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“With popcorn?”
Sabella laughs. “After dinner. And then you can tell me about school. I’m dying to hear everything.”
“Angelo doesn’t want me to take Beatrice. He says I’m too old for imaginary friends, but she’snotimaginary.”
“How about we ask Mr. Russo if you can take Beatrice if you leave her in your backpack? That way, she’ll be safe and warm, and she can listen to your lessons. When she gets bored, you can leave her at home with Alison.”
“Do you think so?” Sophie asks, drawing out the words.
“I do, but remember, Mr. Russo must agree. He’s not trying to be mean, sweetheart. He’s just trying very hard to do what’s best for you.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t know,” Sophie says meekly. “I want to stay with you, Sabella.”
“You know what? I don’t have a Beatrice, but I do have a sea turtle.”
“You do?”
“You bet. Do you want to see it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Look. Let me take if off.” A moment later, Sabella says, “Here.”
“It’s very pretty.”
“It’s my lucky charm. I tell you what. You keep it, and that way, I’ll always be close to you, no matter where you are.”
“Really?” Sophie asks, sounding a little more upbeat.
“Turn around. I’ll fasten it around your neck. There. It fits you perfectly.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
“Is it a gift?”
“It’s yours to keep, sweetheart. Whenever you miss me, it’ll remind you that you’re always in my heart.”
“Thank you, Sabella,” Sophie says, putting emphasis on the words like she does when she gives one of her generous hugs.
“Now come. Let’s wash your hands before dinner. I think I smell spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti,” Sophie exclaims. “That’s my favorite.” She adds quickly, “After your grilled chicken and chocolate cake, Bella.”
Sabella’s laugh is soft. “I told you Heidi was a great cook.”
Their conversation fades as a door opens and closes—the en-suite bathroom.
Downstairs, the front door slams. Boisterous laughter barrels through the lounge. The three boys charge up the stairs, shoving each other.
“No running in the house,” I say, making my voice hard.
They fall in line, watching me with dirt-streaked faces as they file past. Guillaume is last. He scurries sideways like a crab, holding his arms behind his back.
