I open the paper and read the words.
I have to go.
I have no time to tell you any more than this…
I love you.
I closemy eyes as the heat of emotion overwhelms me. When I open them again, my cheeks feel wet. I touch them, incredulously. I don’t cry.
But God…
I didn’t imagine it then. She left, because it was her time, and she may never come back. Finding one person in a sea of people is like finding a needle in a haystack, even with all the resources we have.
And I won’t ever find another woman like her.
The door opens and Orlando comes in bearing a huge platter of food for me. The scent of Nonna’sbeef braciolafills the room and my mouth waters. It’s a hearty, homestyle Italian dish, thin slices of beef with a savory sauce slow cooked and infused with wine. She usually doesn’t make it unless it’s cold outside, but she knows it’s my favorite. It is, of course, served with a generous portion of Nonna’s homemade pasta, wilted greens, and hearty slices of Mama’s homemade bread. God, I’ve missed being here.
“I don’t have to eat in bed like an invalid,” I tell him. I want to get downstairs. I want to see all of them. I want to be at home.
“Tonight, you do,” he says softly. “The doctor said you’re in bed until he gives you permission to get out, but more importantly…” he clears his throat. “You’ve got shit to tell me.”
I sit back on the sea of pillows, reach for a napkin, and nestle the tray on my lap.
And I tell him everything.
* * *