Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Sabella?”
In a couple of hours, I have to fetch the kids from school. As much as I love the kids, I’d like to spend time with my wife alone before the children demand our attention.
Bastian barks, insisting to be noticed.
I give him a quick scratch behind the ear. “Where is that beautiful woman? Have you been watching her like a good guard dog?”
He barks again, wagging his tail faster.
Except for the banging of pots coming from the kitchen, the rooms are quiet. Too quiet. My gut tightens. Adrenaline takes over, setting the quick but steady tempo of my pulse. Sweat breaks out over my body. I know the symptoms well. I have these anxiety attacks whenever I don’t have an immediate visual on my wife.
“Sabella?” I call louder, stomping like a rhino down the hallway.
Doris exits the kitchen with a dishcloth in her hands. “She’s on the beach.”
I stop. On the beach? I didn’t consider that. Then again, why wouldn’t she be? It’s June. The day is hot. She loves the sea. She’s like a fish in the water. It just didn’t cross my mind because she’s always in the house or in the pool.
“Is everything all right?” Doris asks, but I’m already dumping my tie on the nearest chair and turning back for the door.
Outside, I cut across the garden and take the steps that lead to the beach. At the top of the path, I stop. Below, the sea glistens in the sun. The thumbnail of beach as well as the jetty are packed with people. What the hell? True, there aren’t as many bodies as the space is small, but I’ve never seen so many people in our bay. Among the colorful T-shirts and Bermuda shorts, the bodyguards stand out in their dark suits, forming a circle around the rocky parts at the edge of the sand. A line of them dots the jetty.
My shoulders relax. I release my grip on the gun in my waistband. I don’t know when I reached for it. It’s an instinctive reaction that comes naturally.
Somewhat reassured, I take in the spectacle, scanning the small crowd for a familiar face. It’s always the same face I’m looking for. One face only. In my waking hours as well as in my dreams. I’m terrified that it’ll vanish. Disintegrate right in front of my eyes. I’m only reassured when she’s within reach.
I recognize some of the people from the village. Much excitement follows as they cheer someone on. Finally, I spot Sabella. She stands at the edge of the jetty next to a woman who wears a black bathing suit. Judging by the short, curly brown hair, it’s the pharmacist, Mrs. Campana. Mr. Martin sits in his fishing boat, anchored a short distance from the jetty.
Mrs. Campana stretches her arms out in front of her. There’s a splash as she dives in clumsily. She resurfaces a short distance from the jetty and crawls frog-style through the clear water. Sabella’s dive is a lot more elegant. She cuts with fluent breaststrokes through the water, making her way next to Mrs. Campana toward the boat. Mr. Martin holds out a lifebuoy, rocking the boat as he stands.
The cheering turns louder. Mr. Martin launches the lifebuoy through the air. It hits the water close to where Mrs. Campana is arching her neck toward the sky while paddling and kicking with all her might. Whistling and clapping breaks out when she reaches the buoy. She grabs it with both arms, hanging on to it as Mr. Martin reels her in like a fish.
Sabella swims next to her, holding her arm until Mr. Martin drags her with much puffing and heaving into the boat. Mr. Martin waits until Sabella has pulled herself in before he starts the engine and steers them to the jetty as if he’s bringing the Britannia in for docking. Mrs. Campana sits in the front with her head held stiff and high like a queen.
One of my guards grabs the rope that Mr. Martin throws and ties the boat to the jetty. A man, the grocery store owner, offers Mrs. Campana a hand to help her from the boat. The chatter is excited as the townsfolk gather around her. A woman with pink hair hands her a towel. Sabella shakes her head as a pale woman with black hair knotted into a bun offers her one too.
So that was what Sabella and Mrs. Campana were doing in the pool. Sabella taught her to swim. I thought Mrs. Campana was always visiting around four o’clock because she was a fan of Sabella’s chocolate and banana cakes.
The scene unfolding below is foreign. This house has never seen so many visitors. People walk next to Mrs. Campana, patting her back and nodding their heads. A small table set with glasses and snacks stands on the jetty close to the beach. Rosé wine cools in an ice tub next to the table. Mrs. Paoli is already pulling the cork of a bottle.