Later, after he had strolled about the center of town, peeking into the windows of the shops and restaurants, and briefly venturing down some of the side streets, Carter sat in the piazza. Behind him rose a statue of some Italian statesman or poet or God only knew who—by now he had seen so many.There was no plaque or inscription on the pedestal to tell him who it might be, but that was of small concern to him. At the moment, he was digesting his impressions of the town. From what he could tell, the center of Roccasale was quite old, like just about everything else in Italy seemed to be. Still, he had not needed to wander all that far into one of the neighborhoods that bordered the piazza on all sides before encountering homes and buildings of more recent vintage. He realized that behind the town’s ancient facade, there lived and breathed modernity.

Carter looked about at the piazza, wondering if Elena ever came there. Perhaps, if he waited long enough, he would not have to go looking for her, but she instead would come to him. Then again, he thought with a chuckle, he might sit there for days and die of exposure to the elements before he ever encountered her again. He looked across the way to the church on the opposite edge of the piazza from his hotel. He imagined that Elena had been baptized there, that it was there that she had received her First Communion and been confirmed. He wondered if she went to mass there still. Carter could not help himself, but all at once he saw in his mind a vision of Elena in white, of her smiling and taking his arm as the two of them descended the steps from the church together. The pleasant daydream ought to have made him happy but instead had the opposite effect, for it only reminded him of how far he still was from her.

Carter sat there replaying over and over in his mind the memory of the short time that he had spent with Elena that day back in the spring. He was hoping to find some small clue from their conversation, anything at all, that might help him. Nothing. With a sigh, he scanned the buildings walling the perimeter of the piazza, until his gaze fell on the alley between two nearby buildings. Down it he saw the top of a road leading out of town, and just over it the narrowest of glimpses of the Abruzzi mountains rising off in the distance. He gave a grunt. When Giancarlo had told him that one could see the mountains from Roccasale, he had expected a more panoramic vista. Now that he thought of it, he recalled that Elena herself had talked about the beautiful view where she lived, but where was it?