This entry is part 2 of 4 in the series Italian Microcosm

His work was of earth and stone and foundations. His word had been abundantly clear. Capri stared out over the gently rocking waves. She wasn’t looking at the boats navigating the canal, the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, or even the sliver of blood along the ridge of her fingernail chipped from tracing the brick wall moments ago. Her thoughts were solely of her father.

“Saverio is deckhand. His ground is always unstable. You’re stable, Capri.”

The cold chilled her runny nose. Maybe this was her fault? The sadness seemed to warm her as she wrapped herself with blame. That was certainly easier. If I had just been less stable for him.

A breeze kicked up her hair into tangles. She shook her head. No. Boys fixed things right? They were a thing. He should fix this. And maybe since he wasn’t she shouldn’t be with him anyway. She felt a lurching pain in her chest at the thought. She didn’t want that to be true. She didn’t want that to be true at all.

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