(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (28 page)

“Are you going to be my teacher?”

“It’s not the same as a cello, so I wouldn’t be very good at that. But we’ve got you a teacher.”

“Alex?” Massimo asked brightly. “Is Alex going to teach me?”

Cary chuckled. “He’d probably like to, but you need lessons every week, and he’s not in Milan often enough.”

Massimo looked a bit crestfallen.

“But he’s given us the name of a teacher here. Her name is Signora Riccardo. Your first lesson is this week.”

Massimo put the violin and bow back down in the case, then flung his arms around Cary. “Thank you
so
much, Cary Papà!” A moment later, he did the same to Antonio. “This is the best birthday!” He then zoomed out of the bedroom to tell Francesca and Roberta and the other children about his gift.

“I still hate kids,” Cary told Antonio.

“Right. You keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it.”

Late that same night, Cary slept with his face pressed against Antonio’s back. The telephone rang, and Cary rolled over in the darkness to pick up the handset.

“Who is it?” mumbled Antonio, half-asleep.

“Not sure. US number.”
It’s about 3:00 a.m. here. That’d make it about 9:00 p.m. in the States.
They got a few of these calls, mostly for Cary—people who couldn’t keep the time difference straight. “Hello?”

“Is this Cary Redding?” The voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is New York Presbyterian Hospital. We have you listed as an emergency contact for John Redding.”

“What’s wrong?” Antonio was now sitting up in bed, watching him with growing concern.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s stable.”

“
Stable
?” Cary choked out.

“He’s had a heart attack, Mr. Redding.”

Oh God…
.

T
HE roar of the engines was less pronounced here, in first class. Antonio had insisted he pay the extra money to upgrade. “You’ll need to rest, caro. Once you get to New York, you’ll want to be with him.”

He reached into his small bag to find his iPod, thinking the music might help him sleep. His hand closed around something hard, and he pulled out a small metal airplane.
Massi.
He smiled, realizing Massimo had slipped it into the bag without him knowing.

He missed Massimo already. And Massi’s father. Cary traveled all the time, but this was different. This time, he wasn’t performing, although he had taken his cello.

The flight attendant stopped by to check on him. “Would you like some help with your seat?”

“Sure, thanks.” He stood up as she converted his seat to a bed, then set out a sheet, pillow, and blanket.

Settled back in again a few minutes later, he stuck the earphones in and selected Alex’s recording of Bach’s unaccompanied violin works. The hard metal of the airplane poked him from where he’d put it in his pants pocket. He pulled it out and forced himself to close his eyes, still clutching the toy in his hand.

“M
R
. R
EDDING
?”
The woman who looked up from the nurse’s station in the cardiac intensive care unit smiled reassuringly.

“Yes.”

“Your father’s in room five. He’s doing fine. Dr. Sylvester will be by later on, and he can fill you in.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course. We’ve got a cot set up in the room, if you need to rest. My supervisor said you flew in from Milan this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” he told her. He had checked into the hotel to drop his bag and his cello off, take a quick shower, and change before coming to the hospital. Sleep was the last thing on his mind, but he guessed John wouldn’t be going home for at least a few days.

“My name’s Michelle. I’m your father’s day nurse. Cathy is on the night shift.”

“Thanks, Michelle. I appreciate your help.”

She opened the door to a room a few yards from the nursing station. “Mr. Redding?” she said as they walked inside. “You have a visitor.” Then she turned to Cary and added, “Press the call button if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

Cary got his first look at John, lying in the bed, hooked up to half a dozen different devices and IV lines. An oxygen tube was taped below his nose, his face drawn and pale. The memory of Cary’s mother’s death resurfaced with the familiar surroundings, and Cary took a deep breath to counter his nausea. He was afraid, he realized. He had just gotten to know John again. He wasn’t ready to lose him like he had lost her.

He’s doing fine
, he reminded himself.
This isn’t the same.

“Cary.” John’s face brightened. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The hospital called.”
When was it? Last night?
Cary’s brain felt sluggish as he tried to take in the scene. “I caught the first flight out.”

“You shouldn’t have.” John’s face said otherwise; he was obviously pleased Cary had come.

“How are you feeling?” Cary sat down beside the bed.

“Better than yesterday,” John said with a chuckle. “At least the elephant on my chest is gone.”

“I’m glad. Have they told you how long they’re going to keep you here?”

“Doc says if everything looks okay, I might be able to go home Friday. How long are you staying in town?”

“I’ve cleared my schedule for the next few weeks. Do you have someone who can help you out once you’re released?”

“Nah. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Always have been.”

“I’ll help.”

“Really? You’d do that? But what will Antonio say?”

“He understands.” This time, Cary realized he felt no guilt. He had believed Antonio when he had said to take as much time as he needed to be with John. For once, he hadn’t worried, either, that his partner would be angry or disappointed. He knew Antonio would be waiting for him when he returned home.

“
A
RE you John’s son?”

