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Agatha’s Point of View
“Can you meet me at the edge of the village after school?”
“Which edge, Concetta?”
“The one where the road leads out. Not the one where the beach starts. We are not going swimming.”
“What then? Did Luca find a place?”
“No. I have an idea.”
“An idea?”
“Yes. We could go now if you prefer.”
“I’m not required in class for an hour.”
Concetta was already moving. Sandals on, hair tied back, the cotton bag she carried everywhere slung across her body. She had the look of a woman who had been waiting to say this and had decided that this morning, over this coffee, at this table, was the moment.