Tears stung her eyes. When had Philip’s affection begun to wane? When they took a break—as he called it—from conceiving? Or before that? Perhaps, when she’d stopped taking the pill?

She rubbed her hands over her arms, her arm hair thick under her palms—just one consequence of elevated PCOS hormones. Philip always said he didn’t mind. Had he been telling the truth? She slid her hands down her sides, where her once sultry curves now resembled the outline of a roll of toilet paper. She drooped her shoulders—maybe more than her infertility sent him to another woman.

The door to the classroom opened.

“Good morning,” students said in English as they entered.

Sarah turned her back, brushed away the tears, and regained her composure. Shoot! She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts she’d forgotten to formalize her lesson plan for the class. She faced the primo cinque girls, who chatted quietly, and clapped her hands.

The conversation stopped, and they fixed their attention on her.

“Today, we will practice adjectives with a project.” She held up a piece of paper. “I’d like each of you to draw…” She searched for something they could describe. “Draw a picture of me and write a description below, underlining the adjectives.” She blurted the thought.

An hour later, as she paged through gross images of herself—towering, boxy figures with scrawled blonde hair, long necks, wide shoulders, and big feet—Sarah regretted her hasty choice of subject. By the final period of the day, she was all but ready to set a match to the students’ drawings.

She strode through the aisles of desks fighting back a cringe at the images. She stopped at Cira’s desk and examined her crude drawing. Ms. Miller is big, read the caption.

Big? Big as in wide, or big as in tall? Judging by the stick-figure depiction, she guessed tall. Sarah tapped Cira’s paper. “See if you can add another sentence.”

From her seat, Cira mumbled something under her breath in Italian.

Sarah shot her a knowing eye. Best to keep Cira in line. The last thing Sarah needed was a parent conference with Mr. Moretti. She continued down the row. Drawings of matronly women in plain skirts and drab shirts decorated student desks. Sarah glanced down at her outfit and sighed. At least the girls omitted arm hair in their sketches.

She turned to the next row and approached Lucia’s desk.

At her desk, Lucia hunkered down over her paper, working with a colored pencil.

“What’s that you’re drawing?” Sarah asked.

Lucia shifted her hands to reveal the writing beneath, My papa says Ms. Miller is a beautiful swan.

Sarah crept her hands to her neck. While not out of proportion to her long arms and legs, her neck was longer than most women’s. “Lucia, your father said these words?”

Beaming, Lucia nodded. “He talks about you a lot. Says you’re the prettiest teacher in school.”

Sarah almost dropped her jaw, and she snapped it closed, her teeth clashing with the movement. “Lucia,” she started but paused. What the hell could she say? Does he say these things in front of your mother? Does he have infatuations with other women? Sarah shook away the thoughts and glanced toward the paper. “Don’t forget to underline your adjectives.”

Beside her, Lucia responded, but Sarah didn’t catch it. She was already walking toward the front of the class, her mind stuck on the idea of Eduardo cheating on Roberta. Heat tinted her chest and face. Anna was right. Eduardo’s gesture wasn’t innocent after all. Eduardo’s actions matched Philip’s. He sought only to satisfy his own needs, regardless of the consequences to his wife and—Sarah looked back at Lucia—and daughter.

Her throat tightened. No, Eduardo’s choices made Philip’s seem tame. Not only was Eduardo turning his back on his wife—but his entire family.

“Ms. Miller?”

Blinking, Sarah focused on the class.

Cira stood at her desk.

The rest of the students stared with questioning gazes.

“Ms. Miller,” Cira repeated. “Can we go now?”

Sarah checked the clock—two minutes past dismissal. How had she not heard the bell? She cleared her tightened throat. “Class dismissed. And don’t forget to turn in your papers.”

The girls left promptly.

But this afternoon, Sarah didn’t accompany them to the pick-up line. Clutching Lucia’s paper, she headed straight for her dorm room, straight for her desk, and straight for Eduardo’s business card. She balled it and tossed it in the trash. Friendly, my ass! Could she have been more naive? If her judgment of men were any worse, she’d have married an ex-con with a foot fetish and two mistresses on the side.

She dropped her gaze on the scrunched card, and her stomach twisted. Had she brought this attention on? If she hadn’t fallen over him like a starry-eyed schoolgirl, she might not be in this mess. She sat at her desk and picked up Lucia’s sketch—beautiful, sweet Lucia. If ever a reason existed to worry about Eduardo’s behavior, Lucia was it. Sarah needed to fix this—for Roberta and, of course, for Lucia.

Heart pounding, she fished the balled-up card from the trashcan, flattened it on the desk, and rehearsed what to say. “Mr. Rossini, I must express my concern over our—” She bit her lip. “Mr. Rossini, I think it best we communicate only on a professional level, and…and did I tell you how much I admire your family? You really are blessed.”

Maybe “blessed” was too much. “You must be proud,” she said aloud. Yes! That excuse would work. The business card in one hand, Sarah picked up her phone and punched the digits. But as her thumb hovered over the call button, the phone buzzed with an incoming call. A US number, with no caller-ID. Sarah answered.

“Ms. Miller? This is Judy French, your attorney.”

“Ms. French. Good after—” Sarah recalled the six-hour time difference. “I mean, good morning.”

“I was just reviewing the documents from your husband’s attorney.”

“Oh.” She shifted the papers on her desk, searching for her planner. “So soon?”

“Ms. Miller, I’m calling because I have in my notes that you were to split the assets equally.”

Sarah perked up. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Well, I’m afraid he’s changed the allocation.”

“What?” The business card fell from Sarah’s hand. She stepped back from the desk, her legs hitting the bedframe. “But we agreed on an even split.”

“Did you have a mediator?”

Sarah’s knees wobbled. “No.”

“Did you sign any agreements?”

A shakiness struck her hands. “No.”

“Then he has every right.”

“But…I…” Ms. French was mistaken—had to be mistaken. Dropping to the bed, she pulled the phone from her ear and stared. Ms. French’s muffled voice sounded in the room. Philip wouldn’t have changed the terms? Would he have?