When the first pink hues light up the sky, I watch the sunrise through the window, praying that Luca will live to see the beauty of such a treasured daily occurrence as this, one that is so often taken for granted. Paolo brings me a coffee. It grows cold by the time I remember to take a sip of it. I fix my gaze on the dated wall clock, watching it tick over and over and over again until the weight of a hand presses on my shoulder.
‘He’s here,’ whispers Stella, nodding in the doctor’s direction. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs, a surgical cap with ties that have come undone at the back and a pair of glasses that have slipped down his shiny nose. Must have been a hard night. He pushes them up when he starts to speak.
‘Ragazzi, Luca has sustained some considerable injuries. He went into cardiac arrest twice, once in surgery and once post-surgery.’
No.
‘There’s some swelling on his brain and he’s in a coma. This is a touch-and-go situation. I wish I could tell you more, but for now the best advice I can give you is to pray. If you like, I can call a priest, or the nuns if you prefer.’
I hate you. I hate you so much right now. Shut up. Just shut up.
Paolo declines the priest and asks what Luca’s chances are.
Why couldn’t you just tell him to shut up?
‘It doesn’t look promising,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.’
‘I want to see him,’ I say.
‘I don’t think that’s possible right now, signorina.’
‘It wasn’t a question,’ I hiss.
‘Five minutes,’ he says, after considering me. ‘I’ll have the nurse call you.’
When I’m finally allowed in, I hover, quivering, in the doorway. Between the swelling and bruising, the ventilator and tubes, he’s barely recognisable. There’s no sound in the room except for the steady hum of the machines that are keeping him alive. When my brain confirms that it’s him—oh, God, it’s really him—I release a moan from deep within, the sight in front of my eyes too unbearable for words. The nurse gives my hand a squeeze.
‘Forza, you need to be strong for him,’ she says.
‘Can I touch him?’ I whisper.
‘Yes, dear. No hugging. He has some broken ribs. Most of his injuries are internal.’
My legs are frozen at the foot of his bed, but my body is shaking. Sensing my hesitation, she hangs her clipboard on the bed and takes me by the arm. She sits me on the chair next to the bed and says, ‘You need to pray for him. Tell him you love him and that you need him to come back.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask in a scarcely audible voice, and when she doesn’t answer, I feel almost relieved. She leaves the room and in the silence, broken only by the beeping of monitors, I start counting the number of tubes connected to Luca.
‘Please, Luca. Please come back to me,’ I whisper through the tears. I’m holding his hand, kissing it, begging for him to come back to me, over and over again.
Footsteps break the heavy silence. I make out Stella’s figure. She stands beside me and gasps when she sets her eyes on him. She stands there, frozen, the colour draining from her face as her hand covers her mouth. Not even I can comprehend the image before me; it’s as though a movie is being played before my eyes, and I’m somehow just an observer.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispers. ‘This can’t be …’ Her face twists into a pained expression.
‘I don’t know what I’ll do if he—’
‘God, Mia, don’t say it, please don’t say it.’ She looks terrified, as if voicing it will make it happen, as if we somehow have control over it. She flings her arms around me, and I hold onto her tightly. I’m sobbing into her shoulder, and she’s sobbing into mine. Eventually, I manage to pull myself away from her.
‘Everything was perfect, Stella. We had everything. He’d look at me and know what I was thinking. All it took was his smile to make me feel alive each morning. He made me laugh like I’d never laughed before, and when I was with him he made me forget there was a world that existed outside of us. I want our world back, Stella. I need him to make it. He has to make it. I need someone to tell me he’s going to make it.’
She looks at me blankly, like she’s teetering on the edge of telling me what I want to hear. She blinks a couple of times and then bites her lip. I feel the waves crashing against me again, hitting me over and over in the pit of my stomach.
She takes my hand and gently tugs me away from the bed. ‘You need to rest,’ she says.
‘No. I can’t leave him.’
The nurse enters the room and looks disapprovingly at us. ‘I thought I said five minutes. That was an hour ago.’ My eyes plead with her and she sighs. ‘Leave me your number, and I’ll call you if there’s any change,’ she says, handing Stella a post-it note from her pocket. She scrawls down my number, and I reluctantly leave the other half of myself in the room, fighting for life in a battle that couldn’t have been predetermined by any kind of figure. Suddenly, ten per cent means nothing to me, and I can’t understand why I spent so much time focused on the numbers. Why couldn’t I have listened to him? Why couldn’t I have trusted? Why did I waste so much precious energy worrying about what could have been, what I couldn’t control even if I tried? And why, now that the love of my life is hovering between life and death, does it all seem so clear?
