One of Paolo’s brothers was taken by the draft in February. No one wants to sit in his seat; no one can bear either to mention or not to mention his name. He sends letters but is not allowed to tell his family where he is. Paolo’s two other brothers wear matching suits, and their mamma flits like a butterfly among flowers between them, straightening their ties, reaching up to brush aside their stray curls. Moving as though her family is all there, as though one of her wings has not been torn off. Viviana Luigio is taking unexpected challenges one step at a time, and she is staying optimistic. She shares food and conversation with Paolo’s new work associates because it is, she believes, the kind and magnanimous thing to do. She maintains hope she can convince Paolo to take a restaurant job her cousin is holding for him. That her sons will come home safe from every battle they fight.

Antonia feels hot and grateful, safety like a parachute carrying her along an inch or so off of the ground. She thanks Joey, and for only half a second feels faint with the realization that her own father isn’t there, won’t see her, would have loved to: Carlo Russo, a hand on her back as she drifted to sleep, would have loved to see his daughter commit her life to a man she loved. Or, Antonia can tell herself this story: the breathless unfairness of not having Carlo also allows her to idealize him, to hold him up as the pinnacle of something she is constantly missing out on. Love, Antonia recites to herself, as she walks carefully through the sea of everyone she knows. Honor. She takes a breath. Obey.

Tonight Antonia and Paolo will go to a hotel in Downtown Brooklyn, the Grand Palace, where they will have a view over the East River. Tomorrow they will move into their own apartment. Paolo has been saving for rent and furniture all year. Antonia has picked out dishes, towels, bedside lamps. So I didn’t do it the way you wanted, she says defiantly, imagining herself at fifteen, awestricken in the high school library. I got us out, didn’t I? Last night was the final one she will ever spend in her childhood apartment.