The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Monday, June 7, 10:15 a.m.

Zara returned to Nonna’s room with clean hair and freshly shaved legs. She had first chosen shorts and a T-shirt, but Nonna had insisted on a dress. The only one Zara had, other than the one she wore to funerals, was a cotton sleeveless frock that skimmed her knees and doubled as a bathing suit cover-up.

“Your sandals are very sensible,” Nonna said.

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

“Don’t you own a wedge?” she asked. “Any shoe to elongate your leg?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Rome was not fashioned in a day.” Nonna selected a light-cranberry lipstick from the collection on her dressing table. “This will suit your skin tone.”

Zara applied the lipstick and was pleasantly surprised. “Not bad.”

“I’ve always had an eye for this. Now run your fingers through your hair so you can fluff it up a little. It’s all but plastered to your head. Too bad the hairdresser is coming to the house so late. There is a reason I always see her in the mornings.”

“The good thing about your old-world directness is that it cuts out the guesswork.”

Zara reached for a brush and carefully ran it through Nonna’s hair. Using a little hair gel stolen from Gina’s room, she worked it into Nonna’s hair until the curls fell into place. Not bad, if Zara were to judge.

Nonna regarded her hair and then asked, “Did you make tea?”

No critique of the hairstyle was endorsement enough for her. “Before Amanda left for the grocery store, she set out tea bags and a tin of Italian cookies from the pantry.”

“Hardly a king’s feast, but it’ll have to do.”

Zara rolled the wheelchair close to her chair. “Your ride is here.”

“I want my walker.”

“Today is the day we get serious about using that wheelchair.”

“I can walk.”

“I feel the tremble in your legs every step you take. You’re too much of a fall risk,” Zara said.

“I do not intend to fall.”

“No one does.”

Zara helped Nonna stand, steadied her, and settled her in the wheelchair. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Such an ugly device.”

“Maybe we can decorate it.”

“I might set it on fire.”

“Funny.”

The two reached the kitchen and spent the next half hour chatting as Zara boiled water and set out the cookies on a tray, which Nonna promptly rearranged. At two minutes to eleven, the black Jeep pulled up in front of the house. Zara glanced out the kitchen window, a thrill of excitement running through her.

Nonna arranged her loose-fitting bodice. “Stop gawking out the window. He’ll think you’re anxious.”

Zara turned from the window. “About what?”

Nonna arched a brow. “It’s better the boy chases the girl and not the other way around.”

“He’s not chasing any women anytime soon.”

“Even broken hearts must mend eventually.”

“But aren’t they forever scarred?”

“Scars are where we are most durable.”

Zara poured hot water into the teapot as the dogs barked and clamored around her. She had hoped for a moment with him alone before the tea, but the three jumping bundles of fur, who had never been this excited to see her, refused to share him.

She opened the door a crack. “The hordes are about to descend.”

He grinned. “Ready.”

Gus was the first out the door, rushing to Nicolas as if time did not matter. Nicolas was holding a dozen yellow roses, and he quickly handed those to Zara as he dropped to a knee and allowed the dogs to circle him.

Zara raised the roses to her nose. Their fragrance was as soft as the petals.

When he stood, he said, “Those are for Nonna.”

The hit of disappointment surprised her as she handed the bouquet to him. “She’ll love them. It’s been a long time since a man brought her flowers.”

“She’s practical and direct, but she strikes me as a woman accustomed to being spoiled.”

“That is Nonna.”

Zara led him to the kitchen, where Nonna was sitting very straight and smiling. “Mr. Bernard.”

“I thought we agreed you’d call me Nicolas.”

“Nicolas.” When the name glided off her tongue, her faint accent added an exotic air. “Tell me those roses are not for me.”

He grinned and handed them to her. “They are.”

“And how did you know yellow was my favorite color?”

“You were wearing yellow yesterday.”

“Ah, a man who notices the details. That’s rare indeed.” She sniffed the roses and touched several of the petals. “Zara, would you put these in water?”

“Sure.” Zara took the roses as the teakettle whistled. She set the kettle aside and rooted in the cabinet above until she found a crystal vase. She carefully arranged the flowers, filled it with water, and set the arrangement on the table close to her grandmother.

