IN THE WINDOW on the other side of the narrow canal a woman sat sewing.

Susan wished she’d stop, just for a few minutes, and lean out and turn her head to the left and see the pink light streaming out from the setting sun: a rosy flood swishing between the buildings on both sides, splashing the water ambulance that was being repaired in the open space under the boat builder’s place and shimmering against the glass door of the corner shop where she and Bernard went that afternoon for their bottle of prosecco. They’d had to step over the big yellow dog that lay alongside the counter.