Chapter 11 - THE MAN WHO LEARNED TO ASK
Dante sat across from Rosie.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The restaurant smelled exactly as it had that winter night.
Coffee.
Fried onions.
Wet coats.
But the world felt different.
Dante looked at her.
"How have you been?"
Rosie smiled faintly.
"Better."
"I'm glad."
She studied him.
"You look tired."
He laughed softly.
"I've been busy."
"With the investigation?"
"Partly."
Rosie nodded.
Then asked:
"Why did you come here?"
Dante hesitated.
"I remembered you liked the soup."
She smiled.
"That's a terrible excuse."
He laughed.
"Yes."
Silence settled.
Then Dante spoke.
"I wanted to see you."
Rosie looked down.
"I wasn't sure you'd want that."
"I wasn't sure either."
He nodded.
"Fair."
She stirred her coffee.
"Dante, I was angry with you."
"I know."
"I still am, sometimes."
"I understand."
She looked up.
"But you helped reopen the case."
"Your father deserved the truth."
"So did I."
"Yes."
Rosie studied him.
Then smiled.
"You've changed."
Dante shook his head.
"I'm trying."
She nodded.
"That's a start."
They talked for two hours.
About books.
About Pittsburgh.
About Samuel.
About the future.
May you like
Dante listened more than he spoke.
And when Rosie laughed, he found himself wanting to hear the sound again.