“Cary Redding.” Cary offered the doctor his hand as they stood in the doorway outside John’s room. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Frank Sylvester, your father’s cardiologist. I’ve heard a great deal about you, and not just from your father. I heard you play at Carnegie Hall last year. I’m a bit of a fan.”

“Thanks.” Cary forced a smile. “So how’s he doing?”

“Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more private? The waiting room’s empty.”

Cary nodded and followed the doctor down the hallway.

“Please, have a seat,” Frank Sylvester said, gesturing to the waiting room couch a few moments later and sitting down in a chair facing Cary. “Before I go into any detail,” he continued, “I did want to let you know he’s doing much better now that you’re here. Depression is a real concern with patients like your father after a serious cardiac event.”

“I have to admit I’ve been worried about him for a while. And when I got the call….”

“He’s probably told you that we plan on releasing him Friday, assuming things continue to improve. But he’s still pretty weak, and he’ll need some help with cooking, cleaning—that sort of thing.”

“I’m planning on staying for the foreseeable future. At least until he’s doing well enough to be on his own again.”

“That’s great. He’ll need the support.”

“What’s his prognosis?” Cary asked as he rubbed his eyes. “I mean, long-term?”

“That will depend entirely upon him.” The doctor closed his clipboard and met Cary’s eyes, then paused for a moment, as if considering how to broach the topic. “What do you know about his drinking?”

Cary let out a slow breath. “Only that he’s probably been drinking for a long time. I didn’t know him growing up. We only reconnected about a year ago. When I suggested he might need some help, he shut me down.”

“The heart attack isn’t unconnected to his drinking,” the doctor explained. “His diagnosis is alcoholic cardiomyopathy. Basically what that means is that the alcohol has damaged the heart muscle, so it doesn’t pump as efficiently. His heart’s enlarged. I’ve prescribed some medications to reduce the stress on his heart, but unless he makes some serious lifestyle changes, his condition will only get worse.”

Shit.
“What can I do to help?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Make sure he takes his meds. If he decides to enroll in a twelve-step program, be supportive.”

“
If
he decides?”

“Mr. Redding, you and I both know that if he doesn’t want to stop drinking, there’s little anyone can do to stop him.”

“But—”

“He expressed some interest in attending an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting once he’s feeling up to it. Encourage him to do it. Sometimes an event like this is what it takes for someone to make the decision to change.”

Cary’s relief was tempered by the look of something approaching pity he saw in the cardiologist’s eyes.

“You can’t make him change, Mr. Redding. All you can do is give him support. Remember that. And if you’re so inclined, you may want to catch an Al-Anon meeting. It might be helpful for you.”

Cary nodded. It wasn’t as if the man’s words were a surprise to him—he and Antonio had discussed the same thing. He understood it. Or at least, he thought he did. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I’ll do my best.”

“Feel free to contact me if you have any questions, and by all means, make sure he keeps his appointments so I can monitor his progress. We’ll get those scheduled before you take him home.”

Cary shook the doctor’s hand, then watched him leave the room.

You can’t change him if he doesn’t want to change.
He had understood that months ago, when John had left Milan. So why was it so difficult for him to accept?

Chapter 25

O
UT
OF
THE
B
OX

“
G
OING to your AA meeting?” Cary asked, looking up from his cello. He’d been sitting in the middle of John’s tiny one-bedroom apartment, working on some arpeggios, when John emerged from the bedroom.

“I’ll be back after dinner. I told Tom we’d take some time after to shoot the breeze and grab something to eat.”

“No problem. I’ll clean up while you’re out. Tell Tom I said hey.”

“Will do.” John grabbed his coat from off the hook and was out the front door moments later.

It’s good that he likes his sponsor. And Tom will make sure he eats well.

Distracted, he decided to straighten up the apartment and finish his practicing later. He’d gotten four solid hours of playing in already and didn’t feel as pressed to do more as he often did by midafternoon.

He and John had been living together in the apartment since John had been released from the hospital nearly two weeks before. Cary had hired a cleaning service to come in once a week, but as promised, he had been doing most of the cooking and day-to-day chores as John slowly recovered.

He had been pleasantly surprised when John announced he would be attending his first AA meeting the past weekend. Surprised and relieved. He had also said very little to John about it other than to tell him he was happy to hear it. They had not talked about John’s alcoholism—John had made it clear the topic was off-limits—although John had proceeded to make a show of ridding the house of any remaining alcohol after he’d returned from the AA meeting.

It was while he was making the bed that Cary first noticed the shoebox on John’s dresser. It was a battered old box with a peeling sticker on the side marked “Style: Darla, Size 8.5, Black.” There was a drawing of a woman’s shoe, high-heeled, next to the writing. On the top was a yellow sticky-note that read:

J-

I was cleaning out the house the other day and found this. Looks like Janet wanted you to have this.

-Charlene

Charlene?
It had to be from his aunt, his mother’s sister.
Of course she would have known about John.
The realization angered him. Not that his relationship with his mother’s only sibling was a close one—they saw each other occasionally at Justin’s house over Christmas—but still, the knowledge that his aunt had known the truth of John’s existence when her sister’s own children had not….

Stop it. It’s over and done with.