by Ruth Hay
“Your mother has supported this family for years while I worked to build up my reputation as a free-lance photographer. You do not realize how much of this home and everything you take for granted, depends on your mother’s hard work and determination.
It’s time for you to grow up, Lucy. You will go to Italy with your mother and you will help her in any way you can while you are there. I expect you to make an attitude adjustment starting right now and to begin with an apology when your mother comes home tonight.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open in surprise. Her father never spoke to her in this way. She had always been able to twist him around her little finger whenever she wanted to. This was a new father and Lucy did not know how to react to him.
Before she could decide how to respond, her father softened his tone, smiled, and reached out his hand to cover her own which she realized was trembling in some kind of shock.
“Look at it this way, Lucy-Lou, you get to have a holiday in a beautiful place, meet some family, tour about a bit and even miss some school. Now what’s so awful about that?”
Lucy grinned at the baby name her father had used. When she looked at the situation from that perspective, there was some truth in what he said. Surely she could endure her mother’s company for two weeks without splitting a gut, and she would be working her way back into her father’s good graces into the bargain.
Paul watched his younger daughter with some trepidation. He knew he had chosen to approach her with a different tactic in the hopes she would appreciate his trust in her, but nothing was ever for certain with Lucy. He watched as doubt and surprise took their turn on that remarkable face. She did not yet realize how transparent her emotions were. Paul could see beneath the teenage pout and the exaggerated make-up, the fine bones and remarkable colouring of his wife’s Italian heritage. Lucy was going to emerge as an elegant, beautiful woman one day soon and perhaps then she would be more sympathetic to her mother.
Paul saw the moment when Lucy’s decision was made. His shoulders relaxed a fraction in anticipation of a positive result.
“It’s a deal, Pops! I’ll do my best but I can’t promise to like it.”
“That’s good enough for now. Let’s eat! I’m starving!”
Chapter Five
Susan had never felt so uncomfortable and out of her depth in her entire life. She was accustomed to being in charge of most situations but this was something new for her and she did not like it in the least.
First of all, she was not a medical expert although she had learned a great deal from watching Jake as he battled his MS symptoms over the years. She had accompanied him to endless doctor appointments and helped him when he went through the depression that inevitably accompanied a downturn in his ability to cope with deteriorating muscle strength.
On reflection, she recognized that the turning point was when Jake had to accept the necessity of a wheelchair. His feet became so cold that his balance was unsure. He was so afraid of the ‘drop-foot’ syndrome and his fears began to take over his thoughts.
Through all these stages, Susan had managed to cope quite well, she thought, but now everything had changed.
The support group for MS that Jake had found online had become a militant force, determined to find a way around the Canadian health system’s reluctance to prove definitively that CCSVI was, or was not, a genuine factor causing multiple sclerosis. After much debate, the group had decided to visit Ferrara University and see for themselves whether or not Dr. Paolo Zamboni’s procedure could help them.
Susan had allied herself with the spouses and partners of the group who were reluctant to take this action. All of them understood the financial costs involved in a two or three week stay in Italy as well as the possible disappointment that could result from a negative experience.
These concerns, however, paled in comparison to the risk that the MS patients would take if they elected to accept the treatment and undergo the procedure.
Susan had extracted a solemn promise from Jake that he would not take the option of flying off to a clinic in Costa Rico, India or Mexico. She was so afraid of disreputable medical tourism and had tried to persuade Jake to enroll in one of the U.S. clinics but he would not wait any longer. The best she could negotiate was this deal in Italy which the MS group insisted was primarily an investigation at the site of the original discoveries, not necessarily a treatment opportunity.
And so, Susan woke up each day in a small hotel, almost exclusively occupied by the Canadians, a few miles from the centre of Ferrara. She could hardly believe she was here. She tried to keep herself calm by staying away from the hospital as much as possible. The accompanying spouses took turns escorting their partners in a hired van which allowed the others some time away from the fraught atmosphere of the clinic. Susan tried short excursions by bus in the surrounding area but found she could not concentrate on the countryside or the historic old towns. Her mind was preoccupied with worry about what might be decided while she was off trying to enjoy herself.
The talk around the dinner tables each night became more and more enthusiastic as the returning Canadian delegation described the people they had met and the positive stories they had to tell of restored energy and clearer thinking. What bothered Susan the most about this hype was that some of the patients were returning for their second or third vein unblocking and some had stents replaced. She knew enough to understand the danger of blood clots in repeat procedures and her heart missed a beat at the thought of Jake’s involvement.
At the same time, she had to admit the group was having a very positive effect on her husband’s attitude. It had been years since she had seen him so fired up about his prospects for recovery. After the evening meal, the Canadians sat around reviewing the day’s activities and Susan watched in amazement as Jake, who was never able to stay up past 8:00 pm at home, discussed medical details well into the night.
