“Something beyond my father dying?” I had to ask it.
A pause.
“I don’t know, to be honest. Just . . . this place is different from others.”
“Hey, sis.” Tennyson strolled out from the house, joining us. “What are we looking for?”
I turned and shot my brother a soft smile.
I shrugged. “Who knows? Anything could be a clue.”
Jack walked over to the stones, running a hand over a couple of them, bending to look at them more closely.
“This part is fascinating. I never came out here because the area felt odd, so I never noticed it,” he said.
“Noticed what?”
“The stones are a mixture of time periods. So far, I’ve cataloged everything from early Renaissance to Roman to Etruscan. Whoever built this tower, pilfered stone from multiple other sites.”
“That was common practice back then,” I said.
“It was, but I’ve been wanting to explore it further. It’s odd enough to matter.”
We paced around the garden, me trying to avoid bitter, angry, Babbo thoughts . . . with only marginal success. Beyond that, I wasn’t much help. Tennyson and I were obviously amateurs at understanding the complex history of ancient stonework.
Jack, however, was in his element. He scrambled over the fallen stones, brushing them on occasion, gazing at their surface sideways, calling out insights and ideas he had considered over the last few days.
After twenty minutes, Tennyson and I just took a seat, arms folded, content to watch The Jack Show.
“Is he always like this when studying ruins?” I asked as Jack levered himself horizontal to examine an oddly angled block. “I mean, you worked with him all last year on the ocean excavation, right?”
“Yep. This is pretty typical Jack, right here.”
“Hmmm.”
Tennyson looked at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.” I waved as Jack raised his head, shooting me a boyish grin. “He’s just really cute when he gets excited about something.”
My brother cringed. “Don’t even start—”
“Well, he is!”
“Have you told him that? That you find him handsome and adorable and very boyfriend-able?”
“Do you ever grow up?”
“I take that as aNo.”
“The last thing Jack needs is a psycho like me as his girlfriend.”
“You’re not psycho, Chiara. Youcancontrol your crazy. You just choose not to.”
“Har-har.”
“I’m serious!”
I looked at my brother. His glowering, frowny forehead. His disgruntled lips.
