by Holly Rayner
“I’m afraid so. Wealth, privilege, detachment from the common people, who are essentially viewed as a more valuable form of livestock by my father and his family.” He chuckled bitterly as he went out the door and over to the counter that served as his makeshift kitchen, shaking the kettle to check its water level. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.” I felt hollow inside. I dug into my pocket for the apple I had saved—and came out with something so bruised I knew at once I had fallen on it. “Oh.”
“Oh dear, did you accidentally make applesauce?” He got the kettle heating, then came back over and took the battered apple out of my hand. “I’ll just freeze this for actual applesauce later.” He replaced it with another, plump and rosy from a bowl on his counter.
I took a grateful bite.
“So half your family is a bunch of Italian big shots?”
“Technically, we’re not Italian. We gained independence in the 1800s.” The kettle started to hiss and sizzle. Vincenzo moved away from me again, stepping out into the main room to grab two mugs and put tea bags in them.
“I guess I’m a little confused,” I murmured, feeling exhaustion start to settle in now that the adrenaline rush was gone. “If you lived in such a beautiful place, with everything you could want, even if your dad’s family were jerks, did you have to live with them? You could have moved elsewhere on the island. Why leave completely?”
He smiled, strangely wistful. “Oh, many reasons, including the fact that my father and his mother tried to meddle in my affairs constantly. But what it essentially boiled down to was that my opportunities for pursuing medicine and helping others were far greater once I removed myself…from the gilded cage. Staying, the best I could have expected was to head a committee at the Ministry of Health—not practicing with actual patients. I wouldn’t have it, so I left.”
For a moment he looked like he was going to say more, but then he just quietly puttered through the cabinet and two drawers until he found a bowl of lump sugar. “Any sugar? I tend to brew my tea very strong.”
“Thanks, yes.” I could smell the black tea brewing from the other room now. I was fading and suspected that even with the tea, I would be asleep soon. But my leg hurt badly enough that I knew climbing the stairs was out. Maybe the clinic?
But that just reminded me of something. “Oh, boy. Yvonne needs someone to help her up to our room and down tomorrow now that I’m on the injured list.” I wondered how she was doing now. I hoped someone had told her about the blast so she wouldn’t feel that I had abandoned her.
“I’ll stop by her desk when I return to the clinic,” he said. “I’m certain she will understand, especially when I tell her about your injury.”
When the tea was ready, he disposed of the bags and dropped the lump sugar in, then brought me mine, armed with a tiny spoon that he handed me to stir the tea. “Here you are. How are you feeling?”
“The leg hurts less even after the disinfectant, thank you. I might want some ibuprofen if you have it.” I took the tea gratefully and stirred the dissolving sugar in.
The tea had an earthy, complicated flavor that surprised me. “What is this?”
“Pu’er,” he replied. “It’s black tea, but fermented and pressed into cakes. It was originally used to transport tea for trade and travel supplies. What do you think?”
I took another sip. “Not what I’m used to, but lovely. I’ll have to remember it.”
He settled in with his cup and we drank. He told me about fishing in the Mediterranean, about how the sun could put you to sleep at midday and winter was simply when the plants died. I listened, intrigued, noticing how he skipped over everything that might connect him with a more specific place than “an island off the coast of Italy.”
He wouldn’t name the island, but I knew that I could probably find it with an internet search. Maybe that was part of why he was constantly going to remote places—no internet access meant a harder time finding out who he was and where he was from. I didn’t know why he was quite so cautious about it, but it fit his pattern. It was almost as if he was hiding from someone.
That was crazy, though. I couldn’t imagine the man sipping tea in the chair beside the bed being afraid of anyone. Even his family mostly seemed to just frustrate or annoy him. I had never seen him show a hint of fear…
…except when I had woken up in his arms and seen him staring down at me worriedly.
“You really are an enigma,” I told him, and then yawned hugely, my exhaustion finally starting to catch up with me. Not really a surprise—on top of the bombing, I had started my shift before dawn and it had to be drawing near dusk.
He chuckled. “You sound as if you like that.”
“Oh…well, you know, as long as none of the secrets you’re keeping end up doing any harm, I can keep my curiosity to myself.” My smile went lopsided. “Mostly.”
His chuckle bloomed into a laugh—and then he grabbed my quarter-full mug as my head dipped forward sleepily and I nearly dropped it. “Oof! Looks like you’re ready for a nap.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I almost broke your mug.” I tried to sit up. “I should really get going. Not sure how I’m getting up the stairs…”
“You’re welcome to stay here if you like…”
I froze, blinking up at him, thinking not this again and then realizing no, that couldn’t possibly be what he meant. Not while I was recovering from impromptu surgery.
“Um…” I started. “Sorry?”
He chuckled and stood up. “I’ll take the floor, my dear. It’s no trouble.”
That didn’t sound very comfortable, but I let him take my mug. He helped me up and walked me back into his bedroom to tuck me in.
“Thank you,” I said sleepily as he finished arranging the blankets over and around me, and elevating my leg on some pillows.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied as he turned to walk out. “I’ll be back soon. Try and sleep.”
