Chapter 18: Rosa's Table

Dino did not come back on Wednesday, and he did not come back on Thursday morning.

I cooked for two out of habit and ate standing at the stove, and then I scraped the second plate into the trash.

At three o'clock somebody knocked on the side door with the flat of a hand.

Aunt Lucia stood on the step in her black cardigan, with her reading glasses on her head.

She held her handbag in front of her with both hands.

She looked smaller than she had at the dinner table.

"I'm not coming in to fight," she said.

"Good."

"May I come in anyway?"

I stepped back and let her.

She looked around the garage, at the lathe and the clamps and the cot with its neat gray blanket, and her mouth pressed thin.

"So this is where Marco's sister lives."

"This is where I live."

"Your mother's table." She laid a hand on the oak, very lightly. "Rosa's table."

"Aunt Lucia."

"Yes. I know." She drew a breath. "I put a card on a table that said Guest."

"You did."

"I wrote the word myself. I thought you would stay at the foot, and Carla could have one night."

Her chin trembled and steadied.

"I'm not sorry that I fought for my daughter. I'm sorry that I did it by using you."

I waited for the rest.

There wasn't any.

I realized that was the whole apology, and that it had cost her more than any speech.

"Is that why you came?" I asked.

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