The Good Left Undone(59)

“Evidently you did.” Olimpio kissed her forehead. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Before I do, get me out of here. You know that hospitals aren’t a good place for healthy people.”

Anina and Olimpio looked at each other.

“I know you think it’s funny,” Matelda said, “but I’m serious. There are more germs here than there are in the train station.”

The nurse entered with a rolling cart of machines to check Matelda’s vitals. “I’m sorry; if you’ll step outside, I will check Signora.”

“I’ll stay,” Anina offered.

“Get out,” Matelda ordered. “Allow the nurse to gather her numbers. The sooner you leave and she can poke and prod, the sooner I can go home where I belong.”

Olimpio and Anina stepped out into the hallway.

“She’s going to be fine,” Anina said nervously.

Olimpio nodded in agreement, but he wasn’t confident his granddaughter was right. This wasn’t the first time Matelda’s heart problem had brought her to the hospital, but it was the first time anyone else in the family besides Olimpio knew about it.



* * *





Nicolina jumped into the car on the passenger side as Giorgio started the engine. She yanked the seat belt across her chest for the ride from Lucca to Viareggio.

“Take it easy, Nic.”

“I’m going to kill both of them.”

Giorgio took his wife by the hand. “Stop it.”

“How can they do this to me? They call me for every little thing except when it’s life-or-death.” Nicolina yanked her hand away from her husband’s like a petulant child. “Thank God Anina was with her or I would know nothing. My father is secretive and my mother thinks she’s immortal. Those two are in their own little world, the devoted lovebirds. Leaving the rest of us out until there’s a crisis.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to upset you,” Giorgio offered.

“If they told me things as they unfold, I wouldn’t be upset. I could prepare. I hear things after the fact. It’s rude. My mother had a ministroke last year and my father never told me. I heard in the street. Ida Casciacarro stopped me at Ennico’s.”

“There was no permanent damage.”

“That’s not an excuse to withhold information. Besides, how would they know if she didn’t suffer from permanent damage? Who did the tests? Where are the results?”

“I’m not a doctor. I’m telling you what your father told me.”

“So nobody knows anything.”

“She has a weak heart. That’s the diagnosis.”

“There were decisions made, and I was left out of the mix entirely. I should have known about this. I should know what’s going on,” Nicolina cried. “I’m her only daughter.”

“Nic, your family has a problem. When people get sick, they have no compassion. They get angry—as if someone gets sick to irritate them.”

“You mean me. Just say it. I can’t handle my mother being sick.”

“You’re angry. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Of course I’m angry. I jump whenever they need me. My brother comes for dinner and he’s treated like a prince. I get all the bad and none of the good.”

“Matteo and Rosa have called and asked us how they can help.”

“They don’t mean it. They offer and cross their fingers hoping you won’t take them up on it. My brother, the golden boy. It’s been this way all our lives. No matter what Matteo does, he is revered. No matter what I do, I’m judged. Can you imagine what my mother would have done had I divorced you and remarried? Well, it wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have put my parents through it. Am I the only person who sees what is actually going on here?”

“They like your brother more.”



* * *





Nicolina Tizzi barked her name at the attendant as she passed her and went to the elevator, leaving Giorgio to sign in. She squeezed onto the crowded elevator. She disembarked and barreled down the hallway until she found her mother’s room.

Matelda was alone, asleep in the hospital bed. Everything in the room had a tinge of green to it, including her mother. Nobody ever looked well in hospital light, and perhaps that was the point. Nicolina took in the features of her mother’s face.

Matelda’s left eyebrow, though perfectly arched, had a space where a few hairs were missing. Usually her mother drew them in with a light brown pencil, but not today. Matelda wore lipstick but only a stain of pale pink remained. Her nose, one any Italian would envy, was straight as a pin and defined her mother’s noble profile. The cut on her cheek left by the seagull had faded.

Matelda slept in a nearly angelic state. Nicolina began to miss her mother even though she wasn’t gone. The gnaw of guilt at all she would lose when Matelda died replaced her anger and gave way to an unmoored shame. What was I thinking?

Nicolina began to weep like a lost child in the fairytale who suddenly found herself alone in the woods as night fell. The sun was sinking fast. The forest would soon be too dark to find a way out, and without the light, there was no hope that the child would find her way home. Nicolina fell to her knees and buried her face in the loose square of the untucked bedsheet that draped over the side of the hospital bed.