Page 23 of Nantucket Reflections
“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you at first,” she told him. “But I’m playing silly detective to try to get to the bottom of where she is. I’m worried about her. Please.”
After that, things shifted, at least a little. The server disappeared to make a phone call, then returned with an address, which he wrote on a slip of paper and handed off to Julia. His eyes were hard and angry, as though he wasn’t pleased that people were in Positano, sniffing around. But apparently, there was reason enough to worry about Lucia, even for the people here. Julia thanked him, paid the bill, and got up. Charlie followed, taking her hand.
ChapterTwelve
Summer 2020
Positano, Italy
Sure enough, devastatingly enough, after Alessandra returned from her unfinished mural, they all had COVID. Much like in other families, being the oldest, Alessandra’s mother and father got sickest and were holed up in bed for nearly two weeks. At one point, Federico nearly called the ambulance, but the grandparents soon recovered their breathing. Alessandra’s mother kept telling them not to make a fuss, but she was praying almost constantly and holding her husband's hand.
It was heinous to watch her parents grow so ill and helpless. Alessandra was reminded of her cancer, how her parents had had to watch her look so similar to this, so sick and at the brink of death, and she resolved never to look so vulnerable again. It put too much pressure on the people you loved.
As she nursed her parents, Federico, and her daughter back to health, Alessandra herself felt ill, but in a different way than her family. She hardly coughed, and her blurry head went away in just a couple of days. But she felt weaker than Federico, weaker than Elena, and she often had to sleep eleven or twelve hours a night. It gave her pause, but she didn’t want to look too much into it, even when she struggled to walk the half mile to the field and back.
It was just COVID being its strange self, she was sure. COVID manifested itself differently in every person, depending on factors that scientists were still miffed about. It was a strange disease.
As they fought through this era of COVID, through this season of illness, Alessandra kept tabs on the most recent CAT mural’s reception and was surprised to find that people thought the fact that it was unfinished was actually meaningful, especially during this chaotic time. They said things like, “It’s clear that CAT has more on her mind than her art, which is proof that she’s the most compassionate working artist of our time,” and, “The softness of CAT’s new design forces us to reckon with how we approach our new world.” It mystified Alessandra, but it pleased her, too. It almost felt as though CAT could do no wrong.
Meanwhile, of course, Alessandra felt she couldn’t do right, at least when it came to her mother. When her mother got better, she grew impatient, frequently going out to meet her friends, thinking that because she’d had COVID, it was over, at least for her. Alessandra was frustrated, trying to keep her mother at home, while her mother yelled at her, maintaining that she didn’t know as much as she thought she did.
Alessandra’s daughter Elena, now thirteen, was just as frustrated as her grandmother, if not more. Alessandra sympathized. Elena was supposed to be outside with her friends, meeting boys, keeping secrets, and learning about herself. Instead, she was almost always on the internet, watching movies, or eating junk food. Alessandra tried to keep her in line, tried to monitor what she ate and when, but she was nervous. She didn’t want her daughter to develop a bad relationship with food, for one. And for another, she genuinely felt awful that Elena’s teenage years were being taken away. When she did try to put her foot down, Elena wept and fought with her in a way that suggested she’d learned a lot from her grandmother.
Of course, this made Alessandra’s mother say things like, “You don’t know how to parent, do you, Alessandra?”
Alessandra was going out of her mind.
Late one night, long after everyone had recovered from COVID, Alessandra and Federico were awake and in bed, massaging one another’s shoulders and whispering about the money in the CAT account. There was still quite a bit of it, but they needed to top it off soon. There had been another offer in Rome and another in Athens, and Alessandra wanted to take them even though COVID raged on and winter was approaching.
“I don’t want my career to end along with everything else,” she said.
Federico kissed her gently. “If you want to go, I’ll help you make it happen,” he said. “But I don’t want what happened last time to happen again.”
“I had COVID,” she reminded him. “That’s why I fainted.”
