Page 35 of Maddest Temptation

“He doesn’t have to know. Please, just meet me at the hospital, everything is going to be fine.”

It took me a while longer to reach the hospital than I would’ve wished. I had to wake up my neighbor next door, Mrs. Margaret, who was always so polite and nice, and had to beg her to look after Reginald. As always, the old lady was glad to do so.

Once the taxi pulled over at the hospital, I ran from it, almost forgetting to pay the poor man. A part of me was freaking out and wanting to run toward the street instead of toward the hospital. I didn’t want to go in there and learn my mother didn’t make it. As I ran through the oncology center toward Dr. Conrad’s wing, my heart was beating hard against my chest.

The sight of my brother almost brought me to my knees. Over the last few years, I had stopped expecting to see him. Whenever my mother came to visit me in Indianapolis, and promised to bring Marco, I knew it was a lie, he would never come.

The first year after my marriage, we tried to have him come over almost every month, but Donato always refused. He wouldn’t have his son around me after he and Paolo fought. So, when he called today, that same flicker of hope ignited inside of me, but I pushed it aside before it turned into a spark. I didn’t expect him to come.

When his eyes met mine, for a confusing second, I didn’t recognize him. He was my brother, same blond hair, same eyes, and same skin color, but he had grown up, was almost taller than me, and was already more fit than I ever would be. But there was something in the way he stood and looked at me that was too cold, too jaded to be my little Marco. The boy who drove me crazy, whose diapers I had changed and tucked into bed, was no longer.

“Francesca,” he greeted me like a stranger, no hugs no kisses, no I missed you. I stopped and held myself back. Held the urge to reach for him, to hold him. “She’s inside. The doctor won’t tell me anything, says I’m not an adult.” There was frustration and anger in his voice. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to speak to my own brother.

“I’ll talk to him. We can talk later if that’s okay.” He shrugged.

I entered the room where my mother was being kept, she was lying down on a bed with machines connected to her and an oxygen tube coming out of her nose. My eyes darted to the machine monitoring her heartbeats, and apparently her heart was steady but seeing her in that state did nothing to appease my nerves.

“Miss Manci.”

“Francesca,” I corrected the doctor. “What happened?”

“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” Sitting only made it worse. I was already restless, and I needed something to calm me down, so I began to pace the room.

“What happened?”

“Your mother’s body was very weak, and the chemo has made it weaker.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be helping?” I stopped and looked at him.

“Yes, but it also takes its toll. That’s why I suggested the home-care system.”

“That’s not viable.” My asshole of a father–who’s currently fucking another woman–doesn’t want to help his dying wife.

“Then we’ll have to hospitalize her. The sessions will only get worse, and she will only grow weaker. Episodes like this will keep happening. Has she been eating? Taking her meds? Resting?”

“I don’t… know. I don’t know.”

I haven’t seen her since the first few chemo sessions. But looking at my mother resting on that bed with tubes and machines all over her, I knew my answer… no, she hadn’t. She needed people to take care of her, people to be constantly around her, making sure she took her meds, that she ate, and that she rested. That was why she had come to me. So that I could make these decisions. I loved her for trusting me but hated the weight she’d thrown on my shoulders.

“I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need me to. Just… help her.”

“We will, Francesca. I’ll have the papers brought in for you to sign.” He patted my shoulder. It was the right decision, right? She would have help in the hospital, while at home, she would have none, so why didn’t I feel better about it? Why didn’t I feel the weight lifting off my shoulders? I walked toward my mother and took her hand in mine. I was shocked at how cold and skinny it was.

“It’s going to be okay, Mamma.”

Seconds later, Dr. Conrad brought me the papers and I signed them. Some part of me felt guilty for doing it. Like I was giving the responsibility to someone else, but I swore to myself I would be here every hour of every day. I wouldn’t leave her side until she got out of here as strong as a horse.

When I finally left the room, I was surprised yet again, when I found Marco leaning against the wall, that same jaded look on his face.

“Coffee?” I asked. Jesus, he was thirteen, what did thirteen-year-olds drink these days?

Maybe he was a tea kind of person, or he just didn’t like anything, by the look on his face, it felt like he didn’t feel like drinking anything. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands as anxiety filled me up to the brink of explosion. “Or, if you like, we could just sit, you don’t have to drink anything. Or, if you don’t, you don’t have to.” Please say something.

“Coffee’s fine,” was all he said as we walked down the corridor.

“Oh, great.” I sighed.

We sat in the hospital’s canteen; it was my second cup of coffee while he hadn’t touched his first one. I began pulling at my lip when a tiny smile appeared on his perpetual jaded face.

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