Eliana lay back and sifted through the mail. Mostly bills. One of the letters was postmarked USA. She immediately recognized the careful handwriting of her mother. She opened the letter.

Dear Ellen,

It’s been a hot and dry summer. They’re talking about drought again. Seems they always are. Maybe they shouldn’t build cities in deserts. Thank you for the pictures you sent of Alessio. I have them up on the refrigerator. He’s getting so big. I showed them to Marge next door. Did I tell you her son has asthma too? Anyway, she mentioned what a handsome boy he is. He’ll be a real heartbreaker, that’s for sure. Handsome like his father. We just made it through another 24th of July Rodeo. Mark Jennings’ boy, Jed, got thrown from a horse. He’s okay, but he’ll be in a cast for a while. Doctor says he broke his collarbone. They have the roundup for the little ones where they let loose the greased pig, then a bunch of chickens. (I don’t know where they found the chickens this year, they looked pretty diseased to me.) Anyway I couldn’t help but think of Alessio and wish he were out there with the others. I miss you both. Have you decided on whether or not you will be coming home for Christmas this year? Of course I understand if you can’t come. Write soon. Someday I’ll get Bert to show me how to send an e-mail. They have those computers you can use down at the library. I know it costs a lot less and it’s faster, but it just seems so impersonal. I like the feel of paper and ink. There’s something honest about it. I know, I’m just old-fashioned. I hope you are well, sweetheart. I pray for you every night and morning.

Love, Mom

Eliana set the letter down. It was like a broadcast from an alien planet. She missed her mother. Her mother hadn’t seen Alessio since he was five years old, and Eliana knew it hurt her more than she would ever let on. Even though she often spoke to Alessio of his Grandma in America she wondered how much he actually remembered of her. The thought made her sad. These were years neither of them could reclaim.

Her mother had offered to fly to Italy, but Eliana wouldn’t let her. Her mother’s first airplane ride was at the age of fifty-seven, and even though it was a short flight of only an hour, it had terrified her so much that the flight attendants gave her a sedative. It took her nearly a week to calm down, and she took a bus back home. There was no way she could make a four-hour flight to New York followed by a ten-hour flight to Italy, at night, over the ocean.

Eliana looked over at Alessio still kicking his feet in the water without getting in. She walked over and sat down on the tile next to him, her slender, bare legs perpendicular to the edge of the pool. The sun refracted off the water in long, weblike streaks.