“Look back now,” Niccolò said, and she pivoted in her seat, peering under the foresail, glad for this one last chance to see her home. The city was no more than a smudge on the horizon, a wavering line that might have been penciled between the inky blue of the lagoon and the shimmering veil of the arching sky. She had only traveled a few kilometers, and been absent for the space of an hour, but her home now felt a world, and a lifetime, away.

Papà would go to the casa soon to help Mamma with her breakfast, and when she finished eating he would leave her to rest and return home. But their house would be cold and empty, for he had sent Marta away, too, and even after he’d moved over to the casa he would be lonely. The staff were so busy already; who among them would make sure he didn’t forget to eat, or stay up all night reading? Who would sit with him when he worried about his patients, his neighbors, and the broken world that no longer had any use for him?

What would become of him now? Who would care for him, and Mamma, now that she was gone?

Niccolò had been crouching at the bow of the boat, but now he came back to sit by her, again seeming to know, without a single word or gesture on her part, that she was struggling.

“He isn’t alone. He’s at the casa with your mother, and the staff there will take good care of them both. He was very certain that he would be safe and comfortable there. Try to remember that if you can.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Niccolò was kind to try to comfort her, but she knew just how cold and lonely her father’s life had become the moment she had left him. And no amount of reassuring words could ever save her from that knowledge.

“Do you remember that summer you and Marco came to stay?” Mario asked. “And we took this old girl out every day and said we were fishing, but all we did was lower the sails and drop the anchor and sleep for hours?”

“Nonna was always so disappointed when we came home without a single fish to show for it,” Niccolò said, smiling as he remembered.

The wind was with them as they came about and began to sail along the inlet, but then, in a heartbeat, it faded to a scudding breeze. “How many newlyweds have their own gondoliere?” Mario asked as he stood at the stern and began to scull. “No need to thank me. Just consider it my gift to the bride and groom.”