Page 116 of Saltwater

I tell himthank youand go back to our apartment.

Ciro says: “Where were you?”

“I stopped to look at some galleries,” I say.

It seems to satisfy him.

Later, when we are lying in bed, I tell him the truth:

“I keep seeing Lorna.”

“In your dreams?”

“No. In Milan. She’s here with a man.”

“It’s not possible, Helen.” He reaches out for me in the darkness and pulls me in close. “She’s gone. We both saw her.”

But I think of my mother, of how people see what they want to see. Of the check Marcus gave to Lorna before she died. Of the missing ten million euros.

“It was her,” I say. “I’m certain.”

—

I am purchasing acrylicswhen I feel the hand on my arm.

“Have you been looking for me?”

She is standing in front of me, a statuesque brunette in a black dress. Her hair the same length as Lorna’s, her face with the same almond eyes, the same straight nose. She looks like Lorna in every way; shefeelslike Lorna. But she is not.

“No,” I say. “Have we met?”

“I saw you at Palazzo Dugnani the other day. You were followingus.”

“Oh,” I say. I’m flustered. The metal tube of paint in my hand feels sharp and hot. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” she says.

“A friend. Lorna.”

“I am Silvia,” she says. She holds out her hand to me.

“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.

“A carabiniere stopped me when I left the palazzo. He said he sometimes saw you here.” She waves at the interior of the shop.

“But how did you know—”

I don’t finish my question. Milan is like that sometimes. Coincidental. Magical.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you,” I say.

“Not at all,” Silvia says. “I hope you find your friend.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She leaves me in the store, and I purchase the paints. The shopkeeper gives me a plastic bag, which rubs against my legs as I walk; every brush, every sound, feels like a small reproach for my foolishness. I think of how long I sat on the steps in front of the palazzo, of how certain I was that day we were having lunch. Ciro told me this morning that he thought it was my guilt trying to assuage itself.

“If you see her,” he said, “it makes it easier. Perhaps it’s just your subconscious trying to protect you from the horror of what really happened.”

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