Page 6 of The Thief

But I’ve never been able to make myself go home. I don’t think I can sit at our battered kitchen table without picturing my mother painting in the corner. I don’t think I can walk to the docks without remembering the lazy Sunday mornings fishing with my father.

I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

Then I catch sight of Valentina’s despondent expression and register her uncharacteristic melancholy. Both her parents are dead. They weren’t much, but they were all she had, and they’re gone now. Christmas is only a few months away, and she’ll be spending it without them for the first time.

I remember my first Christmas alone. It was only a few weeks after my parents died. I sat alone in the student dorms, almost crippled by loneliness and aching with loss.

I would never wish that on my worst enemy. How can I inflict it on my best friend?

On impulse, I open yet another browser tab and search for museum jobs in Europe.

And then I see it.

A job opening in Venice. A five-month contract at the Palazzo Ducale to digitize their catalog.

My heart races in my chest as I read the requirements.

Must speak fluent Italian.Check.

Must possess in-depth knowledge of Italian art.Check.

The pay is. . . not great. But I won’t starve, and most importantly, I’ll be there for Valentina.

My fingers tremble, and I set my wine glass down before I drop it. My palms feel cold and clammy.It’s only five months,I tell myself.It’s not a lifetime commitment. You’re not going to stay forever. Just long enough to help Valentina get over this rough patch.

“Earth to Lucia?” Valentina says. “Come in, please.”

I hastily switch out of that tab and shift back to my friend. “Sorry, I got distracted by the internet. When does Angelica start her new school, and do you think she’ll like a surprise delivery of Pokémon cards from her favorite aunt?”

* * *

Much later that night,I go online and apply for the Palazzo Ducale role. I hit submit, then stare blankly at the screen.

I should be a shoo-in for this job, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

I take a deep breath, open my purse, and fish out the faded, dog-eared business card I’ve held onto for a decade. I’ve debated throwing it out every single time I move, and yet, somehow, it survives every purge.

I run my thumb over the handwritten note.

Call me,it says.

I wonder if the number still works. If I call, would I reach Antonio, my fairy tale rescuer? And would he even remember me, the crazy girl who staggered her way through the docks with a bottle of vodka in her hand, uncaring that she could slip and drown?

It’s been ten years, Lucia. He’s probably married with a handful of children by now.

I tuck the card carefully back inside my purse and shut down my laptop.

The next morning, there’s a message waiting in my inbox from the museum. They want to interview me. Am I available for a video call on Monday, and if all goes well, how soon will I be able to start?

Yes, I’m available to talk,I respond.And I can start immediately.

Ready or not, after a decade of doing my best to avoid Venice, it looks like I’m finally returning home.

3

ANTONIO

Venice is my city.

---