Chapter 25 Salvation in a Stranger
SALVATION IN A STRANGER
Later that afternoon, Sasha was sitting in her safe place, the Little Cupcake Bakeshop. She was on her third strawberry shortcake cupcake. Her second latte. Her sixth text, and fourth missed call from Teo. If that was even his name.
But now, she was second-guessing everything.
Was he even from Gallipoli? Was he even Italian, or just an excellent mimic?
She knew a few actors who could instantly copy any accent, speech pattern, or dialect.
It was a skill akin to a musician playing a song by ear after hearing it once.
He’d told her he was a hotel inspector, which required aliases.
Was that his way of telling her that he lived a double (or triple, or quadruple) life?
And his in bocca al lupo—“in the mouth of the wolf.” Was he referring to himself?
Everything he said now seemed to be code for an alternate truth. But she was no dummy. And she was savvy about people; her profession demanded it. If he was an international, world-class grifter, how could she—of all people—miss it? Or was he just that good?
A priest. A priest? Really? It was too far-fetched to believe. It sounded like a Shonda Rhimes fever-dream plot from an old episode of Scandal. A White House aide getting mixed up with a holy man posing as a senator, or some such.
Honestly? Would watch, thought Sasha ruefully.
It couldn’t be true. Two insane incidents didn’t happen to the same woman.
Was she born under a faulty star? Was her karma fucked?
Was this because she was an ex-Catholic agnostic heathen who hadn’t been to church since 2008, when she attended an ice cream social celebrating Obama’s inauguration at St. Mary of Sorrows?
Sasha just couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that she was possibly hoodwinked by an actual, ordained priest who robbed churches in order to fuck, party, and spend.
There were so many easier ways to have a good time.
But it was the thrill of getting away with it, Wes had said.
The rush of fooling otherwise smart, capable, clever people.
It was chilling, finding out you were possibly a mark.
That you were targeted by a world-class liar and duped with shocking ease.
Sasha wasn’t just second-guessing her initial exchange with Teo, she was second-guessing all her adult life choices.
Which decision had brought her here? Bingeing cupcakes and feeling like the dumbest woman in Brooklyn.
On the one hand, she wanted to give Teo a chance to clear his name.
And she hoped that it wasn’t true, of course.
But, at the beginning and end of everything, she trusted Wes.
Even as she lashed out at him last night, refusing to take his revelation seriously, she had a creeping suspicion that he was right.
She knew he’d always tell her the truth.
Wes was her lighthouse. Her safety. Her fearless protector.
And the truth was, he was so much more than that.
She’d only had the nerve to admit it to her new friend and book club president Patricia in the ladies’ restroom.
It was a spontaneous exchange with a stranger, the kind that happens several times a night in women’s bathrooms all over the world. It didn’t feel quite real.
Because she hadn’t yet faced it herself.
Last night, hearing him say those words, shook her.
He’d kept her at arm’s length for so long, she thought she was alone at sea with her feelings.
She’d been terrified to mention their connection, because he’d been so clear with her about boundaries.
Maintaining the client-detective line. But he didn’t look at her like a friend.
He didn’t kiss her, or talk to her, or fuck her like a friend.
After being with him—even in the most uncharged, platonic situations—she stumbled away blinking into the sun, so lost in him she practically forgot her name.
But if she faced that Wes was crazy about her (perhaps as crazy as she was about him), then she’d also need to accept that searching for Teo was a mistake.
Mortifying, after moving mountains to find him.
Not to mention after humiliating herself in front of Seraphina’s global team.
She’d so badly wanted to be right about Teo.
To orchestrate her own happiness. To deliver herself out of a terrifying, yearslong funk, into something life-affirming, something sweet.
She wanted magical, luscious, light, dark, soft, urgent, transformative, soul-rearranging, fucking seismic, forever connection.
She got it. But with the wrong (right?) person. And now, she might’ve lost it before it was ever truly hers.
