Page 119 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Sandy smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Look at you, Moira. Mousy Moira standing up for herself. How impressive.”

“Wipe that grin off your face. I’m not being funny.” Moira, who wasn’t a mouse today, stepped forward, a big bold step directly toward her boss. “Fuck you, Sandy. Fuck you for giving up on life. Fuck you for pushing all of us away. And a giant, triple fuck you for giving up on this bookstore, which is the best thing I have in my life.”

Sandy’s smile fell away.

Moira let out a gasp and headed out the door, slamming it shut so hard the bell came crashing down.

“You better get your ass back here,” Sandy called out. “You’re not going to leave me to deal with your stupid book club.”

But Moira was already gone.

Chapter 28

I’ve Never Told Anyone

Bianca hadn’t run like that in a long time. Bursting through the door, she kept going down the hall.

“Dad? Dad?” she spat out as she gasped for air. No response. Louder. “Dad!”

She tore into his room, unsure what she might find, her heart breaking, guilt washing over her.

He lay on the bed.

Feet crossed.

A closed iPad resting on his chest.

Eyes closed.

His chest unmoving.

Her heart sank, the world crashing as she rushed to him, unsure what was wrong, not knowing how to . . .

He opened his eyes. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, setting a hand on his leg.

“Yeah, yeah, taking a nap. What’s going on?”

Bianca put her hands up to her face. “I thought something had happened to—” She stopped as she remembered her mom had begged her not to say anything. “I’m sorry, Dad. For everything. I keep beating you up, and it’s not fair.”

He took a minute to sit up. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I demand so much from you, forcing you to earn your way back in, punishing you over and over. I know you’re just trying to help.”

She imagined what life would be without him, imagined how badly he must be hurting inside, and she couldn’t hold back. “Mom told me about . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

He turned rigid.

“. . . about you wanting to hurt yourself. She told me not to tell you I knew, but I do.”

His shame was tangible.

“You should have told me. This is what I do, help people. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not a conversation a father has with his daughter.”

“What else is family for? Is it better hidden? I don’t think so.”