Page 118 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Her heart skidded to a stop. A note of fear had sounded with her mother’s words.

Bianca stood hopeless in the middle of the square, waiting for Faith to continue. Tourists gathered around their walking guides. A busker was exchanging tunes for coins. A juggler smoked a cigarette in between performances. And the whole damned world was carrying on like everything was A-fucking-okay.

“Don’t tell me he’s sick. Jesus, Mom.”

“No, he’s not sick. Like cancer sick. But he’s depressed.”

“Well, holy shit, didn’t know that one. For God’s sakes, Mom, I am a therapist.”

“It’s worse. He’s been . . .”

A pause.

Bianca started to put it together, before her mom said more.

“He came close to killing himself.”

Dead quiet. A thousand people milling about the square, but Bianca was sucked into a vacuum of silence.

“He almost bought a gun, honey. But then settled on pills.”

The words knocked the wind out of her. She trudged toward the Basilica di San Petronio that dominated the square and sat on one of its stone steps.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bianca asked.

“Um, because that’s not something you go around telling people. He didn’t want you to know.”

Bianca grew dizzy and had to prop herself up. “I can’t believe I’m only hearing this now. Mom, I freaking screamed at him. Told him I hated that he was a part of me.” Suddenly, she felt scared. “I have to go. I need to go find him.”

“Honey, you can’t tell him I told you.”

Bianca hung up and started running back. She’d not seen him yet today. She’d assumed he was sleeping in.

“I met with a financial adviser today,” Sandy said into the phone. “Trying to figure out if I could potentially sell. I can discount everything, get some publishers to take back stock.” A flush of sadness came over her. “I wish you were here, Jackie. It would be so much easier. I’m falling apart. I wish you’d bust through these doors and give me a hug and tell me everything’s going to be okay. Because it’s not okay, Jackie. None of it’s okay.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Goddammit, I don’t cry and here I am crying.”

After hanging up and removing all evidence of her breakdown, she descended the stairs into the bookstore. Moira was just coming in. She’d had yesterday off.

“So you get a day off, and now you’re coming in ten minutes late?”

“Sorry,” Moira whispered, removing her hideous black hat.

“Oh, God. I can’t handle it. Please. Tell me what’s wrong with you today. Because I need it to get worse. I want the sky to fall.”

Moira shook her head and crammed her purse behind the counter.

“Nervous about today’s turnout?” Sandy asked, showing a molecule of humanity.

Nothing.

“Hello?” Sandy knocked on the air between them. “Anyone home? Today’s the big day, right?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t like short responses from you. Go ahead, let it out, what’s your problem? Couldn’t touch the shitty week I’m having, but let’s hear it anyway.”

Apparently, Sandy hit a nerve because Moira whipped around with the fury of a demon. “You know what my problem is?” she started. “Well, one of the thousands. It’s that you don’t even try, and yet people are still attracted to you. You do everything you can to chase people off, but somehow, everyone wants to break through your icy walls and be your friend and seek your advice. And you appreciate no one. Me. George. Harold. Who knows who else. Do you know how lucky you are to have people like that? Especially considering how much of an epic bitch you can be.”