The Florentine Bridge

by Vanessa Carnevale

  ‘The second.’

  He turns back around and keeps twirling his cup.

  Doctor Rossi arrives hours later, apologising profusely for the delay. Luca tells him that if we need him again, he’ll pay him two hundred euros if he gets here within half an hour of his phone call. I stare at Luca, shocked at his proposal, which the doctor has shaken hands on, but he averts his gaze.

  ‘I want you to check everything,’ says Luca, hovering over the doctor’s shoulder.

  Doctor Rossi feels my glands, goes through my entire list of symptoms, and takes a comprehensive history.

  ‘You definitely have an infection, but come and see me the day after tomorrow at the hospital for a full check-up. We’ll run some tests. I’ll be sure to clear my schedule,’ he says. ‘In the meantime, here’s a script for some antibiotics and my direct number in case you need to call me.’

  ‘Grazie, dottore,’ says Luca. He sees Doctor Rossi to the door and returns to the bedroom a few minutes later, then grabs his wallet and keys from the chest of drawers.

  ‘How could you do that?’

  He flips around and looks at me strangely. ‘You can barely sit up, Mia! You heard what he said, you need antibiotics.’

  ‘I don’t mean calling him. I mean making a deal with him like that.’

  ‘What you just saw is nothing compared to what goes on in this country,’ he dismisses. There’s no use in getting him to see it my way. He’s adamant that he’s done the right thing. ‘Nobody in this world is more important to me than you are. And I will do whatever it takes to look after you. Whether you’re sick or not.’ He folds the script and tucks it in the pocket of his jeans. My mind shifts into overdrive, playing all the different kinds of scenarios in my head, all dependent on the results of Doctor Rossi’s tests.

  ‘What if the cancer’s back?’ I whisper.

  He rubs the stubble on his chin. ‘It can’t be back.’ Then he runs his hand through his hair and says, ‘I’m going to the pharmacy to pick up your medicine.’

  ‘I don’t want to have the tests.’

  ‘You have to have the tests, Mia. The results are going to confirm that everything’s fine.’

  ‘But what if they don’t?’

  He walks out the door, leaving me without an answer.

  At the hospital, Doctor Rossi leads us into a room and takes some blood. ‘I’ll see what tests I can manage to do this morning, and then you can come back again tomorrow for more,’ he says.

  ‘She’s not going anywhere until you run whatever tests you need to run,’ says Luca.

  The doctor draws the curtains as they talk between themselves. With only a thin veil separating us, I can hear everything they’re saying. In their heated conversation, Luca tells him that if he doesn’t get the tests done today, he’ll report him for bribery and his career will come undone before he can blink.

  ‘He’s only trying to help me,’ I mutter when the doctor leaves the room.

  Luca ignores me, and we barely speak to each other for the rest of the day. Doctor Rossi puts me through all the tests and, on Luca’s orders, tries to call my oncologist back home for some background information. Due to the time difference he’s not available, but Doctor Rossi assures us he’ll try him again later. By late afternoon we’re given the okay to go home.

  ‘It’ll take some time for the results, but I’ll call you as soon as I have news,’ says Doctor Rossi.

  I can’t quite decide whether or not I want to hear from him.

  TWENTY

  Today is supposed to be our last day in Positano, but it’s not, because Luca has insisted I’m not well enough to go home yet, even though the antibiotics have kicked in and I can get out of bed in the morning without feeling like I’ve been hit by a semitrailer. The coffee machine’s broken, and Luca has spread out dismantled parts and screws all over the outside table.

  ‘If I could just get this part here to work,’ he murmurs, turning a piece of plastic around between his thumb and forefinger. I know he’s enjoying himself even if he acts like repairing this machine is a chore. Pulling things apart and putting them back together is Luca’s style of meditation, his unique way of unplugging and resetting. I stand there for a while, watching him, until he looks up at me and smiles. He flashes me a wink and I have to turn away because every time he looks at me this way, my body reacts accordingly, and this time when I feel the flutters, they’re diluted with emotions I can’t seem to shake yet know I need to work through.

