“That’s right.”

“She’s dead, your mother?”

“A long time ago.”

“And the boy? What will you name the boy?”

Gabriel hesitated, then said, “The boy will be named Raphael.”

“The angel of healing.” She smiled and asked, “Are you healed, Gabriel?”

“Not quite.”

“Nor am I.”

She looked up at the television, puzzlement on her face. Gabriel held her hand. The scar tissue made it feel cold and firm. It was like a patch of bare canvas. He longed to retouch it but could not. Leah was the one thing in the world he could not restore.

“Are you dead?” she asked suddenly.

“No, Leah. I’m here with you.”

“The television said you were killed in London.”

“It was something we had to say.”

“Why?”

“It’s not important.”

“You always say that, my love.”

“Do I?”

“Only when it really is.” Her eyes settled on him. “Where were you?”

“I was looking for the man who helped Tariq build the bomb.”

“Did you find him?”

“Almost.”

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It was a long time ago, Gabriel. And it won’t change a thing. I’ll still be the way I am. And you’ll still be married to another woman.”

Gabriel couldn’t bear her accusatory stare any longer, so he watched the snow instead. After a few seconds she joined him.

“You’ll let me see them, won’t you, Gabriel?”

“As soon as I can.”

“And you’ll take good care of them, especially the boy?”

“Of course.”

Her eyes widened suddenly. “I want to hear the sound of my mother’s voice.”

“So do I.”

“Make sure Dani is buckled into his car seat tightly.”

“I will,” said Gabriel. “The streets are slippery.”

During the drive back to Narkiss Street, Gabriel received a text message from Chiara requesting his estimated time of arrival. He didn’t bother to respond because he was just around the corner. He hurried up the garden walk, leaving a trail of telltale size-ten footprints in the undisturbed layer of snow, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Entering, he saw the suitcase he had so carefully packed standing in the entrance hall. Chiara was seated on the couch, dressed and coated, singing softly to herself as she leafed through a glossy magazine.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Gabriel asked.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.” She smiled beautifully.

“What happened?”

“I wasn’t feeling well this afternoon, so I called the doctor. He thought we should get it over with.”

“When?”

“Tonight, darling. We need to get to the hospital.”

Gabriel stood with the stillness of a bronze statue.

“This is the part where you help me to my feet,” said Chiara.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“And don’t forget the bag.”

“Wait . . . what?”

“The suitcase, darling. I’ll need my things at the hospital.”

“Yes, the hospital.”