The Good Left Undone(32)

“I was barely out.”

“We don’t know how long you were out. Papa went to work at seven, and I came over at nine.”

“It was just a couple of seconds.”

“How do you know?”

“I was thinking of my mother when she was a young nurse in the clinic. What does that mean?”

“You needed to see a doctor?”

“I take care of myself.” Matelda was defensive.

“Let’s have the doctor decide.”

Ida Casciacarro was at the market when she saw Matelda in Nicolina’s car as they passed by. She thought to wave until she noticed that Matelda and her daughter were bickering. “The Cabrellis. Always fighting,” she said under her breath.



* * *





Olimpio stepped outside the shop and called Nicolina.

“What did the doctor say?”

“He said her heart was weak. It may be causing her mood swings. That’s why the crying all of a sudden. It’s also why she’s having issues with her memory. She told him she’s having vivid dreams. She’s dreaming of her childhood. She believes that her mother is calling her to be with her. She can see them.” Nicolina’s voice broke.

“Did the doctor say anything else? What can we do?”

“He said that Mama was in the first stages of whatever this is.”

“Dementia?”

“The doctor doesn’t think so. It’s not Alzheimer’s either.”

“Thank God.”

“The doctor said nothing had changed since you brought her in for tests.”

“Good.”

“He said her heart issue is causing a lack of oxygen to her brain. He wants Mama to take oxygen at night when she sleeps. He says that will help. I’m going over there with the machine now to show her how to use it.”

“I’m on my way home.”

“No, Papa, stay. I can handle this. The doctor said to stick to our routines but keep an eye on her. It will agitate her if we start acting differently.”

“I understand. I will call your brother.”

Olimpio stood on the sidewalk. He had to expect this; after all, they were octogenarians and something was bound to go wrong with one or the other, or even both of them. But the time had come too quickly. There were still memories to make.



* * *





Nicolina drove down the boulevard with her mother in the passenger seat. “Mama, are you all right over there?”

“Va bene.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through this today.”

“Going to doctors is my new career. With bookkeeping, I had the weekends off. Being old and going to doctors is a seven-day-a-week grind.”

Nicolina stopped at the light.

“You see the gelato shop?” Matelda pointed. “That used to be Dottore Pretucci’s clinic. My mother used to work there. She was the first woman in this village with an education.”

“That makes me proud.”

“Me too. She paid for the achievement, believe me.”

Nicolina noticed that her mother’s memory was best when they were walking or driving. It was as if motion itself triggered details and encouraged Matelda to share them.

“What happened to your mother?” Nicolina asked. “Do you remember?”





CHAPTER 13


Viareggio


FEBRUARY 1939


The village was quiet as Domenica Cabrelli walked to work on the eve of the finale of Carnevale. Only a few locals were out, conducting the business of early morning. The fishermen were setting up their haul at market, and two nuns were haggling with the local farmer over fresh bunches of broccoli rabe to make Lenten broth. The food stands along the boardwalk were covered with tarps. The bunting that crisscrossed over the promenade fluttered in triangles of red, white, and green. The only sound she heard was metal against metal as a vendor scraped the grill of the sausage-and-pepper stand, preparing for his biggest night of sales.

The pink sky was dappled with streaks of gold light like feldspar. The light broke through, illuminating the crests of green waves. The tourists would not notice the necks of the periscopes on the submarines of the Italian regimen as they ran practice formations in the middle distance, but she did. Italy was preparing for a war no one wanted.

When she unlocked the door of the clinic, she opened the windows and propped open the door to let the fresh air into the room. The smells of the alcohol-based tinctures, ammonia, and formaldehyde intensified inside when the clinic was sealed shut.

Domenica went about her chores to prepare the clinic for the day ahead. She swept the sidewalk, then went inside and swept the floor. She dusted the surfaces with a rag spritzed with alcohol. She even swabbed Dr. Pretucci’s fountain pen. She put on her apron and cap and washed her hands. She put out the gauze, tongue depressors, and thermometer on the worktable before taking a seat at the desk. She was looking over the patient list when Monica Mironi entered the clinic with her three small children.

The young mother carried her sleeping newborn in a cestino, and her one-year-old balanced on her hip, while her three-year-old son walked dutifully behind her. The children’s cheeks were bright pink on the chilly February morning. Their mother had a similar blush to her cheeks, with the delicate features and expression of a sad doll.