Animosity

by S. W. Frank

  Nothing trailed.

  "Okay."

  "I'll send the pilot for you on Sunday."

  "Cool."

  "How's Geo doing?"

  "I don't know, I mean this isn't the Geo I know."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Does Geo have anxiety?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "When he got popped in the head, did something you know, get damaged?"

  Nico had always thought his cugino had a screw loose. "Besides his pride, I don't think so."

  "Well, he was sweating bullets, like he was going into a snake pit this morning. He was scared shitless...literally petrified -word."

  Nico frowned. Ah, damn, yeah, the shooting. Sergio was right; Giuseppe began drinking more and avoided churches. He had said as much, but nobody listened.

  "Hey, is Geo around?"

  "Yeah, he's in the living room with guests."

  "All right, do me a favor, let him know I'm on the line and tell him I need to speak to him."

  "Call him on his phone."

  "No, he probably won't answer."

  "Alright."

  Nico turned the corner, going south instead of north in the event someone followed. He cruised for several kilometers, surveying the rearview mirror, and when satisfied spun the wheel southeast.

  "Cosa Nicolo?"

  "Ciao, Giuseppe, since you're being formal. I saw the news report. However you managed to swing that in your favor is genius cazzo."

  "The truth does not require a script."

  "I agree. Look Cugino, mi dispiace for putting you in this position. If I could've spared your sister-in-law I would've."

  "No Cugino you could not. I accept you could not and respect that you must do what may be very hard."

  "Grazie." Nico inhaled. "I've been hard on you too long, because I love you like a brother. We fight, you and I but Geo, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

  "Are you in micio?"

  Nico laughed. "That would be nice. No, I'm with a van full of kids heading back from the park."

  "Carlo is there, si?"

  "He's secured right behind me."

  "Is he okay?"

  "He is okay."

  "Does he ask for his Mama?"

  "He asks for his Papa."

  "Does he laugh?"

  "Every day."

  "Can you put me on speaker?"

  "Sure." Nico slid his cell in a secured docking port he set up near the armrest and the speakers automatically activated. "Go ahead; you're live in surround sound."

  "Buongiorno Carlo."

  "Papa! Papa!" Carlo shrieked excitedly.

  All the kids clapped, screaming hi in unison to their Uncle.

  Allie rolled her eyes, telling them to calm down before saying, "Hi Zio. I'm sorry about your wife. I'll bake you cookies every day when I return."

  "Grazie Allie, grazie."

  "Papa, I'm having fun. Can I stay longer?"

  "Sí. Papa misses you."

  "I miss you, too, ti amo Papa."

  "Ti amo mio Carlo."

  "Ti amo!" All the children yelled, instigated by the mischievous Allie.

  Giuseppe’s thunderous laugh was contagious. Nico found himself smiling. "All right minions, pipe it down."

  The children continued giggling.

  Nico disconnected the cell from the dock to put in the hands free portal on the dash to speak privately. "All right Geo, I have to feed these monsters. You take care of yourself and call me if you need anything."

  "Ha, cazzo, I believe it is you that will need an escape from the mayhem. Ciao cazzo!"

  Nico snickered; glad to hear Giuseppe’s spirit had lifted after speaking to his son.

  "Uncle Nico?" Allie said, pulling on his headrest to talk to the back of his head.

  "Yeah, cutie."

  "Can we stop for hamburgers and french fries? Please, please, please."

  "Yeah!" The children shouted. "Please -please -please!"

  "Only because you said please."

  They hooped and bounced in the car, he looked in the rearview mirror at the twins he watched born into the world. In Allie, he saw the image of Selange and his heart fragmented.

  What if Selange died?

  How would they cope with the loss?

  How would he deal without art?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Alfonzo sat in the hospital’s chapel during Selange’s surgery, legs spread wide, torso bent, head down, staring at the floor.

  His eyes didn’t rise.

