when he opened the refrigerator and took the chicken out and put it on the counter, its long neck and head still attached. "You want to make something — a side dish to go with this?" Angela said, "I don't know how to cook." She came toward him and clinked his glass with hers. 'But I know how to do this," and took a sip. "An Italian girl who doesn't cook…" McCabe said. "That's got to be a first. In ancient Rome learning to cook was a girl's duty." "Does this look like ancient Rome?" "What was your mother thinking?" "She died when I was young." She put her glass down and pulled her hair back behind her ears. "We lived in a small house, one floor, on the outskirts of Palermo." McCabe said, "You don't look Sicilian." "My mother was from Cinque Terra. She had blonde hair. It was just before seven in the morning." Angela paused, took a breath. "I heard a knock on the door and wondered who would be coming to our house so early. I was getting ready for school.
