Page 24 of Nantucket Reflections
“We can’t know anything for sure,” Dr. Vincento said. His eyes were difficult to read and too kind to hate, no matter how much she tried.
Over the next week, three exposés were written about the importance of CAT’s message and the female side of mural making. Federico hung them up in her art studio, along with a note that read: “You’re changing the world, my love.” Federico still didn’t know about the tests, about the pain that continued to creep up her hips and down her shoulders, so his notes made her burst into tears. It didn’t seem fair that she’d been given a life to love so much. It meant she was terrified of losing it.
With school back in session, Elena was happier and bolder and a whole lot less lazy. She quickly developed a gaggle of girlfriends who giggled their way through Positano, eating ice cream and making fun of the boys. Alessandra watched them with her heart in her throat. Twice that week, Elena picked fights with Alessandra, and Alessandra didn’t have much energy to fight back. As a result, Elena thought she was stronger than any human was or had ever been, and she returned to her room to do whatever it was she wanted to do. She stayed up past midnight. She ate whatever she wanted. Alessandra was too tired to deal with it.
She loved her daughter so much. What if she was ruining her?
What if the worst thing happened and Alessandra wasn’t around to take care of her?
But Alessandra had had to ask herself these questions during those other rounds of chemo as well, and those eras that had always ended with success. It made sense to believe that this round would work, too. She was a fighter.
The phone call from Dr. Vincento the following week confirmed that the cancer was back. Alessandra was in her studio with her hand on the wall, remembering how she’d tumbled during the making of that mural, remembering how she’d known, in her bones, that something was wrong, even then. She wondered if COVID had drawn the cancer back and asked as much, but Dr. Vincento said, “That isn’t how COVID works.”
“We don’t know how it works!” Alessandra declared.
Dr. Vincento was quiet for a moment. It was in this harrowing pause that Alessandra guessed things were different this time. Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m not going to make it this time, am I?” she asked.
“I think you should come into the office so we can talk about it face-to-face,” Dr. Vincento said. “There are many ways to extend your life. There are things to be done.”
Alessandra sat down and read and reread the letter from Federico, the letter that reminded her of how much he loved her. Her hand was in a fist.
“How long do I have?” she asked Dr. Vincento.
He was quiet. He really didn’t want to say it over the phone.
“Come on,” she pushed him. “Don’t make me come into the office. Don’t make me wait around to hear the truth. I deserve it.”
He knew she was right. She could feel it in his breath.
“You have anywhere from two to six years,” he told her. “It depends on our next steps.”
The thing was, Alessandra learned, that the cancer had spread. Now it wasn’t just in her breasts, as it had been. But it was in her bones and her blood. It was everywhere. There was no stopping it when it was this far along. Dr. Vincento suggested that she bring Federico into the office next week so they could create a plan together. But Alessandra couldn’t begin to fathom how she’d tell her husband, her love, her partner,, such a monumental thing. Rather than sob into the phone, she hung up and threw her cell across the studio. She remained quiet, her teeth hard against her tongue. It was the beginning of the end.
ChapterThirteen
End of June
Positano, Italy
The little stucco house on a hill had a bunch of trash in the side yard and three chickens, bucking around and cawing. It was quaint, like it could have been a site from any time in Italian history over the past fifty years. Was this really the birthplace of the elusive CAT? Julia hung back, double-checking the address for Lucia’s mother’s home, and looked up to find Charlie, similarly nervous. It wasn’t like them to storm into a stranger’s place like this. They were kind, soft-spoken, and artistic Nantucketers. What if the Italian people behind that door got the wrong idea? What if they thought they were after CAT’s fame and money? (If that money was even here, which Julia guessed it wasn’t.)
When they finally gathered the courage to approach the front door, Julia took a deep breath and prepared to knock. Before her knuckles could land, a dog started barking so fiercely that it made Julia’s teeth grit. An Italian woman’s voice echoed through the house as she angrily scolded the dog. When they reached the foyer, the dog still thrashing and growling, she peeked through the shadows and spoke to Julia and Charlie in Italian, a language they didn’t understand. Despite her extensive European education and love, Greta hadn’t taught French to her children and had never learned Italian. Julia raised her hand and said, “No Italiano. English?” She felt pathetic.
The woman scowled and remained a foot or so away from the door. “Why?”
Julia thought she understood.Why are we here?That was what she wanted to know. It was what anyone would have wanted to know. She reached for her phone, hoping to use technology to translate that she came in peace. (But did she actually come in peace? It was her mission to destroy the credibility of this woman’s daughter!) Into her phone, in English, she said, “We’re looking for Lucia Colombo. We met her in the United States. We’re colleagues of hers and need to talk to her about something of a professional matter.” The phone translated the words back to Lucia’s mother, and her face transformed. Slowly, she opened the door and beckoned for Charlie and Julia to enter.
Maybe she was a murderer, Julia thought. But because she was four feet and ten inches tall, Julia was sure that both she and Charlie could take her.
Lucia’s mother didn’t speak any more English than “why,” apparently, which meant that Julia’s translation device was required throughout the entire conversation. Eventually, she let the mother, whose name was Barbara, keep talking into the phone as she led them around the house, pointing out relics of Lucia’s childhood. There was the corner where she’d first drawn a picture. There was the mural she’d first painted on the wall. (The mural looked like it had been done when Lucia was nine or ten and was incredibly crude but cute, Julia guessed. She remembered thinking that what Henry, Anna, and Rachel made was pure brilliance, even if it was only made of crayon.) Into the phone, Lucia’s mother babbled. “I’ve been waiting for reporters to come by all day. I’ve been eager to give our side of the story. We’re famous. Lucia made us famous! But I’m worried she will be misunderstood! There is so much gossip in our world.”
Julia tried to fix her face into a smile. From the woman’s expression, she understood that she genuinely believed Lucia to be CAT herself. (Again, there was no reason to suspect she wasn’t, not yet, no matter how hard Julia searched for a clue.)
“We love Lucia’s work,” Julia said. “It’s why we wanted to work with her.”
Beside her, Charlie nodded as Julia’s words were translated into Italian.