  The darkness outside the walls had bright flickering stars. Contradictions existed in many things, even the spirit. He was sullen, yet hopeful.

  The outcome of his wife’s operation depended on the skill of doctors and the Overseer upstairs. He hadn’t come to the spiritual place to ask a favor. He visited to search his soul.

  He had stayed true.

  When he recited those marriage vows as a mature man, he committed without reservation and an understanding of the sacrifices required protecting the sacrament of his marriage.

  He forgave her and himself and moved on.

  Yeah, he had.

  Others hadn’t.

  He honored his word.

  He stayed strongly devoted.

  His eyes were open, a man in a trance, real honest in the quiet.

  There wasn’t an iota of doubt about his love.

  He was knocked on his ass but stood up as a man for what he loved. If there were music, harpsichords would play on the day he lay still as stone.

  The worry pressed on his head.

  Alfonzo expelled the turmoil brewing.

  “Let her be okay…let her be okay.” He breathed and then gritted his teeth. His shoulders hunched and his head drooped in submission. “I need her.”

  A fervent affirmation to remain upright as a father, husband, brother, son, cousin, and friend screamed violently in his mind. The oratory he recited was a free flow from a faithful man.

  ‘I’ve bent knees, felt swords gut me out,

  Did I cry of loss or bleed out my honor?

  I’ve bent knees, felt bullets bore me open,

  Did I keep a promise or wilt in shame?

  I’ve bent knees, felt hate defile my name,

  Did I stand on mountains or crumble in ruin?

  I’ve bent knees, felt hope lifting me higher,

  Did I stand on strong will or fall bereft?

  I’ve bent knees to stand a faithful man,

  Delivered.’

  How long did he sit? He sat until the hours passed and the Doctor found him.

  “The operation went well. Your wife is in the recovery room. You can visit now.”

  Alfonzo rose tall. When he hurried to see his wife, she was awake, hung-over from the anesthesia but she managed to smile.

  He kissed her cheek and stayed at her bedside being strong. Once Selange was transported to a private room, he sat, closed his eyes and then finally rested.

  • • • • • •

  Alfonzo slid up when the door clicked open and a nurse entered to take his wife’s vitals the next morning.

  He hoped, the cancer never returned.

  He rolled the knots out of his neck, quietly yawning.

  The nurse exited, he stood, stretched his limbs while peering at the sleeping figure with affection.

  They had decided not to tell the children. She didn’t want them to worry. He understood. Parents are invincible in the minds of kids, and she didn’t want to shatter that illusion.

  The sun slowly appeared and his wife’s eyes opened and they radiated health.

  “Good morning honey,” she croaked.

  “Good morning, are you feeling okay?”

  “Not too bad.”

  “Well, you look awfully good,” he grinned.

  “So do you. Why don’t you go to a hotel and get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you return.”

  “Nah –nah, I’m not leaving.”

  She smiled, closed her eyes and conked
out again.

  The medication must be strong, he figured.

  He lingered there, digging in his brain for the poet’s verse from yesterday’s reading. The poet’s wife had battled cancer for years. Unlike, Selange, though, the cancer had been detected at a late stage.

  She died but the love remained.

  ‘This ache is vast my dear,

  For your sweet wide smile,

  Vastly my dear heart cries,

  For you –my smiling dear.’

  Short, poignant and hauntingly sad.

  He went to piss and wash away his night breath to welcome their fresh start.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Surgeon stood over Selange’s bed, wearing a white coat and optimistic smile. His eyes were red-rimmed, but bright despite his fatigue.

  “I had another surgery this afternoon and I wanted to stop in to check on you. How are you feeling?” he asked Selange.

  There was a dull pain to her chest, and the pain medication had slowly faded but her head was clear. “I’m good. Did you get it out? Will I have more time with my family?”

  He smiled. Doctors are people. They judge, but they also feel empathy. She supposed when he said, “You’ll have more years than some,” it was because he’d seen cancer kill many he tried to save.

