Page 121 of The Unraveling of Julia

“I’ll call the Philly police, too. This is a break in Mike’s case, finally.”

“Thank God.” Courtney nodded. “But what about Fiamma?”

Julia’s throat went thick. “I want to meet her, first. Then, the cops.”

68

Night had fallen by the time they reached Florence, and Julia and Courtney got out of the Uber on the corner. The Oltrarno neighborhood on the other side of the Arno was quieter than the city’s historic center, mostly residential rather than touristy. Tasteful four-story homes with well-maintained facades lined its cobblestone streets, many too narrow for traffic. Here and there were artists’ studios and showrooms, closed now. No one was out.

“I’m nervous to meet her,” Julia said, smoothing her hair into place.

“Weirdly, so am I.”

Julia tried to get her bearings. Estrella Studio was in the middle of the block, the first floor of a home with a recessed entrance. “Are you sure we should meet her at her show? It’s essentially her workplace.”

“And you’re essentially her daughter.”

“Court, she gave me up.” Julia felt a pang, an ancient pain, buried deep.

“God knows what the circumstances were.” Courtney frowned, sympathetic. She started walking toward the gallery, then stopped when she saw Julia wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?”

“What if I’m completely wrong? What if it’s just a fluke that I look like her?”

“It’s not a fluke. It’s real.”

“Flukes arereal,” Julia shot back. “I’ma fluke. My birth is a fluke. Maybe my birth mother’s a fluke, too.”

“Honey, no. You’re just getting cold feet.” Courtney gestured to the gallery. “Let’s go in and see how you feel. You don’t have to meet her. Let the spirit move you.”

“The spirits don’t move me anymore.”

“Look, let’s go in and play it by ear. If you want to leave, we’ll go. If you want to speak to her, you should.”

“But what if she sees me? She’ll notice the resemblance. Then I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?” Courtney flashed her a reassuring smile. “Stuck meeting the woman you waited a lifetime to meet? You’ve been talking about your bio mom sinceAnniein high school. You went through hell to make this happen. You can’t stop now, like you said.”

Julia got an idea. “I know, I’ll put my sunglasses on. Then she won’t see the resemblance.” She went in her purse, got her sunglasses, and slipped them on. “Better? Now we can get in and out without her knowing.”

“Great, so let’s go in.” Courtney resumed walking, and Julia joined her, futilely box breathing. They reached the gallery, which had whimsical painted tiles embedded in its arched entrance, and a sign on the glass door read,FIAMMA SETTIMI TONIGHT.

“Her full name is Fiamma Settimi?” Julia had expected to see Fiamma, but Settimi came out of nowhere. “So she doesn’t use Rossi. Maybe she changed her name.”

“I wonder if Rossi called her Fiamma.”

“Me, too, so she only changed her last name. I wonder if she knows her real name is Patrizia Ritorno.” Julia hesitated. “Or if I’m wrong and she’s not my birth mother at all.”

“Why don’t you ask her? That’s an excellent conversation starter.Just go with, ‘Are you my mother?’” Courtney smiled, putting her hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

Julia braced herself. “Okay, let’s go in.”

“Atta girl.” Courtney opened the door to admit Julia, and they entered the gallery.

Julia’s heart pounded, and she stalled, scanning the room. It was long, white, and packed with a sophisticated crowd of about seventy people in flowing dresses, unstructured linen jackets, and an array of scarves and pashminas. Everyone buzzed in clusters or shifted along the perimeter taking in the paintings, but Julia couldn’t see their faces because the only illumination came from track lighting aimed at the art. Her sunglasses made it worse but she wasn’t about to take them off. She didn’t see Fiamma.

Courtney crossed to a placard on an easel. “Jules, come here.”

Julia walked over and read the placard:

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