Page 19 of Nantucket Reflections
Her mother huffed. “You talk to your mother like you own her!”
Alessandra left the kitchen and stood out on the back porch, biting her tongue to keep from screaming. She wondered if her mother was correct, if her days as CAT were through now that the pandemic had struck. It seemed likely she would never leave this house again, that she’d spend the remainder of her cancer-free existence here, fighting with her mother about how loud she listened to the news, and trying to instill in Elena a sense of purpose and artistic vision. If that was even possible.
Things were bleak, and not just for them. Alessandra had to find a way through.
The internet was still aflame with calls for CAT to do more work. But Alessandra knew it wasn’t safe to travel anywhere, not while COVID raged. She didn’t want to risk bringing anything into the house that would make her father, mother, husband, or, God forbid, daughter ill. If she was going to do another CAT mural, it had to be in the area. She knew it would confirm to her mother that she was CAT, but it seemed like her mother already assumed it anyway.
If Alessandra was going to survive the pandemic emotionally, she had to act.
Alessandra opted for a day in late July. She told Federico her plan and showed him the sketches, which he thought were incredible. “Maybe the best you’ve ever done,” he said. Obviously, the sketches reflected the horror of the pandemic, with how trapped the Italian people felt now that they didn’t receive the much-needed money from tourism, now that they were abandoned and unable to meet in their larger communities. Alessandra, too, felt like the work was more important than anything she’d ever accomplished. Federico wanted to go with her to help out, but Alessandra didn’t want her mother to get angry and accuse them of abandoning Elena (even though both grandparents would be home). She decided to go alone.
It was a hot night when Alessandra left the house and wandered down to Positano's downtown area. All the bars, restaurants, and hotels were closed, giving the town an eerie sense that would have been bustling at any other time. This was beneficial for a muralist, she knew, because it meant she could work from midnight all the way to daylight and not be caught. It gave her much more time.
Weeks ago, Alessandra had mentally selected the wall she wanted to paint on, and she went straight there: a wall that made up part of a restaurant and a hotel and would be appreciated by both owners, given CAT’s fame. She worked diligently, slowly, creating the outline, going up and down the ladder, humming to herself. It was only two when she started to paint. If she kept at it, she’d maybe finish by four or four thirty, which would give her enough time to get back to the house before her mother even stirred.
It was around this moment—two and filled with hope—that she felt dizzy for the first time.
Alessandra took a breath and slowly went down the ladder, telling herself she just needed water and a snack. She sat cross-legged on the still-warm concrete and ate a granola bar. Still, her head ran in circles. Hadn’t she eaten enough today? Hadn’t she drunk enough water? Maybe she wasn’t getting enough exercise. Her mother had suggested she’d gained a little weight in the midsection, but now that she was thirty-nine, she felt that was bound to happen, especially given the amount of pasta her mother was constantly making in the house.
No. Something else was amiss. But Alessandra didn’t want to think about it. She told herself to pull it together and get back up on the ladder. So that was what she did.
It worked, for a little while.
But within the hour, she had to climb back down the ladder again because her head was reeling. She put her hands on her fists and walked back and forth, breathing. The night sky was filled with stars so beautiful that they brought tears to her eyes. She remembered when Elena was a little girl, how she and Federico used to take her into a nearby field and show her where the constellations were. Elena was a remarkably bright child, already growing into an incredibly bright young teenager. Alessandra couldn’t wait to see where she ended up.
Would she ever tell Elena that she was CAT?
It was a question she’d deal with another time.
For another hour, Alessandra worked as diligently as she could, given her dizzy spells and her growing illness. By the time it occurred to her she might have the dreaded disease—COVID—she was too woozy to think straight. As she clambered down the ladder, she blacked out and fell, splaying out on the concrete as the half-finished mural dried before her.
She didn’t wake up until dawn warmed her cheeks.
Alessandra gasped awake. Panic overtook her, and she got to her feet, then nearly collapsed again. Her watch read 5:55, which meant that, soon, Italians in the area would spot her out their windows or from their boats, and she’d be found out. She knew these people, knew that they’d take a photograph of her and sell it to the highest bidder. She couldn’t blame them, given the economic downturn and the fact that everyone wanted to know CAT’s real name. Frantically, she fought her fatigue and cleaned up her stuff, heartbroken that her mural was only half finished. Maybe she could come back tomorrow and keep going. But just in case, right before she left, she signed her CAT in the right-hand corner.
It was supposed to be her most incredible mural to date. But as she slunk away, she knew it was lackluster at best and unfinished. She dreaded what the newspapers would say, dreaded them saying that CAT had lost her talents. Maybe this meant there would be no more money coming into the Swiss bank account. Perhaps this meant that her five-year dream was through.
Alessandra didn’t get home till seven, at which point everyone in her family was up, watching the news, eating breakfast, and complaining. Elena was at the kitchen table, but she sprang up when she saw her mother and threw her arms around her. “Mama, where were you?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I went for a walk, honey,” Alessandra said, still feeling unstable on her feet. It was then she remembered that maybe she had COVID, and she hurried away from her daughter and into her studio, where she closed the door behind her.
Her mother appeared on the other side of the door, hollering at Alessandra. There was a rasp to her voice, something odd that suggested all wasn’t as it seemed. Alessandra’s heart seized with worry.
“Where on earth have you been? Do you know your daughter has been at home, worried about you?” her mother cried, and then burst into a coughing fit.
Alessandra closed her eyes tightly and willed this not to be true. All year, they’d been so safe. They hadn’t seen anyone, and they’d worn masks when they went to the store.
“Mama, are you feeling all right?” Alessandra asked timidly. She didn’t want to tell anyone that she’d fainted midway through the mural, obviously. But she knew something was off. Maybe they all had it. Perhaps they’d been infected a couple of days ago—somehow! —and were now exhibiting symptoms.
But her mother answered with another round of coughs. “Goodness gracious,” she said. “I don’t know what’s come over me.” She stepped away from the studio door and disappeared down the hall.
Mercifully, Federico knocked on the door after that and said in a low tone, “Hey, are you okay? I saw that the mural wasn’t finished…”
“It’s already online?” Alessandra cried. Her throat was tight as she searched for her phone and brought up the first news about CAT. The headline read:Italian CAT Strikes Again: But What Is Her Message?She shivered.
Through the door, she told her husband, “I fainted. I think I have COVID. I think we all do.”
Federico was quiet. His fear felt powerful and thick. “Should we go down to the clinic and get tested?”