It was enough for Federico. But Alessandra couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t the real reason she’d fainted. Since then, she’d had many dizzy spells, a few blackouts, and a few moments of incredible pain in her hip and shoulder. She hadn’t said anything, not yet, because she was hoping the pain would go away on its own. When she was younger, that was what it had been like: pain took care of itself.
On a Friday in September, Alessandra’s parents moved back into their home down the hill, and the following day, Alessandra packed up her mural-making equipment and left for Rome. Due to the pandemic, it had been ages since she’d been outside of Positano, and her blood pulsed past her ears as she gazed out the window of the train. When Rome came into view, night was falling, and she knew she needed to act fast. On a map and via an online overhead view, she’d selected the wall she desired to paint, but she wanted to stake it out in person and make sure it was perfect.
Lucky for Alessandra, the spot was amazing, exactly the kind of thing that would bring in a substantial amount of CAT cash, which would benefit both Alessandra and Federico, as well as Elena’s future. CAT cash she’d decided to risk her health for. When night struck and the streets cleared, she put herself to work, painting swiftly. She refused to faint this time and assumed her sheer force of will would make sure of it. A few moments seemed harried and nerve-wracking, and she had to press her hands against the wall and take deep breaths to keep herself from teetering. But an hour or so before dawn, she finished the mural, packed up her things, and fled for the train. By the time news of the brand-new CAT broke, she was halfway back to Positano, and her mother and father were none the wiser. By the time she and Federico sat down for a celebratory glass of wine, the powers that be had deposited the promised money into CAT’s account. Everything seemed better than perfect. Soon, they hoped, the pandemic would be over, and CAT’s fame would only grow.
She wondered if Banksy would ever contact her and say, “Well done,” and laughed at herself. She didn’t want any of this to go to her head.
But the very next day, coming home from the grocery store with a mask on, Alessandra fainted in the foyer of their home. It came out of nowhere. One minute, she was calling Elena’s name, and the next, she was blinking toward the ceiling, her legs sprawled out in front of her, and Elena screaming for her to wake up. Federico was in his pottery workshop and didn’t hear the commotion, maybe because he was using a piece of equipment. Alessandra’s first instinct was to tell Elena not to get her father. “I’m fine,” she promised her with a smile. “I haven’t eaten yet, that’s all. Should we make a snack?”
But Alessandra knew that hunger wasn’t the problem.
As Elena ate some chips and settled back in front of the television, Alessandra realized her own hands shook with fear. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she hurried into her studio, shut the door, and called the doctor to make an appointment. She’d noticed bizarre symptoms for months and months. It was time to face them head-on. If she had to go through chemotherapy again, so be it. She was going to be around for a whole lot longer, for her daughter’s and Federico’s sake.
Oh, but just the thought of all that potential pain, that loss of CAT mural making, all that time feeling like her body didn’t belong to her, broke her heart. Could she really do it?
Alessandra didn’t want to worry Federico, not if this was a false alarm. Her appointment was the following week, on a Thursday after Elena returned to school (finally!). She made an excuse about meeting Elena’s teacher and went into town. Federico was hard at work on another round of pots for a brand-new hotel, which would hopefully open its doors next year, if the pandemic subsided. If it didn’t? They would cross that bridge when it came.
Alessandra was very familiar with Dr. Vincento. He’d been the first to diagnose her with breast cancer at the youthful age of thirty-two, his eyes filled with sorrow as he explained the steps necessary to get through. He’d been there every time she’d needed more chemotherapy, telling her the chances of this or that, how important it was that she avoid sugar and alcohol and so on. How important it was for her to “stop living” to live longer. Alessandra had grown to hate Dr. Vincento over the years, but not because of who he was. It was all because of the bad news he brought her. He was like her own personal grim reaper.
This time was no different.
After a brief catch-up through their white masks, Dr. Vincento ordered a number of tests and scans to be conducted that very afternoon. Alessandra had arranged for Elena to go over to a friend’s place after school, so Elena was taken care of. It meant that all Alessandra had to focus on was the potential for her own demise. Dr. Vincento told her they’d have the results in about a week, and she thanked him and asked him point-blank, “Do you think it’s back?”
