All the Way to Heaven Page 9

  I hit ‘reply’ and began to type.

  Tish,

  I wish I could be there to see your reaction when you read this. But then, if I was, I wouldn’t be here telling you where I am.

  So, where am I, you ask? At this moment, I am lying in a bed that’s probably older than your grandmother’s great-grandmother. The headboard on this thing, probably made from one solid slab of oak, is practically taller than the bed is long. Said bed is in the guest room, complete with stone tile floors, low-beamed ceilings, and shuttered windows opening out to a spectacular view of the valley, of a real live Italian villa perched on top of a hill, overlooking olive groves, vineyards, and hillsides of wildflowers. Okay, the wildflowers aren’t in bloom right now, but they will be, come spring. The villa in which I currently languish belongs to the Lazzaro family who also happens to own and operate the il frantoio Lazzaro. In English, that’s the Lazzaro Olive Mill.

  I have just eaten dinner in bed, a meal consisting of fried bread and something like what we call Italian Wedding Soup back home.

  No, I am not getting married. Nor did I have to offer any inappropriate services to pay for my room.

  I am an invited guest.

  A broken-footed, stolen-pursed, cell-is-gone-too-but-I-still-have-my-drivers-license-and-most-of-my-wicked-sense-of-humor invited guest.

  I am here at the mercy and goodness and kindness and insistence of the Lazzaro family.

  More specifically, at the insistence of the good Dr. Cosimo Lazzaro.

  My doctor.

  My doctor who is single. I think. I’m pretty sure.

  My doctor who looks like David Gandy. Yes. The Dolce & Gabbana guy who makes me weep. The David Gandy who is not Italian, but should be, because he could be my doctor’s twin.

  My doctor who is coming out to the family villa to pay me a house call this weekend.

  The trivial details? (Read this part quickly so we can get back to talking about my doctor. It’s pretty boring anyway.) I was riding a bicycle on the Lucca walls, a little girl crashed into me, I fell, broke my ankle, tore up my hands, and someone stole my purse while I checked to make sure the little girl was okay. Even though my ankle is broken, it’s stable and doesn’t even need a cast. I just have to stay off it for one or two weeks and wear an ugly brace. I could have gotten by on crutches, except for the whole torn-up hands thing… hence, my temporary residence here.

  It’s just what the doctor ordered.

  Oh yes. And remember the rude guy from the train I mentioned in my email last night? The one who waited until my ride came because he wanted to make sure I was safe?

  Well, he just happened to come by when I fell—coincidence? Cue creepy music—and without going into detail, helped me get back to my room. He just happens to be exceptionally good friends with Madalina the Magnificent (the well-endowed singing Romanian pastry chef downstairs).

  Honestly, no one was more surprised than I was to not only see him again, but to have him stop whatever he was doing and help me out. He was very kind, although still somewhat reserved, but he got a lot happier when Madalina draped herself all over him. Not that I blame him. If you could see her, you’d understand. Anyway, she promised to come see me soon, and mentioned maybe bringing him. That’s cool. He did end up being a rather gallant, albeit reluctant, sort after all. They seem happy together.

  Listen. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I think the meds Dr. Feel Good gave me are borderline illegal, because I feel like I’m floating in a pool of Nutella right now and I can’t tell whether it’s a delicious sensation or not. I’ll have to give you more details tomorrow night. I must sleep now. I think I’m still suffering from a little jet lag to boot. But I need you to do me a favor. Mom is going to be terribly worried, I know, because I just sent her an email explaining all the trivial stuff I left out of this one. I have done what I can here and am just waiting for the bank to do its thing so I can access my funds again. I’m hoping she can go in and talk to them for me today or tomorrow and make sure everything is happening the way it should. She’ll know what to do, but will you please assure her that I’m being cared for and that she doesn’t need to worry about my well-being?

  Hey. Did you know that Cosi, which is what Dr. Cosimo Lazzaro’s family calls him, sounds like “cozy” with an Italian accent?

  I miss you!

  Ciao, bella!

  Ani

  Before I finished going through the rest of my inbox, an email popped up from Tish. It was written in lime green.

  ANI!

