Chapter 20
Naples. Present day.
The girl who stood in front of her was not Delila. Little was sure, because she looked much too young, younger than Little. She had dark hair and eyes, and a stern, straight line of a mouth. She put her hand out for Little to shake. She must be younger than me, Little thought as she stood up. A teenager. She shook the girl’s hand and sat back down, noting that the girl wore a dark red wrap dress that looked lovely on her.
“I like your dress,” she ventured. “Are you going to sit down?”
The girl shook her head, still not smiling. “I can’t really stay. I’m Delila’s daughter.” She eyed Little up and down, and oddly, Little felt judged and found wanting.
“I am, too,” she replied, though this was clearly already known.
“Mamma can’t make it,” she said. Mamma,
