In the months to come, Luca will sometimes wish he hadn't squandered these early days of grief. He'll wish he'd let it pierce and demolish him more. Because, as the forgetting part takes anchor and stays, it will feel like a treachery.
Luca can smell the wood of the fire, the cocoa and cinnamon of the chilate, and that's how he knows Rebecca is magical, because she can transport him a thousand miles away into her own mountain homestead just by the sound of her voice.
That night Luca sleeps the best kind of sleep, he sleeps without dreaming.