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After saying his final goodbyes to Micola at the hospital and filling out the necessary paperwork, Eddie returned to her house late that afternoon to notify her daughter of the news, and to call Primo, Micola’s brother-in-law. Both calls added to his grief, a heavy weight piled on top of an already devastating day.
Micola’s daughter could barely breathe after hearing the news, and all he could do was sit there quietly on the phone listening to her choke and cry.
Primo’s reaction was more subdued, but his simmering fury and insinuating blame on Eddie proved more than he could take. He knew his head was now on Primo’s chopping block. He’d need to watch his back because that could happen at any time.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Micola. She’d been his new world. He really loved her. She’d changed his life forever, and now she was gone. Because of him.
He sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of scotch and drank long into the night. He felt her presence, imagined her bent over the stove stirring a pot of boiling pasta, turning to smile at him, as she carried over a plate of one of her miracle dishes.
There’d be a funeral. He wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to handle it. He couldn’t bear to think about such a heavy task. The events of the day were seared into his memory, and the scotch hadn’t numbed any of it.
The phone rang and rang. First Dario, then Tau, and then Sal. Word was spreading. He let the calls go to voicemail. His thoughts were occupied by the woman who killed Micola.
He thought about her a lot.
