Taking Tuscany (21 page)

And whispers in my darkness

And bring to me His Light

I wake up a few hours later with a start. It must be the middle of the night. I go downstairs and can hear Daddy talking on the phone. He's home, but not Mama. I wait for him to hang up.

“Is … Benji … okay?”

He releases a heavy sigh. His eyes are red. “They found a bone chip from Benji's skull, which has caused the swelling to worsen. Daddy wipes his eyes. “They have to do surgery, but it's risky. We're trying to line up a surgeon, but there are … complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

Daddy looks at me like he's deciding if I can take the news. “We need a surgeon and we need blood.”

“Doesn't the hospital have surgeons and blood?”

“There are no brain surgeons available and all the hospitals are short on blood.”

“Can we give our blood?”

“Some of us can. You, Dino, and I are the only ones in the family with Benji's blood type.”

We all learned our blood type from the umpteen trips to the Squawkomish emergency room our family has made over the years. Mama says we are the most accident-prone bunch of kids on the face of the planet … especially Benji.

Daddy takes a deep breath. “Grab your brother, we'd better go.”

When we return to the hospital we're ushered into a room for the blood draw. Daddy looks at the nurse.

She nods, yes. “We found a new supply of blood.”

“What?” Daddy asks, surprised. “How?”

The nurse opens the door to the hallway. “
Vieni qui
.”
Come in.

We watch three nuns enter the room, take seats, and roll up their sleeves.

Outside, the rhythmic beat of helicopter blades pound through loud gusts of wind. Commotion starts up in the hallway outside of our door. People hustle past our door in all directions. As soon as the nurse is done drawing my blood, I stand up, dizzy, and stick my head out in the hall to see what's going on. A doctor dressed in surgical garb rushes through the emergency entrance, as wind and rain sweep in along with him. Two nurses meet him at the door and usher him down our hall. He whisks right past us like he knows where he's going and what he's here for. I'm glad someone seems to know what he's doing.

“
Grazie a Dio
.” Praise God, Daddy whispers, as the surgeon passes by.

We all have to wait out in the lobby while the surgery is taking place, even Mama and Daddy. It's comforting to see the sisters still praying for Benji. They're a comfort for my family, too—which is more than I can say about our relatives, who have been nowhere around though this whole ordeal. Mama even had to call Fabrizia to stay with Nonna, because she couldn't ever reach her sister. Anger rises up inside of me when I think of them. I realize there were little squabbles between our families, but this is Benji's life we're dealing with, not the color of a dumb villa. Where are they anyway? I have a feeling this is the weekend for the Dante Awards in Rome, where Cousin Stacy's being honored for her poetry.

It seems hours before the surgeon emerges from the operating room. He brings our whole family into a small room down the hall. There's nothing inside but two couches, a faint lamp, and a box of tissues. My heart stops beating. I sit down, dazed, and wait.

The surgeon wipes his brow and begins to speak in perfect English. “The surgery went well. I was able to remove the bone chip. I won't lie; this is the point where we all have to fight for Benji, and Benji will have to fight to make it. The swelling must come down, that's our only hope. Benji's a strong little boy, and I'm betting on him, but I need you to be aware of how critical this is.”

When the surgeon walks out, we all sit in silence. Daddy wraps his arms around us and prays. Our tears fall like the rain beating on the window.

I stay behind after everyone else gets up and leaves. I have to talk to God alone. I must look a mess to Him right now. I'm beyond the little raggedy doll. I feel more like a torn and shredded doll that a dog got hold of and shook back and forth in its teeth until its stuffing came out.

“Jesus,” I whisper, “please help Benji. Please let him live. He's my little brother.” I think back to the morning Benji and I sat outside the horse stall together and listened to Nonna singing to the animals. I remember Benji's smile. It makes me cry some more. “If you just let him live, God, I promise, I will serve You the rest of my life like the sisters do. I'll be bold for you like Sainte Foy. Please don't let him die.
Please …
”

By evening the swelling hasn't gone down, but the doctor says that could be from the surgery. The good news is the bone chip is gone, and Benji has a much better chance to recover. Mama hasn't slept at all since the accident. Daddy decides we should all go home to try to sleep, and hope the morning brings good news. As we file out the door, Mama and Daddy thank each of the nuns for coming to pray, and for giving their blood. I hug Sister Aggie.

