All the Way to Heaven

by Becky Doughty

  “You know what?” I quipped in response, pasting a bright smile on my face. “You’re right. It doesn’t change anything.” I suddenly wanted nothing more than to climb under the covers and shut down for the night. I wasn’t sure why I was so upset at Paulo, and was beginning to feel embarrassed about my outburst. Except, it fell in line with almost every single one of our encounters. He simply had a way of frustrating me that no one else here did. “I think I might just be overreacting because I’m tired.” I turned to Cosimo. “But my head is pretty clear now. Can I go to bed, Doctor? I have a big day tomorrow. I’m hoping you’ll clear me to start walking again.”

  He reached over and took my hand. “Ani.”

  “No, please don’t make me stay up any later. I’ve been sick, remember? And I had too much to drink tonight. See? I must be sobering up. I can actually admit to having too much to drink.” I squeezed Cosimo’s hand with both of mine, beseeching him with my whole being. “Please take me back to the house.”

  Isa stood and offered Gerardo a hand up. “We will all take you back. It is a good time to end the night.”

  Madalina had also risen to her feet and began folding blankets and stacking them on chairs. Isa helped her and they made quick work of it. The guys went to work on the fire pit, scattering logs and embers around in the wide bowl to starve the fire before dousing what still glowed with a bucket of water from the pool.

  I turned my back on the group and began slowly wheeling my way toward the path that led back to the house. I felt Cosimo grab the handles of my chair. “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Ani, I am sorry.” It was Paulo.

  I shook my head, but didn’t turn to look at him. “Forget it. It’s no big deal. I’m just tired and crabby.”

  He didn’t say another word until we reached the terrace. There, he and Cosimo worked together in silence to ease my chair up the steps. We all exchanged subdued goodbyes and I felt awful about how I’d brought everything to such an uncomfortable end, but I didn’t know how to fix it now.

  I refused both Isa’s and Cosimo’s offer to help me get ready for bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I awoke on Monday morning with an overwhelming sense of regret. It was a terrible way to start a day, but as I lay there, my head throbbing, my mouth lined with cotton, I realized it wasn’t the same kind of regret I’d brought with me to Italy, but the regret of my own bad behavior.

  I’d had far too much to drink last night, and I was paying for it in more ways than one. I regretted my shameful behavior and the disappointing ending to the still life that had come alive in my head.

  It should have culminated with me in the arms of a besotted lover, strains of Puccini floating in the air around us as we swayed together along a magical moonbeam, or at the very least, with endless exchanges of kisses on cheeks among family and friends, lingering looks and ciaos and arrivedercis brimming with promises of tomorrow.

  Instead, it ended with me drunk and flirting unbecomingly with two men I knew were already at odds, my friends babysitting me until they were sure I wasn’t going to die from alcohol poisoning, and me getting all snarky because Paulo hadn’t told me he was from America. I didn’t even get a thrill out of Cosimo’s coy offer to help put me to bed. Not that I would have taken him up on it, even had I been in the best of moods, but I didn’t even bother feeling flattered. After a muttered goodnight and thank you to everyone, I lumbered off to my room, managed to fall into bed without putting too much weight on my foot, and drifted off pouting about Paulo.

  Why? Why did it matter that he hadn’t told me? At first I tried to convince myself that I was, indeed, overreacting, but the longer I lay there in my physical discomfort—the water balloon in my bladder, the headache from hell, my foot resting at an odd angle because I hadn’t bothered to prop it up last night—the more I realized I had a right to be bothered, if not angry. He wasn’t just a fellow student here on vacation, but an American citizen who quite likely had a working knowledge of how a person survives the ups and downs of a different culture. Maybe he’d never had his man purse stolen, along with all his personal documents, but by his own admission, he’d worked with many of the youth who were responsible for such actions. In fact, he might even know the kid who took my bag.

  And I bet he knew exactly where the American Consulate in Florence was, too, but did he offer to give me the number to call or tell me the best way to get there? Nope.

