“Her care is free, but she needs more than we can give her.”
In her eyes, I see the words she can’t speak.
My mother will die without the costly treatment suggested.
Mindful that I’m holding on by a thread, Dr. Russo throws me a life vest. “There are some private clinics that offer payment plans. You’re working, right?”
When I nod, snot threatens to dribble from my nose. “I work nights at the pub, but I can barely cover the property taxes on our villa. It was decades in arrears when we came back, and now we’re being fined for building defects I can’t afford to fix. I have nothing left to give.” I swipe under my nose to ensure nothing gross spills before aligning my eyes with Dr. Russo’s. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your burden. I just don’t know how things operate here. I could probably ask for an extension for the tax arrears, but that would place us back under scrutiny from the council’s building supervisor.”
Unless I prance around in my underwear during his monthly inspections, the supervisor has it out for me. His grievances with our building aren’t entirely unfounded. The flat we own is a dump in a crumbling block on the outskirts of town. Half the windows are boarded up, and the elevator is permanently out of order. But itbaffles me that they expect residents to fix the problems while they issue citations well into the thousands. Every fine increases the debt we owe, and it has us on the brink of filing for bankruptcy.
Even after months of threats from the council to condemn our building, they continue to charge exorbitant fees that would make a New Yorker blush. I pay what I can when I can, but it’s never enough. Every day is a stark reminder of our precarious financial situation.
Dr. Russo curls her hand around mine, drawing me from my thoughts. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re doing everything you can to ensure your mother receives the best possible care. That’s why I felt compelled to tell you that the treatment she needs is no longer here. If anything, she’s better off at home, away from these germs. It could give her an additional two to three months.”
Her last sentence is a crushing blow. It ends my fight in an instant.
I want to be the daughter who can fix anything and refuses to give in, but I’m exhausted. Every day is a battle to stay afloat, and now it isn’t solely money getting in our way; time is against us too. Guilt washes over me for even thinking about giving up, but the negativity is getting harder to avoid. I’m losing the person who made me who I am, and with every passing day, a part of me vanishes with her.
Too tired to continue fighting, I push words past the burden slowly suffocating me. “Thank you for being frank with me. I appreciate your honesty.”
Dr. Russo’s smile is tinged with sadness. “What are you going to do?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” My chest sinks when I breathe out deeply. “I’ll work it out. I always do. I just need a few minutes to wrap my head around everything.”
Nodding, Dr. Russo hands me a business card with her personal details scribbled messily on the back and a list of specialist servicesthat accept payment plans. “If you want to talk, my cell is always on. Call anytime. Day or night.”
I muster a moderately amicable grin. “Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”
With mechanical efficiency, I dip my chin in farewell and then leave her office. I can’t believe this is happening. We moved to Sicily for its free healthcare, but now that safety net has unraveled, leaving us in free fall.
After wandering the corridors of Ospedale San Giorgio’s for over two hours, seeking a solution for our predicament, I force a smile before entering my mother’s hospital room. She’s perched on the edge of her bed, brushing her freshly shampooed hair. Her hair matches mine in darkness but has more kinks, and she painted her lips a hopeful shade of pink that hides how cracked they are.
When she detects she is being watched, she looks up and smiles. “Did you hear the news,tesoro? I might get out of here today.”
I return her grin, unsuccessfully trying to mirror her cheer. “I did. It’s great news. There’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed.”
She attempts to mask the hoarseness of her lungs with a strained laugh. “I feel better already just thinking about it. Maybe I’ll even make it to the market this week.”
Needing to conceal my watering eyes from the only person capable of using them to see through to my soul, I gather her tattered nightgowns from her freestanding closet and place them into the suitcase that barely survived its second continental trip. It’s the suitcase my mother used when she left Sicily while pregnant with me and severely heartbroken.
I’ve never met my father, but from what I’ve gathered from therare few who knew him, he is a horrible man. He beat my mother so badly when she was eight months pregnant that we nearly died. That’s why it was such an uphill battle to get her to agree to come back to Sicily. She didn’t want to run into him again, and the leading oncology hospital in the country was in his hometown.
“You should take him first,” I whisper, staring at the ceiling.
When my mother’s eyes land on me, the concern in them triggers a memory of the fun we had when her initial prognosis required her to occasionally use a wheelchair. “We’ll go to the market together. I’ll use your wheelchair as a ramrod. That way, we’ll get all the good tomatoes.”
Mom grins, but her shaky hand when she passes me the tinned cookies I arrived with last week exposes her as a fraud. She’s as terrified as I am. I act ignorant, though. I discuss the weather and tell her how our neighbors asked about her last night because I want her to believe she’s on the road to recovery.
I can’t face the truth right now. It’s a reality too cruel to consider. It is tearing me apart.
Shortly after, a knock sounds at the door, and then my aunt bursts into the room, forever cheery and loud. Her arrival breathes life into the oppressive gloom no number of steps will shake.
“Good morning, my darlings!” Aunt Maria’s hands are full of fresh fruit and magazines for Mom, and her smile is warmer than the sun. She kisses Mom’s cheek before offering her a peach. “I bought them at the market. It was full of gossip today. Apparently, a by-election is coming up. It was a snap decision after Councilor Messina unexpectedly quit. Some are saying he had a family emergency, but what would I know?” Herpfftsprays the air with spit, which she clears away with a frantic flap. “I’m not high enough up the food chain for that.”
Aunt Maria dumps the basket of fruit onto the drawers I’m clearing before she twists to face Mom. Her expression is impassive,but she has a knack for reading people, even when they’re pulling out all their best tricks to hide their pain behind a smile.
She waits until the front-page gossip of a glossy magazine distracts Mom before gently bopping my arm. “Can I have a word?”