  ‘I think I might go for a walk,’ I say, grabbing my cap and sunglasses.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘I need the fresh air,’ I reply.

  ‘Okay, well, wait up, I’ll just be a second,’ he says. ‘This can wait.’

  ‘No, keep doing what you’re doing. I won’t be long.’ His eyes linger on me as I leave the room. I carry the weight on my shoulders out of the apartment and to the starting point of one of the hiking tracks that connects various towns along the coast.

  A grey sky looms above while I set off down a jagged path lined with overgrown bushes and wildflowers. I pick a sprig of wild rosemary and slowly tear away each needle-like leaf until I’m left with a woody, brittle stem. Any day now Doctor Rossi is going to call. If he tells me what I don’t want to hear, I need to be prepared for what that means, not only for myself, but for Luca. I haul my body uphill, pushing for answers, feelings, direction. I push past the fatigue, focusing on the luminous stretch of turquoise along the jagged coastline until I can’t feel the pain in my legs anymore. I reach the summit, panting for breath, feeling no lighter than I did before, no closer to deciding what to do. All I know is that I need to make a decision before Doctor Rossi calls.

  A carelessly erected wooden fence offers little protection from the steep drop to the sea. The clouds break and as I stand there under the summer shower, with nothing to protect me from the rain, my heart argues with my head.

  ‘Hey, you were gone all day, I was worried about you,’ says Luca, opening the door to the apartment. He almost takes a step back when he sees me. I must look as dishevelled as I feel.

  I give him a quick peck on the cheek and head for the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

  ‘Why were you worried about me?’

  ‘Because you were gone all day. You said you were going to be back soon.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

  ‘The coffee machine works. It took me all day to fix,’ he says. He approaches the counter and goes to grab a cup. ‘Want a coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Do you feel like going out for dinner tonight? We could try the—’

  ‘Um, I’m a little tired, actually. I think it’s going to be another early night,’ I say, heading towards the bathroom. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed out all day.’

  ‘Then why did you stay out all day? What’s going on with you, Mia?’ he asks, following me into the bathroom.

  ‘Nothing, I’m just taking a bath. I went hiking today. I’m filthy.’ I bend over, push the plug in and turn on the tap.

  ‘You know that’s not what I mean. You didn’t even take your phone with you.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but I forgot it.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Mia, don’t do this.’

  ‘You’re right, we shouldn’t be arguing over a stupid phone.’ I reach for the bath salts and toss a handful into the tub. They fall against the surface like a spray of bullets.

  Luca looks at the bag of salts and then at me. ‘That’s not what we’re doing.’

  ‘The water’s running, Luca, and I’m aching. My legs are aching.’

  He turns around and closes the door behind him. I bang my palm against my forehead. I don’t want things to be this way. I don’t want it to be like this. I turn back to the door and poke my head out.

  ‘Did Doctor Rossi call while I was out?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.�
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  ‘What do you feel like doing today?’ asks Luca the following morning. He pushes the button on the coffee machine and clicks his tongue with satisfaction. ‘Works better than it did before,’ he says. He hands me a short macchiato, grinning.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I reply. He tilts his head and looks at me curiously.

  ‘What?’ I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  ‘I know you’re worried, but waiting for that phone call is making you act a little crazy, painter girl. Have you called your parents yet?’

  ‘I think we should go down to the beach,’ I reply, dismissing his question.

  ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  The thought of having to call my parents to let them know I’m waiting on test results is unbearable. My parents would be beside themselves at the slightest hint of me being sick again.

  ‘They would want to know what’s going on with you, Mia. And you might even feel better if you spoke to them.’

  ‘No, Luca,’ I reply firmly. I’m trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in my stomach. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘But you haven’t had breakfast yet.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  I head to the bedroom and start stuffing beach gear into my bag. When all the usual things don’t fit, I turn it upside down and shake out all the contents onto the bed.

