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one large, dark eye and aimed it at Lila, who was sure it had a malicious glint. She eyed Grace back, and on the windowsill she noted a large wooden poodle that could serve as a club, if needed.
    Grace was resting her chin on her vile, bacteria-ridden tennis ball. She’d dug it up in the backyard, where it had probably been buried for two hundred years. Though Cristina never seemed to mind Grace’s bringing the ball inside, it dripped slobber and contaminated the house as surely as her mange did. As usual, however, far more unsettling than mange and germs were her teeth, only ten feet away.
    Cristina set a tray with napkins, cups of tea, and a plate of sweet rolls on the glass-topped table that, thankfully, stood between Lila and the dog. Cristina kissed her fingertips the way Italian waiters do to say something is delicious. “Come on. Mangia! I didn’t bake these for nothing. I don’t want you to waste away.” As the den filled with a rich, cinnamon smell, she picked up a roll and took a bite.
    Though Lila’s appetite had run off with the use of her left arm, to please Cristina, she took a roll. The vanilla icing melted in her mouth. “You’re dear to do all this for me, Cris, but you don’t need to work so hard. Really, I’m all right.”
    â€œYou are not. You’ve got black circles under your eyes. You look like someone just let you out of a dungeon.” Cristina kicked off her loafers and eased into the wingback chair.
    â€œI don’t think I look so bad,” Lila said.
    â€œMaybe not as bad as last week, but you’ve got miles to go.” Cristina polished off her roll in four bites and blew at the steam curling from her tea. “On the phone last night Greg and I decided you can’t go back to your apartment this weekend. You’re not well enough.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
    â€œThat’s not true. You couldn’t make it up the stairs to your front door. You need to stay here till Rosie and I leave, and then you should house-sit for us.”
    Lila shook her head. “I couldn’t commute to work.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have to go back to work. Greg and I will pay for your utilities and food so you won’t have any expenses.”
    â€œI could never let you do that.”
    â€œWe want somebody in the house while we’re gone. It should be you.”
    â€œYou’ve never said you wanted a house sitter before.”
    â€œWe decided we need someone to water the yard. This summer’s supposed to be dry.”
    â€œI can’t pack my stuff and move it here.”
    â€œI could do it in a day. Look, you’d be doing us a favor. We need your help.” Cristina took a swallow of tea and set her cup on the table. “If you stay here, you can paint full-time. I know you want that more than anything.”
    A direct hit to Lila’s heart. She couldn’t argue with that, as Cristina well knew.
    It went without saying that Lila wanted to help her, especially after all Cristina had done for her for eighteen years—and more than ever since Yuri had shot her. There were hundreds of small kindnesses, such as birthday cakes, Christmas dinner invitations, and chicken soup for Lila’s colds. And there were hundreds of times when Cristina had given moral support. After Lila’s parents had died two days apart from an infection in Peru, Cristina went with her to pick out cemetery plots. When Lila’s income as an artist had dropped below anemic, Cristina commissioned a portrait of Rosie; and after Lila had walked out on Reed, Cristina invited her home till she found an apartment. Besides owing Cristina, Lila loved her like a sister.
    Still, house-sitting for six months would be complicated. A banner saying BE INDEPENDENT traveled across Lila’s inner sky. Though Cristina had said she and Greg needed help, Lila had a nagging sense that they wanted to help