They had rented beach chairs and umbrellas on the same stretch of sand where Nina had once spent long, golden afternoons with her parents, and they’d all changed into the bathing suits she and Rosa had sewn and knitted in anticipation of this one glorious day, and then they had tiptoed into the water, Lucia held high in Nico’s arms, the girls clutching each other’s hands. They’d cringed when the first startling waves had lapped at their ankles, and then, laughing, had plunged forward, heedless of the cold, and welcomed the sea’s embrace.

They’d brought baskets of food from home, bread and cheese and hard-boiled eggs, and chunks of sopressa for everyone but Nina and Stella, and Mario’s wife had surprised them with bottles of tart homemade lemonade. They’d eaten their lunch with sandy fingers, their noses already pinkened by the sun, and with the last crumbs devoured, the children had rushed off to build castles in the sand.

“But not a toe in the water until your lunch has settled,” Rosa had ordered, and Stella had run back to give Rosa a quick hug.

“Don’t worry, Zia Rosa,” she’d promised. “I’ll take care of Carlo while you rest.”

“Such a good girl,” Rosa had said lovingly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. It’s hard to remember life without my three girls all together.”

“I think she would say the same,” Nina had agreed, though it wasn’t entirely true. Stella was healthy and happy now, and she seemed to feel secure and content, and she was devoted to everyone, Rosa most of all. Agnese and Angela called her their sister, and the three of them were never apart. But she still had nightmares; she still wept for her parents, who, like Nina’s, had vanished into the abyss of Birkenau. All that remained of Stella’s life from before the war were a few battered copies of her parents’ tourist guides. They were gifts from Nico, who searched for them in every bookstore he passed.

The day was more than half over now, and Nina resolved that for the rest of it she would think only of sunshine and blue skies. It was easy to do with those she loved at her side, the joy of another baby on the way, and the promise of brighter tomorrows to come.

After lunch, Lucia had fallen asleep in her grandfather’s arms; now she sat up and began to rub at her eyes.

“Mamma?” she asked, pouting a little.

“Yes, darling?”

“Where my papà?”

“Here I am,” Nico answered, plucking her from Aldo’s arms. “Do you think it might be time for some gelato?”

“Gelato!” Carlo roared, forgetting his half-constructed castle in his haste to join them. “Gelato, gelato, gelato!”