Page 136 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“My son. Jack.” She felt for the coral in her purse. Sandy sighed, the weight of the world pulling her down. “He’s not coming back.”

“He’s mad at you?” Harold slurred.

A sharp pain hit her chest. Sandy could still see the two men who’d been waiting outside her apartment after work eight years ago. It was a chilly December day, drawing near to Christmas. Strings of lights illuminated Via Giulia. Wreaths adorned many of the doors. And an embassy staffer and a marine in dress blues, younger than Jack, stood with their hands behind their backs.

Sandy had folded, her heart shattering.

Upstairs a few minutes later, as she brushed tears from her cheeks, the marine had said, “The Commandant of the Marine Corps has asked me to express his deepest regret that your son, Lance Corporal Jack Cooke, died last week during an enemy action in Syria.”

That was the day Sandy had died inside. She’d never told a soul in Bologna.

Till now.

“No,” Sandy said, finally able to get her tongue to work. “He was taken from us.”

“What?” Harold said. “I thought he was in the Middle East.”

She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. “Not anymore. I still call him, leave messages. I’ve kept his cell phone account active, just so I can keep hearing his voicemail, talk to him like he’s still here.”

Moira reached for Sandy’s hand. “I can’t imagine.”

Sandy dropped the piece of coral and collapsed her head onto her arms on the table, spilling out tears around her untouched course.

The other four swarmed her, patting her neck and back and assuring her it would be okay, and that they loved her and understood. So much of Sandy wanted to either rise up and start swinging or slip down low and crawl out of there, but the rest of her felt their love and acceptance, and she let that part win.

Harold had never had a night like this in his life. Not even Aroldo had had a night like this. They made a strange crew, but it felt like his crew nonetheless, and he felt as sad as ever to leave Bologna.

They were all returning to their chairs after comforting Sandy when Moira suddenly said, “May I admit something?”

Everyone laughed, because if it was a joke, it was a pretty good one.

“We already know all your secrets,” Sandy said, her old self poking through. “What now? Did you read the last chapter of Where the Crawdads Sing before you started? Or did you have gelato for breakfast yesterday?” A smile surfaced, because she was joking this time, teasing. And that probably had to stop too.

Moira said with surprising attitude, “Do you want to keep going?”

Sandy whispered a sorry and said, “I’m done. And I’ll try harder, Moira. I’ll do better.”

“You don’t have to quit being you, Sandy. You’re funny when you’re not being mean. As I was saying . . .” She leaned forward and whispered, “This is maybe the stupidest thing I’ve done since marrying my ex, but I want to share something because I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of no one knowing the real me.”

Silence.

“And maybe by sharing you’ll see what you people mean to me. I know it sounds silly, but you’re the only family I have left in my life . . . and I . . . I want you to know who I am. And I suppose it goes without saying that you can’t tell anyone else. Because it would put me in danger, and I’d likely get moved to another city, another country.”

“Um, maybe you shouldn’t say anything else,” Harold suggested.

Moira drew in the last breath of a woman protecting a secret, then let it out. “I’m in the UK Protected Persons Service, the British version of the witness protection program.”

Eye rolls ran round the room.

Moira didn’t flinch.

The table sat silently, waiting for her to laugh or admit she was kidding. In the seconds that passed, what felt like a full minute, Harold started to think that maybe she was telling the truth. He knew she’d been protecting her past.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Deadly.”

A fist slammed down to the table, knocking the tentacle tips off their towers. “I knew it!” Sandy yelled. “You and your made-up story about your aunt. I knew there was something fishy going on.”