The Good Left Undone(30)

Olimpio laughed.

Matelda lifted a nightgown out of her dresser drawer. “I’m going to do my routine.” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

“Are we going to be talking about your family for the rest of our lives?” Olimpio called out to her.

Matelda opened the door. “Is that a problem?”

“That’s a yes,” Olimpio grumbled.

Matelda stood at the sink brushing her teeth when her eye caught a layer of bright blue bubbles at the bottom of her drinking glass. She spit out the toothpaste and felt around her neck for her reading glasses. She turned the glass over into the palm of her hand. A bracelet of shimmering blue aquamarine stones set in pavé diamonds slid out of the glass.

“Olimpio!” She dabbed her mouth and went into the bedroom. “What is this?” She held out the bracelet.

“Happy birthday.”

“You put an expensive bracelet in a glass in the bathroom? On the sink? Are you crazy?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He grinned.

“It could have gone down the drain.”

“But it didn’t.”

“But it could have.” She felt her face flush with anger.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Matelda. It’s a surprise. I made it for you myself. You said you wanted a bracelet to go with your earrings. Don’t ruin the fun. Just enjoy the gift for once.”

Matelda went back into the bathroom. She sat on the edge of tub and cried. There was a soft rap on the bathroom door. She grabbed a towel and dried her tears.

Olimpio opened the door and peeked inside. “Matelda.”

She looked up at her husband in despair.

“Give it to me.”

Matelda handed him the bracelet. “I’m sorry.” She extended her wrist.

“I’m sorry too. It was silly of me to surprise you.” Olimpio placed the bracelet on her wrist, snapping the gold hinge. “I just felt like having fun like the old days.”

“This coming from the man who hid my engagement ring in a sfogliatella.” Matelda gently turned the glittering stones over her wrist in a full circle. “It’s magnificent. Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, bella.” He kissed her and took her hand. They returned to the bedroom.

She turned away from him as she sat on the side of the bed. “I can’t be happy.”

“You’ve been happy.”

“Have I?”

“Lie down. Let me hold you. You’re tired.”

“I mean it. I can’t enjoy anything. Who is given a beautiful gift and before she’s even tried it on imagines it lost?”

“Someone who doesn’t want to lose anything.”

“You always have an answer.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself. When you’re in pain, it’s like observing someone being tortured during the Crusades. Forget the past. You can’t change it.”

“What if it’s the only thing I can remember anymore?”

“Then hold on to the good memories. I’m just the lucky man who fell in love with a girl in a white two-piece bathing suit fifty-six years ago on Viareggio Beach.” Olimpio helped Matelda into bed.

“I’m blessed. The terrible things that happened to me came with a gift to be opened once the difficulty passed. I lost my father, but then I had my stepfather, who was kind to me. He grew up without a father, so he had empathy for any child who knew that kind of abandonment. You know how that goes. Whatever disease you have is the one you want to find a cure for.”

“All this happened a long time ago.”

“You got that right. And I’ve the bones to prove it.” Matelda shifted under the covers to find a comfortable spot. “It’s here. The day I dreaded has arrived. I’m old.”

“So am I.”

“I’m breaking down like a used car.” She sighed.

“As long as it still runs and gets you where you want to go, who cares?” Olimpio kissed his wife good night. “Even when we’re broken, we’re beautiful.”





CHAPTER 11


Viareggio


1929


Early-morning sunlight bathed Pretucci’s office with such intensity, there was no need to turn on the work lamp over the examining table.

Pretucci perched on a stool on one side as Domenica Cabrelli, nurse in training, stood on the other. Her hair was tied up neatly under a cap. She wore the navy apron of the apprentice. Her pockets were filled with nursing essentials: scissors, gauze, thread, and a tincture of iodine.

“Are you ready? Let’s make fast work of this. The mayor of Pietrasanta has the gout.” Pretucci checked his watch.

“Again?”

“Again, Signorina.”

At twenty years old, Domenica was earning her practical hours as a student nurse under Pretucci. He had arranged for her to study with the Sisters of the Sorrowful Mother, a Franciscan order of nuns in Roma.

Pretucci folded his arms, sat back, and observed his student.

Domenica placed a ripe orange on the table. The outer skin was loose enough to pinch. She opened the kit with the equipment used for inoculations. She removed a syringe.

“Ten cc’s,” Pretucci instructed.

Domenica cleansed a small area of the outer skin of the fruit with a small gauze square soaked in alcohol. She raised the vial of practice serum up to the light. She flipped it over to check the amount inside. She held the syringe to the light. She assessed the vial and filled it to the line of measurement. She aspirated the syringe by tapping on it, removing any bubbles. She squeezed the pump with her thumb. A droplet of the liquid appeared on the syringe. She held the orb steady on the table with one hand and held the syringe in the other.