At five o’clock, Paolo fills Rosetta in on the latest details as she catches a train to Florence. It’s almost eight o’clock before she comes hurrying down the corridor, her overnight bag slipping off her shoulder.
‘Mia, it’s good to see you,’ she says nervously. ‘There was a train strike,’ she says, as if she’s trying to make small talk and avoid the issue at hand: the fact that her brother is fighting for his life.
‘Train strike?’ I couldn’t care less about a train strike. She swallows nervously and takes a deep breath. She must be as nervous and distraught as I am—if not more.
‘Are you ready to see him?’ My voice is flat, void of emotion. Eye contact is too hard, so I walk towards Luca’s door. I hold it open for her, expecting her to follow, but when she doesn’t walk through it, I glance over and see that she’s still standing in the same spot.
She bursts into tears right there.
‘It’s okay,’ I mouth. She doesn’t move. I suck in a deep breath and take the bag from her. She flings herself across my body. With gentle force I pry her away from me and tell her again, ‘It’s okay.’ This time she follows me into Luca’s room.
It’s so not okay.
I slip into the seat that’s practically moulded to the shape of my body, and as if there’s a magnet from my chin to my chest, my head drops. Forced to listen to her, my private bubble of hurt expands with every one of her high-pitched sobs. When I can’t stand it any longer, I leave the room without excusing myself. Needing some respite from the hospital room, I run past the nurses and through the main door. On the hospital steps I drop to my knees until a pair of shoes move into my line of vision. Leather. Freshly polished. They belong to a man. He places the weight of his hand on my shoulder, forcing me to raise my eyes to him.
‘Please, signorina Mia, get up. I’m an old man. I don’t have the strength to pick you up.’
‘I’m sorry, Signor Fiorelli, but please, with all due respect, I need to be alone right now.’
‘The people who care about you will help get you through this, Mia.’
‘How did you find out?’ I ask, looking up at him.
‘Stella told me. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you never lose hope.’
His tired hands reach down to mine and his eyes convey an unspoken plea to my heart. I bring myself to my feet and he slips my arm through his. With an air of grace, he walks me back through the hospital doors. We sit in the lounge area, neither of us exchanging words. I’m grateful for the silence. Once the light moves away from the windows, he stands up and tells me, ‘Whatever happens, you should continue painting, even if you feel you can’t.’
Somehow I manage to mutter the words, ‘Thank you.’ When I finally do look up, Signor Fiorelli is gone.
Later that evening, Clara shows up at the hospital, having heard what had happened from Silvio at the bar. The news is spreading, touching all those who hear it, as they drift to me in slow motion. As hard as they’re trying to be strong for me, I can smell the fear that lies underneath their tight embraces and squeezes of reassurance.
‘How is he doing?’ she asks.
‘No change. How was your holiday?’ I change the subject. I know my thoughts will flicker back to Luca as soon as I stop talking.
‘Wonderful. Bert’s transfer was approved,’ she says, smiling.
‘I’m happy to hear that. The boys must be ecstatic.’
She smiles politely with a hint of discomfort, which I attribute to the unpleasant circumstances in which we find ourselves. It’s hard to think of happiness in a sterile environment like this when things are so morose.
‘I’ve made a mess of things, Clara.’
‘Oh, Mia, what do you mean? Tell me what’s on your mind, love.’
‘I don’t even know where to start.’
‘Well,’ she says, taking a deep breath. ‘Sometimes it helps to start with the present. What are you feeling right now?’
‘Regret. Sadness. Like I’ve lost my best friend.’
‘I see. And what is your regret, Mia? What’s happened to make you feel this way?’
‘Everything was perfect, Clara. But looking back, I realise now that, all along, Luca was working so hard to help me see that life should be lived without dwelling on the past or worrying about an uncertain future. And I’ve been so caught up, held back by my past and what may or may not be in my future, that I lost it all. Him.’
‘What makes you think you lost him?’
‘I had a cancer scare in Positano. It turned out to just be an infection, but I ended things with Luca. And I can see it so clearly now, now that he’s in there, that trying to protect him from a life I thought would be too much for him was only going to hurt him more.’
‘I’m sure if the tables were turned he’d have felt the same way, possibly even reacted the same way.’
‘What if I don’t get a chance to fix this? What if he doesn’t wake up, Clara?’ I search her face for answers.