  What the WHAT???? Do you see the color in which I pen these words????? It’s the color I am at this very moment. GREEN, girl. The color of envy. I don’t care that you might miss out on Verona and Venice and Sorrento and Rome. The Coliseum will be there for another gazillion years and you can go see it some other time. Maybe even with me someday. But this? This is a ONCE IN A LIFETIME opportunity!!!!!

  You are IN a romance novel, Ani, a reality TV show!!!! This is “The Bachelor” in REAL LIFE, except without all the other cats scratching out each other’s eyes. Or like a chick flick come to life. Girlfriend, you are in NEVER NEVER LAND, because you will NEVER NEVER get another chance like this.

  DON’T BLOW IT!!!!!!!!!

  My advice? Work it, girl.

  DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU???? That ankle is going to take a LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNGGG time to heal, got it? Hey. Do you think you could manage a faint or two during one of Dr. Luscious—I mean, Dr. Lazzaro’s visits?

  And SEND ME A PICTURE!

  I EXPECT great things to come of this. Consider the WEDDING soup to be a portent of things to come. In a good way. Portents can be good, right?

  And I’ll go pet your mom for you. She actually called me this morning and invited me over for dinner tonight, so it’ll be PERFECT.

  Gotta run. Class starts in a few minutes.

  Cozy. I mean, Cosi. I like that. Apparently you do, too.

  I miss you more.

  Chow Bells yourself.

  Tish

  Smiling over my friend’s passion for capital letters and sticky punctuation keys, I closed my laptop, hugged it to me for just a moment, then leaned over and set it on the floor. Sliding down in the bed, I gingerly adjusted my leg on the pillow under the blankets, trying to find a position I could tolerate all night. I was beginning to feel the chill of the October night and mentally thanked Isa for retrieving my sweater. I pulled the covers up under my chin, reached over and turned off the light, closing my eyes in blissful gratitude that the day was over.

  I lay in the dark, listening to the sounds of the house. It wasn’t much later than 9 o’clock, and there was still a definite hum of activity around the place. I could hear the incessant back-and-forth chatter of Isa and her mother, interjected every once in a while with a low rumble, presumably a word gotten in edgewise by one of the husbands. There seemed to be more than four voices, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Maybe it was my fuzzy mind playing tricks on me. I could feel myself drifting, my thoughts becoming nonsensical, the laughter of my hosts mingling with the pulse in my ankle. Ha-ha. Ha-ha. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Jacob. Jacob. Ha-ha. Ha-ha.

  I cried out, my foot slipping off the mound of pillows as I awoke in the middle of trying to turn to my preferred left side sleeping position. I ached all over, not just in my foot, and I was so cold I had to clench my teeth to keep them from clacking together. A layer of sandpaper lined the inside of my throat and I reached for the water glass on the bedside table.

  Swallowing hurt. Badly. I lay back on my pillow and brought a hand up to my neck. My skin was hot to my clammy fingertips—I could even feel it through the gauze around my palms. No, no, no! I can’t be sick, too. I just can’t. I would have wailed if I wasn’t afraid of the pain it might cause.

  Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes and overflowed down into my hair, the moisture chill against my flushed temples. I shifted my hips carefully, reached down to lace my fingers behind my knee and got my foot back up on its hillock. My ba
ck hurt, especially on my right side. I had to somehow turn onto my left side or I would start to panic, but how to do that with my foot elevated?

  It took every ounce of energy I had, but I managed to maneuver myself into a more comfortable position. Perhaps sleeping on my back had made my mouth fall open and dried everything out. Maybe I wasn’t getting sick, but was instead just uncomfortable because I was in pain and so tired.

  So tired. So tired. I drifted off again.

  In my dreams, beams of light flashed across the night sky, and I lay on my back in a pool of shimmering water. My insides were made of hot lava, my skin a glass casing, but the lapping waves kept me from bursting into flames. I could hear someone calling my name, but my ears were submerged and it sounded muffled and distant. I listened, trying to decide if it was someone important enough to pay attention to, but I didn’t recognize the voice. And then I realized they weren’t really saying my name, either.

  When I opened my eyes again, I cringed, the daylight burning my retinas. I was drenched in sweat, panting for breath, and I threw back my covers and tried to sit up, getting my elbows up underneath me. That was as far as I got before I coughed. A chest-rattling hack that left me trembling and weak. I flopped back onto the pillow, that small amount of activity leaving me spent.