“They’re lovely, Nicolas.” She extended her hand. “Please sit. Zara will bring us our tea.”

Whatever disappointment Zara harbored was pushed aside as she saw the hints of color rise in her grandmother’s cheeks. Zara was pleased to recognize faint clues that Nonna still enjoyed the attention of a handsome man.

At Nonna’s request, Zara filled the china cups rimmed with red roses with tea and carried the tray to the table.

She served tea and then retrieved the plate of cookies. Sitting across the table, she savored the smile on her grandmother’s face.

“You remind me of my late husband,” Nonna said.

“And what did he do?” Nicolas asked.

“He ran a law firm. He practiced international law, but before that he was a spy.”

Zara’s cup paused by her lips. “A spy?”

“Yes. This was all before your father was born.”

She thought about the quiet well-read man who washed his car weekly, loved the Sunday paper crossword puzzle, and fell asleep in his chair during the evening news. “Papa was a spook?”

“I don’t like that term. He was in intelligence, and he gathered information. He was always a very good listener and knew the right questions to ask to get people to talk.” She smiled at Nicolas.

“What about his partner, Mr. Harper?” Zara asked. “Was he a spy too?”

“No. Mr. Harper was never good at secrets,” Nonna said. “My husband was a very likable man, as you are, Nicolas. Are you a spy?”

“I’m not a spy,” Nicolas said easily.

“And what is it you do?” Nonna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Corporate law.”

“You don’t look like a lawyer, and I mean that in the kindest of ways,” Nonna said. “I always found my husband’s peers rather stuffy.”

“No offense taken,” Nicolas said.

“How do you like this work you do?” Nonna asked.

“It was lucrative,” he said. “I never really thought much about it until my wife died.”

“And now?” A keenness sharpened Nonna’s gaze in a way Zara had not seen in years. She always had a way of seeing behind expressions and reading an individual’s true feelings.

“I’m not that excited about it,” he said. “I wonder how I’ll spend the rest of my life now that I’ve finished my late wife’s bucket list.”

“You appear to be a bright young man. What else would you want to do?”

White teeth flashed. “I don’t know.”

Nonna sipped her tea and then carefully set the cup in the saucer. “I suspect that you do know what you want. But you refuse to acknowledge it.”

He arched a brow. “Really?”

“We all know what we really want. The trick is to strip off all the trappings, shut out the noise, and get to the heart of it. Take Zara, for example.”

“Don’t pull me into this,” Zara said.

And as if she had not spoken: “Zara wants a family. She wants to find a home, settle down, marry, and have children. But she’s afraid of that, so she travels around and surrounds herself with dogs.”

Color warmed her face. “I like my job.”

“I know you do,” Nonna said. “But you don’t need to travel to do it.” Nonna raised a hand, silencing Zara’s next comment. “We’re not talking about you now, dear; we’re talking about Nicolas and what he wants.”

“That’s the thing, Renata. I don’t know what I want,” he said. “There’s a lot I loved about my old job, but I don’t want to get back into the grind.”

Zara swirled her tea, glaring at it, wishing it were a strong coffee. “Apparently, I have no clue either.”

“Tell me about this list your wife made for you, Nicolas,” Nonna said.

“Catherine put the bucket list together one day while she and Zara were waiting for her chemo treatment,” Nicolas said.

“Zara, how did you and Catherine choose?” Nonna asked.

“We started brainstorming the wildest ideas. I told her I’d always dreamed of seeing the volcanoes in Hawaii, and she wrote it down. She laughed, said it was outrageous, but she quickly started coming up with suggestions of her own.”

Zara remembered that afternoon.

“I’ve been making a bucket list since I was twelve,” Catherine said. “All kinds of crazy adventures. I thought there would be plenty of time, but there isn’t.”

“What would you like me to do?” Zara asked.

“Which items do you think Nicolas would enjoy the most? We need at least five, maybe ten adventures. I want him to stay very busy the next couple of years.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Good. Without a list, he’ll be working fifteen hours a day at the law practice, and it’ll eat him alive.”

“I think we came up with a dozen items, and then the nurse came for her.”

“There were eight items by the time she finished it,” he said.

“I never saw the last draft. I thought whatever she was writing or planning for you was personal, so I didn’t pry.”

“Was it your idea for me to hang glide off the Hawaiian volcano?”