  Luca leans against the doorframe of the bedroom and takes a bite of his croissant. The way he stands there casually, like there’s nothing wrong, like this is just another day, irritates me. Luca never irritates me.

  ‘You barely touched your dinner last night, I’m pretty sure you skipped lunch yesterday and—’

  ‘Please, Luca, just drop it. I don’t feel like breakfast, and I don’t feel like analysing it. Let’s go before we miss out on a spot on the beach.’

  ‘We don’t need to rush. We have our own private lagoon. We can go there instead if we need to.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to the lagoon today. I want to go to the main beach,’ I say. As I reach for the bottle of sunscreen, I force myself to slow down, calm down, breathe. I pick up our belongings and place them in the bag: our water bottles, our hats, my book, his magazines. These items had no significance yesterday, but as I tuck them away, they fit into my bag perfectly, suddenly meaning everything to me.

  Luca takes the last bite of his croissant and with his mouth full, says, ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling helpless.

  He takes the bag from me and kisses me on the head. ‘Come on, andiamo.’ He goes to grab our phones from the chest of drawers.

  I grab his wrist and pull it back. ‘No phones today. Just us,’ I say.

  ‘But what if …’ He stops himself. ‘Okay. Just us.’

  Just for a little while longer.

  When we arrive, I watch Luca at the beach bar organising the payment for our sun lounges. A girl, probably a few years older than me, approaches him and hands him two rolled-up towels. She flicks her hair away from her face, and from the way she’s standing, I can tell she’s flirting with him. Luca smiles back politely, tucks his wallet in his pocket and looks straight past her, to me. She stops talking and glances over her shoulder, looking me up and down, before heading back behind the bar. As Luca walks towards me, a shattering sense of guilt crashes against me. If Doctor Rossi calls with news we don’t want to hear, I know that Luca will be equally crushed. A relapse will mean having to return home to Melbourne for treatment. No matter how I look at it, I can’t find a way for Luca to fit into that life without hurting him. While I have some control over a few things in my life, the only thing I know I can control with certainty is how deeply I hurt him. Even if Doctor Rossi tells me everything’s okay, another doctor might call tomorrow telling me it’s not. Saying goodbye while things are like this surely has to be the less painful option for Luca.

  He opens the umbrella and moves his sun lounge closer to mine so that they’re touching. He takes off his shirt, lies down beside me, and turns to his side. He leans across and lifts my sunglasses off my face and then his hand glides over my stomach, gently resting it there. He drinks me in like he always does before kissing me, the slow blink of his eyes capturing my attention, before his lips connect with mine, first slowly and then more deeply. This kiss breaks me apart in a way none of the others have, maybe because I’m not fully part of it or maybe because I’m so focused on not forgetting it.

  ‘I feel like I haven’t kissed you in years,’ he whispers. He leans back into his lounge. His hand searches for mine, and I find myself staring at the way my hand fits perfectly in his.

  ‘You know, painter girl, I’ve been thinking, I’ve kind of gotten used to waking up beside you every morning,’ he says.

  My heart skips a series of beats before my entire body freezes. ‘Yeah, me, too,’ I reply, my voice barely louder than a whisper. Sleeping alone will take some getting used to. One of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced has been knowing he’s been there beside me all night, night after night. I hide behind my sunglasses and sink deeper into the mattress of my lounge.

  ‘I don’t ever want to know the feeling of waking up with an empty space beside me again … So I’m thinking we need to figure out how to fix that when we get home,’ he says casually, looking out at the waves lapping gently against the shore.

  I squeeze his hand so I don’t have to respond. Just for a little while longer.

  The first thing I do the following morning is check my phone, as if there might have been a chance that Doctor Rossi called during the night without me hearing my phone ring.

  ‘Good morning, bella mia,’ says Luca, rolling over to face me.

