It had come to her suddenly, and like all truth it was simple, self-evident, now that she could see. The freedom she needed was to accept Alberto freely—freely and not in the pinched, miserable sense of his being a lesser evil than Gloversville, or being alone. Oh, Christ Almighty, she thought. Who says I have to prove to the world that I can work and take care of myself? Or arrange a new classy marriage for myself? Florence would be me trying another time to prove to Mother and Dad that I am as hardworking, practical, and all-American as one of their sons; that once again Mad Marguerite is up to her old tricks. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to be the man of the family—alone, or with Richard. I’m not my father. I don’t want to be him or what he wants me to be. I am me and basta. I accept everything. None of it was wrong, only necessary.

She called Angela. “I’m not going to stay in Florence.”

“I always thought it was a terrible idea. Everything’s here. You have a husband who still loves you—you don’t know what it means to be really alone.”

“I think I do. I’ve been alone all these years.”

“Is it better to be alone out of marriage?”

“It was an alternative and it was necessary to know I had it. As long as there’s an alternative, we have a margin of freedom.”

“Have you told Alberto?”

“Not yet.”

“I told you before: He’ll take you back like Jesus with his arms wide open.”

“What does that mean? That I should care about making a brutta figura? Well, I don’t.”

It was five o’clock; Weezy must have gone to a friend’s house. Marguerite called Alberto’s office and told his secretary to leave him a message asking him to meet her at Doney’s around seven.

She was sitting at the Via Veneto caffè when he joined her and she told him she was giving up her plans to live in Florence.

“Then you’re coming home?”

“Yes. Angela said I could have her place to work in while she’s gone. I’d like to set up a darkroom and get into photography seriously.”

“That could be a good solution.”

She looked at him gratefully, smiling. “You’re beginning to understand me.”

“I’ve told everybody we’re separated,” he said.

“Do you care what they think?”

“No. Not a bit. And you?”

“Not a bit.” She reached over the little table where they sat and took his face in both her hands to kiss him on the lips.

He was pleased. “It took a separation to do it. It’s an expensive lesson for your education.”

“And for yours. Do you think I’m reaching maturity?”

“Possibly.”