Page 10 of Lupo

Elena's voice drifts from her room, singing a song she learned from a cartoon. She sounds happy. Safe. That's all that matters.

I need to get back to work. There's weeding to do in the vegetable garden, figs to pick before they rot on the tree, a fence post that's been leaning for a week. But I can't seem to make myself do it.

Instead, I keep staring at the barn and wonder who he is.

By evening, I've managed to get some work done. The garden is weeded, the figs are picked and sitting in a bowl on the counter, and I've temporarily propped up the fence post with a stake. It won't hold through winter, but it'll do for now.

Elena helped me with the figs, eating more than she picked, her hands and face sticky with juice. Now she's supposedly taking a quiet rest in her room while I make dinner.

I'm chopping vegetables for soup—onions, carrots, the last of the potatoes—when I realize the house is too quiet.

"Elena?" I call.

No answer.

I set down the knife and walk to her room. Empty. The bed is unmade, her stuffed rabbit gone too.

"Elena?" Louder now, an edge of panic in my voice.

I check the bathroom. My room. The tiny sitting area. Nothing.

The front door is closed but unlocked. I yank it open and step outside, my heart pounding.

"Elena!"

The yard is empty. The chickens peck at the dirt, undisturbed. The olive grove is quiet in the fading light.

And the locked barn door is now wide open.

I run.

Chapter 5: Lupo

I'm sitting up when I hear the footsteps.

Small footsteps. Light and quick, not the cautious approach of Isabella bringing food.

The barn door creaks open wider, and a tiny figure appears, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun.

Her child.

She's small, maybe three feet tall, with dark curls escaping from a messy braid. She's wearing a yellow dress with a stain on the front, juice maybe, and she's clutching a stuffed rabbit by one ear.

She stares at me with enormous brown eyes. No fear. Just intense curiosity.

"Hi," she says.

I don't know what to say. Should I tell her to leave? Call for Isabella?

"Hi," I manage.

She takes a step closer, dragging the rabbit through the dirt. "What’s your name?”

I shake my head. "I don't know."

Her eyebrows scrunch together. "You don't know your name?"

"No."