by Ruth Hay
Maurizio vanished around the end wall of the villa and Lucy tried to pull herself together in the attempt to improve on the clumsy first impression she had given this stranger. He must be older than me she thought, but he is a definite bonus this morning.
Maurizio returned with two coffees in containers, much like the Starbucks Lucy was familiar with at home.
“Where did you get these?” she inquired.
“Ah, there’s a small café in town. I always buy one there in case the road to Bologna is busy and I have to wait in a queue.”
As she removed the lid from the fragrant coffee, Lucy realized how hungry and thirsty she was.
She took a quick sip and complimented her companion on his excellent English.
“Grazie, Lucia! I am studying English Literature for my Comparative Literature degree. I will converse with you in English, if you don’t mind.”
I don’t mind at all, thought Lucy, as she automatically pushed her shoulder-length hair into its most flattering, face-framing style. It was then she remembered how gross she must look. Her make-up was washed off, her hair was hanging free of the essential glossing product and she was wearing the travel clothes she had actually slept in.
Lucy surreptitiously pulled down her jeggings and lowered the zip on the awful sweatsuit jacket she was wearing so that the cute lace-trimmed top underneath would at least give a hint of the style she usually favoured.
Maurizio hardly seemed to notice, however. He was checking his watch and making his apologies for leaving so soon.
“I must go now, Lucia. I will see you soon, no?”
“Yes, definitely!” replied Lucy. “Thanks for the coffee, Maurice.”
Oh, God! I even messed up his name, she shuddered inside, concealing the gaff with her biggest smile. Maybe he didn’t hear me? I hope not. She lowered her head while the blush receded from her cheeks and she did not dare to look up until he was gone.
“Oh, there you are Lucy! I was wondering where you got to. You were sound asleep when I got upstairs last night so I didn’t want to wake you. How are you feeling? How did you get coffee? The zii, that means aunties, are just firing up the espresso maker now and the smell is divine.”
Lucy tried to focus on her mother’s questions but she was still dazed by the vision of Maurizio with his athletic build under a leather bomber jacket and those beautiful dark eyes complimented by equally dark hair and eyebrows. She was already planning to wow him at their next meeting with a totally transformed version of the gruesome hag he had just met.
“Uh, I’m fine. Maurizio brought the coffee. Who is he?”
“Probably one of the cousins, Lucy. There are so many of them I can’t keep track.
Can I get you some breakfast? A lightly-scrambled egg perhaps?”
“No thanks. I think I’ll go for a shower now. I need to wash my hair and change my clothes.”
With this brief statement, her daughter disappeared through the patio doors.
Maria breathed a sigh of relief. She had been expecting a litany of complaints from Lucy starting with the sleeping arrangements, including the lack of a shower, and ending with the isolated location, but as that had not transpired, Maria had a space to refine the itinerary for the next few days. She pulled out the folders she had brought and concentrated on locations that might amuse or interest her daughter. Everything depended on making this time together as pleasant as possible. Her own business agenda must take second place to winning back Lucy’s trust and affection.
Chapter Six
“Susan, it’s Elaine. I’m calling from the hospital. You’d better come right away.
Jake has had some kind of collapse. I can’t understand the details yet, but he is unconscious. Get a taxi. It will be faster than waiting for me to bring the van back.”
* * *
Susan’s first thought was gratitude that she had not wandered off from the hotel this afternoon, and that she had kept her cell phone on while dozing outside in the sunshine.
She quickly stood up and grabbed her purse from the side of her chair, praying that Signora Margherita, the hotel manageress, whose English was good, would be available to help her get a taxi. Every word of Italian that Susan had acquired in the last three weeks had flown from her mind in the panic she was now feeling.
What if Jake died before she could reach him? What if his last memory of her was the fight they had had that morning? What if she was right and this whole crazy enterprise was doomed?
What if she was stranded here with a body to deal with?
This last dire thought shook Susan to the core. What was she thinking? She had no idea what the situation with Jake actually was. Why was she jumping to conclusions and imagining worst-case scenarios? She should be concentrating on Jake, not on herself.
Somehow she had reached the hotel office where she found the signora bent over her computer keyboard. In a few seconds the older woman had understood the urgency of Susan’s request and contacted a local man who would drive her to the hospital.
It was the longest ride of Susan’s life. Every time the driver braked for any reason, her heart beat so rapidly she thought it would burst from her chest. She was experiencing guilt, fear and anxiety in increasing measures.
The ten-minute journey in the mid afternoon through relatively-quiet streets to the centre of town was without incident despite Susan’s dread of any delays. She did not breathe deeply, however, until the hospital buildings loomed above them.
As soon as the car stopped, she threw open the door, shouted a fervent “Thank you!” and fled through the hospital’s heavy double doors to the interior. It was only then she realized the driver had taken her to a different entrance than the one where the Canadians usually arrived at Dr. Zamboni’s clinic.
Now began a nightmare race through the hospital’s corridors to reach the opposite side of the facility. Every time she thought she was heading in the wrong direction again, she would grab the arm of the nearest person and say, “Please, Doctor Zamboni?” Her state of panic must have been obvious as she always received a pitying look and a pointed hand indicating the correct way to go.
