‘Forza, you need to be strong for him,’ she says.
‘Can I touch him?’ I whisper.
‘Yes, dear. No hugging. He has some broken ribs. Most of his injuries are internal.’
My legs are frozen at the foot of his bed, but my body is shaking. Sensing my hesitation, she hangs her clipboard on the bed and takes me by the arm. She sits me on the chair next to the bed and says, ‘You need to pray for him. Tell him you love him and that you need him to come back.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask in a scarcely audible voice, and when she doesn’t answer, I feel almost relieved. She leaves the room and in the silence, broken only by the beeping of monitors, I start counting the number of tubes connected to Luca.
‘Please, Luca. Please come back to me,’ I whisper through the tears. I’m holding his hand, kissing it, begging for him to come back to me, over and over again.
Footsteps break the heavy silence. I make out Stella’s figure. She stands beside me and gasps when she sets her eyes on him. She stands there, frozen, the colour draining from her face as her hand covers her mouth. Not even I can comprehend the image before me; it’s as though a movie is being played before my eyes, and I’m somehow just an observer.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispers. ‘This can’t be …’ Her face twists into a pained expression.
‘I don’t know what I’ll do if he—’
‘God, Mia, don’t say it, please don’t say it.’ She looks terrified, as if voicing it will make it happen, as if we somehow have control over it. She flings her arms around me, and I hold onto her tightly. I’m sobbing into her shoulder, and she’s sobbing into mine. Eventually, I manage to pull myself away from her.
‘Everything was perfect, Stella. We had everything. He’d look at me and know what I was thinking. All it took was his smile to make me feel alive each morning. He made me laugh like I’d never laughed before, and when I was with him he made me forget there was a world that existed outside of us. I want our world back, Stella. I need him to make it. He has to make it. I need someone to tell me he’s going to make it.’
She looks at me blankly, like she’s teetering on the edge of telling me what I want to hear. She blinks a couple of times and then bites her lip. I feel the waves crashing against me again, hitting me over and over in the pit of my stomach.
She takes my hand and gently tugs me away from the bed. ‘You need to rest,’ she says.
‘No. I can’t leave him.’
The nurse enters the room and looks disapprovingly at us. ‘I thought I said five minutes. That was an hour ago.’ My eyes plead with her and she sighs. ‘Leave me your number, and I’ll call you if there’s any change,’ she says, handing Stella a post-it note from her pocket. She scrawls down my number, and I reluctantly leave the other half of myself in the room, fighting for life in a battle that couldn’t have been predetermined by any kind of figure. Suddenly, ten per cent means nothing to me, and I can’t understand why I spent so much time focused on the numbers. Why couldn’t I have listened to him? Why couldn’t I have trusted? Why did I waste so much precious energy worrying about what could have been, what I couldn’t control even if I tried? And why, now that the love of my life is hovering between life and death, does it all seem so clear?
Paolo and Stella spend the rest of the day coming and going from the hospital. My eyelids lock shut at some point after midday, and I doze on and off into the evening. At dusk, Silvio arrives at the hospital, head hanging, shoulders sagging. He’s brought food with him. It remains untouched.
Eventually, someone brings me home and tucks me into bed. The young nurse doesn’t call. I wake at six am. I take a cold shower in a futile attempt to bring feeling back into my body. It doesn’t work. I throw on some clothes and sit on the swing outside with my notepad. I twirl my pencil around until the words begin to surface on the page.
Caro Luca,
I’ll never love another the way I’ve loved you.
You have to be okay. Please, please, please, be okay.
Always yours,
Mia
When I arrive at the Fattoria di Maiano, the waiter recognises me.
‘Can I help you, signorina?’ he asks. It’s early and he’s just starting to set up tables, their service not commencing until midday.
‘Um, I was hoping to have a walk around if that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ he says, a puzzled look on his face.
I trace the steps of one of our most treasured afternoons together. When I reach the secret lake, I leave the folded note in the carved-out altar in the wall nestled against the Madonna for safekeeping. With my eyes squeezed shut, my mind replays the memory of the two of us frolicking in the water, drying ourselves and laughing as we rush back to the scooter. When I open my eyes, I notice my reflection in the water.
Who are you without him, Mia?
By the time I arrive at the hospital it’s past midday. Paolo, Silvio and Stella are sitting together in silence.
‘Where in God’s name have you been, Mia?’ demands Stella. ‘We’ve been worried about you. Where’s your phone?’
‘I had some stuff to take care of,’ I say, stepping away from them. If any of them try any touchy-feely Italian moves on me, I’m sure it will end badly.
‘Any news?’
No answer.
‘I asked, is there any news?’ I demand, raising my voice. Three pairs of dispirited eyes stare back at me. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’
I head for Luca’s room, and Stella tries to pull me back.
‘Hold on, I do need to tell you something,’ she pleads.
I shake my arm free and glare at her. As soon as I enter the room, what she wanted to tell me is evident.
There’s a priest.
I know what this means.
My eyes widen and my mouth drops. My heart begins to race at the scene taking place in front of me. He’s dousing Luca with holy water.
‘I’m sorry, but you need to go,’ I order between clenched teeth.
