I jumped up.
Bed check!
My pulse raced and dark spots danced in front of my eyes. The accordion divider was open, just as I had left it last night. I had no idea if Angelo was on the other side of it. Unlike every other morning, I didn’t feel his presence and didn’t know if he had even come back last night.
“Just a second,” I called out, my mind sprinting with jumbled thoughts of what I’d tell them if Angelo wasn’t here.
I rushed to the other side of the divider.
My hand flew to my chest as if to barricade an incoming cardiac arrest.
He was there, sprawled on his stomach, as usual; beautiful, as usual; fast asleep at seven a.m., as usual.
“Angelo,” I loud-whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Angelo, it’s Immigration. A bed check!”
He rolled to his side, blinking at me.
“Get up.”
The rap on the door repeated. “Mrs. Marchesi, please open up.”
“The divider, the sofa,” I loud-whispered again in desperation.
“Get in,” he ordered, already pulling me into the bed.
“Just a second,” he called out.
I got into his bed. He pulled the blanket up to my chin. “Stay here.”
He got out of bed, took off his shirt, threw it on the floor, and marched in his gray sweatpants to the front door.
He grabbed my bag from the hook by the door, opened my purse, and fished out the wedding ring. Coming back, he handed it to me and waited for me to put it on.
At the door again, he looked at me, nodded once, then unlocked and opened it.
“Good morning,” he said, stubbing his fingers through his hair.
“Mr. Angelo Marchesi?” A man in a suit and a woman were standing outside.
I lifted myself on my elbows to look at them, the blanket still covering me up to my chin.
“Yes. What’s this about?”
The two presented badges. “Immigration officers, Dahl and Butler. May we come in?”
“My wife is … still in bed. She’s not ready to welcome guests.”
“We just need to identify her, that’s all.”
Angelo looked at me again, opened the door wider, and moved aside to let them in.
From the entrance, only the sofa bed was visible. They couldn’t see there was another bed behind the divider.
I smiled nervously, holding tight to the blanket.
“Mrs. Marchesi,” the woman said. “June Marchesi?”
It was the first time I had heard my first name with Angelo’s last name.
