Couldn’t she see we were praying? Would Mom interrupt the prayer and look up?

“We thank Thee for this food and we pray for those who live and work in this pensione that they might come to know Thee as their personal Savior . . .”

“Vino?”

Mom opened her eyes, looked up sorrowfully, blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light, then smiled ruefully at Lucrezia. Poor girl, she didn’t know the Lord. In fact, here we were praying, and she didn’t even wait until we were done. Probably she didn’t even notice. I guess she thought we were staring at our food while Mom talked to herself with her eyes shut. We had pity for Lucrezia and all the unsaved Italians. Roman Catholics thought they knew the Lord, but they worshiped Mary, not Jesus; they did not trust Him as their personal Savior but tried to merit salvation by works. I knew they were lost, but, just the same, I wished we didn’t have to pray in front of them.

“Vino?"Lucrezia was starting to really wonder what was going on. She tried English. “Wine? Red . . . White . . . Yes?” She smiled. Mom smiled too. Mom’s smile was full of compassion.

“No, Lucrezia, no, we wont be having any alcohol to drink.”

“No wine.”

“No, thank you, we’re Christians, just some water please.”

“Acqua minerale?”

“No, just natural water . . . acqua naturale.”

It was Lucrezia’s turn to look sorrowful and to smile wistfully. Mom took her smile to be an expression of longing to know the Truth. I knew Lucrezia just felt sorry for people who drank tepid tap water at dinner when a hundred and fifty lira would buy a bottle of Chianti or Orvieto.

When Lucrezia walked away, we bowed our heads to finish our interrupted prayer. “And, Lord, we pray for dear little Lucrezia. We pray that You will give one of us an opportunity to share Your love with her and an opportunity to witness to her. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen.”

A fly was struggling on its back in the oil on my plate. Its feet kicked, it had smeared the pattern of its wings onto the glaze of the thick white dinner plate.

Jennifer was staring at our table. Then she said something to her mother and giggled.

Chapter 2

I COULD SMELL THE PINE TREE outside our window at the pensione. I checked for mosquito bites. Only one on my elbow. Rachael was still asleep. The white lace curtain hissed against the white wall as it fluttered, curled, then uncurled in the morning breeze. I could hear the grind of a diesel engine as a bus stopped, a Vespa accelerated around it, its flat horn sounded twice. The bus was leaving. I smelled the diesel fumes, then heard the voice of the Banini (beach attendant), who’d just arrived, call out “Buon giorno!” to somebody.