When we stop for gelato I am opening doors for her and inside she glides past a few tables calling out to her neighbors so they will notice that she is back among the living, that Luna is having a night out, and I oblige her, and take her arm, and smile and buy the ice cream while she takes pains to explain me to everyone with outrageous pronouncements that I don't understand, but that her neighbors, middle-aged widows themselves, all laugh at with their own dirty thoughts, and then we go out with our minds back on ice cream and I turn gracefully toward her home.