  He reaches for the top drawer of his bedside table. ‘I know you said your birthday isn’t until February, but I got something for you,’ he says, handing me a gift box. Inside is a charm for my bracelet, a silver artist’s palette, studded with coloured crystals.

  ‘I thought it might cheer you up,’ he says.

  I concentrate on fastening the clasp, hands trembling, heart racing. ‘It’s perfect, thank you.’ I give him a peck on the cheek and then get up, hoping I can make it to the bathroom before I crumble.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’

  I take a deep breath and glance over my shoulder at him. ‘Shower,’ I reply, avoiding eye contact. I know that one smile could be all it takes to change my mind. I sit on the cool bathroom tiles, knees pulled against my chest, listening to the running water as steam fogs the room. And all the while, I am trying to draw the strength to do what it is I need to do, don’t want to do, have to do.

  Luca showers after me while I prepare breakfast.

  ‘Hey, should we go to Capri today?’ he asks when he emerges, running his hands through his wet hair.

  ‘Um, I don’t know.’

  ‘Okay, well, you decide. We’ll do whatever you want to do.’ He finishes fastening the buttons on his shirt and sits down to join me.

  ‘Let me just think about it for a minute.’

  His eyes narrow and I can feel him looking at me as he takes a sip of his coffee. I force down the rest of my breakfast. When I’m done, I immediately start clearing the table, not caring that Luca has yet to take the last sip of his orange juice.

  ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?’ he asks, following me into the kitchen.

  I start packing the dishwasher so I don’t have to look at him.

  ‘What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, Mia? Talk to me, tell me what’s happening.’ He moves closer to me and tries to hug me. I push him away. I take a deep breath. There will never be the right time for what I’m about to say.

  ‘Mia?’

  A glass slips from my fingers and smacks against the tiles, and now I’m a trembling mess, surrounded by shards of glass and spilled orange juice. No matter where I step, I’ll step on broken glass. I stand there in the middle of the kitchen, frozen, not sure where to move, and when I look up at Luca, he’s staring at the floor, too. We look at each othe
r and I go to speak but can’t. I’m mute.

  ‘I need some fresh air,’ he says.

  There is a dull ache in the silence between us that lingers long after he leaves the room. He walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving the vibrations of his tension release to reverberate throughout my entire body.

  Luca returns an hour later with a bunch of flowers, carrying himself the way he usually does, cool and collected.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to make this easier for you,’ he says, handing me the flowers. ‘I know that waiting for that phone call is hard, but you have got to trust that things will be okay.’

  ‘Luca, stop. I’m the one who needs to apologise. You did everything right.’ I clear my throat and take a deep breath. ‘Look, I know it’s been an emotional few days and I haven’t been myself.’

  He nods.

  ‘This isn’t what life is like for everybody though. I mean, what I’m trying to say … is that this isn’t a good idea.’

  He inhales deeply and stares at me intently. ‘What, exactly, isn’t a good idea?’ he asks, his eyes searching mine.

  ‘This. Us.’

  He starts shaking his head. ‘Don’t let this freak you out, Mia.’

  ‘But I can see how worried you are! You keep saying the test results are going to come back clear, but I see the way you jump when the phone rings, the way you looked at me when I told you my glands were swollen. I know that deep down you’re as worried as I am. And I can’t do this to you.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What exactly do you think you’re doing to me?’

  ‘It’s not fair to you. Trust me, it will be so much easier for you to say goodbye to me now.’

  He runs his hands through his hair and starts gesticulating passionately. ‘I honestly can’t believe I’m hearing this. This is crazy, Mia. What you’re thinking is crazy. Your test results—when they come back clear? What then?’

  ‘If this is a scare there might be others after this one. And, if this or the others confirm a recurrence, I’m not prepared to let you see me wilt away before your eyes. It’s better if we stop this now, before it gets more serious.’ I bite my lip in a futile effort to stop the quivering.