I was so tired that I never heard the trailer door open and shut.
I dreamed of Karla briefly, and strangely.
My cell phone was ringing, ringing, and I was at the duty desk filling in, unable to step away and answer it. I was waiting for Karla to come in for her morning shift and complain at me about the insane traffic or flat tire that had caused her lateness. Instead, my phone rang and rang, until finally I gave up and pulled it out.
There was a rushing sound like wind on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” I asked, wondering why I was having so much trouble focusing, and why my phone was now Karla’s ancient, tough Nokia.
I heard Karla’s voice faintly, hollowly, as if down a long tunnel. She only said one thing before I woke up.
“I never expected you to stop living because I did.”
When I opened my eyes, full darkness had fallen outside the one small window, and the room was dark as well. I heard rustling and a thump on the floor near my bed, and I rolled over to see poor Vincenzo wiggling around on the floor with his pillow and blanket, trying to find a comfortable position. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw the discomfort in his expression.
I giggled gently. “Are you going to be okay down there?”
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered—and then grunted in irritation as rolling over again made his back pop. It looked like he’d been trying this for some time. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine.”
I looked down at him, guilt flooding me. He worked hard too, and this time he ran to my rescue. I would have been left bleeding in the street otherwise. Maybe even died, if another rocket hit. And here I am taking up his bed, while he struggles on the floor. That’s not right.
I hesitated, afraid of giving the wrong impression. “I…look, there’s room for two up here, since we’re both just going to sleep.”
He sat up, blinking at me. “You’re certain you trust me under those circumstances?” His tone teased me—but he also sounded very, very relieved.
“Uh…” I bit my lip nervously but then simply nodded. “I’ve seen you help a lot of people, including me. I don’t want you losing a night’s sleep because there’s been some awkwardness. We’re friends, right?”
He smiled, barely visible in the dimness. “Right.”
“Well, come on then.” I patted the pillow beside me.
I closed my eyes as he climbed up, focusing on my fists clenching under the blanket instead of the bubbly feeling in my stomach. Calm down. He’s not going to do anything, I told myself—and the stab of disappointment that replaced the bubbles made me a little sad. But I had set a boundary, and he respected it, and right now, rest was more important than mulling over what might have been.
“I thought you would be uncomfortable with this,” he said quietly as he settled in.
“Not since you ran back, pulled me out of that rubble, and patched up my leg. I guess people show their true colors in a crisis.” There was still so much that I didn’t know about him, but I knew enough now to trust him with this.
He sighed as he laid his head on his pillow just behind me. “I suppose war changes everything.”
I swallowed dryness from my mouth. “It certainly shows you who people are.”
We went quiet after that, and soon he drifted off. Meanwhile, I lay there with my eyes wide open in the dark, cheeks prickling as I felt his breath blow warm and soft against the back of my neck. Yeah, this got complicated really fast.
I shifted so that I could lie there without my toes curling so hard that they cramped, but that just meant our hands brushed and sent an electric jolt up my whole arm. I closed my eyes and took a few steadying breaths, then tried rolling over.
Slices of moonlight trickled through the gaps in the blinds, illuminating Vincenzo’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful, his long lashes on his cheeks giving him a boyish look despite his size and build.
I watched his face for a long time as he slept.
Finally, I smiled, feeling a gentle warmth that was different from the toe-curling heat from before, as I slowly drifted off.
Chapter 14
Rose
I woke up alone in Vincenzo’s bed, and for a moment I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there. Then I shifted my leg and felt a little twitch of pain in my thigh, and I remembered. Oh. Right. I survived getting caught in an explosion yesterday evening.
And then…Vincenzo had saved me. Helped me home, tended my wounds, put me to rest in his own bed while trying to sleep on the floor. And I had invited him up to sleep beside me. And…
And he hadn’t pushed the issue of sex at all. He had never even touched me except to help me, and now was gone—off to the main room, where he was humming and making little clatters and clinks as he worked on something.
The smell of precious coffee drifted to my nostrils and my eyes widened. It had been months since our coffee stores had run out, and every last one of us had switched to tea, either local or the bulk stuff we were slowly running through that was only tolerable with enough sugar. But that hadn’t lessened my love of the sacred bean juice one bit.
I sat up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes, and heard Vincenzo puttering around in the front room. He started humming a tune I didn’t recognize; I heard the clink and running water of him washing out the mugs.
Where did he get coffee? I wondered. He must have brought it and squirreled it away for the first few weeks instead of drinking it. Or maybe he had brought a great deal and had it every morning. This deserves further investigation, I thought, mouth watering.
I swung my legs over to the floor and looked down at my bandaged thigh. Only a few blood drops had soaked through the cloth, and when I moved, the bandage didn’t stick to the wound. Okay. That actually seems like some progress.
I had slept very, very deeply on a real mattress for the first time in six months, and I knew, though it bothered me to admit it, that Vincenzo’s presence had helped, not hurt. Somehow, after everything, I felt safer with him. It just had taken me a while to come around. And he had certainly done a lot of proving himself yesterday—and last night.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “Let’s try this.”