Zara smiled, shaking her head. “She kept hang gliding?”

“I was sure I was going to die during that one and thought maybe it was Catherine’s way of reuniting us.” His lips curled at the thought. “I still think about that day.”

“Life never feels more real than when we are close to death. This I learned during the war,” Nonna said.

“You never talk about the war, Nonna,” Zara said.

“I’ll bet she has some stories to tell.”

Nonna set her cup down. “I do. But perhaps we’ll discuss it another day. For now, I must retire and rest. But do not leave, Nicolas. As soon as Zara gets me tucked in my bed, then you two can visit.”

Zara pushed Nonna’s wheelchair to her room, tugged off her shoes, and helped her into bed. As Zara pulled the covers up, she said, “Nonna, you’ve stories to tell me about your life in Rome, don’t you?”

“Perhaps a few,” she said. “Invite that handsome young man of yours back, and maybe I’ll share one.”

“He’s not my young man,” she said. “He’s a friend who lost the love of his life.”

“Again, one love in a lifetime is not enough.”

“Are you telling me there was someone before Papa?” Zara fluffed Nonna’s pillows and dispensed her meds for the afternoon.

Nonna dutifully took her pills. “Keep working on that attic. There are items I must see before I die.”

“If you’ll tell me what I’m looking for, it might help.”

“It’s been so long, and I put it away decades ago because I didn’t have the courage to handle it properly.”

“What is it?”

Nonna’s eyes drifted closed. “Just keep looking. I’ll know when you find it.”

Zara left her grandmother sleeping and was pleased Nicolas had stayed. He had cleared the dishes and rinsed them out in the sink.

“She’s asleep. Thank you. I haven’t seen her that engaged in a long time. She might have a crush on you.”

He leaned against the counter as he slowly dried his hands with a dish towel. His gold wedding band glinted in the morning light. “I bet back in the day she had the men chasing her. What has she told you about living in Rome?”

“Nothing. She never talked about it. Neither did my grandfather. Whenever they had an issue to discuss they didn’t want us to know about, they spoke to each other in Italian.”

“Your grandfather was Italian?”

“No, he was born in Virginia, but his family moved to Italy in the early 1930s, and when the depression hit, they decided to stay. They didn’t return to the States until 1939, and by then he was fluent in Italian. Spoke it like a native.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been much into family history, so I never really asked many questions. Now that my connection to my grandparents is dissolving, I really need to figure this out.”

“It’s back to the attic?”

“Either way, it’ll have to be cleaned out. And I hope there’s more up there that’ll spark Nonna’s memory.”

“I’m available to help,” he offered.

“That’s very kind but not necessary.”

“I think it is. You were there for me when Catherine was sick. I can help you carry a few boxes out of the attic.”

“Well, the help would be nice. I cleaned out the light stuff, and now it’s the big pieces of furniture and the trunks.”

“If brawn is what you need, then I’m your man.”

“Thanks, Nicolas. That really is a help.”

“What time?”

“Early morning. About eight.”

“I’ll be here.”

“It’s going to be hot.”

“Heat never scared me.” He pushed off the counter, scratched the dogs on their heads, and waved goodbye.

She stood in the kitchen, watching through the window as he climbed in his Jeep and drove off. Gus rose up and looked out the window, wagging his tail slowly.

“He’s coming back,” she said, walking toward the flowers and then inhaling the scent. “But neither of us can get our hopes up, okay? He’s a great guy; he’s just not our guy.”

By three in the afternoon, the hairdresser had arrived, and Nonna, refreshed from her nap, was ready to have her hair properly done. Delores was in her late forties and sported a thick mane of very blonde hair. She wore rings on all her fingers and a blue T-shirt that read BLONDE IS BETTER.

Zara helped Nonna lean over the sink while Delores washed her hair. After, Delores towel dried her hair, and they set her in a kitchen chair.

“Not the most relaxing,” Nonna said. “But the beggars cannot choose.”

Zara watched as Delores clipped and snipped Nonna’s stark-white hair. “In the pictures I’ve seen of you in your younger days, your hair was always styled.”

“I always took good care of myself. A woman’s best asset in my day was her looks.”

“Not her brains?” Zara asked.