For as long as I live, she thought, I’ll never forget the way he looked at me at the library steps. Like I’ve always been his. Like I’m insane for not realizing. Like saying it out loud would break his heart.
Before he walked away, Wes looked as defeated as she felt.
Like timing wasn’t in their favor. They kept missing each other, misreading each other, and telling lies to protect their fragile hearts.
And now, it was too late. Eyes misty, she took a final bite of the cupcake and washed it down with Evian.
It didn’t taste like anything. Everything sweet was drained from the world.
So much so, that she had to push herself out the door, because the lure of agoraphobia-lite tugged at her again.
But back to the priest thing. She googled the ring of clergymen and found some articles in local newspapers in France, Austria, and Spain.
Tales of churches going broke and shutting down.
There were leads each time, former employees, but they seemed to vanish into thin air.
Untraceable. Who would be sinister enough to burgle a holy house? Who, indeed.
Even armed with this information, though, even knowing that Imani (fucking Imani, all roads did lead to her) was writing a splashy article about the ring, she still couldn’t reconcile Teo with the crime.
She didn’t listen to any of his voice notes, or even read his texts.
But the next time her phone rang, she answered.
“Sasha, you’re there,” said Teo, his voice tinged with relief.
She tossed her cupcake wrappers in the garbage, mouthed Thank you to the waitress, and headed outside into the glaring afternoon sun. The glare hit her like walking into a wall. Sliding on her sunglasses, she sat down on a bench outside the bakery. Here, she could focus.
“I’m here.” For privacy, she pulled her Yankees snapback down low.
“What happened last night? I’ve been calling you, messaging you. I was worried.”
“Why were you worried? What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, you and your friend practically leapt from a moving car. It seemed like an emergency.”
“Because it was.” And then, she told the truth because she didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. In any area of her life. “My friend’s name isn’t Roland, it’s Wes. And he isn’t just my friend. He’s a detective. I hired him to find you.”
“Ahh. You did. I suspected.”
Why did he suspect this? He didn’t sound surprised at all. His calmness was unsettling. If he’d had a detective investigate her whereabouts, Sasha would’ve felt threatened, terrified, and utterly confused.
“You suspected he was a detective? How?”
“No, I didn’t take him for a detective. I assumed he was a scorned lover.
But I knew you’d hired one. I felt like someone or something, a shadow figure, was gaining on me.
Trying to, eh, trace my steps. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
” His accent was becoming less Hollywood Italian with every word. It was a subtle shift, but there.
Sasha hadn’t moved a muscle since he started talking.
Inexplicably, she put the phone facedown on her lap for a moment, and whipped her head to the left, right, and even flipped forward, checking under the bench.
Her feet locked in a wide, defensive stance, she stood up and peered behind her.
He wasn’t in the bakery. No one was watching her.
No one was hunting her. And then she had a small, out-of-body moment.
It was almost as if she’d drifted outside of herself and saw herself from the outside, in.
She was capable of saving herself. Wes assured her, via Imani, that Teo wasn’t dangerous.
But if he was there, and if he had posed a threat, she would’ve handled it.
She would’ve fought, clawed, kicked, screamed.
Sasha knew this about herself. And if she couldn’t win, she’d have gone down swinging.
She knew this about herself, because that’s what she did in 2022.
When threatened, she got scrappy. She grabbed a knife.
She parkoured herself out the window. She slept in a hospital and found the perfect detective to handle it.
She orchestrated her rescue. She didn’t take any of it lying down.
She didn’t realize it then, but it gave her a surge of power today.
She wasn’t a victim. A crisis magnet, maybe. But not a victim.
“So you knew I was investigating you,” she said carefully, settling back down on the bench. “What do you mean, it’s happened before?”
“When you’ve amassed a fortune, strange things begin happening. People assume you’re cheating. Like you couldn’t possibly have come by it honestly. As if there’s an honest way to amass a fortune.”
“Cynical.”
“No, no. It’s simply the truth.”
“Are you calling from a burner phone?”
He chuckled again, as if this answer was obvious. “Always.”
