Marco has returned for a few days. He does not seem upset, but he has not been taking meals with us much. He is spending a good amount of time on the phone. I think he has been sleeping a lot. Juliet thinks something is troubling him. Jacobo has locked himself in his room, and no one can find Mr. Shen. Juliet and I have taken a picnic down the hill to give Marco the house for the day. The air is a little cooler, but it feels good, and we have brought blankets.

We have walked further than we had planned; we are some hours out now, in old and quiet forest, a gentle carpet of old leaves and needles under our feet. We are walking slower now, taking time to idle in little clearings. Juliet makes me still, and we stand like trees as deer move around us in the dim distance, dappled with shifting light, then gone. We stop to eat upon a blanket. We have apples and cheese and a good wine. We hear the noises of other things, but we do not see them.

I catch Juliet at one tree, and point. In the smooth bark of the trunk, someone has carved words and times. Juliet runs her fingertips over the lines of the figures, tracing the furrow in the wood. I watch her lips tremble as they move, reading the words to herself in a whisper.