“A smart girl looked her best, and if she was clever, then all the better. I was not so clever as a young woman. I could be impulsive.”

“I don’t believe that, Renata,” Delores said. “You give out the best advice.”

“Years of experience,” Nonna said. “I was foolish in my early days.”

“Who isn’t?” Delores asked.

“Zara has never been a silly girl,” Nonna said. “An old soul, as her grandfather used to say.”

“Gina said I was a stick-in-the-mud.”

Nonna shrugged. “She was too distracted to see the value.”

Zara waited for a zinger to follow, and when none came, she absorbed the touching compliment.

By the time Delores was finished, Nonna’s hair was styled into a lovely twist, held in place by what must have been a can of Aqua Net.

“Now you must rescue Zara’s hair,” Nonna said.

“I don’t need a cut,” Zara said.

“When’s the last time you cut it?” Delores asked.

“A year.”

“Hon, it’s time,” Delores said. “Have a seat.”

While Nonna watched with some satisfaction, Delores combed out Zara’s curly hair and studied the ends. “Split ends,” she said.

“I keep it in a ponytail most days,” Zara said.

“I could cut five inches off, and you’d still have plenty for a ponytail. You’ll be amazed at the lighter weight.”

“Have at it,” Zara said.

Delores clipped quickly, not only trimming the ends but adding a few long layers. By the time she was finished, Zara was rather pleased with the results. “Thanks, Delores. What do you think, Nonna?”

She regarded Zara for a long moment. “Very nice.”

Two compliments in one day from Nonna were enough to make her wonder if Jesus was calling her home.

After Delores packed up, Zara paid her and walked her to the door. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime Renata needs her hair done, you call me. That woman saved me more than once, and I’d do anything for her.”

“I will, thanks.”

“I feel half-human,” Nonna said as she glanced in the mirror, scrutinizing herself with a critical eye.

“You look wonderful. Now we need to go to your doctor’s appointment.”

“I don’t see why. I’m ninety-seven. What could they do for me?”

Zara unlocked the brake on Nonna’s wheelchair. “Do you need to powder your nose?”

“No.”

“Then here we go.”

“A waste of time.”

“Think of it as a bonding moment for the two of us.”

Out in the garage, she opted to take the Mercedes for Nonna’s comfort. Gina had again taken an Uber to work, most likely because she had another date with Jeff tonight.

Twenty minutes later, Zara and her grandmother were sitting in the doctor’s office for her scheduled appointment.

“You should have reapplied your lipstick,” Nonna said. “You don’t look as sickly when you have a little color.”

“I put on a clean shirt and showered today. And I had my hair done.”

“The shirt was hours ago. And I don’t smell a hint of perfume.”

“A clean shirt and shower is a win. Hair done is bonus points.”

“You must raise your standards, Zara.”

“I’d rather talk about when you met Papa. Tell me about Rome during the war,” Zara said. “Now that I know Papa was a spy, I’m beyond curious.”

Nonna was silent for a long while, and Zara was not sure she would answer. But then, “When I first moved to Rome, it was so lovely. Untouched by the war. Very exciting.”

“What year was that?”

“1942. I came to work in a dress shop.”

“Really? Which one?”

“It was a small couture shop. I arrived, and the manager tested my skills. He was happy with my work and told me to start the next day.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not really. There were eight of us girls, and we sat in a small room in the basement sewing garments for customers ten hours a day. It could be very tedious. And then there were times when it could be very exciting. The fabrics were finer than any material I had seen in Assisi.”

“Assisi? As in Saint Francis of?”

“It’s a small town in Umbria, north of Rome.”

“What were your parents like?”

Her brow knotted. “Papa could be a hard man, but he was smart. He hated the Fascists, and when he drank too much, he complained about them publicly. It wasn’t long before he lost his job and was jailed several times. We had to rely on the farm. Mama taught me the basics of sewing.”

“You also spoke English. Wasn’t that unusual?”

“My English was very basic until I moved to the United States.”

“You didn’t have brothers or sisters?”

“Two brothers. They died very young.”

“How awful.”

“Yes, it was,” she said softly.

“How does an educated girl end up sewing clothes?”

Her eyes met mine. “You make it sound as if it were a step down.”

“You could read and write and spoke some English. Most of Italy was illiterate at the start of the war.”

