A minute passed. Then two. Five minutes melted into seven. The rain fell down harder, in thick sheets. God, what was I doing here, soaked to the bone, pining for a childhood friendship that had collapsed in a spectacular fashion? This was silly. It had been five years. It was time to let go. Not yet, Callichka, Dad chided in my head. Have faith. Shut up, Dad. You were an atheist. Seven minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Twenty. Whole. Minutes. “Sorry, Dad. She isn’t coming out,” I murmured. I took one last look at the Casablancases’ cottage—dilapidated, the rotten wood wet and sagging,
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