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“Where do you live?”

“Ishowyou,” he says, leaving out part of the verb in English. I don’t point the mistake out to him. Instead, I follow him as hecrosses the studio floor and opens a door, revealing a bedroom behind it. I look inside. The neatly appointed room is spare and white, with simple furnishings, like a monk’s cell.

“Where do your wife and daughter live?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

I really need to listen more carefully when people speak Italian. I thought Signora Strazza said that Dalia was his wife and Alice was his daughter.

Angelo goes on. “Dalia lives with her parents and her daughter in Seravezza.”

“Is that far from here?”

“It’s not too close.”

“I assumed you were married.”

“We aren’t. That’s her mother’s highest dream”—he smiles—“and my mother’s too.”

“Every mother’s dream.” At least the ones I know. The happiest day of Philly Baratta’s life was my wedding day because she told me the saddest day of her life was when my divorce was final.

“Are you married?” Angelo asks.

“I was.”

“Ah. You’re one of those. You want everyone to be happily married but it’s not for you.”

“Your mother has a beautiful building. There’s plenty of space for you and Dalia and her daughter should you choose to live there. Married or not.”

“Would you want to live with your mother?” he asks.

I laugh. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. What am I saying? I did live with my parents. After I got the divorce.”

“Children?”

“Not yet.” I put my hand on my lips like the answer accidentally fell out of my mouth. A simple no would’ve done.

“You will have children. You will marry again,” Angelo says.

“Are you a fortune teller?”

“Just a gilder.” He shrugs. “I live alone because I’m married to my work. And I must get back to it.” Angelo picks up my jacket and helps me into it. “Where did you live in the United States?”

“New Jersey.”

“Where’s your ex-husband?”

“He lives in Lake Como. The other one. In New Jersey. It’s a beautiful town. It has a lake and the ocean. That’s very rare. We call it the Italian American Riviera.”

“Why would you ever leave a place of such importance?”

“I don’t know if Lake Como is important, but all my memories are there. So it’s important to me.”

“Why did you leave a place you love?”

“I don’t know.” I am not about to tell a man I hardly know the details I share with my army of Thera-Me doctors, whom I hardly know.

“Italy is either a destination or an escape. It’s been this way since Hannibal’s army came over the Alps,” Angelo says.