  “Thank you.” She surveyed the room. Alfonzo had gone to the cafeteria to buy fruit. She was glad he wasn’t present for the private talk. He worried so much about her, sometimes the burden showed. “I hope there wasn’t anyone that needed an immediate operation and you delayed their surgery because of me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He placed his hands on the rail. “I fit you in. I am an ethical man in that regard.”

  She nodded. “What happens next as far as my treatments go?”

  “Well, during the lumpectomy we did a sentinel node biopsy and that was negative.”

  “What’s a sentinel node biopsy?”

  “The glands under your armpit were evaluated to determine if the cancer had spread to your lymph nodes. The good news is the sentinel nodes were clear. This means it hadn’t.”

  “Yes, that is good news.”

  “Will I need chemotherapy?”

  The corners of his eyes creased. She saw kindness there and longed for her father in that moment. “The lumpectomy involved removing the cancerous tissue along with a portion of normal tissue in the surrounding area. It’s not curative. You were given intraoperative radiation. Today you’ll receive another dose of partial-breast radiation as a preventative treatment plan. I took the liberty to order an Oncotype DX test, which is a more concise predictor whether chemotherapy will be beneficial. In my expert opinion, it’s not required. I’ve asked for a rush on the pathology reports and if there’s anything alarming, I’ll notify you. However, I’m confident with your early stage; we’ve eradicated any chance of recurrence. To be sure, after all I am not all knowing, I do know a lot but I can’t predict the future. That’s why you’ll follow-up every three to six months for about three years and optimistically, we won’t meet again.”

  She smiled at his attempt at humor.

  Then she inhaled.

  The Surgeon’s eyes softened. He’d seen many relieved patients after they received a positive prognosis and those that were profoundly devastated by the rate of their cancer’s aggression. Several of his relatives had succumbed to the disease. He had also survived the affliction. He was a Doctor that practiced being humane.

  She hiccupped. “Excuse me,” she said covering her mouth as the burning to her eyes commenced.

  “It’s alright. I can tell you’re a very strong woman and it’s okay you know…to cry.”

  Selange allowed tears to fall in her lap. Sometimes she wondered if it was less cruel to die instantly than have such a scare, that it debilitated the future. She didn’t want to Walk for Cancer or wear a pink ribbon, she wanted to run and kick its ass so no other person would suffer this way.

  She smeared the tears into her skin and then laughed when the Surgeon waved a tissue in front of her face as if he surrendered. She took it, blew her nose and exhaled.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much.”

  Then he patted her knee. “You’ll be released tomorrow. Don’t worry. There’ll be minimal scarring, no noticeable deformity to the breast.”

  “That doesn’t concern me. My husband and I consider scars beautiful; it shows we’ve survived the cuts.”

  “You’re damn right babe!” Alfonzo exclaimed as he entered carrying a bag and paper cup.

  The Doctor chuckled and then took his leave.

  • • • • • •

  A couple of days in Greece had Nico antsy.

  Selange had surgery on Monday. He hadn’t spoken to Al since and with Giuseppe’s troubles, Nico was tempted to fly out and check on everybody.

  However, he remained stationary. The children needed a solid foundation, while their parents stood on shaky ground.

  Apparently, Giuseppe managed to emerge smelling like roses from a pile of manure. The media bought that devastated husband crap. The cazzo almost had him convinced by the act.

  Natalie and her daughters saw a photo op. Nico supposed they needed the publicity for their lukewarm careers. Madeline and Evangeline were there. He sighed. His half-sisters resembled their mother.

  As he told Sergio, he couldn’t risk having his photo taken by law enforcement. They were undoubtedly in the vicinity, getting footage of the associates in attendance.

  Nico checked the police database regularly, both the domestic and international networks for impending warrants, stings, anything of that nature which might involve his family.

  He scoffed. The cyber security for most government agencies sucked. Their firewalls never posed a challenge. In fact, he hacked those so-called high security sites often. They deserved a scathing note regarding their continued incompetence and failure to protect their employees from identity theft.

