Chapter 9: Ranunculus

Fiorella's apartment was on the ninth floor of a building on East 74th Street.

Leandro parked across the street and stayed in the car with the window down.

"Ten minutes," I told him. "If I'm not on the phone with you by then, come up."

"Understood."

My sister opened the door in a grey cardigan, with her hair pulled back and no makeup on her face.

Her eyes were swollen.

She looked like the girl who used to slide dinner under my bedroom door.

"Thank you for coming."

I stepped past her into the living room.

A vase of white ranunculus stood on the table by the window, with a dozen fresh stems.

Every Friday, from the florist on Madison Avenue.

In the kitchen, I turned on the tap while she wasn't looking.

The water ran clear and strong.

I turned it off and sat down on her sofa.

"Your pipes are fine," I said.

She flinched.

"Mirella."

"You said they burst. You said the water was off for days."

"I know." She sat across from me and clasped her hands. "I needed an excuse to be near you. Near him. I'm so ashamed."

"Start from the beginning."

She told it softly, with her eyes on her hands.

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