Chiara reached under the register and grabbed her car keys. “Edo, get my coat,” she said, tension strangling her voice.
“Where are you going?”
“To the hospital.”
Magda pushed on the door of Bar Birbo and startled when the door didn’t swing open. She stood there, uselessly, her eyes roaming around the front of the shop, looking for clues. Her eye caught on the “Chiuso” sign. Leaning forward to shield her eyes from the glare of the morning sun, she peered through the glass.
“She’s closed.” The baker’s voice called from across the street.
Magda straightened, frowned, and turned to Sauro, smiling genially as he leaned out from the beaded curtain.
“But . . . why? It’s not Monday.” Did Chiara go on vacation and not tell her? How could Chiara not share that with all the talking they did yesterday, warming themselves around the box burning on the rock of the waterfall before the current swirled around the fragments and swept them down into the swamp where they belonged.
The baker shrugged, “Boh.” He smiled again and slipped back into the fragrant shop as he caught sight of Bea walking toward the bakery for her morning loaf of bread.
Magda’s face creased into it’s familiar scowl. What was going on?
Luciano turned the corner and saw Magda standing in front of Bar Birbo, unsure of where to go next. He called out, “She’s closed.”
“I have eyes.” Magda spat back. She took a breath and tried again. “Yes, I see that.” Better, softer. She smiled in appreciation of her effort. She saw that Luciano didn’t look as pleased, so she added, “Did she go somewhere?” Magda couldn’t help her eyebrow furrowing down again. She consciously tried to raise it.
Luciano tried not to laugh at the battle that was raging on Magda’s face. What was happening to this woman? Her face seemed to be in the midst of some kind of gymnastic routine. He forced away the mental picture of Magda in a leotard balanced like an egret on a balance beam. “She’s at the hospital.”
“The hospital! Is she okay?” Luciano’s face softened at Magda’s panicked voice.
“Yes, she’s fine. She went to see Fatima.”
“Fatima? Who’s Fatima?”
Luciano closed his eyes and wrestled with the emotion that fought to choke him.
“The little girl they found last night at the fire.”
“The fire? Was she hurt? Was she burned in the fire?”
Luciano’s voice seemed to shrink as he said, “No, not burned. They think smoke inhalation. She was in the room under the arbor, it must have filled with smoke before she even knew. Giuseppe found her.”
Magda’s eyes flew to the butcher shop.
Luciano said, “He’s at the hospital, too.”
The tension in Magda’s body closed around her vocal cords, “How is she?”
Luciano shook his head. “They don’t know yet. She hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“And the family, are they there? Somebody needs to tell them! Their Italian is terrible, they probably don’t know what to do! We need to form a committee!”
“Magda. Yes, of course they are there. Patrizia went and told them right after Giuseppe took Fatima to the hospital.”
Magda’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all this?”
“Because Patrizia came to see me first. She knows I worked with the family.”
“And you’re equipped to deal with this stress? Of course you’re not. I’ll take over.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, Magda. I appreciate the offer, but the family trusts me, and frankly I think it best that they have someone around them that they know, and that knows their daughter’s name.”
Magda huffed. “Well, what are you doing here then? Why aren’t you at the hospital? It doesn’t look like you’re taking your responsibility very seriously. Besides,” she said as she peered at Luciano’s cheek, “your face is bloody. You look ridiculous.”
“It was a long night. But, Magda, why this sudden interest in a girl you don’t even know?”
Magda blanched, and was silent. “I know. I’m sorry, Luciano.” As she rubbed her hand across her eyes, she missed Luciano’s eyes widening at her apology. “Look, I might as well say it. I’m sure everyone else will be saying it—the fire was my fault.”
“What? No, it was the vines. The fire chief said so this morning.”
“Whatever, it was my idea to have the sagra at the castle.”
“And was it you that held a lit match to the vines?”
Magda head swiveled up, and she blinked up at Luciano, surprised as much by the softness of his tone as his refusal to blame her.
His voice gentled further. “Unless you blazed up those vines on purpose and forced Fatima in that room,” his voice caught momentarily, struck by the image of Fatima collapsing, alone, in a space rapidly filling with smoke. “There were many people involved in that decision, Magda. It doesn’t fall on the person who first spoke the notion.”
Magda opened her mouth to argue, but Luciano held up his hand. “I can’t talk more about this, I need to get back.”
Magda nodded, rebuked. “But why are you going in this direction?”
“I need to get Elisa. Fatima’s family is asking for her.”
“Elisa Lucarelli? They’re friends? Oh, wait, yes, I remember now.”
Luciano nodded and then moved to proceed down the street.
“Luciano, please, no offense. Will they let her go with you? You know that family. Suspicious and angry, they remind me . . . well, never mind.”
Luciano paused. He hadn’t considered what would happen if the family didn’t allow Elisa to join him. They didn’t know him, or their relationship.
Seeing him hesitate, Magda rushed on, “Can I come with you? I’ll talk to them for you.”
Luciano’s eyes narrowed.
Magda went on. “Please. I want to help. I promise . . . I’ll be . . . well, I won’t be like me.”
Luciano surprised himself by laughing. “Okay, let’s go get her.”
“Maybe I should do the talking,” Magda said, hurrying so much, she was several paces ahead of Luciano.
Luciano stopped walking. Magda, realizing that she didn’t know where Elisa lived, paused. Luciano ventured forward while saying, “Magda, this is not your tragedy.
