I arrived at the west gate ten minutes early.
Clara was already there, leaning against a low stone wall. She had a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a folder tucked under her arm. I wondered how long she had been waiting, then remembered that the time she spent waiting was part of her work if she was on the clock.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning. Did you sleep?"
"Enough."
"That's good."
The carefulness in her voice made me want to apologize again. I also knew an apology was not a coin I could place in her hand to get back the easy conversation we had had by the harbor.
We followed the revised route. The observatory stood on a low hill above the old quarter, its dome painted blue. Inside, a museum volunteer showed us the brass telescope and the hand-drawn maps of the coastline.
Clara
