Chapter 12: At Her Grave

Dinner that night was in my parents' dining room, with the good china and the table pulled out to its full length.

Elliot Copeland arrived at seven with Livia on his arm.

He was in a grey sweater under a navy blazer, with his glasses pushed up into his hair, and he looked well rested and happy.

"Cami," he said, and hugged me.

"Elliot."

"I owe you an enormous thank-you."

"For what?"

"For not marrying me," he said, and grinned.

I laughed so hard that Livia pinched my arm.

He held out his hand to Rocco.

"Elliot Copeland. I've heard a lot about you."

"Rocco Ferrante."

They shook.

Elliot did not flinch at the grip, and Rocco's eyebrow moved slightly.

"I've heard you don't like noise at dinner," Elliot said. "I'll be quiet."

"Talk as much as you like," Rocco said. "It's good to hear someone enjoy himself."

My father stared at both of them and said nothing, because neither one was what he had expected.

Livia took her seat across from me, and I watched her.

She was glowing.

She had color in her cheeks and a bounce in her step, and her laugh came easily, and she kept turning to Elliot to touch his sleeve.

It was a different girl from the one who had died in the Ferrante house.

I did not realize I was crying until Elliot slid a napkin across the table.

"Happy tears?" he said quietly.

"Very."

"She's like that too. Every morning."

Then Livia looked over at Rocco.

I saw her stop in the middle of a sentence.

The smile slid off her face.

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