Page 137 of Married with Mayhem

He nods and jerks the cubicle curtain open. “If you need something for the pain, let us know.”

I don’t. I keep forgetting that I was shot at all.

The first thing I do is look at my phone. Naturally, there’s a heap of messages. From Luca. From Anni. From Daisy. From my father.

Not even a minute has passed and I’m still looking through them and deciding who to call first when a nurse walks in carrying a New York Mets t-shirt. Under different circumstances this might be funny because I’ve been a Yankees fan all my life but right now nothing is funny so I just throw it on.

There’s no privacy here with all kinds of hospital staff and patients milling around so I start walking in search of a quieter place to make some calls.

I’m in the middle of a long, empty corridor when there’s the buzz of an incoming call. I’m expecting any number of people. But when I see who is really calling, instant rage blazes through my blood. I answer with murder on my mind.

“Are you calling to fucking gloat, Julian?”

“Monte, it wasn’t us,” my cousin says. “I swear we had nothing to do with this.”

“Why the fuck should I believe that?”

He sighs. “All right. I haven’t given you much reason to trust my word. None of us have. But I know my father and he never wanted you dead. Never.”

“Then explain how you heard the news in such a big fat fucking hurry. Nobody from my family would call you.”

He hesitates. “Vittorio Messina ought to vet his men better. One of them is a cheap date.”

“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve risked Vittorio’s wrath by putting one of his guys on your payroll?”

If true, the news would be troubling and yet it fits.

After all, someone went out of their way to inform the Tempestas when I was staying one state away.

That same person must have been in a rush to break the news about tonight’s shooting.

“Yes,” he says. “Think about it. We’re taking a risk by coming clean but we can’t have you thinking we’re the ones who shot your wife.”

He’s going to need to do a lot better than that if he wants me to believe him.

“Swear on your mother’s grave, Julian.”

“Monte, I swear on my mother’s grave and my very own fucking life that we did NOT try to kill you and we don’t know who did.”

I lean against a wall of windows. My reflection in the opposite window stares back at me.

“If you’re waiting for a trophy or some shit you’ll be waiting for a long time,” I say.

He sighs on the other end. “How is she?”

“The bullet went right through her. She’s in surgery.” I don’t care that my voice cracks and I can hardly breathe.

“I’m so damn sorry,” Julian says softly. “Truly. We all are. If we can help, let us know. Dad can pull some strings and get her transferred to any of the best hospitals. Just say the word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve got to go, Julian.”

“You take care, Monte.”

I press the button to end the call without saying anything else. The signs pointing to the hospital chapel are straight ahead. Weddings and funerals aside, I haven’t been inside a church in quite some time. I’m counting on the fact that an earnest prayer can’t hurt even when it’s spoken by a corrupt sinner.

The room is hushed and empty. Symbols from many different faiths hang on the walls. An open book sits atop the lectern at the front of the room. A pen is nestled between the pages to encourage new signers. Scanning the messages scrawled by other hands, there are words of grief and hope. Looking at them too closely feels like an intrusion so I simply take the pen and add my own words to the next empty line.

I love you, wife. Please come back to me.

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