The “quilting retreat” in Zurich had transitioned into a “botanical tour” of the Italian Lake District. To Martha’s daughter back home, the photos Sophie sent were exactly what you’d expect: blurred shots of hydrangeas and Martha looking serene in a sunhat.
Ciao Mama!
They were currently sitting on a terrace overlooking Lake Como. Martha was meticulously peeling a peach with a small, silver fruit knife—the kind of grandmotherly task that looked delicate until you realized she was handling the blade with the precision of a surgeon.
“You’re holding your breath again, Sophie,” Martha said, sliding a perfect slice of peach onto Sophie’s plate. “Eat. You’ll need the glucose. Brains don’t run on air.”
Sophie took the peach, but her eyes were fixed on the crowded ferry terminal below. “I’m just trying to keep track of the man in the white linen suit. You said he’s the ‘tail,’ right?”
“He was the tail,” Martha corrected gently, taking a dainty sip of her decaf …
