Then the rain came.
Marco reached over and took her hand. He didn’t squeeze it, or stroke it. He just held it, as if it were the candle’s wick and he was afraid the flame would go out. la vacanza
They drove back in a simmering rage. She cried, silently, behind her sunglasses. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were the color of the olives. Then the rain came
Marco smiled. A real smile. “Maybe the vacation is salvageable.” la vacanza