We pull into our driveway in the dark, run through the rain, and are met with the unexpected. All the lights are on in the kitchen, and every inch of counter space is covered with food: homemade casseroles, breads, meats and cheeses, and baked goods. There are bouquets of flowers and cards from names I can't even pronounce. Mama says most of these names are Greek.

Greek?
Greek has become a bad word to me ever since our Greek relatives never showed up at the hospital. “How did all this food get here?”

“The only one with a key to our home is your Aunt Genevieve,” Daddy says.

“My
sister
?” Mama says. “That's doubtful.”

“Yeah, I'll bet she's still living it up in Rome with Stacy since she won that dumb Dante award,” I add.

Daddy looks at Mama and me. He says we all need to get everyone together in the living room. There is something he needs to tell us.

We enter the living room and find a warm fire already burning. Once we're all seated, Daddy begins to talk, but he can't seem to get the words out—he just chokes up.

I'm scared he knows something about Benji that he hasn't told us yet. “Is it Benji, Daddy?”

He shakes his head. “It's … Nick,” he says in a hoarse voice.

“Uncle Nick?” Adriana asks.

Daddy nods. He takes a deep breath and begins to explain. “When the doctors discovered Benji's swelling was getting worse, they told me if they didn't get the bone chip out, Benji would … he wouldn't make it.” Daddy closes his eyes. “None of the doctors here were skilled enough for that type of brain surgery, and the hospital did not have the means to bring in a brain surgeon—especially one who needed to be flown in. I called Nick to tell him. He said … ‘I got you covered, Sonny … I got you covered.'” Daddy chokes up again, wipes his eyes, and continues. “He arranged the whole thing … he knew a specialist who could do the work, a renowned brain surgeon, Dr. Kargianis. It was your Uncle Nick who …”

He never finishes his sentence.

All which I took from thee I did but take,

Not for thy harms,

But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms.

All which thy child's mistake

Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:

Rise, clasp My hand, and come!”

Halt by me that footfall:

Is my gloom, after all,

Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?

“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

I am He Whom thou seekest!

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.

20

The Home Fires

With the morning comes the sunrise, a clear blue sky, and the news that Benji's swelling has come down during the night. My brother is going to live. There is rejoicing in our home again. But not without some regret that we had thought so poorly of the people who had done the most to help save my brother.

When we arrive at the hospital we are all allowed back in Benji's room for the first time since the accident. He's sleeping soundly. Even to watch him sleep is enough for now. We are all gathered around his bed just looking at him. There's a gentle knock at the door, and Uncle Nick and Aunt Genevieve enter. Daddy gets up and embraces Uncle Nick with a big bear hug.

Mama and Aunt Genevieve are back to being sisters again. “Why didn't you come?” Mama asks.

“We did come as soon as we heard, Soph, but they wouldn't let us back there. You and Sonny were they only ones allowed back with Benji, and your kids were all asleep out here, so we went by to get Mother. Fabrizia was already there and said she was happy to stay with her. That freed us up to help in other ways.”

Mama and I walk down to the lobby to see Stacy and Nicky, who still aren't allowed back in intensive care to see Benji. After greeting Stacy, I congratulate her on getting the Dante Award.

“Oh, thanks. I haven't really seen it yet. My teacher got it for me.”

“What do you mean your teacher got it for you—didn't you go to Rome for the award ceremony?”

Stacy looks at me, puzzled. “Of course not—that was the same day Benji got hurt. Mom and I stayed home to organize all the meals. We had the entire Greek Orthodox Church cooking around the clock—the women at Saint Constantine were very willing to help.”

“I delivered the food to your house and kept a fire going for you,” Cousin Nicky says.

