Her gaze bore down on him. “Are you all right with it? Tell the truth.”

“The truth is I don’t know how I am.” He ran fingers through his hair, weary and empty. “The truth is it’s so goddamn lovely to see you. Honest. Right now I’m only looking at you. I don’t know where to go from there.”

“Then let’s just sit and look.”

So they did, for a long quiet time. Kennet inched slowly closer to the tub, until he had an arm on the ledge, too, making the herd of small rubber toys gallop around Xandro’s fat legs.

“He’s a nice little fellow,” he said.

“Yes, he’s good-natured. A sweet companion for anyone who wants to take him. Lucky for me.” She twirled a bit of Xandro’s hair around her finger, pulling it up into a comical cowlick.

“Did Zé ever meet him?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. They went quiet again, sitting and looking.

“Did you know,” Astrid finally said, “That the Brazilian Expeditionary Force and the 10th Mountain fought together in Italy?”

“They did? Wait, did I know that?” He squeezed his eyes, trying to conjure up memories of Nalle’s letters. Surely a mention of any Brazilian troops would’ve caught his attention and stayed in his mind. “No. I don’t think Nalle ever mentioned it.”

She nodded. “This might sound strange, but I like to think Zé and Nalle met. I’m not sure why, but it comforts me. I daydreamed a whole scenario. After the battle, Brazilian and American troops mingling and trying to get to know each other.” She looked at him sheepishly. “I know, I’m describing it like a cocktail party and I’m sure the aftermath of a battle was nothing of the kind.”

“I like your version better,” Kennet said. “Go on. What happens next?”

“Just one of those wonderful, serendipitous encounters. Zé spoke English so he’d be acting as interpreter for a group of fellows. Questions. Answers. One thing leads to another, and an American mentions upstate New York and the Thousand Islands. ‘Oh,’ Zé says. ‘My wife’s cousin lives in that area.’

“‘Really?’ the American says. ‘Whereabouts?’

“‘I think it’s called Clayton?’

“‘That’s my hometown. What’s the cousin’s name?’”

Astrid’s hand made circles in the air. “And so on. The pieces romantically fall into place. The violins swell. Two ends of a circle join. If it were any American but Nalle, the next line would be, ‘Ah-hah, so you’re the one who caused all the trouble. You’re to blame for my brother’s broken heart. Unmannered cur. I demand satisfaction.’ Then a slap across Zé’s face with a glove. Or is that too dramatic?”

Kennet laughed. “It’s a little Napoleonic. But I get the idea. Let’s step outside and settle this like men.”