Page 15 of Frayed Bonds

I glance around the restaurant as if the person who put this note in my laptop bag would be staring at me smiling. There’s only one person I’m on the run from, only one person who could have wanted me to get this note. Mattheo.

There's no way he could have gotten into my house, someone must’ve slipped this into my bag now in the cafe, probably as some sick joke or something. I shift in my seat and slide the note back into my laptop bag, focusing on my first task of finding the insurance company’s number.

A part of me is hoping that Dr. Rossi is exaggerating, but when I hit call, another part of me has a horrible feeling that he’s not. I shove that part to the back of my mind and try to stay positive as the dial tone clicks over, and a woman answers.

“Vitality Insurance, Claire speaking. How can I help you?” Her voice is flat, and already, I can see the tone of the rest of the conversation.

Why do people, who hate people, even bother getting jobs in call centres?

“Hi.” I beam. “My name’s Valerie Farina. I’m calling on behalf of my father Carlo Farina to confirm the coverage for his hip replacement surgeries.

Silence.

Not something you want to hear from a call centre generally.

“Hello?” I am confused as to whether the call died, or if something else happened.

More silence followed by the sound of typing. “Can you give me his employer’s details?” Her tone has gone from unimpressed to unreadable rather quickly.

I rattle off the details required to her. The lovely waitress drops off my coffee and I mouth a thank you.

“So according to the records we have, ProStruct Innovations has only paid a third of what was required to support the coverage and therefore, only the first surgery is covered by us. All other payments are the responsibility of the family.”

Air lodges itself inside my throat, and all the loud chatter of the cafe drowns out. It feels as if my head’s been dunked underwater.

My father has been paying a portion of his salary to Prostruct for nearly twenty years, and they've only been paying a third of it in reality.

“Miss Farina?” Her voice questions through the phone.

“Ye-yes. Okay, thank you,” I say and hang up, not even waiting to hear anything further as reality crumbles down on me like an old building.

These surgeries and rehabilitation cost thousands of euros. Thousands of euros neither I nor my papá have.

“Fuck sakes,” I whisper aloud, as I cover my eyes and lean into the table. Tears threaten to spill as frustration and anger twist within me.

“This is why Italians stick to plain espresso,” A male’s voice says, and the recognition of the voice alone makes me want to cry even more.

“What are you doing here, Antonio?” I grumble wiping my eyes, before looking up at him. His eyes flick between mine before looking up at the café. He seems to be fighting some internal battle.

“I meant to call after the -”

I’m cut off by him sliding into the opposite seat of the booth and opening the menu. “Since the cappuccino is so depressing, is there anything good at this place?” His eyes scan the menu and I'm lost for words at his intrusion.

“Uhm, the tea is good…” I trail off and he pulls his face in disgust.

The waitress from earlier walks over. “Anything for you, love?” she asks with the same enthusiasm as when she’d asked me the first time.

“One café lungo please.” He smiles. As much as she tries to feign indifference, the middle-aged woman all but melts under Antonio's megawatt smile, which gives her smile a run for its money.

As soon as she walks away he throws me the least intimidating questioning glance I’ve ever seen. “So what’s up, buttercup?” he asks, pulling a piece of paper towards him as he starts sketching waiting for my reply.

I sigh, the tears threatening to fall again. “Nothing, just dealing with something.”

“Do these things have names? Anything I can help with?” His tone is a lot softer than his gaze when it finds mine.

“Unless you have a job that's going to pay me a few hundred thousand euros, no.” I chuckle to myself and sip my cappuccino.

And a way for me to find out what creep hid this note in my bag.

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