She sat down. The concrete was warm beneath her. She watched the water, the endless grey-brown expanse of it, and she waited.
But the letter was in her coat pocket. She could feel it pressing against her chest, heavy as a stone. She reached the rambla at four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was still high, the light harsh and golden. She walked along the promenade, her eyes scanning the benches, the old pier, the clusters of fishermen casting their lines into the river. See You in Montevideo
She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She sat down