The priest continues his ritual, ignoring me.
‘Signorina, the doctors say he is on his death bed.’
‘He is NOT on his death bed!’ I scream. ‘You need to leave right now! Out!’
Drops of holy water wet my face and something within me snaps. I snatch the aspergillum from his hands. Stella is sobbing with her head in her hands as I scream all kinds of profanities in both English and Italian. My arms flail about in midair before someone comes up behind me and wraps their arm around my shoulders. All I know is that it’s not Luca, and I desperately want it—need it—to be Luca. Paolo releases his grip for a second; my legs give way, and I collapse on the floor in an exhausted heap.
When I come to, I’m lying on my own hospital bed, a concerned Stella stroking my forehead.
‘You hit your head,’ she says.
I shift my body so my back is facing her.
This is all too hard.
A young nurse enters the room. ‘Has she eaten?’ she asks.
‘No,’ replies Stella.
‘She needs to eat.’
‘I know.’
‘Is she talking to you?’
‘No.’
‘She needs to talk to someone.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll arrange for a nun.’
‘Don’t you dare. Stella, if I so much as see …’
‘Shh, shh. I know. I know. I know,’ she says, desperately trying to turn my body towards her. When it doesn’t work, she does what only Stella would do: she asks the nurse for some privacy and draws the curtains. I feel the curves of Stella’s body behind me, her arms wrapped around me, her chin nestled into the space between my shoulder and my neck. Once she’s delivered her dose of physical support, she leaves the bed, takes a spoon and moves the bed up with the remote so I have no choice but to sit up.
‘Eat.’
Like every other time, I know I will never win an argument with Stella, so I reluctantly obey. I’m too numb to care
anyway. When she’s satisfied with my intake of hospital food, she asks me if I want to see him again.
Of course I want to see him again. Just not like this.
Stella guides me into Luca’s room, where she keeps a watchful eye on me until she knows I’m okay.
Waves of nausea wash over me as I study Luca’s expressionless face. I take his hand and plead with him to squeeze it if he can hear me.
Nothing.
I keep asking until I begin imagining twitches. I stroke his face, starting at his eyebrows, stopping briefly at his mouth to remember his beautiful smile, across his jawline to his chin as I have done hundreds of times before.
Nothing. How can there be nothing?
I search the cupboard for Luca’s belongings and find my phone. I switch it on to play our favourite songs.
Still nothing.
The battery dies. I don’t want to think about dying.
TWENTY-THREE
At five o’clock, Paolo fills Rosetta in on the latest details as she catches a train to Florence. It’s almost eight o’clock before she comes hurrying down the corridor, her overnight bag slipping off her shoulder.
‘Mia, it’s good to see you,’ she says nervously. ‘There was a train strike,’ she says, as if she’s trying to make small talk and avoid the issue at hand: the fact that her brother is fighting for his life.
‘Train strike?’ I couldn’t care less about a train strike. She swallows nervously and takes a deep breath. She must be as nervous and distraught as I am—if not more.
‘Are you ready to see him?’ My voice is flat, void of emotion. Eye contact is too hard, so I walk towards Luca’s door. I hold it open for her, expecting her to follow, but when she doesn’t walk through it, I glance over and see that she’s still standing in the same spot.
God give me strength.
She bursts into tears right there.
‘It’s okay,’ I mouth. She doesn’t move. I suck in a deep breath and take the bag from her. She flings herself across my body. With gentle force I pry her away from me and tell her again, ‘It’s okay.’ This time she follows me into Luca’s room.
It’s so not okay.
I slip into the seat that’s practically moulded to the shape of my body, and as if there’s a magnet from my chin to my chest, my head drops. Forced to listen to her, my private bubble of hurt expands with every one of her high-pitched sobs. When I can’t stand it any longer, I leave the room without excusing myself. Needing some respite from the hospital room, I run past the nurses and through the main door. On the hospital steps I drop to my knees until a pair of shoes move into my line of vision. Leather. Freshly polished. They belong to a man. He places the weight of his hand on my shoulder, forcing me to raise my eyes to him.
‘Please, signorina Mia, get up. I’m an old man. I don’t have the strength to pick you up.’
‘I’m sorry, Signor Fiorelli, but please, with all due respect, I need to be alone right now.’
‘The people who care about you will help get you through this, Mia.’
‘How did you find out?’ I ask, looking up at him.
‘Stella told me. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you never lose hope.’
His tired hands reach down to mine and his eyes convey an unspoken plea to my heart. I bring myself to my feet and he slips my arm through his. With an air of grace, he walks me back through the hospital doors. We sit in the lounge area, neither of us exchanging words. I’m grateful for the silence. Once the light moves away from the windows, he stands up and tells me, ‘Whatever happens, you should continue painting, even if you feel you can’t.’
Somehow I manage to mutter the words, ‘Thank you.’ When I finally do look up, Signor Fiorelli is gone.
Later that evening, Clara shows up at the hospital, having heard what had happened from Silvio at the bar. The news is spreading, touching all those who hear it, as they drift to me in slow motion. As hard as they’re trying to be strong for me, I can smell the fear that lies underneath their tight embraces and squeezes of reassurance.
