These Tangled Vines(75)

Anton spoke hesitantly. “Because he followed me.”

With eyes still burning from her tears, Lillian waited uneasily for him to continue.

“After you left, I went to the cellars to check on something,” Anton said. “I didn’t know Freddie was there until I came out later and he was on the terrace, pacing, waiting for me.”

She fought hard to understand exactly what had happened. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes. He told me what he saw, and he was angry, obviously. I could hardly blame him. Then he came at me with his fists.”

“That doesn’t sound like Freddie,” Lillian replied, shaking her head. “He’s not the fighting type.”

“Well, he was in a fighting mood this morning.”

Lillian regarded Anton with shock and horror. “What happened after that?”

“He shoved me hard, up against the wall a few times.” Anton lowered his gaze. “I took it because I figured I had it coming. I didn’t fight back, but then he swung a punch at me, and . . .”

“What did you do?”

“I hit him.”

A sickening bile began to spread through her insides. “And then?”

“We argued. He told me to stay away from you, but I told him I was in love with you and that you were going to stay here.”

“You told him I was leaving him?” she asked with alarm.

Anton nodded. Lillian pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and squeezed great clumps of hair in her fists.

This was not how it was supposed to happen. She had wanted to break the news to Freddie herself—to do it gently and help him understand. She couldn’t bear to think how he must have suffered when he’d watched her through the window, making love to another man. What a devastating sight it must have been. Grief and despair tore at her insides.

She turned to Anton. “I still don’t understand what happened to him. How was he hit by a car?”

Anton bowed his head. “After we fought, he turned and walked off. I went inside to calm down, to get my head on straight, but then I worried that he would go back to your apartment and do something crazy, maybe hurt you, so I got in my car to make sure you were okay.”

All at once, Lillian grasped what Anton was saying to her, and her stomach contracted violently with dread. “Wait. Are you telling me that you’re the one who hit him?”

Anton said nothing for a moment, and then at long last, he nodded.

If Lillian hadn’t been sitting down, her knees might have buckled. “Oh my God, Anton. You didn’t do it on purpose, did you? It was an accident, right?”

“Of course it was,” he quickly replied. “It was early. The sun was barely up, and there was a heavy mist. It seemed like he came out of nowhere.”

“He didn’t hear you coming?” she asked, struggling to understand.

“I don’t know, but there’s no shoulder on that road, and I was coming around a bend. Maybe I was going too fast.”

Feeling sick enough to throw up, Lillian stood and walked to the window in the waiting room, where she stared at the glass, unable to see through it to the world beyond. The morning sun seemed to reveal a foggy film of dust and fingerprints that begged to be cleaned. She reached out and marked an X in the grime, then inspected her forefinger. The world seemed suddenly soiled and dirty, and she wiped her finger on her hip.

Anton’s voice shook with anguish. “Do you believe me, Lillian? That it was an accident?”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice heavy and listless. “I know you would never try to hurt anybody like that.”

Or would he? How well did she really know him? They said love could be blind . . .

The nurse walked into the waiting area, and they both turned to her.

“Are you Mrs. Bell?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lillian replied.

“Would you come with me, please? Dr. Santarossa would like to speak with you.”

Without looking back at Anton, Lillian hurried to follow the nurse.



The doctor was just finishing up a phone call at the nurses’ station when Lillian approached.

“This is Freddie Bell’s wife,” the nurse said to him.

He hung up the phone and turned to her. “You’re from America?”

“Yes. How is he?”

“We’re still working on stabilizing him,” the doctor replied. “The good news is that he’s regained consciousness.”

She laid her hand over her heart. “Thank goodness.”

“But he’s had a very serious injury,” the doctor continued. “He can’t move his fingers or toes, and the x-ray has confirmed a C6-level fracture on his spinal cord.”

Lillian frowned and shook her head at him. “You’ll need to explain that to me. What does it mean?”

“It means . . .” He paused for a few seconds. “The bottom line is that this is a very serious situation, more than we can handle here. We’re just a community hospital. He needs to be transferred to a trauma center in Turin. We’ve sent for a helicopter.”

All the blood rushed to Lillian’s head, and she felt sick and dizzy. “I’m sorry . . . what are you saying . . . exactly? Are you telling me that my husband is paralyzed? That he won’t be able to walk?”