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C ourtney, hi!” Julia opened the door in the entrance hall, and Courtney rushed in, bear-hugging her.

“Jules, you’re a millionaire !”

“Can you believe it?” Julia hugged her back, still incredulous. She’d tried for days to absorb the news, but her thoughts kept returning to Mike. How she wished it were a break in his case. How he deserved to share her luck. How happy he would have been, should have been, deserved to be.

“Is this real life?” Courtney released her, alive with animation.

Her hair was in its ponytail, and she looked classy in a tan linen pantsuit with a white silk camisole and nice flats.

She’d been at a sales conference in New Jersey and had come over to celebrate. “Let’s go out! You’re buying dinner!”

Julia stiffened. They hadn’t talked about going out. She thought they’d eat in. “I made us salads. Arugula, feta, orange slices, and walnuts, like you like.”

“Are you crazy?” Courtney rolled her eyes. “We’re drinking dinner! Champs! Chianti! Both! ”

“But it’s late.”

Courtney snorted. “It’s nine o’clock!”

“I’m not dressed.” Julia had on a white cotton sweater, yoga pants, and Birks.

“You look fine! We’re going out.” Courtney grabbed her arm, but Julia pulled away, eyeing her street through the window in the outer door.

It was dark, the only light from a fixture with a dim bulb.

Mike had been killed five blocks away. She flashed on that night.

The man in the hoodie. The big knife. The blood. Mike’s eyes, staring heavenward.

Julia’s mouth went dry. “Let’s stay in.”

“All right.” Courtney smiled begrudgingly. “But you better have wine.”

Julia sipped the wine, a fruity Vermentino, which relaxed her.

They’d finished their salads, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and shared a container of Cherry Garcia.

They played Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods and Sunday in the Park with George , since they were theater nerds. Night had fallen outside the window.

Courtney’s eyes narrowed. “Can I ask you something? When was the last time you were out?”

“I don’t know,” Julia answered, hoping she sounded nonchalant. Courtney’s mother was a therapist, and Courtney was an Esther Perel wannabe with Sandler training.

“Was it since Mike’s funeral? That’s what Paul thinks, but I told him he’s wrong.”

Julia felt embarrassed they’d discussed her, even out of love. “Court, I go out.”

“Oh really? Well, remember when we gave each other Find My Phone? You were worried about me, because I was flying so much? Well, after Mike died, I was worried about you , so I started checking the app.” Courtney got her phone, scrolled, then held it up.

Its glowing screen showed Julia’s profile picture over a grayed-out map of Philadelphia.

“Your lil’ face never moves from that spot.

I never see you leave the house. As far as I can tell, you don’t go anywhere . ”

Julia’s mouth went dry. “You track me?”

“Yes. You can thank me anytime.”

Busted. “Look, I don’t go out that much, but whatever. I work at home, and the prosecutor told me not to, remember? And it was winter.”

“It’s been six months.”

“That’s not long.” In widow years.

“I think you’re self-isolating.”

Me, too. “I’m fine. I’m working.”

Courtney pursed her lips. “All the time?”

“I have to, I need the money, plus I’m a homebody. Typical Cancer.”

“Don’t start with that.” Courtney shot her a look. “Are you afraid to go out?”

“No.” I’m afraid of what could happen when I do.

“I’m worried you’re agoraphobic.”

“I get a little nervous on the street, after dark, that’s all.” Can you blame me?

Courtney cocked her head. “What does Susanna say?”

“She says it’s part of my ‘grief journey.’” Julia hated the expression, which sounded like a trip nobody wanted to go on. “You get twelve months before it’s ‘prolonged grief disorder,’ so I’m crushing it, mourning-wise.”

“Do you have a diagnosis?”

Julia’s cheeks warmed. She knew her DSM codes because she submitted them for insurance, which didn’t cover much anyway. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Situational depression and generalized anxiety, with a dash of PTSD. Season to taste.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Courtney made a sad face.

“It’s okay not be okay, right?” Or is it? “I hate the ‘D’ in PTSD. I hate thinking I have a disorder. I’d rather just have stress like everybody else.”

Courtney smiled, sympathetic. “So make the ‘D’ stand for something good.”

“Deluxe?”

“Delightful, delicious, de-lovely?”

Julia chuckled. “Anyway, it’s not forever.” I hope.

“Agree, totally. Do you think Susanna’s helping you?”

“Yes,” Julia answered, though all she did was cry through the sessions, at $250 an hour. She could’ve cried alone for free.

“Do you go to her office?”

“No, we Zoom.”

“Does she know you don’t go out?”

“I don’t know. We have more important things to talk about, like Mike.” Julia felt a stab of grief.

Courtney’s expression softened. “What does she say about meds?”