  Nico sucked in the air, strolled to the tree on the edge of Lorenzo’s property and surveyed the night as everyone slept.

  He conked out on the floor while talking to the older boys after he coaxed Alexandros to stop crying. Eventually the child fell asleep. When Nico awakened, he trudged to the bedroom and discovered the girls had taken over.

  Ari’s body was the railing with Semira in the center, clutching a pillow, face toward Angie whose arm lay in a line across the empty space where Nico wanted to lay.

  He had smiled, and then decided to take a walk around the grounds.

  As he leaned on the tree, he reminisced.

  He’d visited Greece many times, stood in solitude in Ayia Sophia, and explored the ancient ruins in Corinth, gone to Epidaurus to sit in one of the oldest ancient healing centers in the world during a period when he contemplated exiting life to preserve it.

  There were days when the somber child appeared, angry that he lived in torment, believing for many years The Butcher had sought to drown him as an infant when it had been his crazy mother. The man that raised him died alongside Carlo without hearing Nico express affection.

  Those things one cannot recapture. Even Vincenzo, that reckless cazzo thought he could pay for his sins. The death of Selange’s dad that occurred because of his substance abuse was over –done.

  Vincent faltered that day. Hadn’t he?

  Nico’s jaw clenched.

  “You wanted to protect Al, but you were also trying to save me, weren’t you?”

  Maybe, they were all trying to save each other but drowning in the effort.

  The problem was he didn’t like hiding how much he worried about Selange. A man doesn’t intimately know a woman and then forget what drew him to her essence unless he’s callous.

  If he confided to Ari that he wanted to check on Selange and to sit with Al for a while, she’d accuse him of wanting to be with the woman. The family dissension over their affair had broken trusts, which he worked hard to rebuild. He behaved indifferent toward Selange to app
ease every one.

  However, he did care that she suffered.

  Nico had an intimate relationship with Selange’s disease.

  Cancer was a villainous robber of a person's good health. He witnessed how it wilted Luzo to nothing and the agile man atrophied. The attempt to stay strong when he suffered loss of mobility had stricken Alberti, Carlo and the entire family.

  Nico had not been immune.

  He had been Luzo’s muscle, right up until the day he instructed him to guard his thirteen-year-old son.

  Nobody ever asked Nico, how he felt when Luzo died.

  Nobody ever cared about his feelings except Alfonzo and that wife of his.

  This wasn’t the time for sore wounds to fester open. Nevertheless, they would, unless he remained distant.

  Cold and unfeeling is what they all wanted. When he loved, it was forceful because the heat felt comforting.

  Nico halted to tilt his head to the stars. His first love lived there. Maybe, since she possessed a good spirit, she’d grant an old flame a favor and spare a similar woman, Luzo’s fate.

  Nico, the insensitive, the despised and maligned, bowed his head. For whatever heinous acts committed, he prayed strongly for forgiveness from his family.

  His arrogance killed Anna and he couldn’t lose any more family.

  The surge of emotion hit as violently as a tropical storm. Nico's eyes roamed the landscape, and settled on his nephew’s house.

  Safe harbor slept there.

  Semira’s bright smile confirmed he was not a lost cause.

  An epiphany quieted the discourse.

  He strode to where his greatest loves dwelled.

  Under dimmed lights on the main floor, he sank on the sofa and retired the worry. His guardianship was required wherever his heart resided. He wanted to be everything for his children and Ari.

  A grin, spread.

  That image of Ari busting her ass ignited a string of hearty chuckles.

  “Ah,” he sighed, as he thought of his adorably troublesome wife. “Ah sweetheart, the wasted years are over.”

  Nico stretched out on the sofa, deliberating on a gift for the uncoordinated lawyer. He figured anybody that can turn Allie into an ally deserved a trophy.

  He smirked when he thought of the perfect present.

  Pop! Pop pop pop!