Lavinia stared at the cup of milk and coffee in front of her. She had microwaved her breakfast beverage three times already, failing to drink even a drop of it before it cooled again. The smell of milk, usually pleasant, now turned her stomach.

An anchorwoman was giving the latest news on TV, and Lavinia turned it off when she saw the picture of Carolina filling the screen. She started crying again, leaning against the table with the hard surface vibrating under her cheek.

Moments later, her cell phone rang. Her hand reached out automatically to turn down the call, but with the corner of her eye, she caught the name of the caller. If she had felt sick before, now she could barely breathe.

It was Mrs. Fini, Carolina’s mother, and Lavinia couldn’t ignore her. Half an hour later, she finally hung up. The experience had drained her, but she needed to make another call, to her family. Her father was an early riser and if he hadn’t already turned on the TV, he would do so soon. She had just reached for her phone when it started buzzing and ringing with the chorus from the Carmen, her father’s favorite opera.

“Lavinia,” her father frantically said as soon as she answered. “We just watched the news—”

The conversation that followed was only slightly less painful than the one she’d had with Carolina’s mother. Her entire family wanted to talk to her. Not only her parents, but her little sister as well, her grandmother, and even the aunt who had heard about Carolina first and told her father. By the time they finally hung up, Lavinia could barely think. She threw the cell phone onto the couch and dragged herself to her bed.

Staring at the ceiling, she wished it were a nightmare, but she didn’t wake to Carolina brewing espresso before leaving for the day. Exhaustion consumed her as her eyes took in all the shadows and cracks on the white ceiling, and yet, she wouldn’t sleep because every time she lowered her eyelids, she saw her friend lying in that dumpster.

Much later, she took a shower and forced herself to drink some coffee. Food was out of the question. She moved from the kitchen table to the couch and checked her phone. There were several lost calls from the pub. Giulio, her manager, had left a message saying that she could take the week off if she needed.

Lavinia looked around at the apartment, seeing Carolina everywhere. Her mother had told her that they would stop by later in the afternoon to pick up clothes for the funeral. Between sobs, the poor woman had asked if Lavinia could let them in because they didn’t have the key.

A knock on the door startled Lavinia and brought her back to the night before when the same sound had heralded the most horrific of news.

“Lavinia?” Mrs. Finis called out.

Lavinia opened the door and found Carolina’s parents and her older brother waiting in the hallway. No words were exchanged. What else was there to say? She had thought there were no tears left to cry but she was wrong. Mrs. Fini hugged her and they stood like that, sobbing for a long time before they entered the apartment.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Lavinia said when the stricken family glided toward Carolina’s bedroom.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Fini called to her, asking, “Would you like something?” she said, pointing at the heap of clothes on Carolina’s bed.

Lavinia stared at the jeans, shirts, turtlenecks, and scarves. So many scarves and turtlenecks. Carolina had worn those even in the hottest days in August. It was a source of constant jokes between them. Now, Carolina would never wear the polka dot turtleneck Lavinia had given her for her birthday ever again.

“To remember Carolina,” Mrs. Fini added when Lavinia didn’t move from the doorway. “I thought you might want one of those shirts—” her voice broke.

“I’d like the orange and pink scarf,” Lavinia said.

“Of course,” Mr. Fini answered for his wife, who was staring at the clothes on the bed, tears streaming down her ashen face.

“Thank you.” Lavinia retreated into the hallway to leave them alone with their sorrow.

The apartment was too small to contain their combined grief, for Carolina was still roaming the rooms with her easy laugh and kindness. Not knowing what to do with herself, Lavinia ambled outside the apartment and kept walking until she found herself on the street. Her mind a blank slate and her heart heavy, she wandered across Rome without a goal.

The afternoon light faded into the darker tones of the night. The lights from the restaurants and shops illuminated the streets. The smell of deep fried pastry filled the air. Children wearing Carnevale costumes threw confetti at smiling passersby. How could life continue when something as horrific as Carolina’s death had happened not even a day ago?

Tears filled her eyes, blurring the happy reality that couldn’t match her sentiments.

Soon, the night brought a different kind of crowd on the streets—men and women hurrying to meet their dates, families taking care of last-minutes errands before their dinners. Lavinia kept walking among the throng, crying and unseen until her legs gave away under her.

“Miss?” someone called from far away.

Lavinia’s head was too heavy, but she tried to open her eyes.

“Someone call 911.”

From within the recesses of her mind came the warning that she couldn’t go to a mortal hospital.

“Is she breathing?”

Gentle hands touched her. She struggled to react.

“Miss? Can you hear me?” a more authoritative voice asked.

Lavinia moved her hand. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Good. Can you tell me your name?” the same man asked.

Lavinia tentatively opened her eyes and saw a man wearing a paramedic uniform looking at her. “Lavinia,” she started, frantically thinking of what to say next to get out of that scrape.

“Okay, Lavinia, we’re going to take you to the Policlinico Gemelli.”

At hearing the name of the hospital, Lavinia shook her head. “It’s okay. I didn’t eat anything today and fainted.”

The man kept his eyes on Lavinia, studying her. What he saw must have reassured him she wasn’t a junkie. “We still need to make sure you are okay.” He asked her a few more questions, wrote her full name and address on a pad, then said, “Do you have any money to buy something to eat?”

Lavinia’s hand went to her side, where her hobo bag usually sat against her hip, but she had left her apartment without it. “No, but I can walk home.”

“Dinner’s on me tonight,” the man said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.

Lavinia raised her hands to halt him and shook her head. “No, it’s okay, thank you.”

“I insist.” The man pushed a few bills into her hand and helped her up. “How do you feel?”

The street and the man swam around her for a few seconds, but soon enough, her sense of balance returned. “I’m fine,” she said. “And thank you.” She raised her hand clutching the euros and took a step. When she was sure she could walk, she nodded at the man, who nodded back but remained on the sidewalk, checking on her until she entered the alley.

In her aimless wander, Lavinia hadn’t realized she had entered Trastevere and she was close to Leone Rampante. Instead of eating at one of the small trattorias for which the neighborhood was famous, she headed toward the pub. She needed a familiar setting tonight.

As soon as she entered Leone Rampante, Giulio, the manager came and hugged her tight, and she knew she had done the right thing.