At last she saw the clinic’s sign and rushed forward falling into Elaine’s arms, too exhausted to speak.
“My God, Susan, you look awful! Sit down here and catch your breath. I just checked with the nurse and Jake has recovered consciousness. He is asking for you but you can’t see him in this state. You’ll only make things worse for him.”
Elaine told Sylvia to get a cup of water from the dispenser, and as soon as Susan had sipped the cool contents she dipped a handkerchief into the remaining water then patted Susan’s overheated face until she had calmed down.
“Tell me what happened to Jake. “
As Elaine and Sylvia exchanged glances over her head, Susan tried to assure them that she was much better now and could take the truth, whatever it was.
“Well,” began Elaine, hesitantly, “we were all in the waiting room watching television until the nurse supervisor could tell us the results of last week’s tests. Someone switched from the Italian version of the Y&R that we were watching and laughing at, like we always do, and there on the screen was a documentary in English about Chronic Cerebrospinal Venous Insufficiency.
We all stopped laughing and moved closer to the television so we could hear every word.”
“So, what does that have to do with Jake’s collapse?” Susan looked from one face to the other seeking an answer. Sylvia was the one to reply to her request.
“Look, Susan, we had no idea what the program would say about the liberation therapy. If we had, we would have turned the whole thing off before our guys and gals heard it but by the time we understood the message they were giving, it was too late.”
“Too late for what? What are you talking about?”
“It turns out that a Canadian man has died from the procedure. That’s the bottom line and that’s what shocked Jake so much.”
“Someone died? Here?
Recently?” Susan’s reaction was impatience with the slow drip of information she was being fed.
“No, no it was a clinic somewhere in Costa Rica. The patient had a balloon angioplasty like Jake wants, but it didn’t work, so he requested a stent to open up the veins. His wife said he died of a blood clot.”
“The poor woman! How horrible for her. Can you please take me to see Jake now?”
Elaine and Sylvia were glad to hand Susan over to the care of a nurse who was stationed by Jake’s bed in a treatment room.
Jake’s eyes were closed but he opened them as soon as he heard his wife’s voice.
“I’m fine, Susan. Don’t worry. I’ll be out of here as soon as you are ready to go.”
Susan could not speak for fear her tears would overwhelm her but she gave Jake a head-to-toe inspection and noted the normal colour in his cheeks. She could not see any tremors or twitches so she bent down and delivered as gentle a hug and kiss as she could summon, given her huge sense of relief at his survival.
One long look between them was all it took to ask and receive forgiveness for any stress each had subjected the other to in the last weeks.
“What upset you so much when you saw the TV program, Jake? You are not easily affected by bad news once you have made up your mind about a direction to go in.”
“It wasn’t the news about the poor guy’s death that got to me. The interviewer showed a clip of Dr. Zamboni ‘s response to the news of the man’s death and it was his comments that struck me the most.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he was more cautious than we have heard up to this point, Susan. He said stents were not preferred and patients should wait until further clinical trials are completed.”
“But, that’s not news to you, Jake. Why were you overcome by this televised information?”
Susan watched as Jake passed his hands over his face and then rubbed them through his hair.
“I guess it all hit me at once. The excitement of being here and seeing people with improvements then finally understanding that I might end up worse rather than better, and, most of all, Susan, the strain we have been under because of our disagreement about the whole venture. It just seemed too much to bear. I think I fainted.”
“Well, if that’s all it is we can thank our lucky stars! I nearly had a heart attack on the way here thinking you were in real trouble.”
Jake reached out and Susan lay down beside him on the narrow bed. The feeling of closeness was one she knew well; one that had been absent since their arrival in Italy.
“I think that’s what bothered me the most,” Jake continued. “I could see what the daily stress was doing to you and I hated the distance between us. I can’t continue to pursue something that affects my wife and principal supporter in such a negative way.”
After a long embrace that felt like balm poured over Susan’s body and soul, she found the strength to look for the positive again.
“Right, Jake! We’re not giving up. We just need to wait for conclusive results and follow the trials in Canada. I want you to get a thorough check up from the doctors here and then we’ll decide on the next step. Whatever that is, we’ll do it together, I promise you.”
“Susan, is that you? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days now. Is Jake OK?
Did he get the angioplasty? How are you both?”
“Anna, I’m so sorry for worrying you. I turned off the phones. We really needed some time to recover from everything that’s happened here.”
“But, what…?”
“Sorry again, Anna. Jake is fine and I am fine. It’s just that the whole experience has been exhausting and we had to get back into synch with each other.”
“Ah, that makes sense. I know how unhappy you have been. Are you heading home?”
“No, that’s not an option immediately. Jake has had a relapse. It’s what I feared would happen once the excitement had died down.”
“How is he, Susan?”
“Don’t worry, Anna. He just needs some time to rest and recuperate before the trip home.”
“Of course, but wouldn’t you both feel better away from the clinic environment?”