“It was a legitimate way for a woman to make a living. And it was a reason to stay in Rome. My parents said I could only stay a year, and then I was to return to Assisi and find a proper husband.”

“What happened?”

“The war, of course. First the Italian army swept up the men and sent them to fight. And then the Resistance came and took more men. Then the Germans took more for forced labor in the factories. The Americans began bombing Rome. Talk of marriage was forgotten.”

“What did you do?”

She shrugged. “Nothing of great consequence, as it turned out. I passed on the occasional secrets to the Allies.”

“Nonna, you were a spy too?”

“You make it sound dramatic. I passed on information.”

“To who? How do you figure out who wants to hear this kind of intel?”

“There was a man. He was passionate about helping Italy in any way he could.”

“What happened to him?”

Nonna raised a brow. “You ask a lot of questions, Zara.”

“That’s the kind of answer someone gives when they don’t want to answer.”

“Then perhaps you should accept my hint and not ask.”

“You know me. It’ll be the only question I ask.”

The door to the waiting area opened, and a nurse appeared. She glanced at the file in her hand. “Mrs. Mitchell.”

Zara tossed her People magazine on the table, stood, and pushed Nonna’s wheelchair past the waiting nurse.

The nurse looked at Nonna with appreciation. “I love your hair. Did you just have it done?”

Nonna gently touched her hair. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

Once in the exam room, Nonna removed her top, and Zara helped her slip on a gown. “These are the most lifeless garments. I always feel sicker when I must wear a gown.”

“It’ll be easier for the doctor to hear your heart.”

“And what will he hear? That it’s more broken than it was last month. I could save us all a lot of time and confirm that over the phone.”

“He might be able to prescribe a medication to make you more comfortable.”

“I’m growing tired of the pills.”

“If you could do anything in this world, what would it be?”

“Are you making one of your bucket lists for me?”

“It’s good for us all to think about what we want.”

“What do you want?” Nonna asked.

“I asked you first.”

Nonna retied the cotton ribbon fastener on her gown. “There is a church in Rome that I would like to visit.”

“What church?”

“The church of Saint Luca,” she said. “There’s a graveyard there, and I would like to see it again.”

“What’s special about this graveyard?”

“It’s one of the most peaceful places on this earth,” she said. “There was a time I thought I would be buried in that small cemetery. But it’s not to be the way.”

“Is that where you want to be buried?”

“No, your grandfather gave me a country and a life, and I’ll forever be grateful. I’ll be buried by him, as I’ve already planned.”

“You said you wanted to be cremated. I could take some of your ashes to that little graveyard.”

She looked at me with her pointed gaze. “You could do that?”

“Sure. I’ve never seen Italy.”

“Perhaps you could take a small part of me, but leave the bulk here with your grandfather and father.”

“Do you really want me to do that?” Zara asked.

“Yes, I think that I do.”

“Then I’ll figure it out. We can plan it together if you like.”

“I would like that.”

The door opened, and the doctor entered. She was tall, lean, and in her late thirties. She held out her hand to Nonna. “Mrs. Mitchell. As always, you look stunning.”

“I do what I can. Dr. Douglas, this is my granddaughter, Zara Mitchell. She’s a nurse practitioner now, and she’s caring for me.”

Dr. Douglas shook Zara’s hand. “Good to meet you. Will Gina be joining us?”

“She’s preparing for a big summer sale,” Nonna said proudly.

“Good for her. She said at your last appointment she was thinking about closing the shop. I should tell my friends to get by and see her.”

“She has a keen eye for clothes. She can dress anyone. Zara, as you can see, is a work in progress.”

Zara regarded her clothes. “And here I was impressed that I didn’t have stains on my shirt.”

“She needs to wear more color,” Nonna said.

“At least I’m not wearing scrubs,” Zara said.

“Amen.” Dr. Douglas gave her a smile, but it dimmed as she glanced at the file likely filled with test results.

“I have my work cut out for me,” Nonna said. “Now, Dr. Douglas, tell me how much time I have to make a difference in Zara’s life.”

“How’s your energy holding up?” Dr. Douglas asked.

“It’s fine,” Nonna said.

“She sleeps about twelve hours a day.”