  I was sick. Sick with a capital S. Thank you, Mr. Hacking-Up-A-Lung-On-The-Plane-Man.

  Work it, Tish had said. I don’t think she meant for me to go to this extreme.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I forced myself up to the edge of the bed, easing my leg over the side. It hurt worse today than it had yesterday. How was that even possible?

  I leaned forward, grabbed at the arm of my makeshift wheelchair, and drew it toward me with shaky arms. I needed to use the restroom something fierce. My head throbbed an offbeat to the pulse in my ankle, making me slightly nauseous. Outside my window, the sun was high in the sky, and the alarm clock on the nightstand read 1:30 PM. I’d been asleep for nearly fifteen hours.

  I managed to make it into the chair without it rolling out from under me, and then scooted slowly across the room to the door. I leaned forward and peered out into the corridor, relieved to find it empty. I eased out, cringing at the sound of the wheels bumping across the tile. In the bathroom, I caught sight of my haggard face in the mirror. Ugh. I performed a perfect one-footed pivot from my chair to the toilet. Several minutes later, a light tap sounded on the door. I was back in my chair, washing my hands, and staring at the black-shadowed eyes of my reflection.

  “Ani?” It was Isa.

  “Come in. I’m decent.”

  The door opened slowly and Isa stuck her head around it before stepping inside. “Oh, Ani!” she exclaimed when she saw my fever-reddened cheeks and bleary eyes. She rushed to my side and put her cool hands on my cheeks. “You are so warm, my friend. How can I help you? Do you need medicine? Perhaps hot tea?” She bustled around the small space while she spoke, grabbing towels from a high shelf and setting them on the counter next to the sink. “Here,” she said, handing me a washcloth and turning the knobs on the faucet. When the water had reached a temperature that satisfied her, she dropped a little stopper into the drain and the basin began to fill. “I do not think it is safe for you to get in the bathtub yet, but you can wash here for now. I will bring you fresh clothing, yes?”

  “What about my bandages?” I asked, holding up my hands.

  “Nessun problema. I will change them for you.”

  Isa moved around me, reaching into a cupboard beside the mirror. From it, she withdrew a small amber bottle with a cork stopper. “It is mente piperita e lavanda. Mint. And lavender oil. It will help you breathe easier. For your coughing.” She patted her own chest. “Opens the air.”

  I nodded again, catching a whiff of the refreshing scent of the essential oils as she sprinkled a few drops into the water and swirled it around with her fingertips. When the sink was full, she dipped the washcloth into the hot water, wrung it out and handed it to me. “Wash,” she commanded. With a promise to return shortly, she ducked out, leaving me slouched in my chair, holding the warm cloth to my face, breathing in the scented steam.

  Within moments, she was back, a pile of clean clothes I didn’t recognize in one hand, my water glass in the other. After refilling it, she handed it and two of my pain pills to me and I swallowed them, wincing at the rawness of my throat.

  “I help you undress.” She chuckled when I clutched the edges of my sweater together over my chest. “You are shy? I understand. But now is not time to be shy.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a private person. It’s not easy for me.”

  She made a gentle dismissive noise and reached for the sleeves of my sweater, tugging them down my arms. I slipped out of it, removed my tank top, then stood on one foot and let her help me out of my skirt and underwear.

  “Oh Ani. Look at you!” She was standing slightly behind me, supporting me with one hand on my elbow. She ran the fingers of her free hand over my hip.

  I craned my head around to peer down my side, clutching the edge of the vanity to keep from toppling over. A swath of wine-colored bruises interspersed with a few raw patches decorated my skin from the crest of my right hipbone down over the curve of my backside to the top of my thigh, the part of me that had taken the brunt of my weight when I fell over.

  “Did Cosi see this?”

  I shook my head. “No. I didn’t even know it was there. I was paying too much attention to my ankle.”

  “The nurse who helped you undress for the X-ray did not see it?”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes, feeling quite silly. “I held a sheet around me when I took my pants off.” When she raised her eyebrows in question, I sheepishly explained. “I was afraid your uncle would walk in on me.”

