So far, I’d been able to keep up. I only hoped my determination not to worry my girls would overcome any of my body’s deterioration. My stomach hadn’t flared up yet, but there was a low burning pain around my middle, and I was horribly bloated. Sometimes the band tightened and I lost my breath, but it hadn’t happened enough for me to worry. Not yet.

I told you to get the tests done before you left, he scolded. What if you’re delaying treatment because of your stubbornness?

You wrote the book on stubborn. I want to enjoy this trip without anything negative looming over us. How can we have fun if they’re worried about me the whole time?

Fine, don’t listen to me. You never do. Something is going on with Frannie. You need to get her to open up.

I’m trying. She hasn’t been on her phone lately, though, but Allegra hasn’t budged. There’s some deep hurt between them only some time and talking can heal.

Stubborn. Just like you. Runs in the family.

Oh, shush.

“What’d you say, Mom?” Frannie asked.

Had I spoken out loud again? Oh my. I seemed to be doing that more often. Talking to my dead husband would place me straight on the crazy list. “Nothing. This is beautiful, isn’t it?” We climbed up a twisty wooded road and passed sheep, cows, and a variety of other farm animals. The sign read formaggi di maria.

When we got out, we were greeted by a woman a bit younger than me with curly black hair, a plump face, and an exuberant smile. She wore a white apron and a frayed blue dress that reached her ankles. She was flanked by a young man and woman who welcomed us in and explained what the tour involved.

“I am Giovanni, this is Patricia, and this is our master cheese maker, Maria.” The older woman nodded and waved at us. “Today we will be showing you our farm and where we make our wonderful cheese. We shall take you behind the scenes. Then Maria will make mozzarella for you with her age-old process she’s been doing since she was seven years old. You will make lunch yourselves.”

“But I can’t cook!” Kai burst out.

Everyone laughed. “Today, you shall cook your own pizza and it will be delicious!” Giovanni told him. “Let’s get started. If you will follow me, grazie.”

The tour took us through the workings of the farm. I watched while a worker milked cows in front of us, and we toured the vegetable and herb gardens, bursting with vine-ripened tomatoes, sweet peppers, basil, and parsley. Olive trees dotted the property, their twisted branches hanging low. Fascinated, we examined the mechanics room, filled with huge metal vaults and industrial ovens pumping out high amounts of liquids for the various cheeses.