She shook her head. “A dove doesn’t save the storm. It just rides it out.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Fear is a bird,” Tortora replied. “It lands. I don’t invite it inside.” tortora
Enzo left the next morning. He didn’t say goodbye. Tortora didn’t expect him to. She shook her head
Tortora did not fall sick. She moved through the quarantined homes, pressing cool cloths to foreheads, spooning broth into mouths too weak to swallow. She did not speak of hope. She said, “Drink this. Rest here. I’ll stay until you don’t need me anymore.” pressing cool cloths to foreheads
