She pouts but doesn't argue, returning to her blocks with dramatic resignation.
I cross the yard to the barn, the blankets heavy in my arms. The morning sun is warm on my face, and the air smells like earth and ripening olives. It's going to be a beautiful day.
The barn door is open. I step inside and find Lupo on his feet, testing his balance and carefully rotating his shoulders. He's wearing my father's clothes, the blue shirt and brown pants, and they fit him well enough that for a moment it hurts to look at him.
He sees me and goes still. "Good morning."
"Morning." I hold up the blankets. "I brought these. The nights are getting cold."
Something crosses his face, surprise maybe, or gratitude. "Thank you. You didn't have to—"
"You'll freeze otherwise." I set them down on the hay bales, along with the pillow. "This isn't much, but it's better than nothing."
He touches the blankets, his fingers tracing the worn wool. "It's more than enough."
We stand in awkward silence for a moment. I notice he's moving better, much better. The careful, pained movements are being replaced by something more fluid, more natural.
"You're healing," I observe.
"Yes." He flexes his hand, testing the range of motion. "Faster than I expected."
"That's good."
He looks at me and there's something in his expression I can't read. "What happens when I'm healed?"
The question catches me off guard. "I... I don't know. I guess you leave, find out who you are."
"And if I never remember?"
"Then you start over, somewhere else."
He's quiet for a moment, still looking at me. "Would you want me to leave?"
I should say yes, should tell him that the sooner he's gone, the safer Elena and I will be. But the word sticks in my throat.
"I don't know," I admit finally. “You getting better is the main priority right now.”
The silence stretches between us, thick with things neither of us is saying.
"I was thinking," I say, changing the subject, "if you're feeling up to it, maybe we could walk the property. You mentioned wanting to help with repairs. I could show you what needs fixing. If you’re up to it."
His expression shifts, something lighting up behind his eyes. Interest. Purpose. "I'd like that."
"It's not far. Maybe twenty minutes if we go slow."
"I can manage."
We leave the barn together, and I'm hyperaware of him beside me. He's tall — I knew that, but standing next to him makes it more obvious. Broad shouldered. Even injured and thinner than he probably should be, he's imposing.
But not threatening. Not right now, at least.
We walk toward the olive grove first. The trees are old and gnarled, their silver green leaves rustling in the breeze. Some of them have been here longer than I've been alive.
"These need pruning," Lupo says, stopping beside one of the larger trees. He reaches up, testing a branch. "And this one has disease. See the discoloration?"
I look where he's pointing. He's right. I hadn't noticed. "Can it be saved?"
"Maybe. You'd need to cut away the infected parts and treat it. It's not my area of expertise, but..." He trails off, frowning slightly, like he's surprised by his own words.