“I see. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“I’d like to see you again. I’m sorry that last night went so wrong. I hope we can try again? Start over? I’m quite fond of you, sì?”
“What does ‘sacerdote’ mean in English?”
“Priest.”
“You realize it’s an anagram of your name, right?”
“Of course I know. I’m surprised you know. For English speakers, it’s not something you discover unless you’re looking for it.” His tone revealed his amusement. “You were looking for it, weren’t you?”
She sucked in air. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Silence. More silence. Swallowing. “You’ve got a good detective.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Please don’t take His name in vain.”
“Oh, do fuck yourself.” She spat. “Are the names part of the fun? Leaving little clues, hiding in plain sight?”
“It’s one of my favorite parts. I studied linguistics in divinity school. Words, they’re sexy.”
His voice was iceberg cool. Almost pleasant.
He was so remorseless, it was jarring. How do you engage with a person who’d flagrantly lied, but didn’t regret it in the slightest?
There was no room for discussion. It was maddening.
Not only had he hoodwinked her, but he also refused to receive her anger about it. Sasha was raging at a wall.
“There must be a special conference room in hell for monsters who take advantage of churches, where people go to celebrate community and faith. What’s wrong with you?”
“But Sasha, I have faith, too,” he retorted. “I love God. And He loves me and all my faults.”
“Convenient,” she remarked. “Why’d you even look for me in Seraphina? What was the point?”
“I wished to see you again. That was real.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered to herself under her breath. “Am I hallucinating? Did I fight my way back from oblivion to end up in a Netflix love-con doc? This is insane. This is a farce.”
“Sasha, please listen. I told you I’d grown tired of aliases. And of so much traveling. I meant this—just not as a hotel inspector. I told more truth than I ever do. I never speak about where I’m from, or my parents, my childhood. I even told you that, as a boy, I thought I’d be a priest.”
Sasha’s shoulders slumped. She’d forgotten that anecdote. If only she’d realized his throwaway comment was a peek into his present.
“I felt,” he was saying, “that with you, I could be myself.”
“Which is who, exactly?”
“I can’t tell you that. Not right now. But I’d like to see you.”
“You can’t be serious. See me? Forget you know me. You’re such a liar, I don’t even know who I’m speaking to.”
“Do you tell the full truth to everyone you meet? For instance, were you honest with me about your friend, the drunkard?”
“Now, wait a minute. He’s not a drunkard. He’s clever, kind, and beautiful. He’d had a few shots too many, but don’t act like you people don’t enjoy the blood of Christ.”
“The point is, he’s not just your friend, is he?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
“You see? You, too, are a liar.”
She gasped with outrage. “No. No. We’re not the same.
You’re a criminal mastermind. You’re the Talented Mr. Ripley, okay?
I’m exactly who I say I am. I’ve never broken the law.
I barely break rules. I don’t cut off the tags on my pillowcases!
I’m honest. You led me on. You made me feel like we connected in a special, rare way. ”
“Allora, I must stop you there,” he said calmly. “I didn’t lead you on. I didn’t make you hire a detective. I didn’t make you track me down or figure out who I was. With all due respect, you led yourself on.”
This stung.
Gobsmacked, she took the phone from her ear and stared at it.
He was right. And she was an idiot. She’d gotten swept up in the adventure, in the fantasy of this whirlwind, international romance, and she’d lost hold of good, common sense.
Instead of being satisfied with some fun, titillating, in-flight chemistry with an attractive stranger, she tried to turn it into something epic.
Something real. But you couldn’t force “real.” In fact, when “real” happened, sometimes it felt so natural and obvious that it snuck up on you unawares.
Sometimes it showed up in the form of an old acquaintance.
From a million miles away, she heard Teo repeating, “Sasha? Sasha?” through the phone.
Without thinking, she clicked off. And then blocked him.
She sat on the bench staring at the phone until seconds turned into minutes.
She had led herself on. It was true. Now she had to forgive herself for the crime of being a lonely person in an indifferent world—and seeking salvation in a stranger.