Page 53 of The Unraveling of Julia

Anna Mattia frowned, not understanding.

“I wonder if Rossi had it. I don’t think everybody who gets breast cancer has that gene, anyway, so it probably doesn’t mean anything.” Julia figured the implications. “I don’t think that necessarily means I’m not her granddaughter, either. It could mean I didn’t inherit that gene. I have to ask the investigator.” She felt a surge of happiness. “But I’m Tuscan!”

“Super Tuscan!” Anna Mattia clapped.

Julia laughed, giddy. She finally knew a fact about her own birth, for the very first time. It made her feel validated, too. Her father had German ancestry and her mother Irish, but even before they’d told her she was adopted, she’d never feltofthem. She’d sensed she wasn’ttheirs.

And she’d beenright.

Maybe shewasintuitive, after all.

Later, Julia curled up on the couch in the living room, a biography of Caterina Sforza on her lap. Gianluca had brought her a wonderful stack of books, and she couldn’t wait to read them. Discovering she hadTuscan ancestry excited her, but she was trying not to jump to the conclusion that she was related to Rossi, much less Caterina.

A bronze lamp on an end table shed a dim circle of light, and Piero had made a fire in the fireplace, which warmed the room and illuminated its far side. Julia exhaled, trying to metabolize the fact that the white Fiat had been following her. Piero had fixed the doors at her request, and she’d locked herself inside. But she wasn’t worried only about external threats anymore. She worried about what was going on inside the house, even in her own head.

You’re heartbroken.

Julia didn’t know if that was why she’d been seeing things and having nightmares. She felt on tenterhooks, on guard against whatever was going to happen, if anything.Hypervigilant, as her therapist said. She even had a kitchen knife and a flashlight beside her. She didn’t know what good they would do, but she was trying to help herself feel safe.

Julia opened the book, and her uneasy gaze fell on the line:Even in her grief, Caterina forced herself to go on.The words resonated in her heart. She and Caterina were both young widows, and Julia felt like she’d been forcing herself to go on ever since Mike died.

Suddenly the fireplace popped, and she startled. She looked over at the fire, checking because it didn’t have a screen. Orange flames blazed and flickered on the fireback. Glowing sparks drifted up the chimney, rising like tiny orange suns. The fire flickered on the ceiling fresco of an idyllic Tuscan landscape and on the white plaster walls. There were pale rectangles where art had been hung, and the paint peeled and bubbled in patches. Cracks ran up and down the walls as if the villa could no longer bear its own weight.

Julia’s attention was drawn to one of the cracks on the wall, beyond the couch. She blinked, wondering if she’d seen something.

In the next moment, a faint blue light began to stream from thecrack, thin as a blue vein and ethereal as gas.

Julia gasped when it morphed into an electric blue.

Caterina.

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Julia’s heart pounded. The blue light intensified as it slipped from a crack in the wall, forming a sapphire stream, its beauty preternatural.

She dropped the book and backed up against the couch. She was shocked, but not terrified. Something about the blue light felt different than before. She didn’t want to run. She had to fight her fear. Shewantedthe connection.

The blue stream materialized into a blue vapor hovering beside the wall, then gradually, incrementally, organized itself into a glowing blue silhouette of a woman wearing a hooded cloak, like Caterina in the bedroom fresco.

Julia gaped. ShesensedCaterina’s presence, her will, her wishes. Something told her that Caterina wanted to connect with her.

Suddenly Caterina filtered into the wall as if sucked through by an unseen force.

Abruptly, the living room went back to normal. The only light came from the lamps and the orangey fire.

Julia felt stunned, struck dumb. She didn’t know what she’d just seen. She didn’t know if she’d imagined it. Maybe she’d dozed off while she was reading, like at the laptop. She grabbed her flashlight, got off the couch, and went to the wall. She turned on the flashlight and stepped close to the surface, looking around for the crack that Caterina had gone through.

Julia spied a tiny, jagged crack, aglow with blue.

Caterina hovered back there, waiting for her.

Julia pressed on the crack. The wall gave way, just the slightest. She pressed again and heard a creak, the plaster breaking. She pushed again, harder. The crack widened like a seam, emitting more blue light.

Julia pressed hard, then shoved the seam with her shoulder again and again. Amazingly, she felt no pain. She felt adrenalized. She sensed something lay beyond the wall, something Caterina wanted her to see.

Julia needed something to break the plaster. She looked wildly around the room. There was a poker by the fireplace. She bolted there, grabbed the poker, and hurried back to the wall.

She whacked the wall with the poker. Once, then twice, three times, pounding on the wall. Flakes flew in the air. She broke the plaster and made a divot. She pounded harder and harder, beginning to sweat. She couldn’t stop, feverish. The hole got wider and deeper. She reached old wire mesh embedded in the plaster.

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