“Nothing. She gave me coping strategies, like box breathing. Breathe in and count to four, then breathe out and count to four.” Julia didn’t like feeling that she had a mental illness, but at the same time, judged herself for being so retro, newly sensitive to terms like crazy , basket case , nutjob .

She wondered if people understood how easily you could cross the divide from normal, whatever that was, to whatever she was now.

Courtney met her eye. “I gotta say, I think you need meds.”

“I gotta say, I think you sell office equipment.”

“Jules, sales involves a lot of psychology.”

“But I’m not a laser copier.”

Courtney smiled. “Then how are you going to Tuscany if you don’t leave the apartment? I’d go with you but I have work.”

“I’m not going.”

“What?” Courtney’s lips parted in surprise.

“There’s no reason to go, and I have work.” Julia sipped more wine. She wanted to go to Tuscany, but she couldn’t imagine it, with or without Courtney. It simply wasn’t possible.

“What about the money?”

“They can send me a check.”

“And the villa?”

“They can sell it.”

“Don’t you want to see it first?”

“Why? I’m not moving there.”

Courtney blinked. “What about the investigator? Don’t you want to meet with him about your bio family?”

“We can Zoom.” Julia didn’t use terms like bio family because she hadn’t grown up with them. Maybe she was old-school , too. Meanwhile she’d always wanted to know about her biological family, who they were, where they were from, and why they’d given her up. But Italy?

Maybe far away or maybe real nearby.

“You’re Zooming instead of going to Florence?” Courtney threw up her arms. “Jules, you have to go! They have so much art! You’d love it, and you’re rich! You can go shop till you drop!”

“I don’t need anything.” Julia flashed on the last time she’d gone shopping, with Mike at Crate & Barrel, when they’d bought an end table. Another end table? he’d asked. Can this be the end of the end tables?

“But what’re you going to do with the money?”

“Get out of debt, pay off my cards and loans, save—”

“Buy something, buy a Porsche! Don’t you want a Porsche?”

“No, I have a car. Do you want a Porsche? I’ll get you one.”

“Aw.” Courtney smiled, waving her off. “I’m not taking your money.”

“There’s plenty,” Julia said, meaning it. “I’ll pay off your student loans, too.”

“I’m talking about you , honey. Buy something! Don’t you want anything?”

I want Mike back , Julia thought but didn’t say. “You know, my horoscope predicted this, too.”

“You mean your horror scope?”

“Joke all you want. I did a deep dive, and it even said I was expecting a windfall this month. The whole thing was all there. Plus Mercury’s in retrograde in Aries, so don’t make any contracts.”

“I make contracts every day.”

“Well, read the fine print.”

“Nobody reads the fine print.”

“Court, be that way, but we just had the solar eclipse, did you see it? It’s a time of new beginnings, new directions, new starts. My horoscope predicted my luck would change.”

“What about the billion other times it didn’t predict anything? Since when do you need a horoscope to learn about yourself, Jules? You know yourself. You’re not one of those people.”

Maybe I am, now.

“What’s with the astrology, really?”

“I just like it,” Julia answered, hoping it would suffice. Astrology gave her a sneak peek at fate, a fighting chance against the stars, and until this inheritance, her luck hadn’t exactly been stellar.

“Whatever. Go to Tuscany. Go see your villa . Count your euros .”

“What if the police get a lead on Mike?”

“Tell them you’re going on vacation. They have your cell and email.”

“What if they get a suspect and I have to identify him?”

Courtney waved her off. “You can fly back. They’ll schedule around you.”

“What if they won’t? I have to remind them of the facts whenever I call. They act like he’s a cold case. If I don’t bug them, they’ll forget about him. They’re never going to catch the guy, are they?” Julia blurted out, realizing she’d never said it aloud. But she thought it every day.

“Yes, they will.” Courtney looked pained. “We have to have hope.”

Julia reached for her wine, but the glass was empty. She’d been drinking too much lately, she knew that, too.

Courtney’s bright eyes lit up. “Hey, I just figured out why you have to go to Tuscany. You inherited everything in Rossi’s house, right? Her personal belongings?”

“I assume so.”

“So, anything she touched will have her DNA. Her clothes, her shoes, her towels, even her furniture. You should collect her DNA and get it sent to a lab. Then you should take a DNA test.”

Whoa. Julia felt the realization dawn on her. “Then I’d know if we’re related.”

“Right, it’s proof. You need to oversee the collection of her DNA and you need to get yourself tested.” Courtney leaned over, newly urgent. “Not only that, imagine what you can find out about her, going through her stuff. Computers, files, bills. You can’t do that over Zoom.”

Julia swallowed hard.

“So, are you going?” Courtney asked, triumphant.