Chapter 2In the kitchen, Priscilla puts water on the stove to boils and then places a Franz Liszt record on the player. There’s a hard knock at the front door.
“Entra.”
A large and somewhat sweaty man in his fifties enters with a rusted green toolkit.
“Ciao, Priscilla,” he says, nodding to her.
“How are you, Tomasso?” she asks in Italian.
“I’m great. Thank you. So the bathroom light?” Tomasso wipes his brow with his arm.
“Si.”
Tomasso walks past Priscilla. Once he starts working, he pokes his head out of the bathroom.
“You’ve got some big meeting today, huh?”
“Si.”
“Giacomo is very excited.”
“Well, as you know, I’d be useless without his help.”
Priscilla pulls out a coffee mug from the cabinet and presses her French press down. She carries the coffee into the living room.
“He