‘How is he doing?’ she asks.
‘No change. How was your holiday?’ I change the subject. I know my thoughts will flicker back to Luca as soon as I stop talking.
‘Wonderful. Bert’s transfer was approved,’ she says, smiling.
‘I’m happy to hear that. The boys must be ecstatic.’
She smiles politely with a hint of discomfort, which I attribute to the unpleasant circumstances in which we find ourselves. It’s hard to think of happiness in a sterile environment like this when things are so morose.
‘I’ve made a mess of things, Clara.’
‘Oh, Mia, what do you mean? Tell me what’s on your mind, love.’
‘I don’t even know where to start.’
‘Well,’ she says, taking a deep breath. ‘Sometimes it helps to start with the present. What are you feeling right now?’
‘Regret. Sadness. Like I’ve lost my best friend.’
‘I see. And what is your regret, Mia? What’s happened to make you feel this way?’
‘Everything was perfect, Clara. But looking back, I realise now that, all along, Luca was working so hard to help me see that life should be lived without dwelling on the past or worrying about an uncertain future. And I’ve been so caught up, held back by my past and what may or may not be in my future, that I lost it all. Him.’
‘What makes you think you lost him?’
‘I had a cancer scare in Positano. It turned out to just be an infection, but I ended things with Luca. And I can see it so clearly now, now that he’s in there, that trying to protect him from a life I thought would be too much for him was only going to hurt him more.’
‘I’m sure if the tables were turned he’d have felt the same way, possibly even reacted the same way.’
‘What if I don’t get a chance to fix this? What if he doesn’t wake up, Clara?’ I search her face for answers.
‘Sometimes, Mia, when life is uncertain, and the control is plucked out of our hands, all there is left to do is to pray. But know that no matter what happens, life goes on, even when it hurts so deeply that you think it can’t.’
She smiles warmly at me. ‘Would you like me to call your mother? Perhaps I could arrange for her to be with you during this time?’
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ I reply, trying to hold back the tears.
Clara reaches into her handbag for a pen and notebook and asks me to scribble down her number. ‘Leave this with me,’ she says, tucking the notebook back into her bag. She squeezes my hand, and I fold myself in her embrace, sobbing against her shoulder, suddenly aware of just how far away my mother actually is, and how close I’d like her to be.
Clara drives me home and warms up a bowl of soup that Stella had prepared earlier in the day. She glances at her watch. ‘Do you think your parents will be awake yet?’
‘Yes, they’ll be awake … though I think I should be the one to call them.’
Clara gives me a nod of reassurance and then lets herself out, promising she’ll come by again tomorrow.
Mum answers on the second ring. ‘Sweetheart, is everything okay? You don’t usually call at this hour.’
‘Everything’s …’
‘Mia?’
‘Not fine, Mum. Not fine.’ My voice quivers.
‘Hold on, honey, let me sit down. Your dad’s right here with me. I’ve got you on speaker.’
‘Remember when I went to Positano with Luca?’
‘Yes, did something happen there? Are you okay? You’re not …?’
‘I thought I was sick again, but no, I’m not … and … Mum, I’m so sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you and Dad by leaving and shutting you out of my life, especially after everything you did for me. I know this was wrong, so wrong, but … I thought that if I wasn’t nearby, you’d get used to what it might be like to live without me in case I …’
‘Oh, Mia.’ She pauses. ‘We know all of this
has been hard for you. And that it was going to take some time for you to process everything.’ She sniffles into the phone. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to come back to us,’ she says, choking up.
‘We knew you always would, pumpkin,’ Dad chimes in. The sound of his voice makes it impossible for me to hold it together.
I take a deep breath and reach for a tissue. ‘I didn’t know that was the wrong way to be strong. I thought I didn’t need you, but I do. And … I can see now … that you and Mum need me, too.’
‘Oh, honey,’ says Mum. ‘We love you so much.’
‘What happened in Positano?’ asks Dad.
I tell Mum and Dad about the accident, and how much I love Luca, and how uncertain his prognosis is right now.
‘You should go over there, Julie. What’s the time? We’ll sort out your ticket this morning,’ says Dad.
‘Mia, did you hear that? I’ll come right over. I’ll get the next available flight.’
‘I think you should wait. Until we know more … or how long … or if he …’ I try to hold back the tears. ‘I want you to come, but not now. Not yet. Not like this.’
‘I’m going to pray for him, Mia. Just like I did for you. I never stopped. Never for a single second. I want you to call me … every day. Let me know what’s going on, no matter how you’re feeling.’
‘That’s what I want, too, Mum.’
We say goodbye and I sit there, staring at the screen of my phone. Despite the physical distance, my parents suddenly feel closer to me than ever.
I haven’t been into the basilica since my first day in Impruneta. This morning, I quietly push the door open, and come face to face with Father Damiano.
He looks me up and down before he realises who I am.
‘I remember you, dear. Please, come and sit,’ he says. I join him in the back pew. ‘Your friends—Luca’s friends—you’re all in our thoughts and prayers. I’m sorry about Father Marco,’ he says. ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’ve explained the situation to him.’
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