“I take naps from time to time,” Nonna said. “Any woman my age who says she doesn’t is a liar.”

“She’s easily winded,” Zara added. “She’s now using the wheelchair at home.”

“The wheelchair is a good idea,” Dr. Douglas said. “At almost ninety-eight, you’re doing pretty darn well. You might outlive us all.”

Zara looked at her grandmother, who suddenly seemed more interested in the flower pattern on her gown. “She’s not dying any minute?”

“There’s no end date, as far as I know,” Dr. Douglas said.

“Well, then if that’s all you have to say, we must go,” Nonna said. “The good doctor has kindly confirmed that I am old. Let’s leave.”

“Do we have any new meds to take?” Zara asked.

“Stick with what you have,” Dr. Douglas said.

“Pills. So much trouble,” Nonna said. “Zara, we must get home, and you need to finish that attic.”

Zara helped her grandmother dress and pushed her wheelchair to the car. “You have some explaining to do, Nonna.”

“I am too old to explain myself.”

Zara helped her grandmother into the front seat and clicked her seat belt in place. She quickly closed the wheelchair and put it in the trunk of the car. Behind the wheel, she started the engine and the air conditioner. “Why the red alert from Gina? If you wanted me home, I’d have come. No need to tell me you were dying.”

“I would like to get ice cream,” Nonna said. “The place you and Gina and I went when you were so young.”

“Ice cream. You’re always counting calories. And for you to eat ice cream in the middle of the week tells me you’re dying or there’s another shoe to drop.”

“I have a craving for the strawberry. It reminds me of when I was a little girl.”

Zara drove to the ice cream shop and pulled up to the drive-through-window menu. Memories stirred of her sitting under the shop’s candy-striped umbrella with her very pristine grandmother eating strawberry ice cream. Her grandmother rarely had much to say. She was a quiet, steady presence that made Zara feel like all her problems would solve themselves.

“We came here a lot that first summer I moved in with you,” Zara said.

“I gained seven pounds that summer.”

“I’m a little shocked you consumed so many calories. You had more that summer than you have had in your whole life.” She pulled up to the speaker and ordered a medium vanilla and a small strawberry shake.

“Creatures of habit.”

“Yes.” She paid the woman at the window, set both shakes in the cup holders, and pulled into an empty parking spot. She handed Nonna her strawberry shake. “Go on; live a little.”

Her grandmother swirled the straw in her shake before she tasted it. “It’s sweet.”

Zara sucked on her straw. “It’s fantastic. These shakes are my weakness.”

“They are rather tasty.”

“Better than Wasa crackers and cheese?” She took another taste and closed her eyes, as if she were transported to her childhood.

“Wasa crackers have their place.”

“What am I looking for in the attic? This isn’t about Christmas trees and old rockers.”

Nonna settled the shake in the cup holder. “There’s a wooden box I need to find.”

“How big is it?”

Nonna held up her hands, indicating a box that might be about a foot long.

“What’s in it?”

“When you find it, we’ll go through it together. And then I’ll explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Why I keep so many secrets.”

“As in present tense.”

Nonna was silent for a moment. “I’m old, and yes, I’ll die in the near future. But that’s the natural course of life.”

“What are you saying?” Zara asked.

She stared out the window over the fast-food parking lot. “Gina is the one that’s sick.”

Zara stopped sucking on her straw. “Gina? Sick how?”

“She has cancer. It’s pancreatic cancer. Stage four.”

The blood drained from Zara’s head, leaving her dizzy. “What?”

“She does not want you to know. She wants to live her life as fully as she can.”

“That’s a very aggressive form of cancer. How long has she known?”

“I’ve known a few weeks. But I think she’s kept it a secret longer.”

Zara leaned against the headrest. “How did you find out?”

“By accident when I overheard her on the phone. She thought I was asleep.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Gina called you first.”

“To say you were dying. She never said a word about herself. Why didn’t she tell me the truth?”

“Your sister doesn’t want to be babied. She doesn’t want to be seen as weak, especially in front of you. She always took care of you.”

Zara had met this kind of resistance from patients before. There were five stages of grief, and the first was denial. “She will be weak very soon.”

“I see it myself, and I know she must realize it as well. We three don’t have much time; that’s why finding the box is so important. You and Gina must see it together.”