  “Ah.” She drew the word out, her tone filled with humor. “He is a doctor, you understand?” She let it go, though, and laid a clean towel on the seat of the chair, then bid me sit again. She wrung out the washcloth in the sink, wiped down my back and shoulders then dried them off, leaving the large towel draped modestly around me while I washed the rest of my body the best I could.

  I was soon clean and dry and dressed in a soft flannel nightgown that belonged to Isa’s mom. “It is easier without pants for now, yes?”

  By the time I reached my freshly made bed, I just wanted to burrow under the covers and sleep for a week. Claudia poked her head in to see if she could help in any way, and the two of them helped me get comfortable, my foot propped on a pile of pillows.

  “I will bring you soup, bread, and tea,” Claudia declared, then turned to leave on her mission.

  “And I will bring you Cosi,” Isa added, turning to leave as well.

  “Wait. He’s here? I thought he wasn’t coming until Saturday. It is Thursday, isn’t it? Please tell me I haven’t been out cold for two days.”

  She laughed reassuringly. “He called to see how you were doing this morning. I came in to check on you, but you did not even respond when I called your name. He has come to see you for himself.”

  “Oh, no, Isa. He shouldn’t have done that. I’ll be fine. I’ll just hole up in here until—”

  There was a knock at the door left ajar from Claudia’s exit. Speak of the devil. Dr. Lazzaro peered into the room.

  “May I come in?”

  I nodded. Of course I wasn’t going to refuse him. I tried to look fragile and delicate rather than pasty and sickly in baggy flannel, hoping against hope he wouldn’t notice the absence of my dignity.

  Isa rolled my office chair close and bade him sit. He brought it right up to the bed, leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees, and dipped his head so he could look me in the eyes. “How do you feel, Ani?” What happened to Miss Tomlin?

  “I’m okay,” I croaked.

  “But you are sick, yes?”

  I nodded, and then opened my mouth to explain. I should have stopped with the nod. “I think I picked something up from the guy I sat next to on the plane. He
was coughing and sneezing the whole ten-hour flight. I tried to cover my face and not breathe, but it’s not easy to hold your breath for that long, you know? And then he took some kind of a sleep aide and fell asleep on my shoulder and the flight attendant had to pull a What About Bob wake-up maneuver on him….” I was rambling and the doctor was letting me. “Sorry,” I concluded lamely. “I don’t feel very good, that’s all.”

  He nodded, clearly trying to keep a straight face for the sake of my pride. “How is your pain?” He reached out and laid a hand on my left knee. “I have stronger medication if you need it.”

  “I’m fine, Dr. Lazzaro. I just need—”

  “Cosimo.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping incrementally. “Here in my home, I am Cosimo. Or Cosi. Not Dr. Lazzaro.”

  “Okay.” It came out a whisper. I hoped he thought it was due to my sore throat and not the sudden shortage of oxygen I was experiencing.

  Isa cleared her throat and her uncle straightened a little. “I will go help Mama. Do you need anything else, Ani?” I stared at her blankly, unable to come up with any reason to keep her in the room with us. She smiled brightly, eyes darting back and forth between me and Cosimo, then left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  He slid down in the chair a little and folded his hands together over his abdomen. Resting his head on the high seat back, he stared up at the long beams sectioning the ceiling overhead. The silence that filled the short distance between us went from awkward to pleasant as I realized he wasn’t going to make any moves on me while were alone. Not that I really thought he was that desperate. It was more like wishful thinking on my part.

  “Anica.” He rolled his head to the side and gazed at me, his amber eyes half-closed. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Like he was just trying on my name. Finally, I spoke instead.

  “Thank you, Dr.—Cosimo,” I corrected quickly when his eyebrow arched in reproof. “For everything you and your family have done for me. Are doing for me. I don’t know what I would have done without—.” My words failed me as I gave thought to where I’d be if it hadn’t been for Isa stepping in. For Madalina being so gregarious and unashamed to call on people for favors. For Paulo stopping everything in his day to come to my rescue. Again. For Dr. Cosimo Lazzaro. His sister, Claudia, and her husband, Franco, whom I had yet to meet. Fabio. Even the bike rental guy, Giovani.