Estelle didn’t want to make any promises about finding Rachelle and bringing her back. It wasn’t like you could force a thirty-year-old woman to do anything, especially not one as headstrong as Rachelle.
“I’m going to make sure she’s all right, at least,” Estelle promised instead.
Sam sighed. “It’s enough. It has to be.”
After Estelle got off the phone, she wandered through the ancient streets and found her way to the English-languagebookstore, where her books were already displayed in the window. Her face was featured, along with: “Estelle Coleman, Reading, Tonight!” Estelle prayed that Rachelle had spotted it, that she was making up her mind about whether or not she’d come.
Inside, the bookstore manager introduced herself as Sarah. She was a thirtysomething Canadian woman who’d been living in Rome for the better part of ten years. “I opened the bookshop because I was tired of ordering all my English-language books online,” she said. “I wanted a store that offered all the books I’d been wanting to read. It was a selfish act, all in the pursuit of my own reading pleasure.”
Estelle laughed. She wondered if Sarah had parents and grandparents back in Canada who missed her and wished she’d come home. But she knew that wasn’t a question she could get away with asking, so she asked another.
“I have something funny to ask you,” Estelle began, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“I promise, I hear all kinds of funny stuff from writers,” Sarah said. “Nothing can shock me.”
Estelle took a breath and told her not to chicken out. “I wondered if you know someone. An expat, like you. Her name is Rachelle. Rachelle Earhart. Or maybe she goes by Rachelle Coleman these days, I don’t know.” Estelle’s heartbeat quickened. “She’s a chef.”
Immediately, Sarah’s face folded and echoed worry. “Rachelle Earhart, of course. I’ve met her a few times. The expat community in Rome isn’t so big. Those of us who’ve been here a while tend to run into each other.”
Estelle could hardly believe it. Her ears rang.
“I take it she’s a relative of yours?” Sarah tilted her head.
“Yes. My granddaughter.” Estelle felt her shoulders slump forward. “I’m curious how she’s doing. When was the last time you saw her?”
Sarah had the good manners not to ask why Estelle didn’t know anything about her granddaughter, why she had to ask a perfect stranger about Rachelle.
“It’s been a dramatic summer for Rachelle, as far as I understand it,” Sarah said tentatively. “I haven’t seen her since spring. When we talked, she was underwater with plans to open her own restaurant.” Sarah snapped her fingers. “She was going to name it Coleman! I remember that now. She said it was a family name.”
Estelle’s vision grew blurry with tears.
“Oh, but it was a big disaster,” Sarah said. “They had a soft opening and invited some influencers and celebrities and Rome-based foodies, that kind of thing. I knew a guy who was there. He said the food was incredible. But suddenly, something exploded in the kitchen. It burned from the inside out, before Rachelle had a chance to get started.”
Estelle gaped at Sarah. “An explosion?”
Sarah shrugged. “They deemed it an accident. Something to do with the electricity, I think? Anyway, I really felt bad for Rachelle when I heard about it. She gave everything to that place.”
Estelle sputtered. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Thankfully no,” Sarah said. She turned to adjust Estelle’s stack of books, as though the conversation had grown too intense for her.
“Is she going to reopen?” Estelle asked, demanding more of Sarah than she could give.
“Honestly, I don’t know. But what I hear about her now aligns with a super different vein.” Sarah’s eyes glinted. “She’s engaged to Rome’s number-one bachelor.”
As Estelle’s heart pounded, Sarah explained who Riccardo was and what it meant to marry into a family like that. “They have insane old money,” Sarah said. “Every woman I know is really jealous of Rachelle, actually. She’s going to get an Italian passport, for one, which makes everything easier for her. But also, I mean, she’ll probably never have to work again.”
Estelle’s mouth went dry. “Are you jealous of her?”
Sarah laughed. “No! I love my bookstore, and I like working. Also, from what I hear, being a part of that family is difficult. They have expectations. Apparently, your granddaughter fits in. Otherwise, they wouldn’t let that marriage happen. I guarantee it.”
Sarah went back to the office to make a few phone calls, leaving Estelle feeling cold and worried. Did Rachelle know what she was getting herself into? Did she really love this Riccardo guy? There was so little Estelle still knew.
That evening at seven thirty,Estelle settled into the chair in front of her excited audience and read not only from the pages of The Morning We Knew, but also her untitled “widow project.” Her fans were captivated, throwing up their hands to ask questions. It was only when Estelle had answered four questions about being a widow and writing about it that she realized he was here.
Albert. He stood near the back, his arms crossed, his eyes glinting. It was as though he’d decided to wait until she noticed him before he, too, raised his hand. Estelle couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes?” she addressed him.
“I wondered what the process has been like for you,” Albert asked. “Writing this new novel as you travel through Europe. Has anything inspired you?”
