Page 18 of Isle of Pain

“How spread are they?”

I close my eyes and try to count but I can’t focus. “I don’t know,” I say, fear clogging my throat.

“It’s okay, Miss Moretti. There could be a long time before the baby comes. We’ll monitor her. All you have to do now is be there for her and don’t interrupt my team,” the nurse says kindlybut firmly. I nod and clench my hands together. My nails indent the skin of my palms. I have no clue what to do with myself.

Before the nurse can go inside the room they set my sister into, I stop her with a hand on her forearm. “She has stage two uterine cancer. Dr Olmeto planned for a hysterectomy right after the c-section.”

She tries to control it but her face turns sombre. “We’ll get everything ready.”

A team of people help Lisa remove her clothes and get into a hospital gown before they set her up on the bed. Bleach and lemon cleaner infiltrates my nostrils, the white walls assaulting my vision. The beeps of machines in this room and next to us feel and sound like the antechamber of death. Ants crawl up my limbs and I have to repress a full body shiver.

Over the course of the next hour, there’s nothing I can do but watch as my sister’s contractions make her howl in pain and thrash. Dr Olmeto has been called and will be here soon for the C-section, but in the meantime, we wait. My ribs are too tight for me to breathe. I sit down and rub my thighs mindlessly. Then I pick at my hands.

“Stop it, Mimi,” my sister says weakly, her hair sticking to her damp forehead.

“Stop what?”

“Worrying.”

“I can’t help it,” I tell her as I stand up and come to her, gliding a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ember and I will be fine,” she says with a smile like all is well in the world. Butnothingis well in the fucking world. I need a fucking drink, I’m scared shitless for my sister’s life and now, I’m scared for my niece’s life too. Worst-case scenarios run rampant in my head and I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. The only reason I hold it together smiles at me softly.

“Ember?” I ask, focusing on Lisa.

She nods and I laugh, tears blurring my vision. It’s raw and far from joyful. “It’s a beautiful name,” I say and place a hand to Lisa’s belly. “I can’t wait to meet you,” I whisper softly to it and I swear she kicks into my hand.

Lana, Lisandru, and my parents trickle into the room, joy written all over their face as they come to kiss Lisa’s cheeks. My sister Angèle and her husband are the last to arrive. We’ve never been close. She’s been married for five years now. Lisa and I were just shy of fifteen when she left and she’s fifteen years older than us. I’m glad she showed up though. The entire family is in the room. It makes me happy for Lisa that everyone showed up for her even as loneliness rears its ugly head. It’s like I’m watching through a glass. The picture they paint is one of family bliss. Yet all I feel is emptiness, my head looking for my purse where what I need lies inside.

Shit. I forgot to pack a bag so I don’t have it with me. Thank God, I have my phone in my jean pocket so at least I have something to do while I feel like this. Maybe that’s why I open a new message thread and type.

Me

Lisa is about to give birth.

He toldme to call when I felt like I needed a drink. I need a drink and I can’t have it. My hands and mind need another outlet, another distraction. Everyone is crowding my sister and talking animatedly. I’m forgotten in a corner, waiting anxiously for his response.

Nico Capaldi

How do you feel about it?

For the firsttime since we found out, someone is asking about me instead of Lisa and the baby. That shouldn’t make me feel good. It’s selfish and despicable to want attention when Lisa is the one who should get it. But still my cheeks heat and I type.

Me

Terrified. She has cancer. No one knows.

Nico Capaldi

I’m sorry.

I don’t knowwhat else to do or say so I close the message app and refocus on Lisa.

A nurse comes in and starts to take the bed with her.

Lisa turns to me and extends her hand. “I want you with me.”

The nurse grumbles but let me follow as we move through corridors with automatic doors and into an operation room. If I thought the room we were in was cold, it was the warmest one I’ve ever been in compared to this one, with tiles from floor to ceiling, an aggressive white light overhead and a metal tray with tools I don’t know the name of. Dr Olmeto is here and invites me to put on a medical gown, a face mask, gloves and shoes protection.

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