His voice was deep. Resonant. The voice of a man who speaks and who is obeyed. He ruffled the girl's hair. His hand was large. His fingers were thick. The gesture was casual— the gesture of a man who acknowledges a pet.
The girl beamed.
"Thank you, Father!" she said. Her voice was high. Bright. The voice of a child who loves her parent and who does not know any better.
Viviana laughed.
The sound was warm. Musical. The laugh of a woman who is happy. Who is grateful. Who believes— truly, deeply, completely— that she is loved. She laughed and she coughed. The cough was small. A tickle. The kind of cough that comes from laughing too hard or from the cold or from nothing at all.
"Come here, little one," Viviana said. Her voice was soft. Gentle. The voice of a woman who talks the way water flows— naturally, easily, without effort. She opened her arms. The girl ran to her. She held her. She stroked her hair. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes, Mother!"
"Did you finish your lessons?"
