Layla
The warm, heavy scents of garlic and thyme filled the kitchen as I tossed vegetables on the sizzling skillet. Normally, cooking calmed me—because it was such a safe, domestic contrast to the high-octane pace of hospital life. But my mind was far from settled; I’d stopped seeing the browning zucchini long ago.
No, instead I was thinking of Aldo—replaying the troubled cadence of his voice as he responded to my news about Marco.
Are you sure that’s really a good idea? … He’s dangerous …
He wasn’t dangerous. He was Marco—a good friend, a brilliant doctor, a kindhearted man. Sure, he had some playboy habits I wasn’t certain he’d break anytime soon, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy a meal in each other’s company.
So, why did Aldo’s belief that Marco was caught up in something ni
