Page 95 of These Thin Lines

Renate sighed. “Good, now I can—”

Chiara thought the room tilted.

“No!”

“Sheesh. Sleep! Now I can get some sleep. Get Bella back in here. She can sit in that uncomfortable chair and sigh over me for a few more hours before I send her home to rest. She’s not spry enough to pull the entire day by my bedside anymore, especially after I wore her out the night before in another bedside—”

“TMI! And you did not!” Chiara waved her hands. “No, no, wait. I don’t want to know.” She laid her head on the chemical-smelling sheets, next to Renate.

“You scared me. So much. Don’t die. I need you.”

She knew she sounded childish. She didn’t care. Renate obviously didn’t either, as the trembling fingers stroked her hair, and Chiara closed her eyes.

“I don't intend to. And yes, I realize plans usually don’t factor into all of this. But I don’t imagine I will. If that makes sense? I’m happy for you, though. Even if Frankie is back.”

“Are you going to ask me to be kind to her, too? To forgive her as well?”

“Screw her.” Chiara’s head spun at the uncharacteristic profanity. “No, I’m not even sure she’s truly sorry. Maybe for cheating. But I believe you forgave that a long time ago.”

Renate sighed before making one last effort to speak.

“Chiara, you need to stop thinking it was your fault…”

The fingers moved slowly in her tresses, and Chiara waited with bated breath for what came next. But Renate was silent, and after another minute, the fingers stilled, the breathing evening out, and when Chiara lifted her head, Renate was asleep, her face peaceful.

26

IN A FARAWAY LAND OF LONG OVERDUE REVELATIONS

Chiara Conti hated hospitals. Yet when she exited Renate’s room, she felt almost peaceful. She peered in the hallway, where she could hear Vi and Aoife speak in quiet tones, before she turned towards her intended marks.

In an almost empty waiting room, Arabella sat gracefully, reclining in a chair that did not, in any way, look comfortable. Maybe some of that discomfort was responsible for the stink eye she was aiming at Frankie, who had her head between her hands, seemingly oblivious to the matriarch.

“She asked for you to come back, but she’s asleep.” Two pairs of eyes shot her way, and Chiara gave Arabella a sheepish smile. “She said, ‘Bella can sit in this ghastly chair for a few hours and watch me, before she goes home to get rest,’ or words to that effect.”

The smile that lit up Arabella’s face was so sweet, Chiara’s heart soared, and then she had to laugh when it turned triumphant as she passed by a slumped over Frankie who watched her walk away with envy.

“Overlooked yet again.”

The bitterness in Frankie’s voice held an undercurrent of something akin to loneliness, and Renate’s words about forgiveness rang in Chiara’s ears. No, she didn’t owe Frankie forgiveness, but Chiara’s heart was light where Frankie was concerned, and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth?

She sat down next to her ex-wife, who was still and dejected, eyes unseeing, fixed on the black-and-white tiles under their feet.

“She asked me to forgive.” That got her the attention she wanted as Frankie’s head shot up.

“Me? Is she dying then? I can’t see her asking something like that if she’s convinced she’ll make it.”

“I don’t think she’s dying. She certainly has big plans.” Outside, car horns blared, reminding her of the waking city. “No, you know how she is. Silent for years, then every once in a while, she slaps you across the face with some universal truth that has been eluding you for what seems like forever. Yet it’s simple and she is, as always, correct—”

“In what? You needing to forgive me?” Frankie lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

Chiara proceeded as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “—and this time, despite the sickbed, she’s right once again.”

Frankie’s mouth dropped open and she lowered her eyes. Chiara reached for her hand and went on. “I don’t need to forgive you. I need to stop blaming myself for what happened.”

The plastic clock on the wall counted the seconds.

Chiara was surprised by how hot the hand in hers was and how this particular silence was soothing—something she could never say about Frankie before. Her ex-wife wasn’t someone who could be comfortable in the quiet of the unspoken. So she saw the need to continue talking, to keep the silence at bay, even if she herself was completely fine giving Frankie nothing.

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