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I
take
a
deep
breath
and
offer
a
heavily
abridged
(
yet
somehow
totally
complete
)
Italian
-
language
version
of
my
situation
:
"
It
’
s
about
a
love
story
,
Giovanni
.
I
had
to
say
good
-
bye
to
someone
today
.
"
Then
my
hands
are
slapped
over
my
eyes
again
,
tears
spraying
through
my
clamped
fingers
.
Bless
his
heart
,
Giovanni
doesn
’
t
try
to
put
a
reassuring
arm
around
me
,
nor
does
he
express
the
slightest
discomfort
about
my
explosion
of
sadness
.
Instead
,
he
just
sits
through
my
tears
in
silence
,
until
I
’
ve
calmed
down
.
At
which
point
he
speaks
with
perfect
empathy
,
choosing
each
word
with
care
(
as
his
English
teacher
,
I
was
so
proud
of
him
that
night
!
)
,
saying
slowly
and
clearly
and
kindly
:
"
I
understand
,
Liz
.
I
have
been
there
.
"
My
sister
’
s
arrival
in
Rome
a
few
days
later
helped
nudge
my
attention
away
from
lingering
sadness
over
David
and
bring
me
back
up
to
speed
.
My
sister
does
everything
fast
,
and
energy
twists
up
around
her
in
miniature
cyclones
.
She
’
s
three
years
older
than
me
and
three
inches
taller
than
me
.
She
’
s
an
athlete
and
a
scholar
and
a
mother
and
a
writer
.
The
whole
time
she
was
in
Rome
,
she
was
training
for
a
marathon
,
which
means
she
would
wake
up
at
dawn
and
run
eighteen
miles
in
the
time
it
generally
takes
me
to
read
one
article
in
the
newspaper
and
drink
two
cappuccinos
.
She
actually
looks
like
a
deer
when
she
runs
.
When
she
was
pregnant
with
her
first
child
,
she
swam
across
an
entire
lake
one
night
in
the
dark
.
I
wouldn
’
t
join
her
,
and
I
wasn
’
t
even
pregnant
.
I
was
too
scared
.
But
my
sister
doesn
’
t
really
get
scared
.
When
she
was
pregnant
with
her
second
child
,
a
midwife
asked
if
Catherine
had
any
unspoken
fears
about
anything
that
could
go
wrong
with
the
baby
-
such
as
genetic
defects
or
complications
during
the
birth
.
My
sister
said
,
"
My
only
fear
is
that
he
might
grow
up
to
become
a
Republican
.
"
That
’
s
my
sister
’
s
name
-
Catherine
.
She
’
s
my
one
and
only
sibling
.
When
we
were
growing
up
in
rural
Connecticut
,
it
was
just
the
two
of
us
,
living
in
a
farmhouse
with
our
parents
.
No
other
kids
nearby
.
She
was
mighty
and
domineering
,
the
commander
of
my
whole
life
.
I
lived
in
awe
and
fear
of
her
;
nobody
else
’
s
opinion
mattered
but
hers
.
I
cheated
at
card
games
with
her
in
order
to
lose
,
so
she
wouldn
’
t
get
mad
at
me
.
We
were
not
always
friends
.
She
was
annoyed
by
me
,
and
I
was
scared
of
her
,
I
believe
,
until
I
was
twenty
-
eight
years
old
and
got
tired
of
it
.
That
was
the
year
I
finally
stood
up
to
her
,
and
her
reaction
was
something
along
the
lines
of
,
"
What
took
you
so
long
?
"
We
were
just
beginning
to
hammer
out
the
new
terms
of
our
relationship
when
my
marriage
went
into
a
skid
.
It
would
have
been
so
easy
for
Catherine
to
have
gained
victory
from
my
defeat
.
I
’
d
always
been
the
loved
and
lucky
one
,
the
favorite
of
both
family
and
destiny
.
The
world
had
always
been
a
more
comfortable
and
welcoming
place
for
me
than
it
was
for
my
sister
,
who
pressed
so
sharply
against
life
and
who
was
hurt
by
it
fairly
hard
sometimes
in
return
.
It
would
have
been
so
easy
for
Catherine
to
have
responded
to
my
divorce
and
depression
with
a
:
"
Ha
!
Look
at
Little
Mary
Sunshine
now
!
"
Instead
,
she
held
me
up
like
a
champion
.
She
answered
the
phone
in
the
middle
of
the
night
whenever
I
was
in
distress
and
made
comforting
noises
.
And
she
came
along
with
me
when
I
went
searching
for
answers
as
to
why
I
was
so
sad
.
For
the
longest
time
,
my
therapy
was
almost
vicariously
shared
by
her
.
I
’
d
call
her
after
every
session
with
a
debriefing
of
everything
I
’
d
realized
in
my
therapist
’
s
office
,
and
she
’
d
put
down
whatever
she
was
doing
and
say
,
"
Ah
…
that
explains
a
lot
.
"
Explains
a
lot
about
both
of
us
,
that
is
.
Now
we
speak
to
each
other
on
the
phone
almost
every
day
-
or
at
least
we
did
,
before
I
moved
to
Rome
.
Before
either
of
us
gets
on
an
airplane
now
,
the
one
always
calls
the
other
and
says
,
"
I
know
this
is
morbid
,
but
I
just
wanted
to
tell
you
that
I
love
you
.
You
know
…
just
in
case
…
"
And
the
other
one
always
says
,
"
I
know
…
just
in
case
.
"
She
arrives
in
Rome
prepared
,
as
ever
.
She
brings
five
guidebooks
,
all
of
which
she
has
read
already
,
and
she
has
the
city
pre
-
mapped
in
her
head
.
She
was
completely
oriented
before
she
even
left
Philadelphia
.
And
this
is
a
classic
example
of
the
differences
between
us
.
I
am
the
one
who
spent
my
first
weeks
in
Rome
wandering
about
,
90
percent
lost
and
100
percent
happy
,
seeing
everything
around
me
as
an
unexplainable
beautiful
mystery
.
But
this
is
how
the
world
kind
of
always
looks
to
me
.
To
my
sister
’
s
eyes
,
there
is
nothing
which
cannot
be
explained
if
one
has
access
to
a
proper
reference
library
.
This
is
a
woman
who
keeps
The
Columbia
Encyclopedia
in
her
kitchen
next
to
the
cookbooks
-
and
reads
it
,
for
pleasure
.
There
’
s
a
game
I
like
to
play
with
my
friends
sometimes
called
"
Watch
This
!
"
Whenever
anybody
’
s
wondering
about
some
obscure
fact
(
for
instance
:
"
Who
was
Saint
Louis
?
"
)
I
will
say
,
"
Watch
this
!
"
then
pick
up
the
nearest
phone
and
dial
my
sister
’
s
number
.
Sometimes
I
’
ll
catch
her
in
the
car
,
driving
her
kids
home
from
school
in
the
Volvo
,
and
she
will
muse
:
"
Saint
Louis
…
well
,
he
was
a
hairshirt
-
wearing
French
king
,
actually
,
which
is
interesting
because
…
"
