The memory damped down my good mood. When I got to the clinic, I checked in soberly with Mrs. Coltrain, Lotty’s receptionist. A dozen or so people were in the waiting room; it’d be at least an hour. After I turned around and Mrs. Coltrain saw the blood running down my back, she sent me in ahead of the queue. Lotty was at the hospital, but her assistant, Lucy, who’s an advanced-practice nurse, stitched me up.

“You shouldn’t be jumping with these stitches, V. I.,” she said, as severely as Lotty would have done. “The wound has to have time to heal. You stink of sweat, but you cannot get this wound wet again under the shower. A sponge bath. Wash your hair in the kitchen sink. Do you understand?”

“Yes’m,” I said meekly.

Back at home, I gave the dogs a sketchy walk, and followed Lucy’s orders on how to bathe. This meant doing the dishes first, since they’d been building up again. I hadn’t even washed my mother’s Venetian wineglasses, which I’d brought out for Morrell last week. I was dismayed by my carelessness: my mother had brought them from Italy with her, her only memento of the home she’d had to flee. I’d broken two several years ago; I couldn’t bear it if I lost any more.

I carefully rinsed and dried them, but I kept one out for a glass of Torgiano. Usually, I use something replaceable for day-to-day drinking, but my earlier memory was haunting me, making me need to feel close to Gabriella again.

I called Morrell and explained that I was too tired to make it up to Evanston tonight. “Marcena can entertain you with her elegant banter.”

“She could if she was here, darling, but she’s vanished again. Someone called her this afternoon with the promise of more adventures on the South Side and she took off again.”

I remembered Sandra’s bitter remark about Bron going off with the British whore. “Romeo Czernin.”

“Could be. I wasn’t paying special attention. When will I see you again? Could I take you out to dinner tomorrow? Fill you with organic produce and dazzle you with my own elegant banter? I know you’re annoyed that I went home yesterday.”

I laughed reluctantly. “Oh, yes, I remember: subtlety isn’t my strong suit. Dinner would be great, but only with banter.”

We settled on a time, and I went into the kitchen to deal with tonight’s meal. I’d finally made it to the grocery to do my own shopping on my way back from Lotty’s clinic, stocking up on everything from yogurt to soap, as well as fresh fish and vegetables.