Paolo and Stella spend the rest of the day coming and going from the hospital. My eyelids lock shut at some point after midday, and I doze on and off into the evening. At dusk, Silvio arrives at the hospital, head hanging, shoulders sagging. He’s brought food with him. It remains untouched.
Eventually, someone brings me home and tucks me into bed. The young nurse doesn’t call. I wake at six am. I take a cold shower in a futile attempt to bring feeling back into my body. It doesn’t work. I throw on some clothes and sit on the swing outside with my notepad. I twirl my pencil around until the words begin to surface on the page.
Caro Luca,
I’ll never love another the way I’ve loved you.
You have to be okay. Please, please, please, be okay.
Always yours,
Mia
When I arrive at the Fattoria di Maiano, the waiter recognises me.
‘Can I help you, signorina?’ he asks. It’s early and he’s just starting to set up tables, their service not commencing until midday.
‘Um, I was hoping to have a walk around if that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ he says, a puzzled look on his face.
I trace the steps of one of our most treasured afternoons together. When I reach the secret lake, I leave the folded note in the carved-out altar in the wall nestled against the Madonna for safekeeping. With my eyes squeezed shut, my mind replays the memory of the two of us frolicking in the water, drying ourselves and laughing as we rush back to the scooter. When I open my eyes, I notice my reflection in the water.
Who are you without him, Mia?
By the time I arrive at the hospital it’s past midday. Paolo, Silvio and Stella are sitting together in silence.
‘Where in God’s name have you been, Mia?’ demands Stella. ‘We’ve been worried about you. Where’s your phone?’
‘I had some stuff to take care of,’ I say, stepping away from them. If any of them try any touchy-feely Italian moves on me, I’m sure it will end badly.
‘Any news?’
No answer.
‘I asked, is there any news?’ I demand, raising my voice. Three pairs of dispirited eyes stare back at me. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’
I head for Luca’s room, and Stella tries to pull me back.
‘Hold on, I do need to tell you something,’ she pleads.
I shake my arm free and glare at her. As soon as I enter the room, what she wanted to tell me is evident.
There’s a priest.
I know what this means.
My eyes widen and my mouth drops. My heart begins to race at the scene taking place in front of me. He’s dousing Luca with holy water.
‘I’m sorry, but you need to go,’ I order between clenched teeth.
The priest continues his ritual, ignoring me.
‘Signorina, the doctors say he is on his death bed.’
‘He is NOT on his death bed!’ I scream. ‘You need to leave right now! Out!’
Drops of holy water wet my face and something within me snaps. I snatch the aspergillum from his hands. Stella is sobbing with her head in her hands as I scream all kinds of profanities in both English and Italian. My arms flail about in midair before someone comes up behind me and wraps their arm around my shoulders. All I know is that it’s not Luca, and I desperately want it—need it—to be Luca. Paolo releases his grip for a second; my legs give way, and I collapse on the floor in an exhausted heap.
When I come to, I’m lying on my own hospital bed, a concerned Stella stroking my forehead.
‘You hit your head,’ she says.
I shift my body so my back is facing her.
This is all too hard.
A young nurse enters the room. ‘Has she eaten?’ she asks.
‘No,’ replies Stella.
‘She needs to eat.’
‘I know.’
‘Is she talking to you?’
‘No.’
‘She needs to talk to someone.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll arrange for a nun.’
‘Don’t you dare. Stella, if I so much as see …’
‘Shh, shh. I know. I know. I know,’ she says, desperately trying to turn my body towards her. When it doesn’t work, she does what only Stella would do: she asks the nurse for some privacy and draws the curtains. I feel the curves of Stella’s body behind me, her arms wrapped around me, her chin nestled into the space between my shoulder and my neck. Once she’s delivered her dose of physical support, she leaves the bed, takes a spoon and moves the bed up with the remote so I have no choice but to sit up.
‘Eat.’
Like every other time, I know I will never win an argument with Stella, so I reluctantly obey. I’m too numb to care anyway. When she’s satisfied with my intake of hospital food, she asks me if I want to see him again.
Of course I want to see him again. Just not like this.
Stella guides me into Luca’s room, where she keeps a watchful eye on me until she knows I’m okay.
Waves of nausea wash over me as I study Luca’s expressionless face. I take his hand and plead with him to squeeze it if he can hear me.
Nothing.
I keep asking until I begin imagining twitches. I stroke his face, starting at his eyebrows, stopping briefly at his mouth to remember his beautiful smile, across his jawline to his chin as I have done hundreds of times before.
Nothing. How can there be nothing?
I search the cupboard for Luca’s belongings and find my phone. I switch it on to play our favourite songs.
Still nothing.
The battery dies. I don’t want to think about dying.