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A pause, and he must see something on my face that tells him not to ask me if I’m sure. I am sure. As sure as the sunrise.
“Thank you for your time,” he says.
“I’m the one who’s grateful, Dr. Bautista. Before you leave, I have a request. The news of pregnancy might upset my wife. She was on the pill, and this was unexpected. I don’t want her rattled before she has a chance to recover. And I also want to be the one who tells her.”
“Mr. Mancini, I can’t?—”
“You heard me,” I say.
“I could lose my license for this.”
“You won’t. If anything, you’ll have done me a favor, and if you ask anyone around here, having me in your debt goes a long way.”
Dr. Bautista shakes his head. “I can give you two days.”
Two days.
33
WOOF-WOOF
CRISTINA
Lifting my heavy eyelids feels like a chore I can’t seem to accomplish no matter how hard I try. And I’ve been trying for the past few minutes, ever since I swam out of whatever groggy fog I was under. I try to move the fingers of my left hand, but can’t do that either.
Groaning, I try to peel back my eyelids again. Can’t.
There’s pressure on my right hand. A squeeze.
I squeeze back.
The bed dips, and before I hear him, I smell his cologne. I inhale deeply. Knowing Severio’s with me brings me peace even before I hear his deep voice say my name. “Cristina?”
I answer, but I don’t think I spoke aloud. My mouth feels parched. I lick my lips and mumble ayes.
“Call Dr. Bautista and tell him she woke up.” I feel the press of Severio’s lips on my temple. “You pulled through.”
Even though my brain is foggy, it works, so I sort through the last thing I remember. Severio and me parting, me teasing him about another man in Sicily, and his face falling as he got all jealous from a distance.
Me entering the church.
Daddy. Oh, but he wasn’t my daddy. His face was foreign. I only recognized his voice and hands. He tried to put me in a van. I elbowed him in the gut, and that’s all I remember.
I open my mouth to say something, but end up grunting, “W…w…” Water. Forget it.
The door opens and closes. “He went home,” a man says. “They’re calling him.”
I recognize that voice. Corrado Mancini. I squeeze Severio’s hand.Don’t leave me.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to take care of you, and…everyone else.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Again, the door opens and closes. A woman’s voice this time. “Good evening. You said she is awake?”
Cold fingers pry open my eyelid. A flash of light. The other eyelid. Light. I wish she kept them open.
“Cristina,” Nedda says, “don’t move your head, but squeeze my hand if you can.” Her fingers are cold on my left hand. I squeeze.
