I considered refusing it. Guessing I might say no, Eduarda had scribbled a postscript informing me her son had gone to Lisbon on business and that she would be all alone. I arrived at her door as anxious and curious as I’d been at our first meeting a few days before. Only this time I was sure Eduarda was privy to her son’s prior involvement with me. “Sarah!” she said with a warm smile and open arms, making me feel very welcome. “I’m so glad you’re here. I must confess I wasn’t sure if you would accept my invitation,” she admitted, sitting down. Why was she telling me this? Why did she care one way or another? “Why is that?” I asked cautiously. Her direct gaze—so like Diogo’s—locked with mine. “I know your meeting with Diogo didn’t go well.” “Is that what he said?” I asked a bit defensively, expecting to have to justify my actions. She shook her head. “No, no, Diogo hasn’t said a word to me,” she rushed to explain. “He wouldn’t, he’s a very private person.
