Chapter 9 - The Voice of the Mother
On a bright Tuesday in late spring, Valentino took them to the cemetery on the hillside overlooking the bay of Lerici.
It was Elena’s resting place—a simple white marble vault draped in creeping ivy and surrounded by white rosebushes.
The girls had not visited the grave since the funeral two years ago.
Valentino stood back, his hand linked tightly with Becca’s, giving his daughters room to approach. He was tense, his knuckles white, bracing for a relapse, for the old silence to descend like an iron curtain.
Luna, Stella, and Nova walked forward together. They did not walk in lockstep anymore. Nova ran ahead to pick a fallen white rose; Stella walked slowly, trailing her hand along the low stone wall; Luna marched with her chin high, carrying a small sketchpad under her arm.
They gathered before the marble slab inscribed with their mother’s name: *Elena Duca — Luce Eterna*.
Luna set the sketchpad on the marble.
Becca knew what was inside. It was the drawing Luna had worked on for three days in the nursery: not three dots connected by cold, geometric lines, but a large, blooming sunflower with three honeybees hovering around its golden center, painted in brilliant yellows, greens, and sky blue.
Nova laid the white rose beside the drawing.
"Hi, Mama," Nova said clearly, her small voice carrying over the sound of the distant waves crashing against the rocks below. "We are in Italy now. The house has lemons."
"And we have a dog," Stella added, pointing toward the gravel path where Lev was holding the leash of a golden retriever puppy. "His name is Fork. Because of the peas."
Valentino let out a wet, half-strangled laugh, burying his face in Becca’s shoulder. Becca smiled through her own tears, resting her cheek against his hair.
Luna stood tall before the tombstone. She touched the cold marble with her fingertips, her expression solemn, mature beyond her six short years.
"We aren't hiding anymore, Mama," Luna whispered. "We don't need the triangle to protect us. Papa is here. And Becca made us a square. You can sleep now."
A gentle breeze blew off the Ligurian Sea, rustling the olive leaves and carrying the sweet perfume of the white roses into the blue sky. The paper on the drawing fluttered once, like a wave goodbye, and then lay still in the warm sun.
Luna turned around. She didn't look back at the grave. She ran toward them, her braids bouncing against her back, followed by Stella and Nova.
They didn't form a line. They collided into Valentino and Becca all at once, a tangle of small arms, sun-warmed linen, and laughter.
Valentino hoisted Nova and Stella into his arms, while Luna wrapped her arms around Becca’s waist, burying her face into her side.
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"Let’s go home," Luna said. "Fork is hungry."
***
