Letters to the Baumgarters (14 page)

She wrinkled her nose, looking between Mason and her brother, the
confusion apparent on her face. “But… what are you doing here then?”

“Visiting,” Mason replied.

“So you’re not together anymore,” Caprice went on, pushing him to
clarify.

“Hey, Anna, did you get your landlord to fix your leaky sink?” I
inquired, trying to change the subject.

I could hear Mama Dorotea in the kitchen muttering something in Italian.
She hadn’t said much to the three of us, but I caught the word
“bastardo”
and winced, glad Mason didn’t know the language. She was still angry that Nico
had moved out. I was surprised she’d invited us to Easter at all, but then
again, I’d overheard Nico saying, “If they can’t come, I won’t be coming
either,” so that might have had something to do with it.

“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, slapping a card down on the table.
“Ha! I win the
re bello
!”

“What’s that?” I asked, getting
up off the sofa and going over to the table. It was a good excuse to get away
from Caprice’s questions.

“The beautiful king,” Anna said
in English, kissing the card and holding it up to Sal, who scowled in her
direction. “It’s
Scopa.
Do you want to play?”

“No thanks. I’ll just watch.”
Although I knew the rules, I’d only played a few times. It was a lively game,
and the family quickly slipped back into speaking Italian, laughing and
slapping cards down on the table. Soon Mason and Nico had wandered over to the table
to watch as well, but I was glad to see that Caprice had decided to stay with
Giulia and Will in the living room so she could cuddle the baby.

I didn’t like to get too close
to the baby. When he’d been such a tiny newborn, with all that dark hair, he’d
reminded me so much of Isabella it physically hurt me to look at him. Now it
was better, although I swear my belly contracted every time I glanced over
there, as if aching for a life of its own. I’d sworn, after she was born, that
I would never have another. I said I’d never risk going through that again,
whatever the chances might be.

Mason had been heartbroken. In
spite of our young age, in spite of his parents’ relief—yes, relief—at our
daughter’s death, in spite of our precarious financial situation, in spite of
everything, he’d wanted to try again right away. It was one of the things that
had driven us apart. Just thinking about having another baby brought a stab of
fear and pain so great it made me feel faint.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked at
my elbow.

I glanced back at him and
smiled. “Fine.”

“You look pale,” Nico said. He was behind me, on my other side, watching
the game. In the other room, the baby cried, and the pain in my middle
increased as if in response. I gasped, my hand instinctively moving to cover my
lower belly. The cramping, which had been dull and constant, suddenly became a
sharp, stabbing thing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mason again.

I struggled for breath to speak. The pain had taken it. “I don’t know.”

“What is it?” Nico turned me to face him, frowning.

Everyone was looking now. Even Mama Dorotea, who had heard the concern in
her son’s voice, had appeared in the kitchen doorway, a turkey baster in her
hand. In the next room, I heard the baby crying in earnest now. Probably hungry,
I thought, remembering how my breasts had ached after Isabella was born, making
milk for a baby who would never eat.

“I’m just a little dizzy,” I managed to whisper, but the room was
receding, going black at the edges, and I knew it was more than that. Something
was suddenly very, very wrong.

The last thing I remembered was Mason and Nico kneeling over me, the
sound of a baby crying far away, and me, speaking my daughter’s name like a
prayer.

* * * *

“What happened?” I croaked, opening my eyes to the same sight—Mason on
one side, Nico on the other. This time they each occupied a rail, leaning over
to look at me in the hospital bed. I knew I must have fainted—I remembered that
much. And the pain, the sharp, stabbing, searing pain in my belly. That was gone
now.

“There’s my bella.” Nico smiled, brushing hair out of my face.

Mason, not to be outdone, leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Hey
beautiful.”

“What happened?” I asked again, swallowing hard. My throat hurt. Why did
my throat hurt? “Can I have some water?”

They both reached for it at the same time, but the Styrofoam cup was on
Mason’s side. He held it for me while I sucked on the straw, peering at them
over the lip of the cup.

“You’re going to be all right,” Nico soothed. He spoke softly in Italian,
smoothing my hair, picking up where Mason had left off.

