Silence Is Golden by Laura Mercuri Page A

presented the Italian prime minister himself.
    Respectfully, I stand up, hoping admiration shows on my face as I bow my head in greeting.
    “Mr. Moser is looking for a book written by an author from your neck of the woods, so I thought perhaps you might be useful,” she says with an odd smile. It’s as if I’m from some exotic foreign country instead of just a few hundred miles south of here.
    “Of course,” I reply. “Which author?”
    Mr. Moser studies me as if he were an entomologist faced with a rare species of insect. Finally, he speaks, enunciating very clearly.
    “Ignazio Silone.”
    Practically one of the fathers of Italian literature , I think to myself. Why does he feel the need to ask me?
    “But of course. He’s one of my favorite writers. Please, allow me to escort you to where we house his works,” I say, hoping that my antiquated speech is to both Helga’s and Mr. Moser’s liking. He smiles at me, and I even see a smile on the ineffable Helga’s face. Wow, did that really work?
     
    On my way home later, I can finally laugh. What with Helga’s haughty demeanor and Mr. Moser’s complacency oozing from every pore, I wouldn’t be surprised if those two were having an affair. Or maybe Helga just has a soft spot for him. As if he were royalty. Still chuckling to myself, I almost miss the sound of footsteps behind me. I turn suddenly. It’s dark, but all the same, I glimpse a flash of golden hair as it disappears behind a tree. Can that really be Aris? And if so, does he really follow me every day? At least I don’t have to worry that it’s some creep. I keep walking calmly toward my house. Once inside, I peer out the window, but I only see the forest.

    The next morning, I drag my feet on my way to Emma’s. I would love to have stayed home to clean and air out the rooms today, but instead I got dressed and went to work as usual. I could’ve come up with an excuse, but I can’t lie to Emma. After all, she’s been so kind to me. I arrive at her shop with a smile and settle in to arrange flowers, water the plants, and chat. I briefly consider telling her about the confrontation I had the other day with Dora, but on second thought, I don’t want to risk mentioning Aris. I might slip up and clue her in as to how I feel about him. However, she brings Dora up before I can.
    “I ran into Dora yesterday at the post office,” she says. “I told her that if she ever dares speak to my daughter like that again, she’ll regret it.”
    “What did she say?”
    “She’s not so easily intimidated. She said I should pay more attention to my daughter and where she’s headed. I don’t know how I kept myself from slapping her.”
    “You did the right thing by controlling yourself,” I reply. “She probably hoped your talk would come to blows. She seems to love causing a scene. It makes her feel like the center of attention.”
    “You’re right. But I don’t think confronting her like that was smart. I’m sure she’ll tell her friends, and they’ll tell other people, and then news will have spread. And that’s exactly what I didn’t want. It’s just that when I saw her, I couldn’t hold my tongue.”
    I give her a sympathetic look in reply. After seeing what she did to Emma, I realize that staying away from Dora is my best course of action where she’s concerned.
     
    I eat lunch with Emma, trying not to let her see how anxious I am to leave. Afterward, I’m almost out the door when she stops me.
    “When are you seeing Aris?”
    “Soon. At three o’clock.” I blush in spite of myself, then smile nervously, but the damage is done. Emma is too smart. The expression on her face speaks volumes.
    “Have a nice weekend then,” she says, looking down. “I’ll see you Monday.”
    “You too.”
    Once I turn the street corner, I break into a run. I decide to push what just happened with Emma into a corner of my mind for now. I’m not ready to think about it. I arrive home completely out of