‘Sometimes, Mia, when life is uncertain, and the control is plucked out of our hands, all there is left to do is to pray. But know that no matter what happens, life goes on, even when it hurts so deeply that you think it can’t.’
She smiles warmly at me. ‘Would you like me to call your mother? Perhaps I could arrange for her to be with you during this time?’
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ I reply, trying to hold back the tears.
Clara reaches into her handbag for a pen and notebook and asks me to scribble down her number. ‘Leave this with me,’ she says, tucking the notebook back into her bag. She squeezes my hand, and I fold myself in her embrace, sobbing against her shoulder, suddenly aware of just how far away my mother actually is, and how close I’d like her to be.
Clara drives me home and warms up a bowl of soup that Stella had prepared earlier in the day. She glances at her watch. ‘Do you think your parents will be awake yet?’
‘Yes, they’ll be awake … though I think I should be the one to call them.’
Clara gives me a nod of reassurance and then lets herself out, promising she’ll come by again tomorrow.
Mum answers on the second ring. ‘Sweetheart, is everything okay? You don’t usually call at this hour.’
‘Everything’s …’
‘Mia?’
‘Not fine, Mum. Not fine.’ My voice quivers.
‘Hold on, honey, let me sit down. Your dad’s right here with me. I’ve got you on speaker.’
‘Remember when I went to Positano with Luca?’
‘Yes, did something happen there? Are you okay? You’re not …?’
‘I thought I was sick again, but no, I’m not … and … Mum, I’m so sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you and Dad by leaving and shutting you out of my life, especially after everything you did for me. I know this was wrong, so wrong, but … I thought that if I wasn’t nearby, you’d get used to what it might be like to live without me in case I …’
‘Oh, Mia.’ She pauses. ‘We know all of this has been hard for you. And that it was going to take some time for you to process everything.’ She sniffles into the phone. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to come back to us,’ she says, choking up.
‘We knew you always would, pumpkin,’ Dad chimes in. The sound of his voice makes it impossible for me to hold it together.
I take a deep breath and reach for a tissue. ‘I didn’t know that was the wrong way to be strong. I thought I didn’t need you, but I do. And … I can see now … that you and Mum need me, too.’
‘Oh, honey,’ says Mum. ‘We love you so much.’
‘What happened in Positano?’ asks Dad.
I tell Mum and Dad about the accident, and how much I love Luca, and how uncertain his prognosis is right now.
‘You should go over there, Julie. What’s the time? We’ll sort out your ticket this morning,’ says Dad.
‘Mia, did you hear that? I’ll come right over. I’ll get the next available flight.’
‘I think you should wait. Until we know more … or how long … or if he …’ I try to hold back the tears. ‘I want you to come, but not now. Not yet. Not like this.’
‘I’m going to pray for him, Mia. Just like I did for you. I never stopped. Never for a single second. I want you to call me … every day. Let me know what’s going on, no matter how you’re feeling.’
‘That’s what I want, too, Mum.’
We say goodbye and I sit there, staring at the screen of my phone. Despite the physical distance, my parents suddenly feel closer to me than ever.
I haven’t been into the basilica since my first day in Impruneta. This morning, I quietly push the door open, and come face to face with Father Damiano.
He looks me up and down before he realises who I am.
‘I remember you, dear. Please, come and sit,’ he says. I join him in the back pew. ‘Your friends—Luca’s friends—you’re all in our thoughts and prayers. I’m sorry about Father Marco,’ he says. ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’ve explained the situation to him.’
‘You can’t give up on someone like that,’ I say, the heat from the pit of my stomach rising up, burning my cheeks.
‘I understand. Sometimes we all need to hold on to hope.’
‘When it’s all we have left,’ I reply, staring absently at Jesus hanging from the cross.
‘What brought you here today?’
‘I came to pray for another miracle.’
‘Then, signorina, will you let me join you?’
His glassy blue eyes plead with me and comfort me at the same time. I lower myself onto the padded beam. When I bow my head, he does, too.
I don’t know how long I’ve been kneeling here, but the pins and needles in my legs signal that it’s time for me to go. Father Damiano only moves once I’m fully upright again.
‘Remember, God hears everything. Every prayer. Every wish.’
As the click of my footsteps echo through the basilica after the doors swing closed behind me, I whisper to God, ‘Prove it.’