The day is drawing to a close, the sky streaked with pale gold and the reflecting pools turned silver in the Tuscan dusk. They sit quietly for a while, Effie trying to sneak glimpses of her mother’s face without being seen. She still engaged in her childhood fantasies; the wild hope that Céilí was quiet because she was trying to find the words to ask Effie to live with her. But the moment never came, and as she grew older she tried to quell the naivety that she seemed naturally predisposed to.
“Italy suits you,” her mother’s voice cuts through the evening light.