  Paulo had made it clear from the very first moment our eyes had met on that stupid train that he was not interested in interacting with me on any level.

  Fine. I got it. I may be slow and more than a little naive, but I wasn’t stupid.

  “Oh, Ani,” I moaned, suddenly remembering what I’d said to him last night about his smile, the way my fingertip fit just right in the bow of his lip.

  Having used the toilet, brushed my teeth twice, and my hair, scrubbed my face, and taken a dose of the prescription painkillers—this time for my head, not my ankle—I sat in front of the open closet, trying to figure out what to wear to make X-rays easier. I did not feel like removing clothing for Cosimo today, not for any reason, but I didn’t know what kind of reaction I’d get if I showed up in my teeny-tiny miniskirt. When a light tap on the door drew my attention, I smiled to see Isa standing there, a tray in hand, and what looked like a dress draped over her shoulder.

  “I come bearing gifts for you, Ani. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’ve been better.” Then I sighed remorsefully. “Not that you have any reason to believe me. I’ve been a terrible guest, Isa. I’m so sorry.” I rotated the chair around and joined her as she set the tray on the foot of the bed.

  “No, Ani. You have no need to apologize.”

  “But I got stupid drunk last night.” I put a hand on her arm to still her movements.

  She handed me a steaming cup of coffee, not black the way I drank it, but pale with cream and lots of sugar. “A latte to wake up your smiles today.”

  I had to admit, it was delicious.

  Perching on the edge of the bed, knees together, she faced me, her expression turning serious. “Ani, I feel responsible for your condition last night. I did not pay attention, and I know Lazzaro wine is strong. Cosi should have known, too. We are to blame, tesora, not you.”

  I shook my head but didn’t bother arguing. “How long do I have to get ready?”

  “Plenty of time. Cosi had a surgery this morning so he will not be available to see you until after lunch.”

  “Surgery? What kind of surgery does he do?” I pictured Cosimo bent over the swollen toe of a hangnail patient and grimaced sympathetically for both of them.

  “This morning he is performing, em, how do you say rinoplastica?” She tapped the bridge of her nose with one finger.

  “Rhinoplasty? As in a nose job?” I closed my eyes, mentally rearranging everything in my mind. The borderline erotic artwork on the walls of his clinic, the boutique feel of his exam rooms, the absence of patients in the waiting room suffering from the usual maladies of colds and runny noses. “I thought—so Cosimo is a plastic surgeon?”

  “Yes. Cosmetic surgery. He is very good. He has patients who come from far away to have his skill.” She smiled proudly and I thought about those long-fingered hands cupping my jaw, curling warmly around my own hands, and I imagined him anew, bent over the face of an aging socialite willing to pay good money to get a few of her best years back.

  “I can see why. He’s a wonderful doctor. So gentle.” I agreed, nodding and turning away back to the closet so she wouldn’t see my face. “And now I need to figure out what to wear for my visit. I only have that skirt,” I pointed to the one puddled on the floor near my bedside table where I’d left it when I got in bed last night. I didn’t mention the other one.

  “Ah! This is for you! Mama came to me this morning and said she thought you might be able to use more dresses until your leg is better. It belongs to her so it is long enough for you to wear.” Is
a held up the item of clothing she’d brought in with her. The dress had a scoop neck knit bodice in a color that reminded me of the burnt sienna crayon from my childhood. The sleeves were cuffed at the elbows and the skirt fell from a slightly elevated waist in several soft layers of what had to be real silk in gradient shades from goldenrod to amber. It was a dress made for a Sunday stroll in the fall.

  “Isa, it’s gorgeous. I can’t borrow that. What if I spill something on it or if it catches in my wheelchair and tears?”

  “She will not take ‘no’ for an answer, Ani. You should already know that.” She lay the dress out on the bed and fanned the skirt. “Besides, it is not to borrow. She gives it to you because it is a better color for you with your cream cheeks and your chocolate hair. Come. I will help you get dressed.”

