The Last Promise by Richard Paul Evans

luggage out to her car and they kissed farewell.
    “Goodbye,” Eliana said.
    “I don’t say goodbye,” Anna replied. “I’ll see you soon.”
    Eliana leaned against the villa wall as she watched Anna drive off, her small red car disappearing at the end of the drive in a haze of dust. The world is flat, she thought. It drops off just a few kilometers from the grounds of Rendola . Maybe she should have gone to the sea. She already felt lonely.
    She looked out over the valley. The olive trees bristled from a summer breeze, dusty and blanched as the soil beneath them. As she crossed the courtyard, she glanced over at Ross’s door. Even though Anna had said he was gone, a part of her wished he would walk out at that moment. She wanted to meet him. And though she hadn’t admitted to noticing, what Anna had said was true. He was bello . From her window she had watched him move into his apartment with little more than a backpack—as free as the foreigners she often passed on the Chianti roads backpacking through Tuscany. There was something about his appearance that intrigued her. He had a rugged, yet boyish look.
    She buried the thought. She was starting to think like Anna. She didn’t want to notice. She was married. Married but not dead, Anna would have countered. Sometimes she felt even that was debatable.
    Still, for the next three weeks, he was her only neighbor. Was she to pretend he didn’t exist? Maybe she would make him a housewarming offering as Anna had suggested. It would be the right thing to do. It would be worth it just for the conversation in English.
    With the exception of her brief encounters with the American tourists who came to the wine tasting parties in the nearby frazione of Greve, it had been a while since she had spoken with an American.
    She went into her apartment and up to Alessio’s room. She quietly opened his door. Alessio was awake but still lying quietly in his bed.
    “How are you feeling, munchkin?”
    “Mommy, my head hurts. It feels like somebody sat on it.”
    She smiled. “I don’t think anyone did. But let me feel it.” She laid her cheek against his forehead, and as she had suspected, it was warm. And he was congested. This worried her more than the fever. The last time he had had a cold, he had suffered a serious asthma attack. She kissed his forehead. “You have a fever, little man. I’m going to get you a little medicine.”
    “No.”
    “It’s okay, it’s the grape chewy kind you like. And also a little something for your cough that tastes like cherry.”
    “Okay.”
    “Would you like a gelato to go with it?”
    “Sì.”
    “Chocolate or limone ?”
    “Chocolate.”
    She kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
    A few minutes later Eliana returned with her hands full of health care: a damp washcloth, cough medicine, a plastic Mickey Mouse bowl filled with gelato and a couple Children’s Tylenol. She gave him the medicine, then folded the washcloth and laid it across his forehead.
    “Want me to read a book to you?”
    “I want to play Nintendo.”
    “Later. Books are better.” She went to a cabinet and brought out a stack of books. The first was one of his favorites: Prosciutto e Uova Verdi. Green Eggs and Ham . A thought crossed her mind. If someone had told her that someday she’d be reading Dr. Seuss to her child in Italian, she’d have thought them pazzo . She read several other books as well, in both English and Italian—it didn’t matter to Alessio—including his absolute favorite, an Italian pop-up book she had bought him for Halloween: Paura ed Orrore in via del Terrore. Fear and Horror on Terror Road.
    Alessio ate his gelato as she read. She paused once as he had a coughing fit and she set down the book to hold him. Alessio often coughed, as is common with asthma, but it was never without Eliana’s concern. She set up a small nest of sofa cushions and blankets in her painting studio then wheeled the television into the room, so she