“Whatever you can do to help me would be great,” enthused Carter, excitedly searching through his pockets for a pen. “You won’t be sorry.”

“I’m sorry already,” observed the professor. He took a pen from his desk and handed it over.

Later, after Carter had gone, Rosa stood at the window and watched him make his way back across campus until he was out of sight. He stayed there for a time, gazing out into the distance, his thoughts turning over and over inside his head. At last he turned away from the window and shook his head.

“Roccasale,” he muttered.

Then he reached for the bottle of water and the paper bag resting on the corner of his desk and headed outside to eat his lunch.

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

“Ciao, Giancarlo!”

Giancarlo Rosa was sitting on the ground, his back up against a tree, eating his lunch while he looked out at the track that circumnavigated the soccer field. There little clusters of people were walking or jogging round and round together beneath the midday sun. Rosa rather enjoyed watching them from the cool of the tree’s shadow. The inherent monotony of their journeys had a way of lulling him into a daydream, and he was staring out at them, his thoughts far away, when he heard the familiar voice. He looked to his side and saw, approaching him, the woman to whom it belonged.

“Ciao, Patrizia,” he called back, nodding a greeting to the woman as she drew close.

“What a beautiful day,” said Patricia, beaming him a smile from behind her sunglasses as she sat down in the grass beside him. “And what a nice spot to have lunch.”

Dressed in burgundy running shorts, a faded Rhode Island College shirt, and sneakers, she looked ready to join the others out on the track. Indeed, as youthful looking as she was, she might easily have passed for a coed instead of a member of the faculty.

“Can I offer you something?” said Rosa.

Patricia lowered her sunglasses enough to reveal a pair of playful, inquisitive blue eyes. “Hmm, what’s on the menu?” she said, leaning closer.

“I have some olives and half of a roasted pepper and provolone sandwich left,” he replied.

Patricia laughed, and pulled her sunglasses up onto the top of her head.

“What is it with you?” she teased him. “Whenever I see you at lunch, you’re always eating prosciutto or provolone or mortadella or something else. Haven’t you ever heard of just a plain old peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“Sorry, I tried that once,” said Rosa, feigning a shudder. “It was not an experience I wish to relive.”

“You’re a finicky eater.”

“I was born that way,” he said by way of explanation before adding, “So, you are not interested in the sandwich?”