A little after eleven o’clock, Giovanni’s cell vibrated in his trouser pocket. Thomas must have finally called.
He excused himself and upstairs latched the guest room’s door and moved intuitively across the darkened room of his childhood. The shutters’ hinges, old and rusty, creaked when he pushed open the louvered window covering. He paused, heard no one approach, and stepped out onto the narrow balcony. On the street below enough traffic passed, despite the late hour, to cover his words. “ Si , Thomas?”
“ Va bene ?” Thomas asked.
“ Si, si, va bene ,” Giovanni said. Everything was fine. They had privacy. Total privacy, he added, to reassure the ever suspicious Thomas.
“ Allora, domani.”
“Domani, allora .” Giovanni disconnected the call, heartened by the news. It was definitely on. Gi