  It did look good on me, especially with my cheeks flushed from objection. For that, I was especially grateful, because I felt like I needed to armor up before facing Cosimo. Were all the men in the world so reticent? Jacob not bothering to tell me about his wife and children. Paulo not bothering to tell me he was from my homeland. Cosimo letting me believe he was accustomed to treating skinned knees and runny noses.

  Maybe I simply hadn’t asked any of them the right questions, but it seemed to me that these bits and pieces of personal trivia were pretty important bits and pieces.

  No wonder he hadn’t had a wheelchair to spare in his office. It was unlikely he had much need of one for any more than transferring a patient from the exam room to the front door and their waiting chauffeured rides.

  We agreed to head into town right after lunch and see Cosimo immediately. That way, Isa could drop me off at l’Aurora to enjoy an afternoon espresso and a snack with Madalina while Isa ran some errands in town. If I was approved for crutches, maybe I could arrange with Madalina to leave the wheelchair with her so she could return it to Paulo. I would be perfectly satisfied never to have to see him again. I’d been enough of a nuisance to him already.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The wheelchair, much to our relief, collapsed easily, and was not too heavy for Isa to hoist into the back of her Fiat. I didn’t know how she managed to not kill herself in the shoes she wore, but if ever anyone looked elegant tossing wheelchairs, it was Isa. The weather was gorgeous and on the ride in, I asked her about Cosimo and her mother and their relationship.

  She nodded for a few moments after I asked, as though she knew it was something she must explain, but needed the time to compile the information in her head before saying anything wrong.

  “Cosi, he is almost twenty years younger than mama. He was six when I was born. My grandmother was very old when she became pregnant with him and she did not survive his birth. So Mama, still living at home, took both her papa and her baby brother home as new lady of the house.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes, but it turned out for the best in many ways. You see, Mama was secretly in love with my father, who was foreman for the frantoio de Lazzaro. She was afraid my grandfather would not want her to marry only a foreman, but with the birth of Cosi and the death of his wife, he was happy to have Mama stay close to home and take the hand of a man who loved the olives as much as any Lazzaro ever could. I believe he must have seen the love Papa has for mother, too.” She smiled, clearly enjoying the telling of the family love story.

  I sighed dreamily in the midday sun, the cool breeze outside the car window blowing my curls every which way. I didn’t care. I felt relaxed and empowered by the bittersweet tale of love and loss.

  “But the story does not end there. My grandfather, who loved Cosi very much, was also elderly, and when Cosi was seven years old, and I was only a baby, he died, too. So, my parents became legal guardians to Cosi.” She paused before adding, “It is why he became a doctor, I believe, to find a way to stop death.” Then she turned to glance at me as though to see if I was paying attention. I straightened, realizing she was perhaps saying more than just the words she was using. “With plastic surgery, his patients never have to grow old. Or at least they grow old much more slowly, yes?”

  “I see. So does he like being a doctor? Would he rather work with the olives?” The logistics of that with Franco so ensconced seemed insurmountable.

  “Oh, no. Cosi would be happy never to pick another olive again in his life. Papa and Mama are in charge of everything, including the house itself, and Cosi prefers it that way. When he came home from medical school in Milan, he moved into the pool house. That’s where he stays when he comes. Mama converted it into a home for him while he was at university.”

  I looked at her in surprise. Well, that explained his sweaters being stored at the pool house.

  “Cosi’s passion, as Paulo said, is to heal. All his life, he fixed wounded animals, he wanted to see every injury and to understand lo scheletro, the bones, and the flesh. I think that he finds his power, his fire, when he helps someone who is hurting.”

  “So why cosmetic surgery?” I didn’t understand the psychology behind cosmetic surgery, but I assumed that was because I was young and fairly satisfied with what I’d been born with. I knew of others who suffered horribly, though, usually at the words and hands of others, because of uniquely proportioned bodies and unusual features. I could at least empathize with that, but I felt more strongly about changing people’s behavior than about changing people’s physical qualities.