“English, please,” Mason insisted, glaring at him as he put the water
back on the table. “Dani, you had to have an operation.”

“What?” I half sat, looking around the room. There was another bed, but
no occupant. No nurse or doctor was in the room. “What kind of operation?”

“Your womb,” Nico said, speaking English. “She was damaged.”

I looked at Mason, wide-eyed, feeling my limbs turn to ice. “What is he
talking about?”

“It was your IUD.” Mason swallowed, glancing toward the door, probably
hoping a nurse or someone else would come in and tell me the rest. Dear God,
what was the rest? Did I want to know? I could already imagine. I’d gotten the
intrauterine device right after we’d lost Isabella. Mason and I had fought long
and hard about it. He didn’t want to use any birth control—he desperately
wanted another baby. I remembered telling him, “Babies aren’t like light bulbs.
You can’t just go out and replace them.” I’d won that argument.

“Wait…” I looked between them, up on my elbows, wearing just a hospital
gown, a thin sheet as cover. I was afraid to look beneath it. I couldn’t feel
much of anything, but I was woozy. They’d probably pumped me full of pain meds.
“No. Please tell me…” I swallowed, the thought so beyond comprehension I almost
couldn’t speak it. “Please tell me it’s not gone. I’ll… will I still be able to
have children?”

Mason looked at me, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I…” I blinked back tears. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”

Mason shrugged. “I just… I just remembered you saying, after Isabella…”

“Your IUD perforated the uterus,” Nico interrupted. “You had internal
bleeding.”

“You lost a great deal of blood,” Mason reiterated. “That’s why you
fainted.”

“So did they take it?” My voice was choked, hoarse.

“No, no,” Nico assured me, clasping my hand. Mason took the other one.
“They stopped the bleeding and repaired it.”

I sat back, shaking in relief, so surprised at my own reaction I could
barely speak.

“How long do I have to stay here?” I glanced around at the white walls,
the curtain half-pulled around the bed.

Mason looked at Nico. “The doctor said until tomorrow.”

“But you can’t go back to your place,” Nico chimed in. I stared at him.
“You can’t be alone. You need someone to be with you for at least a week.”

“So you’re coming home with us.”

“With you?”

Nico nodded, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “We’ll take good care of
you.”

* * * *

“My bedroom’s near the bathroom,” Mason said, unlocking the apartment
door.

“Mine’s by the kitchen,” Nico countered.

“My bed’s easier to get in and out of.”

“Mine’s bigger.”

“Mine—”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’ll sleep on the couch!” I cried, plopping down on
it and pulling a blanket over my head. “I’m glad the furniture finally
arrived!”

“Now see what you did?” Mason sighed.

“Me?” Nico scoffed. “You started it.”

“Are you two-year-olds?” I pulled the blanket down, rolling my eyes.
“Keep it up and I’m going back to my place, no matter what the doctor said.”

Jezebel came wandering out of the kitchen. She perked up upon seeing me,
leaping onto the arm of the sofa beside me and swishing her tail. I petted her
head and she purred.

“Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” Mason smiled. “And you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Let’s not start this again. The couch will be fine.”

“Are you hungry?” Nico asked. “I made soup.”

I smiled at him. “Starving.”

We all sat on the couch and watched a marathon of
La Piovra
—Italy’s
version of
The Godfather
as a television series—and ate soup. Even
Jezebel came to lick the remains out of my bowl. I found myself dozing off,
leaning first on Mason’s shoulder, then adjusting to lean against Nico’s. Both
men cradled me, petted me, rubbing my head or my feet.

“Sleepy bella.” Nico kissed my cheek. “We should let her rest.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“But it’s early yet,” I protested, glancing at the clock—only seven!

“Your body needs to heal,” Mason insisted.

“And you do that best while you’re sleeping.”

I smiled. “Tag-teamed.”

They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” I flushed. “You’re very, very bad men and I
hate you both.”

They kissed me goodnight, each of them. They both tasted like chicken
noodle soup, but I savored the difference in the press of their mouths, the way
Mason’s lips parted a little, how Nico breathed me in with his kiss.

