“Eat,” Mama cut in, her voice shrill. “Your ziti will get cold.” After the dinner dishes had been washed and put away, Paulie signaled to Lu to come upstairs to his room. She found him sitting on his bed with a map spread in front of him. Whispering so Mama wouldn't hear, he showed Lu the Pachino Peninsula, the Gulf of Gela, and the Gulf of Noto. He threw around words like “Sherman tanks,” “DUKWs,” “battalions,” and “platoons.” Lu barely heard him. While her brother told her about beachheads and landing craft, she remembered the look in Ricky's eyes whenever he talked about the twins—especially Tommy.

EARLY THE NEXT morning, Lu left the house and boarded the trolley for the beach. She found the twins’ cottage easily—Ricky had shown it to her once—and knocked on the door. If Ricky wasn't there she would have to go to his family's home in the Gas-pari compound to try to find him. But Ricky answered the door. He'd been crying.

“I'm sorry,” she said. He stood in front of her like a hurt little kid. She put her arms around him and closed the door behind them.

The cottage wasn't fancy; just a little living room with a fireplace, a kitchen, and two small bedrooms. The furniture was beat up and old, mostly made of wicker and wood. The floor was linoleum, to make it easier to sweep up the sand that was tracked in from the beach, and the sofa in the living room was faded and a little saggy. Lu was aware of all of this, but she couldn't take it in. All she knew then was that she was holding Ricky so tight, it was as if she was trying to take the pain out of him and into her own body. When the kissing started afterward, it was different than it had ever been before. And when they made their way to one of the small bedrooms, it felt right.

“We can stop …” he whispered at the doorway.

“I don't want to,” she said.

TOMMY GASPARI WAS found safe and sound three weeks later. But by that time everything had changed for Lu and Ricky, and they couldn't go back to what they had been before.