  “Even the rich men and women who come to him to have new body parts exchanged for the old ones that are hurting in some way, don’t you think? Cosi understands that and treats them with respect. He helps them to keep their dignity when many people would condemn them for wanting to change things.” She moved her shoulders in a way that indicated she didn’t completely ascribe to his way of thinking, but that she understood his reasoning. “But there is also money in cosmetic surgery, Ani, and it is much of Cosi’s financial support that keeps the frantoio de Lazzaro in business, especially in times like this.

  “You see, it has not been such a good year for the olives. The weather has worked against us all year, and the olive fly is a problem this year like never before because of that. Then last month, we had a hail storm. In September! Can you imagine? The hail knocked much of the remaining healthy fruit from the trees. Everyone in Italy is concerned about the harvest this year. It is always on our minds right now.”

  “Oh.” I was a little surprised by her forthrightness with me about the family business. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, not sure what else to say. Isa braked at an intersection and studied me for a few moments.

  “You know, Ani, I think perhaps you really are sorry for our difficulties. Thank you.” She reached over, patted my knee, then slowly let her foot off the brake and inched out into an intersection, maneuvering her little car around bicycles and pedestrians and scooters who all had the right of way on the narrow streets. “But we are more fortunate than many, as my father said last night. Not only because of Cosi’s investments, but we have a home, we have food on our table, and we have friends and family who gather around us. And that includes you now. Whatever happens with the olives, we are blessed.”

  “Whatever the future holds, we will remain,” I said, repeating Franco’s words from last night, proud of myself for remembering.

  “We will remain,” she echoed.

  “Right.” I glanced down at my lap, smoothing my layered skirt over my knees. “There’s always a bigger picture than we can see, isn’t there?” I thought of Fabio, Paulo, and Madalina, all telling me to open my eyes and see.

  By the time we arrived, I was ready to see Cosimo. The things Isa had shared with me about him made me appreciate him in a whole new light. I wondered why he hadn’t married, though. In his thirties, with a well-established career in a high-dollar industry, a family home in the country, he seemed like quite a catch. But I wasn’t quite bold enough to ask Isa that.

  When Isa called Cosimo to let him know we’d arrived in town, he informed her that he was running behind schedule and asked if per
haps we could come at the end of the day instead. I agreed that I was fine to go visit Madalina now, and Isa could take care of whatever business she had. I’d brought a book with me, my laptop, and some postcards and stationery. It was the perfect opportunity to write home via something other than emails. I’d zipped off an update this morning before leaving the villa, but there was nothing like getting an actual card or letter in the mail that lets you know you’re being thought of.

  As we threaded our way through town, I commented on how beautiful the weather was. Isa nodded and peered up at the sky. “The rain is coming soon, though. I can smell it in the air. I thought perhaps my father was going to announce the olive harvest last night. It is best to harvest before the rains. Maybe it will still be the end of this week. We shall see.”

  “Maybe that’s what Cosimo was waiting for, too. He seemed to expect your dad to say something else last night.”

  She only nodded, but didn’t expound as we pulled up outside l’Aurora. Isa had called Madalina after speaking to Cosimo, and Madalina promised to wait and take her lunch break with me.

  Madalina met us out front and helped unload the wheelchair for me. I slid from the front seat into it without even thinking about it; I was getting really good at one-legged transfers. We waved Isa off to do her thing, but instead of wheeling me up to a table, Madalina suggested we take a walk.

  “It is a beautiful day and I have been waiting for you. I will show you the street on which I spend most of my days and say ‘Ciao!’ to friends, okay? I must also shop for hazelnuts and almonds today. Then we will return, I will work, and you will sit and drink espresso and write your emails.” She nodded to the laptop bag tucked into the seat beside me.