He looks at me. "I have never wanted anything the way I want this to work," he says. "All of it. You, her, this island. I have wanted things before. Built them. Rebuilt them when necessary." He pauses. "This is the first thing I cannot repair if I mishandle it." Another pause. "I find that significant."
I take that in.
"You're not going to mishandle it."
"I did once."
"And then you acquired a medically strategic chair three weeks before I needed it."
His eyes flick to the chair, then back to me.
"All of it," I say softly. "I know. Me too."
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with two careful fingers. No performance now, no management, only the plainness of being here.
The baby kicks.
One firm, declarative thump. A full sentence of a kick.
Matteo places his hand on my stomach at once and looks at the spot with that expression I have been quietly collecting for months, wonder, restraint, tenderness, and something larger than all three.
She kicks again.
"Hello," he says softly. To her. To me. To the warm air itself.
I cover his hand with mine.
Beyond the window, the sea shifts from gold to amber, and I gasp as I capture the beauty of it all.
33
JENNIFER
I'm restless. I have been since I woke up this morning. Some days are like that.
Yesterday I was happy to sit on the phone with Anna and then spend the afternoon with Matteo, but today I need air and movement and the particular comfort of Gerald, so I am in the garden.
Tomas comes down the shell path with his book under his arm and his glasses on. He stops a few feet away and looks at me standing next to the bay tree in the November afternoon and does not say anything about it, which is one of the many things I appreciate about him.
"Come to the library," he says.
He pauses beside my chair, his shadow falling cool across my legs as he blocks the sun. One hand rests in his pocket, the other loose at his side, as if he has merely wandered over and not crossed the lawn with a purpose.
"I'm not a book person." I tip my face up at him without moving.
"I know."
"I've told you that."
"Several times." The corner of his mouth threatens movement. "Come anyway."
I squint at him.
He waits with the serene patience of a man entirely certain he will be obeyed.
"Fine."
Something warm flickers through his expression, nearly a smile. He offers me his hand.