She drapes the shawl around my shoulders without asking permission, which I allow because cold pride is still cold. Her eyes flick to the file. Then away.
“Do you need anything?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A morally uncomplicated solution.”
“That I cannot do.”
“Terrible service in this house.”
“Yes.”
She sits beside me. For a while, we say nothing. Silence is easier with Teresa. She doesn’t try to own it.
Finally, I say, “He gave me everything.”
“I know.” Of course she does.
“He didn’t ask for anything.”
“No.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“Yes.”
I look at her. “You could pretend to comfort me.”
“I could.”
“You won’t?”
“No.”
Good woman.
I lean forward, elbows on knees, stomach making the position uncomfortable almost immediately. I adjust with as much dignity as one can manage while being rearranged by one’s own uterus.
Teresa politely pretends not to notice. Saint.
“If I use this,” I say, “Dante is finished.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t, my father’s murder stays buried.”
“Yes.”
“If I use all of it, Alessandro is exposed, too.”
“Yes.”
“If I protect Alessandro, I become part of the lie.”
Teresa is quiet. Too quiet.
