Page 172 - SpontaneousSuccessFINAL6

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
“Mister Nick, I have a confession to make.” She
opened the album.
“Ok,” I interrupted, “and I have a favor to ask.”
She took a healthy swig of the Macieira. So did I.
“Cheers.”
“Please, Francesca, don’t call me Mister Nick
anymore. Just Nick, or even Nicko, but forget the
‘Mister’.”
“Ha! On one condition then. I’m Frankie.” She forced
a smile. “Ok Nicko, cheers.”
We clinked our brandy snifters.
“Cheers, Frankie.”
She hit the call button and ordered two more.” The
flight attendant bought the bottle.
“And so?”
The cabin lights had dimmed hours ago, leaving us
suspended in the quiet hum of the engines as we soared
east from New York to Faro. Beside me, Francesca
clicked on her small reading light, a focused beam
cutting through the darkness.
“I want you to see something,” she whispered,
spreading a soft, worn photo album across her tray table.
First were snaps of Lavanda, but a Lavanda I
couldn't recognize, lost to time. Then, a few pictures of
Casilda smiling in a real estate office. Francesca’s fingers
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