I went home and tried to make my life larger.
I took the online course I'd been saving for before the wedding deposits ate the money. I finished a book cover design that I liked. I started a new page in my sketchbook every morning, even when the result looked like a pile of crooked lines.
I called my father more often. He healed slowly, and I learned that he hated being asked whether he needed anything. I started asking what he'd eaten instead. He could answer without turning the conversation into an argument about his independence.
Alessia and I texted. At first, we traded photographs: the harbor, my worktable, a plate of pasta, the watercolor set I'd bought in Bellacosta. Then we called once a week. Sometimes we talked for an hour. Sometimes one of us had to leave after ten minutes.