Mama and I look at each other. I know we are feeling the same way. Grateful but ashamed at the same time.

“Well,” Mama says, “we certainly have a lot of wonderful food waiting for us, and a nice warm home to go to. Why don't we all go enjoy a nice meal together?”

On our way out of the lobby, I notice the nuns have gone home. I sense an emptiness in the hospital lobby without them. Their presence helped to fill this room with hope.

We arrive to our warm home, fire still burning, food everywhere, and, most of all, family. I feel very grateful for our Greek relatives and the people at their church. Flowers and cards fill the living room—some from people we've never even met. And there are telegrams sent all the way from our relatives in Greece.

As we gather around the table, Daddy asks a blessing over the meal and gives thanks for Benji's recovery. Mama drinks a toast to “Nick and Genevieve,” and adds, “thank you … for my son.”

Halfway through our meal, Nonna appears in the dining room. “Well, you've decided to come back after all. Did the guilt of deserting your own mother finally get to you?”

“No one deserted you, Mother,” Mama tells her. “Benji needed some medical care, and we didn't want to worry you. He's going to be fine and will be coming home soon.”

“A likely story,” Nonna says. “You tried to leave the country and got caught, didn't you? That's the only reason you came back. Don't think I don't know what that husband of yours is up to …”

“Mother, it has been a long weekend. Please sit down and have something to eat with us.” Mama goes to get her a plate.

“Oh, very well, but don't expect me to forget this anytime soon.… Pass the potatoes.”

Monday comes, and Mama lets me play hooky from school. She knows how little sleep I've had. And I know I'm in no position to take any more guff from Annalisa after what we've been through this weekend.

When J. R. arrives home from school, he calls me to the door. “Someone's here to see you.”

Bianca is standing in the foyer with an armload of envelopes. “Hi, Angelina. I have some cards and letters from the kids for you to give your brother, and a few for you, too.”

“Me? I'm not the one who got hurt.”

“Maybe not, but some of the kids wanted to say hi and let you know they're thinking of you.” Bianca heaps the whole pile of letters into my arms.

We push the couch in front of the fire and climb on, with the pile of letters between us. I notice an envelope with little pink hearts all over it for Benji. It's from Christiana.
Just friends, hmm?

“So why weren't you at school today?” Bianca wants to know.

“Mama gave me the option of resting up for a day or going to school. Imagine how torn I was. Stay home and relax … or spend the day dodging people who hate me for no good reason.”

“If you're talking about Annalisa, I'd say she definitely has a reason.”

“What? Because I'm a Yankee?”

“It's pretty obvious Annalisa's insanely jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Of
what
?”

Bianca rolls her eyes. “That you stole her boyfriend.”

“Dominic?”

“Why do you think she always tries to embarrass you in front of him? To make you look stupid. Annalisa has liked Dominic forever—then you came along.”

“Dominic is my
friend.
He's not my
boyfriend
!”

“Annalisa doesn't see it that way. He used to like her before you came along. Even if you are just friends, he obviously gives you more attention than he gives her.”

Jealous. Of me? Whoa.
This is much more bearable than thinking someone hates me just for the heck of it. “Bianca, thank you. I have been enlightened. You deserve a cookie for telling me that—and I just happen to have about a hundred of them in the freezer.”

While we're busy biting the heads off of orange-frosted pilgrims, something doesn't settle right with me about Annalisa. “Bianca, it's got to be more than just jealousy over a boy. There's something more to it.”

“Like what?”

“Well, remember when we were at Annalisa's Sweet Fourteen party, and she had everything a girl could possibly want? Decorations, ice statues, a princess cake, piles of gifts, friends, food …”

“Yeah?”

“Well, even with all that, I remember feeling like something was missing. I couldn't put my finger on it. I especially felt it when Annalisa was opening her presents, and you know what I realized?”

“She didn't have a dog?” Bianca starts to laugh. She knows me too well.

