Chapter 24: The Last Frame

The first morning in Lisbon, the light came through the shutters in thin bright blades.

It lit the tile wall, the white bedsheet, and the long bare back of the woman sleeping beside me.

We had landed at dawn the day before and slept through half of it.

Our flat was on the fourth floor of an old yellow building.

It had a tiny balcony, a wobbling stove, and a view of red roofs running down to the river.

Romy lay on her stomach with her face in the pillow, her bleached hair standing up in all directions.

The compass behind her ear caught the sun.

I lay on my side and watched her breathe.

I knew by now that she slept.

She woke slowly, the way she did everything when she wasn't working.

One eye opened.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"Where are we?"

"Portugal."

"Oh good." She smiled into the pillow. "I thought I'd dreamed the flight."

She rolled over and pulled me down onto her chest, and I put my head under her chin, where I fit.

For a while we did nothing.

A church bell started up somewhere below, followed by a motorbike and a woman calling to a child.

"Ivy?"

"Mm?"

"I'm happy," she said, in a voice of wonder, as if she were reporting a weather system.

"Me too."

"I mean it's actually happening. Not a shot of it."

I lifted my head.

"Say that again."

"I'm happy." She was flushed. "I'd like to be told if I'm doing it wrong."

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