Then he let her go. One curt nod of his head, before spinning on his leather soles and walking away, the tails of his robe waving goodbye.

What did he see? It disturbed her, the way he had seemed to look deep inside her soul. The idea that he could understand her pain, had no doubt seen it so often on the faces of his parishioners. Was it because he could accept the will of God in a way that most people never would?

Emily walked without realizing where she was going, feeling trapped somewhere between then and now, not understanding where she had been or where she was supposed to go; what it was that she was about to find in a restaurant in Verona.

I wish you were here, she thought as she turned the corner, found herself once again by a river.

Leaning over the smooth, stone wall, she felt a mellow breeze on her cheek, turned her head to follow the water in its perpetual flow. To her right there was a row of potted eucalyptus plants, the sweet, minty fragrance making her think of winter nights with Vicks rubbed onto her chest; of soft hands and a calming voice that sung her a lullaby while she slept.

Stop, Emily told herself once more as she watched a woman step from behind the plants with a bright red watering can. She watered each plant in turn, then went over to where a pair of oversized urns stood, flanking the entrance to a restaurant with a brass plaque next to the door.

“Scusi,” Emily called out, and the woman turned.

“Si?” she asked, a slight crease between her brows as she looked Emily up and down, saw the map in her hand, the pink around her eyes.

“I’m here to see Giancarlo,” Emily said. “My name is Emily.” There was a flash of recognition as Emily spoke her name, followed by a torrent of Italian that Emily understood nothing of, along with a broad smile and hands that beckoned her to follow.

The woman led Emily through the restaurant and up a small flight of stairs. Everywhere there were people busy polishing glasses and straightening starched linen tablecloths. Emily could smell garlic, rosemary, and something else as she turned her head to peer inside an open door, at stainless steel worktops covered with ingredients, heard the scrape of knives being sharpened, felt a slight drop in temperature as she went back outside.

Giancarlo sat on the balcony at a small, round table in the sunshine, drinking coffee and doing a crossword. He was wearing a checked shirt, jeans, and horn-rimmed spectacles that balanced on the end of his nose as he tackled each question in turn. He looked up as they approached, a lazy smile on his face that turned quickly into astonishment.

Emily sat down, allowed him to simply look at her a moment. She didn’t press him for any conversation, any answers, because she saw the way his eyes lingered on the locket around her neck, was certain he knew what photograph was inside.