Chapter Eleven
Another postcard, another country, another city.
It’s Italy this time, Verona.
In the past few weeks, Leon’s received one from both Milan and Pisa.
He looks at his fridge, inundated with the evidence of Sara’s adventures and he wonders what he’ll do when he runs out of space, where he’ll put them all then.
It occurs to him that he’s thinking in the long term, not months but years down the line.
Her out there exploring the world, him here managing his club.
It shouldn’t work but somehow it does. He’s the stable presence in her life, the grounding force and she’s his wildness, the part of him that reminds him how to live.
“Put them in a scrapbook,” his daughter Melina suggests as she perches at the kitchen table, carefully cutting out a picture of an elephant from a National Geographic magazine he’d picked up.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Sara says from the phone propped against the saltshaker on the table. “You’re going to have to help him choose one though because his taste is a little…”
Leon knows she’s pulling a face; it’s in the way Melina laughs.
The three of them have been video chatting regularly since the initial introduction. Sara has become as integral to their routine as breathing. Leon looks up from chopping peppers before handing off a slice to Melina; she crunches it between her teeth.
“Orange is his favourite colour,” Melina says with a sigh, picking up one of her colouring pens to show Sara the exact shade he favours. “He thinks it goes with everything.”
“It does,” Leon argues, rolling his eyes before he washes his hands in the sink. “It’s bright, it’s uplifting, who doesn’t want that in a color? It’s you two that are wrong, who likes the color blue? It’s dour, depressing.”
“Relaxing, soothing,” Sara corrects him, shaking her head. “What will we do with him Melina?”
“Alright, alright,” Leon says, picking up a hand towel and drying his hands as he steps around the breakfast island. “If you’re done judging my color choices, we still need to get Melina’s homework finished. The two of you were talking about India and the elephant sanctuary.”
“That’s right,” Sara agrees, straightening her shoulders. “Ok kid, what other questions do you have?”
He cooks dinner while they talk. They’re having pasta tonight because Melina’s decided she wants a taste of the Mediterranean, thanks to a conversation they had yesterday about how much Sara loves Italian food.
He’d tried to bargain it down to pizza, but she’d given him that look and reminded him he’d already promised that as their Saturday treat, so pasta it is.
“At least she’s trying new things,” Sam had shrugged when he’d told her. “She could be eating chicken nuggets all the time like that kid Jeremy at school.”
Small blessings, he thinks as he watches the water simmer. He turns it down a little before he approaches Melina’s chair. His hands come to rest on her shoulders lightly before he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“Mi nina,” he murmurs. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up, ok?”
Melina complies, slipping out of her seat and heading to the bathroom. Leon picks up the phone, the left side of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Thank you for that, I know it’s late there.”
There’s eight hours’ time difference between Italy and Sunridge. Sara’s been photographing the afterparty at Parma Tattoo Nerd Fest and had just gotten back to her room when he’d called.
“It’s cool,” Sara tells him, running a hand through her hair. “You know it takes me a while to wind down.”
He can tell she’s tired, he’s been noticing it a lot recently.
She’s been working herself into the ground, chasing the work where she can get it.
It’s the nature of a freelance career. You take the jobs when they come in.
Her skills are in high demand; she’s well known in the Expo circles for the quality of her work and reliability.
Some creatives are flakes but his Sara, she’s dedicated.
“So, I’m going to take some time off once I’ve finished up in Fiuggi,” she tells him, toying with the silver stacker rings on her fingers. “The last couple of months have been intense and I need to take a break.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” he tells her, leaning on the breakfast bar as he holds the phone between his hands. “You need to take some time for yourself Mami, rest and relax. Working that hard, it’s not good for you.”
“I’m going to book a flight back to the States, I need to make a stop in Joshua Tree, drop some of my stuff at my storage locker…”
“Storage locker,” he repeats because he fully expected her to say apartment.
Something clicks into place then, something he hasn’t considered until this very moment, and it breaks his fucking heart.
When he thinks back over all the conversations they’ve had he realises she has never once mentioned an apartment, or a house, or anything resembling a home.
The storage locker is literally the first place of permeance she’s brought up.
Up until now it’s been hotel rooms and Airbnb.
“Mami…” he says quietly, lowering his voice so that Melina doesn’t overhear. “Where is home for you?”
“I…” Sara trails off, her eyebrows furrowing as she contemplates the question. She glances back up at the camera on her phone and the look in her eyes it kills him. “I’ve never really thought about it until now… I guess I don’t have one.”
It’s the nature of the foster system, he thinks, moving from place to place, never settling long enough for a home of your own.
She’s emulated the pattern over and over again without even realising it.
He sees the moment it dawns on her, something shatters deep inside, and it resonates over the six thousand miles that separate them.
He wishes that he was there right now, that he could wrap his arms around her and hold her close, that he could take away the anguish he sees in her features, but he can’t.
Instead, he places his hand over his heart as he speaks his truth.
“It’s with me Sara,” he tells her. “Your home, it’s with me.”