Even if more than once I also witnessed him just barely avoiding an emotional breakdown. He’d skirt right there next to the cliff, but he’d fight his grief back without giving into it. Stuff that despair right back into its hiding place. I was dying to hug him. Or to say something to him. Or even to twitch my thumb so he knew I could hear him. But I wasn't capable of doing any of those things.
Not a one.
Giorgio also popped into my room on occasion, as did the twins. But their stays were short because Romeo consistently monopolized me. I couldn’t blame him. If our roles had been reversed, I would’ve done the same. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away. This might’ve seemed selfish of him—and maybe it was—but he was also the one I most wanted.
Having Antonio, Mama and Papa in my room felt even more otherworldly. Perhaps because they’d already left this world. It had felt so ordinary seeing them there. Papa had stood on my right side, while Antonio and Mama had stood by my left next to Romeo’s forlorn chair. We opened up long-winded discussions anytime Romeo fell silent. Antonio would tell me stories he remembered about me growing up.
My brother reminded me of the chess games he would engage in with Giorgio where I would play the winner. He told me not to worry about him, and that while his death had not been pleasant, now he was at perfect ease. It gave me great solace to know that. Mama was similar. She told me she loved me and was proud of the woman I was becoming. Of the three of my lost family members, it was her I missed the most.
And yet, now I knew they weren’t missing at all.
Papa remained the most reticent. Of the three, my relationship with him had been the most uneven and the most fraught. He’d used me as a pawn rather than loving me purely as his daughter. Papa was also the only one who refused to stand next to my husband, but considering Romeo had been the one to shoot him, I couldn’t say I minded.
But as much of a gift as it had been to have additional conversations with those I had loved and lost, watching Romeo going downhill without being able to help was driving me crazy. I tried to force my mouth to speak and even a millimeter of my body to move. But I couldn’t. It was like attempting to drive a car from the backseat. I could suggest and even demand all day long, but since my hands weren’t on the wheel and my feet weren’t on the pedals, it did no good.
One thing that stayed uncertain in this limbo I’d entered was the state of my baby. I could sense an intelligence along the outer rim of my comprehension, but nothing concrete. I couldn’t interact with it or get to know it better. I couldn’t determine its gender or even if it planned to stay.
And this frightened me to no end.
So when I was finally able to gather up all my resources and march back through the veil, as it were, it felt like debarking from a carnival ride that had been going too fast. I had one whopper of a headache, dizziness, and a tinge of nausea. Also, the effort of speaking felt like swimming through mud. At first, even though I was back, I couldn’t seem to summon enough energy to do it.
But with practice, I got some momentum going. It was enough—at long last—to say my first word.
“Romeo…” It came out as faintly as the scrape of two pieces of fabric rustling together, and since my exhausted husband was lightly napping, he didn’t respond. He looked as if he’d been ill. His suit appeared wrinkled as if slept in, and his complexion was gray with pewter half circles under his eyes. His longish curly hair had become more unruly than I’d ever seen it, and his customarily well-maintained scruff had grown out into an unkempt beard. But I needed to talk to him, so I tried again. “Romeo…”
“Mmm,” he said to the marginally higher volume of my voice.
Well, at least that was something.
“Please wake up.” Had my vocal cords morphed into sandpaper or what? “Come on…”
His head wobbled on his neck, and as if he’d come up against the same wall of resistance as I had, his eyelids barely slitted open. Those eyes appeared dry but also noticeably bloodshot. And then, they went wide.
“Lucia?”
“Yes, husband, it’s me.”
He tightened his hold on my hands, and I squeezed back like I’d been trying to do for what seemed like eons. Beaming at me with sheer joy, he scooted up to my bed so he could wrap his arms around my shoulders. Then, as soon as I embraced him back, he burst into sobs.
I held him as his body shuddered and shook, releasing all the things he’d been keeping at bay. It poured out of him without pause, unfettered and messy, and the noise of it drew ourfamiglia’sattention. I watched as one by one they went by the door, clear relief on their faces when they saw me but showcasing a variety of reactions when they caught sight of Romeo.
Surprise from my brother Giorgio. Sympathy from my sisters Chiara and Alessandra. Awkward unease from Romeo’s brother Marcello. And shocked disbelief from both his brother Savio and his sister Natalia. Tears in my own eyes, I waved briefly at all of them in turn, knowing I would need individual moments with many of them, but observing the recognition from them that now wasn’t the time. They were bearing witness to an intensely intimate moment between a man and his wife, and all of them, without exception, departed to give us the time we needed.
Even the medical staff offered us a few undisturbed minutes once I mouthed at them that we were okay. But eventually, one of them breached our bubble to check my vitals, dispelling the illusion that we were insulated from the outside world. Interestingly, I recognized the man who came to stand at my bedside, even though I couldn’t quite bring his name to mind.
Romeo sat up abruptly once he realized this, mopping his face with his hand and valiantly trying to regain his composure.
“Mrs. Cavetti?” the man said, and after getting over being called this for the first time in memory, I answered in as cognizant a manner as I could.
“That’s me.”
“Dan Shapiro.” He reached for a box of tissues sitting on the counter and handed them to Romeo without fanfare. My husband left my side, but only went as far as the nearby window. “I’m the attending assigned to your case. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Yes, of course.”
He retrieved my chart from a plastic file pocket mounted on the wall. Then, he proceeded to ask me general information like the day, the month, the year, my birthday, the name of the current President of the United States, and so on. I had no trouble giving him my replies, and he nodded as he made notes.
“Are you experiencing any pain?”
