INDY
We gathered in the clearing just before noon, when the sunlight was at its most generous, and the mud had dried enough not to swallow our shoes whole. Winter had finally loosened its grip on the forest, and the villagers were determined to celebrate the change of weather.
Long wooden tables were arranged in uneven rows, covered with woven cloths that Mila insisted on using only for special occasions.
Clay cups clinked. Steam rose from pots of stew.
Along with that came the thought that it had been a week since Rome left.
Seven mornings without the rustle of fabric from the futon behind me. Seven nights without the awareness of another presence in the small cabin.
And yet nothing felt the same.
I sat between Irene and Otis, my bowl in my hands, forcing myself to eat. The st
