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)
In the late afternoon, the dreaded moment arrives when they prepare to leave.
I use the opportunity when Angelo and Heidi carry the bags to the car to pull Johan aside. “Mr. Russo told me about the marijuana.”
He looks guilty for all of two seconds before he snaps his teeth together and obstinance hardens his face. “So what?”
“You’re a clever and industrious young man. I’d hate to see you get expelled and throw a chance at building a good future for yourself away. I really don’t want Mr. Russo to send you to a boarding school in a different city.”
“Don’t worry,” he says with a wry smile. “It was my last batch anyway. We grew it in the valley, and we’re not going back there, are we?”
“I hope not.”
Sophie runs up to hug me. “Sabella! Sabella! Angelo says we have to go.”
Johan makes as if to leave.
“By the way,” I say, “I like your new haircut. It suits you.”
He blushes to the roots of his hair. Muttering, “Cheers. See ya,” under his breath, he spins around and sprints to the car.
Sophie pulls on the hem of my sweater. “Angelo says we can come back soon.”
I bend down and wrap my arms around her. “Then you can teach me what you learned in class so that I can practice my French.”
She giggles. “I can teach you and Beatrice and Alison.” Her eyes light up. “I’ll be the teacher, and you’ll be the kids in the class.” Touching the sea turtle pendant around her neck, she says, “I’m less sad now that you’ll always be with me.”
Angelo approaches.
I kiss her forehead. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
She skips to the car, seeming much happier than when she arrived.
Angelo stops in front of me, studying me with his hands shoved in his pockets. After a beat, he says, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring about them.”
“It’s only natural.”
“No, I don’t think it is,” he says thoughtfully. “I think that’s just you.”
“Thank you for bringing them to visit.” I swallow the lump in my throat at the thought of not seeing them for some time. “It was a nice weekend.”
“It felt…” He hesitates, seemingly searching for a word. “Normal.”
I try to keep my voice neutral. “I suppose it did.”
He cups my nape and drags me closer to plant a kiss on my lips. I let it happen, giving in without making a scene, but I’m not kissing him back. My heart contracts painfully, but this is the best way. The only way.
“Sabella,” he huffs in frustration, breathing my name over my lips.
I pull away. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
His shoulders slump. “Yes.”
I wave at the kids and Heidi who are already seated in the SUV, considerately giving my husband and me space, and then I go back inside the house.
The engine starts up and fades away. I don’t know for how long I stand on the same spot in the lounge, but it’s dark when I finally gather the courage to walk into the empty kitchen. After the full house this weekend, it feels lonelier and quieter now. The darkness is depressing, so I switch on the lights and do what I do to cope. I keep busy by baking banana loaves for Mr. Martin and Mrs. Paoli. When I’ve set the loaves out to cool, I have a shower and get into bed, but I’m once again lying awake for most of the night.
At dawn, I’m up. After breakfast, I set out to the village. I have a cup of tea with Antoinette when I deliver her banana loaf and drop one off for Corinne before I head toward Mr. Martin’s place. When I hand him the loaf, he cuts a thick slice and butters it.
“This is good,” he says around a mouthful of cake. “Haven’t had this before.”
“It’s a recipe from home.”
Doris, our housekeeper, never allowed us in the kitchen when she baked. I have no idea if I did it right. I had to adjust a cake recipe and experiment with the quantity of the ingredients, but the loaf turned out all right.
“You’re a kind person,” he says, patting my arm.
When I’m done with cleaning his house, I swing by the pharmacy.
“More cake?” Mrs. Campana asks as she takes the loaf from me. “You’ll make me fat.”
“It’s another first attempt.” I smile. “I had to share that with you.”
“You haven’t done much cooking before, have you?”
“No,” I admit. “We had a housekeeper who was a great cook and an even better baker.”
“Lucky you.” She pulls up her nose. “You sound like you’re from the same stock as your husband.”
She has no idea how right she is. My dad wasn’t that different from the Russos.
“I’ve been spoiled.” I lean my elbows on the counter. “To be honest, I’ve never been interested in baking or cooking before.”