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Is it OK if we just give them a hard time?”“Yes, but not too hard.”“Are we cooking tonight?”“Yeah, I’ve already made the stew. It’s simmering. You can make a green salad and toast some bread, you know, like we like it, olive oil and garlic or olive oil and Romano cheese, maybe bruschetta if we’ve still got some vine-ripe tomatoes. You choose. Make some iced tea too.”“What kind of stew?”“Italian sausage, pasta, onions, and green beans in tomato sauce with red wine. See if there’s enough of that box wine we like in the fridge, that chillable red. If not, put another box in. It’s good with the stew.”“No garlic?”“Of course, you know I can’t cook without garlic.”“I like your stew, Mikey. What were you doing when I walked up? It looked like you were off somewhere, like lost in a fog.”“I was just thinking about me and Alex. Sometimes I don’t know what to do.”“Well, talk to me. I’m a girl.”“Today, after we had lunch together and I had to go to my afternoon class, I hugged her and kissed her. ” James shook his head. “No, she said room 12!” James bounded up to the third floor of the hotel. There was a large landing with a tall plant in the corner and one room. Number 11. He knocked on the door a couple of times, but it was clearly unoccupied. A fact confirmed by his inspecting the room, which was indeed a large one with king-sized bed and capacious bathroom. Utterly confused James returned to the reception. “Sorry, me again. When was room 12 converted?” The woman appeared displeased with James pursuance of his apparent obsession. “I don’t know, years and years ago, Sir.” “Okay, thank you.” James turned and rubbed his face. He was beginning to wonder if there had been something in the coffee. Then he looked up and noticed a portrait on the wall about half way between the desk and the dining room. He walked towards it and a shiver of fear and alarm ran through his body as he saw a picture of Renata. It was plainly her, as close a facsimile of her own sweet features.
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