I stood up gingerly, careful not to put too much weight on my injured leg. I tried a few steps—and limped, and went slowly, but I went, without leaning on anything.
“Good morning!” Vincenzo said cheerfully when he saw me emerge. “You’ll be happy to know that I got one of the other volunteers to room with Yvonne for the night, so she wasn’t stuck without help. How are you doing?”
“Better,” I admitted. My leg still hurt, but I found I could put at least some of my weight on it now without it hurting. “It’s just enough of a wound to be really annoying.” And slow me down. “I won’t be running any marathons anytime soon.”
“Well, that is better than it could have been. I’ll have a look at it before it’s time for my shift. Depending on how things go, however, you may need to use a cane today, just to take it as easy on that leg as possible. I’ll have one pulled out of storage for you. How do you like your coffee?”
All of this over a screw, I thought again and laughed a little. I suddenly really, really knew how Yvonne felt.
But Vincenzo was making it a lot easier on me—and now, he had coffee. “Strong, with as much sugar as you can toss into it. I’m a nurse, after all. We drink even more coffee than cops.”
“Ah, I see! Very well, then.” He pulled out the bowl of sugar lumps and set it next to the mugs he had just washed out. “I usually drink espresso, but I thought I would brew things American-style in case you didn’t like a caffeine pill in a cup.”
“I tend to sip my coffee,” I admitted as I limped over and took a seat. At the moment, though, my mouth was watering so much at the scent that I worried I might scald myself gulping it down. Tea provided that caffeine jolt and could be nice itself, but I had truly missed coffee.
Indeed, I had to force myself not to gulp when I took my first sip. “You’d better not let on that you have a coffee stash, or you’re going to end up with the entire staff at your door,” I warned Vincenzo.
He smiled and shrugged. “I only brought a few pounds of beans with me, so I only brew coffee for special occasions. Like surviving a bomb blast.” He winked as I winced and rolled my eyes.
“I’m actually surprised I came through with most of me intact,” I admitted. “I don’t think I stayed conscious longer than it took to hit the ground. I basically heard the bang, went over, and then there you were looking down at me.”
“At least you didn’t hit your head,” he pointed out. “I feel fortunate that I did not have to spend more time patching you back together.”
There was his confidence again, even bordering on arrogance—except I had seen the worry on his face when I had woken up after the explosion. It had only been a knock-down and a minor wound in an inconvenient place, but I would never forget looking up at him and wondering where the fear for me had come from.
He was right, though. War really did change everything. You learned who people were when you went through trials with them. And every trial I had gone through with him, I had admired him more.
“Yeah, me too. Also, a fracture-level faceplant would have taken a long time to heal.” During which I would have been useless to the others.
“It was a surprisingly small blast compared with last week’s. That poor shopkeeper will need a lot of help to rebuild, but only his building and a few other windows were damaged, and nobody was seriously hurt. A bit odd, really, especially since the battle had already stopped.”
“Yeah, that is pretty weird,” I said softly. “Did anything else happen yesterday?”
“We ran out of butter,” he said in a doleful tone.
I snorted. “Better that than running out of cooking fat altogether. That happened the first month I was here. Two weeks of boiled things and soup before the main office fixed it.” His mild look of horror made me snicker. “At least we can buy a little locally.”
“I suppose my plans for a lavish six-course meal are put on hold then,” he said so mock-dramatically that my snicker grew into a laugh. “How was walking?”
“Annoyingly slow, but I can do it. If you really can find me a cane today, I’d be grateful.”
We made small talk for a while as the sunlight outside the windows strengthened. He checked my wound, which was now a round, red-black scab.
“No sign of infection. No fever, no inflammation beyond normal wound-healing. How does it feel?”
I flexed my leg slowly and squinted. “Well, I don’t feel like it will tear open again, but the whole muscle is stiff and sore.” It wasn’t improving from stretching, either. It felt like the muscle had been tied in a knot right under the wound.
“That’s normal.” He fished a few packs of ibuprofen out of his pocket and slid them across the small table to me. “Inflammation is a part of healing. The damaged muscle fibers are re-knitting themselves, albeit slowly. That’s why not aggravating the wound is so important.”
I tore a packet open, swallowed the pair of pills with my coffee, and sighed. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Think nothing of it. I could hardly leave you untended. I’m already down the one nurse, remember?” His charming smile put me at ease—but I saw a flicker of worry in his eyes. Again.
“Any more noise from the front?” I asked. I couldn’t make out anything outside but the wind and the faint sound of the surf, but I was still a bit dull and fuzzy-headed from sleep.
“They appear to be taking the day off,” he said mildly. “The insurgents retreated back to the southern hills. No more casualties. Oh, and our friend with the head wound now has his mother here helping tend to him until he can come home.”
“Did he regain consciousness?” I asked.
“Yes, and he’s complaining about having to stay in bed, which as we all know, is the best possible sign.” He chuckled. “His mother nearly hugged me in half. She’s been embarrassing him clucking over him since yesterday evening.”