In the early afternoon, the day was bright and balmy, and the leaves on the trees sparkled green as though a troop of elves had polished them all morning. Nola sat cross-legged on a blanket spread on the lawn, Lulu nested between her knees. Nola banged a rhythm on the plastic piano, hid toys in a bowl, and imitated the birds. She invented more games, thinking with pride that this baby’s intellect would challenge her in years to come. Playing with Lulu made her laugh and laugh; it carried no shadows of her anxious hours with Jenna years ago. If anyone had told her how accomplished she would feel teaching musical notes to a single baby instead of singing to millions of people across the globe, she wouldn’t have believed it. Yet, these past eleven days, she had been taking delight in small, private activities as she hadn’t done since her childhood magical hours in her cave on the Sound.

At the chugging sound of an approaching golf cart, Nola turned her head and did a double-take. George Mauriello brought the cart to a halt at the cottage porch and, with a light step, dismounted.

Nola gathered the edges of her sarong and remained seated as he stepped toward her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her brain clicked through the improbable chain of communications that had revealed her whereabouts to him.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He laughed, hitched up the knees of his white cotton pants, and gracefully folded his long legs as he settled down on her blanket. Nola had never seen him in anything but a tuxedo or a dark Italian-cut suit, but now he wore no socks with his woven-raffia loafers. His pink Polo shirt exposed tanned athlete’s arms.

He tickled Lulu. “Coochie-coochie-coo.”

Lulu's face lit like a lantern. “Oochie,” she replied.

He raised an eyebrow. “She’s awfully young to be talking.”

Nola brought Lulu closer, wanting to tell her not to smile at Mauriello. Suddenly, she felt less like a guest at the embassy than like a hostage.

Mauriello leaned back on his elbows, crossed his ankles, and his gaze shifted to the drooping elm that towered nearby. The lines of Mauriello’s jaw were more defined than was typical for someone his age, but for that matter, there was no slack on this man.

“I just wanted to verify that you’re okay,” he finally said.

“Nice of you to care. I guess you came here to facilitate the paperwork.” She drew out the words, weighing them. “All I need is a U.S. visa for Lulu.”

He broke off a blade of grass and began to probe his teeth.

Nola caught her breath. In and out. Take it easy. “Is there a problem?”

He tossed the grass away and straightened up, his elbows resting on his knees. “Coochie-coochie-coo.” He tickled Lulu’s exposed toes. “Coochie-coochie.”