“Goodnight, Dani,” Mason whispered.

“Goodnight, bella,” Nico echoed.

I smiled, but I was so tired, I barely got the word out before I drifted
off. “’Night.”

* * * *

The boat rocked back and forth and I clung to the sides, my knuckles
white. The heat was close, blazing. My face was so hot it felt blistered. Ahead
of me a hooded figure steered the gondola on a river of lava and I wondered if
this was the River Styx. Was I dead? Was this death?

My first thought was Isabella. Would I see her again? What was past
the barrier ahead?

A bony finger rose from the robe, pointing, and the boat came to a
shaky stop. The river diverged into a V here, the rocky walls rising around us
reflecting the orange heat of the lava below.

I had to choose.

I can’t.

I shook my head, refused. The bony finger rose again.
Choose.

No, no, no. Don’t make me. Please don’t make me choose. I begged.

The finger dropped and the figure was still. Relieved, I sat back in the
boat, closing my eyes. It was out of my hands. Whichever way we went, I wasn’t
responsible.

The boat rocked hard and I jolted up. The gondola tilted so far to one
side scalding lava began to seep over the edge. Then the other. The figure was
going to tip the boat! I was going to be thrown in!

“No!” I cried, but the words were useless.

The boat flooded with fiery liquid and reached its tipping point,
throwing me into a broiling hell of fire. I screamed, trying to swim in the
searing heat, seeing the figure right the gondola, standing again at the edge
and beginning to steer away.

I swam in the sweltering heat. Impossible. Why hadn’t I melted into
nothing? I was on fire, but the heat was white-hot, like needles, tiny knives,
and I shivered in response. I was drowning in fire like ice, the pain making my
whole body ache.

“Dani!”

I turned toward the sound of my name. Mason! Was he coming for me?

“Bella! Wake up!” Nico, calling me.

Choose.
The figure was back, standing over me, floating above the
river of pain.
Choose.

“No!” I thrashed on the couch, feeling hands holding me down. “Cold,” I
muttered, shivering. I thought I’d kicked my blankets off, but no, there they
were, tangled around my waist. Both men were standing over me in their boxer
shorts. Had I called out?

Mason’s hand on my forehead. “Oh Jesus Christ, she’s burning up.”

“Get her to the bed,” Nico ordered.

“Whose?”

“I don’t care!”

Mason carried me, the blankets dragging behind him. His bed was soft, the
down comforter warm, but still I shivered. I couldn’t stop.

“Keep me warm,” I begged, reaching for Mason. He slid into bed beside me,
glancing at Nico, and I called for him, too. “Please, Nico. Please.” And he
came as well, snuggled behind me, both of them putting their arms around me, a
cocoon.

But even the heat from their bodies didn’t help. Still, I shivered, my
teeth chattering, even though they pulled the down-filled covers up to my chin,
both of them smoothing my hair. I tried to sleep and I think I did, but I woke
whimpering, feeling myself slipping into nothing, grasping for something to
hold onto. Mason was there to hold me, Nico right behind.

“I’m so cold,” I complained, burying my face in Mason’s chest, feeling
Nico’s arms around me. I slept again, this time dreaming of hell, my own private
version where Satan forced me into impossible choices over and over.

“What’s wrong with me?” I woke up as Nico brought a thermometer, putting
it under my tongue.

“Shhh.” He soothed, looking over at Mason. “I think it’s just a little
bit of fever.”

“Little my ass.” Mason took the thermometer out as it beeped. “It’s…
forty? What the hell does that mean?”

Nico paled. “We need to call the doctor. That’s about… a hundred and four
degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Hello, I need to speak to Dr. Selvaggi.” Mason was on the phone before
Nico even finished his sentence. “Dr. Selvaggi please,” he repeated louder. “I
need to speak to Dr. Selvaggi right now!”

Even I could hear the string of Italian coming from the receiver, which I
knew was completely unintelligible to Mason.

Nico grabbed the phone, speaking fluent Italian. “Dr. Selvaggi’s patient,
Danielle Stuart, has a fever and I suspect she has an infection.” He paused,
listening. “Forty.” He sighed in relief. “Thank you.”