“No, you nut. Her mom and dad were nowhere around—ever—for the entire party. No brothers or sisters either. The only people there besides her friends were the house servants.”

“I didn't even think about that. I know her parents travel a lot for their wine business, but you'd think they'd be around for her birthday. I think her brothers and sisters are all grown too, and she's the only one left at home.”

“Yeah. Sounds to me like maybe she was a P. S. baby—a late addition to the family. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, she is a lot younger than the rest of their kids.”

“And have you noticed how Annalisa always needs people around her?”

Bianca thinks about that for a minute. “You know, you're right. I never see her alone at school.”

“She does whatever it takes to make sure she has her clique with her everywhere she goes.”

“And she's always throwing herself at Dominic—which, she hasn't figured out, does
not
work,” Bianca says.

“Yeah, my mama always told me guys don't like it when girls do that.”

Bianca snaps her fingers like she's just solved the mystery of the decade. “That's another big reason Annalisa doesn't like you.”

“What is?”

“Your mom.”

“Mama?”

“Yeah. Think about it. Your mom is exactly what Annalisa needs but doesn't have. A mom who cares about what you're doing. Your mom is there for you, Angelina. She stands up for you—even against Annalisa.”

I think back to Mama telling Annalisa off for trying to use me to get to Dominic and for calling me names. Mama gave her a trip to Pietro's pond over that. Wow. I can understand girls being jealous over a boy, but this is the first time I've heard of someone being jealous over somebody else's mama—especially a mama like mine.
Will wonders never cease?

Daddy comes home and hands me a letter. Danny wrote back.

November 10, 1972

Dear A. J.,

I received your letter, and want to thank you and the nuns for your prayers for Chuck. I've been spending a lot of time with him. He's actually a pretty interesting guy. He's starting to consider the possibility that God cares about him. Please keep praying.

My family is planning to spend Thanksgiving here. Grandpa's not up to traveling anymore. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone. As far as Jason, I don't know if he has a girlfriend right now. He doesn't talk about anything much, except farming. I guess I'll find out when he comes.

About Dorothy, I wanted to let you know that my youth group is praying for her. In light of the way Dorothy is treated by the other girls, especially Annalisa, it makes me wonder if maybe it's not more about jealousy than hatred. If you could pray for Annalisa, maybe God could help you see why she's so mean in the first place. You might pray that both Annalisa and Dorothy get what they deserve. Just a thought.

Sailor wanted to wish you and your family a happy Thanksgiving. I told him they don't celebrate that holiday in Italy, but he figured you'd be celebrating anyway.

So happy Thanksgiving,

Sailor and Danny

P.S. No, I don't have a girlfriend.

P.S.S. Who's Dominic?

I have to read those last two lines again—about five times
. No, I don't have a girlfriend. Who's Dominic?

…
Let's see, if I'm fourteen now, and Danny is seventeen.… when I'm fifteen, he'll be eighteen … when I'm sixteen, he'll be nineteen, when I'm seventeen, he'll be twenty, and when I'm eighteen … Danny will be … twenty-one.
Oh … my … gosh … not much difference in age when you get up into those digits.
Molto interessante.
Very, very interesting!

I carefully fold the letter back up and tuck it into the front bib pocket of my overalls, then curl up by the fire, and drift off …
four more years … only four more years …

When I awake, Mama is sitting across from me sorting through recipe files. “The Morgans are all planning to have Thanksgiving on the island,” I tell her.

She looks up. “That's great. I'd sure love to see Stella and the family again. I do miss that island at times.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Mama looks at me and smiles. She's only heard that every day since we moved here.

“Hey, what would happen if, say, a Catholic and a Baptist got married—would they become Catholics or Baptists?”

“They'd become Baptolics.” She looks so proud of herself for being so clever. “Add that one to your book of A. J.-isms, compliments of me.”

“Oh, Mama.”

I tell Mama what Bianca said earlier about Annalisa—about her being jealous and not having much attention from her family and all. Mama stares into the fire for a long time thinking that over. “That's sad,” she says. “Really sad.”