There was only so much of this Susan could stand. She would slip out of the lounge and fetch her coat so that she could sit outdoors. The evenings were a little cool although the afternoons were warm and comfortable.
“Quite like our Ontario Octobers,” she said to the moonlit sky as she pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed Anna’s number. Within seconds she heard Anna’s voice. They had arranged a convenient time for calls before Susan left home.
* * *
“How are things, Susan?”
“Oh, Anna, I’ve never been so homesick in my life. Every day we spend here is like a month.”
“But it’s not a bad place you are staying at. Am I right?”
“No, that’s not it at all, Anna. Thanks to you, I don’t have any money worries at the moment. The accommodation is fine, it’s just that I am afraid Jake will get approval for the procedure to go ahead one of these days and there will be nothing I can do about it.”
“So he’s had all the tests now?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound very confident about the results.”
“I think they will say he’s a good candidate, whether he is or not. I can’t judge if this
place is legitimate. It looks like a regular hospital facility and there are caring people
working there but I just don’t know. Every day makes the risk worse.”
“It sounds like every day adds to your stress, Susan. You need to take care of yourself.
What would happen to Jake if you were to take sick?”
“Don’t even go there, Anna. I can’t think about the future. I am in limbo here.
Everything, and everyone, I know is so far away.”
“Well, I have some cheerful news on that score, Susan. Maria and Lucy are coming to Italy.”
“Good grief! Why?”
“Well, Paul decided they both needed some time away and he contacted her family,
then made all the arrangements before Maria had time to change her mind.”
“I always said that man was a treasure! I feel better just knowing one of m
y
Samba friends is within reach. Where are they staying?”
“Maria says they will be at the family villa outside Bologna. She told me to tell you to join them if you can, but if not, she has your numbers and will call soon.”
“Anna, you have no idea what a relief it is to hear this. You’ve given me a ray of hope
in the darkness.”
“Good! It wouldn’t compare to the help you have given me over the years, dear friend.
Now, get some rest and things will be better tomorrow. Alina sends her love.
Goodnight, Susan.”
The journey to Italy had started more smoothly than Maria had expected. Lucy was exhausted from telling and re-telling the story to all her friends about how she was being forcibly removed from hearth and home to venture forth to a foreign land against her will and without a clue where she would be for two whole weeks! Eventually, the friends grew tired of her complaints and told her to get a life, whereupon she turned her attention to choosing clothes for the trip and that had occupied every waking minute until they departed for the ride to Toronto.
As soon as the plane took off, Lucy’s head fell back and she dropped into the zombie-like state of oblivion that only teenagers can command.
Maria was delighted. No confrontations for the duration of the plane trip and she could relax.
Under the seat in front of her was a briefcase full of papers, maps and ideas for shopping trips and other places Lucy might enjoy. There had been no time to share this information with her daughter. That would come after they were settled in the villa.
Maria wondered how Lucy would adjust to living in the country without the amenities she was used to in Canada. She would not like sharing a room with her mother, for a start. The villa was occupied by a variety of Maria’s older relatives. The number varied from season to season but Maria’s mother in Toronto had assured her the aunts were delighted to welcome family from Canada and space would be available for them “subito!”
It had been years since Maria had visited the villa in the countryside outside Bologna. The last time was with Paul in the summer. The girls were in Toronto with their grandmother and all Maria could remember of that holiday was sleeping late in Paul’s arms, afternoon naps after huge meals outdoors and more wine than she usually consumed in a year. It was wonderful. Why didn’t we come back again, she wondered. Why not? Where does all the time go?
This trip would not be so easy, but Maria was determined to forge a new understanding with Lucy no matter what it took. They would arrive at the Bologna Marconi Airport in a few hours and a short drive by taxi would take them to the old town in the hills.
I hope it all goes smoothly, thought Maria as she drifted off to sleep.
Lucy hardly remembered arriving at the villa. It was dark and there were no streetlights. In fact there were no real streets as far as she could see. The taxi chugged up a winding road to the top of a hill with its load of luggage and each time it went around a bend the road seemed to narrow even more. It was difficult to make out the buildings they passed on the way. The shapes were not familiar to Lucy and she couldn’t determine whether they were houses or churches, although she thought there were probably way too many of the latter. There didn’t appear to be anything resembling a store that she would recognize as such. It looked like shutters covered all the windows and everyone was asleep early.
Finally the taxi stopped. Her mother got out of the car to pay the driver and Lucy walked toward the steps in front of the large door in the wall that stretched to her left and right and rose upward for two more storeys. There was a dim lantern over this door and lights in some upper level windows, but when the door burst open in front of her she was dazzled by a blaze of electric light from the interior and before she could step back she was engulfed in the strong arms of three old women who exclaimed over her, patted her cheeks and kissed her over and over. All she could understand from their excited speech was, “Bella Lucia! Bella Lucia!”