“I couldn’t agree more, Anna. I have very mixed feelings about this place. The truth is, the money is running out. This hotel is cheap enough for now. We can’t consider anything else.”
“I won’t allow that, Susan. You know you can call on me for help with expenses. You can’t risk Jake’s recovery. The journey home will be stressful enough.”
“You have helped already, Anna. I can’t ask any more of you.”
“You are not asking. I am volunteering. Stay put for another day or so. I have an idea. I’ll be in touch soon.”
* * *
Before Susan could protest further, Anna was gone.
A huge wave of homesickness washed over Susan. Just hearing that familiar voice was a comfort and a hope for the future. No struggling with unfamiliar Italian phrases; no need to explain. Anna knew what was needed. Just as all the Samba friends understood each other on a level deeper than thought. Susan had no idea how, or when, they would get home, but for the first time in days she relaxed. Anna had taken over the ‘boss’ role that Susan had always assumed for the group and she had to admit, it felt good to be on the receiving end for once.
Lucy was up bright and early the next morning. Her dark -brown hair was freshly washed, which was not easily accomplished without a shower, and she had applied the gel gloss that made the uneven ends of her blunt cut separate from each other and swing attractively around her high cheek bones whenever she moved her head. She practiced this movement in the mirror above the sink to get the best effect.
Her make-up was immaculate. Pale skin and dark red lipstick provided the initial contrast but her eyes were the magnet. Minutes had been devoted to careful blending of highlighter and shadow and multiple coats of black mascara outlined her hazel eyes. The effort was definitely worth the trouble, she thought, as she slipped out to the patio in the half-light to await Maurizio’s arrival.
While she waited, she pulled out the neat video camera her father had given her. It flipped open quickly and was no bigger than a cell phone but it could take an hour’s worth of good-quality video and she had promised her father to make use of it.
Her plan was to set it up on the table, get a shot of herself and Maurizio and then capture the
scenery as she rode on the back of the Vespa scooter to his university in Bologna.
Her mother had agreed to this expedition after Maurizio had presented the idea the night before. Lucy had expected an argument over the scheme but her mother insisted it fit right in with her own plans as she had to pay a courtesy visit to her elderly grandparents, Bisnonna and Bisnonno, who lived nearby.
Lucy was delighted to get out of this obligation. The three aunties were quite old enough for her to deal with. She crept around the villa as quietly as a mouse so they would not find her and grab her in their wrinkled old arms at every opportunity.
Lucy’s sharp ears caught the sound of the scooter’s motor. She could hardly wait to see Maurizio again. When the girls back home saw this video of the two of them they would be purple with envy. Even the thought of a late lunch with her mother in Bologna could not dampen Lucy’s enthusiasm. She would have hours to spend with Maurizio this morning.
“Ah, there you are, Lucia! I have coffee for us but if you are ready to go, we’ll get on the way now to miss the traffic and have our coffee later.”
Lucy agreed with this plan and stood up so Maurizio could get the full impact of her hair, make-up and outfit. She had chosen a tight pair of black leggings clinging to her slender legs, a pair of Ugg boots on her feet and a long black sweater under a pink padded vest. The sweater was one her mother’s friend Alina had made, and was about the only thing in their online knitwear catalogue Lucy would ever dream of wearing, but she liked the contrast between the black and pink elements of her clothes. Later she would unzip the vest
and reveal the antique silver necklaces that spilled down the front of the sweater in a waterfall of chain accents.
To her disappointment, Maurizio did not seem to be impressed with Lucy’s preparations. He led the way out to his scooter and handed Lucy a huge black dome of a helmet.
Now this was not something I calculated on, she thought with a grimace. My hair will be ruined by this monster. I wonder if he will let me ride without it?
Maurizio correctly interpreted Lucy’s expression and explained, “I am so sorry, Lucia. Your mother insisted that you must wear the helmet or you could not be my passenger.”
I might have known she had something to do with spoiling my fun, Lucy groaned silently.
She slid the helmet onto her head as carefully as she could but found a mouthpiece covered the lower part of her face and a visor popped down to shield her eyes.
Lovely, she thought. I might as well be in a suit of armour. Thanks mother!
Lucy’s dream of clinging closely to her handsome Italian while they zipped down the highway, the envy of all they passed on the way, was rapidly dissolving into a nightmare. She had imagined a motorcycle, but discovered the scooter was more like a child’s toy. She had to sit upright and although she could hold on to Maurizio’s leather jacket, the helmet prevented her from getting too close. The video shooting was also an impossibility under these conditions.
Not starting out well, at all, she concluded.
As soon as they began to wend their way down through the old town, Lucy realized that, despite its appearance, the scooter was a speed machine and it took all her concentration to stay in place on the banana-type seat while they leaned from side to side.
As they approached the motorway, she began to appreciate the blocking effect of the despised helmet as it obscured the proximity to other traffic speeding by on the road. Rules of the road seemed to be quite frighteningly different from the marked lanes and polite driving in Canada. Every time a horn sounded in her ears, Lucy jumped, and then had to readjust her position so as not to be deposited on the paving that was flying by under her feet.
