Chapter 24: The Mailbox

Livia woke in the narrow bed upstairs with the sun already on the quilt and the smell of burnt toast in the hall.

For a moment she lay still and listened.

Zia was banging a pan.

Somewhere below, a man was apologizing to a toaster.

She put on a sweater of Zia's and her own jeans and went down in her socks.

The kitchen was empty, and the table had been set for four.

Beside the sugar bowl stood the red Maxwell House can.

Its lid was off, and it was full of nails.

"I needed a can," said Zia, behind her.

She was in the doorway in her cardigan, with her glasses on their chain and a paintbrush in her fist.

"That's mine," Livia said.

"It was yours. It's empty now. Your money is in a bank in your name, where it belongs."

Zia sniffed.

"Come outside. Everyone's waiting, and I can't stand people who make an entrance."

"Everyone?"

"You said everybody watching."

Livia went out the screen door.

The porch rail stood white and straight in the morning light.

On the next porch over, the neighbors sat in two lawn chairs with coffee, and they did not pretend not to look.

Mirella stood at the gate in a borrowed raincoat with her phone held up.

"I flew in at five," she said. "Don't be angry. I'm filming it for Mama."

"Why?"

"To make her cry."

Livia laughed.

At the foot of the steps, by the mailbox, Luca stood with his hands loose at his sides.

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