Chapter 23: Stay Warm

The taxi left Livia at the gate in the last of the light, and she stood there with one suitcase and watched the house.

The porch light was on.

It was the light that had flickered for two years, and tonight it burned steady and warm.

She had been in Lisbon twenty-four days.

She had not told anyone she was coming, not even Zia.

On the plane she had told herself it was for no reason at all.

The kitchen window was lit.

Through it she could see Zia at the stove, giving orders with a wooden spoon.

Luca stood at the counter with his sleeves pushed up, frowning down at a pot.

Zia took the lid off and showed him something inside.

He nodded, very seriously.

Livia put her hand over her mouth.

Whatever was in the pot smoked.

She laughed out loud, a small cracked laugh, alone at a gate in Pennsylvania.

It was the gate where he had stood on the worst morning of her life.

He had worn a black coat and kept his hands in his pockets, waiting to be let in.

She picked up her suitcase and opened it.

The gravel was loud under her shoes.

The kitchen door opened before she was halfway up the path.

Luca came out onto the porch with a bag of trash in one hand.

He saw her.

He stopped dead.

The bag slid out of his fingers and hit the boards, and neither of them looked at it.

"You're early," he said.

"I am."

"The month isn't up."

"I know what day it is."

He didn't come down the steps.

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