After she had been forcibly passed around the group one more time, a younger woman took her hand, separating her from the trio who now turned their attention to Lucy’s mother.
Pointing to herself and saying, “I am Angela,” the woman led Lucy up a stone staircase to a bedroom and, smiling widely, she left the room stating that she would return soon.
Lucy could hear loud chatter coming from the lower level but as she could not understand one word, she turned from the door to see what the room contained, other than the one large bed with a shiny brass railing at the head of it. She quickly decided there wasn’t much more to see.
A low bench, padded with worn cushions, sat under each of the shuttered windows. There was a wooden dressing table with a huge, ancient mirror balanced on top, a carpet under the bed covering only part of the stone floor and on one wall, a narrow door. Through this she found a cupboard for clothes and a small washroom with a bath and no shower.
While she was washing her face and hands she heard the noises of the bedroom door opening and cases being placed on the floor. By the time she had found the towels and dried her hands, the room was empty again.
No mother appeared, so Lucy lay down on the bed to test its softness. Her head sank back into two oversized pillows and before she had realized that she was sharing this bed with her mother, she had fallen into a deep sleep.
Hours later, Lucy’s eyes sprang open. At first she panicked. Nothing was familiar in the half-dark of the room. Where was she and what had awakened her? She pushed the cover aside and found she was still dressed in her travel clothes minus the shoes.
A low moan coming from her right alerted her to the fact that she was not alone in the bed.
After a brief moment of horror, she recognized her mother’s face under a tousled mass of dark hair. Leaving the bed without waking her mother was top priority, so Lucy slid quietly out at her side of the high bed and feeling around with her bare feet, she found her shoes.
She debated whether she could use the washroom and decided the thick door would muffle any noises. A quick splash with cold water, chased away the last of her confusion and a moment later she was out of the bedroom and heading down the stairs on tiptoe.
“Sure saves time in the morning when you don’t have to get dressed first,” she murmured to herself, and discovered a sense of anticipation welling up as she contemplated exploring this new place on her own. She searched her memory for clues about the villa but she could hardly remember any details from her previous visit as a child. A vague sense of space and open country was all she could summon. As for the old women in the villa, she thought the identical ancient crones had been there the last time, looking exactly the same, although that hardly seemed possible.
The huge front door was barred but not locked. A survey of the simple mechanism revealed that it could be opened easily and quietly. No one was in the open kitchen nearby so she slowly raised the heavy wooden bar and let it swing down out of the way.
Escape was on her mind but escape where? She was stuck here for an endless amount of time and an hour without her mother’s company seemed a good start to the endurance race.
She soon found a way around the building leading to the back of the property. Peering into the French doors she saw the kitchen again but as it was still empty she moved to the patio area where a huge table with an assortment of wooden chairs rested under a canopy of leaves trailing over an old frame. No one would see her here and she could look around without being disturbed.
The morning air was cool and a mist blanketed the valley below the villa. Lucy pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked the time. It couldn’t be 2:00am she thought; there’s some light in the sky. Then she remembered the time difference between North America and Europe.
“No point in phoning home yet,” she concluded reluctantly, “but I can text my gal pals, although they won’t be able to respond for hours.”
It felt strange to be so out of touch. The lifeline to her school friends
was a compensation that usually kept her sane when things at home got out of hand. She could always count on a sympathetic text or two to cheer her up and assure her she was not wrong in her outrage at her mother’s demands. Privately, Lucy believed none of her friend suffered interference the way she did. Their mothers were not on their case every minute of the day like her mother was.
This thought caused acid to roll into Lucy’s stomach. How was she going to survive this trial?
If they couldn’t get along together at home with her mother out of the house a lot of the time, how on earth were they going to manage in each other’s close company for weeks?
Shrugging off this grim thought, she leaned back against the wooden struts of the uncomfortable chair and watched as the first rays of sunshine evaporated the mist.
Now she could see a grove of small trees advancing down the slope. Could they be olives or vines? There were no houses nearby. The town must be on the other side of the hill. She was just wondering if this house was the highest around when a noise from behind her caused her to sit up suddenly, overturning the chair which proceeded to deposit her body onto the paved patio.
Before she could cry out, a strong pair of hands appeared under her armpits and she was lifted up into another chair. Someone tall removed the offending chair and simultaneously apologized in English.
“I am so sorry. That chair should have been used for firewood long ago. It has never been steady. Are you all right?”
Lucy opened her mouth to reply and found she was staring at an attractive young man with a concerned expression on his tanned face.
“Where did you spring from?” she asked.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he replied, with a partial bow which shocked Lucy more than his sudden appearance had done. “I am Maurizio. The old aunties asked me to look after you this morning before I go to school in Bologna. I have coffee in my Vespa. Wait one minute!”
