Page 117 of Fresh Canvas
“Pick up. Pick up,” I said, twisting my comforter into nervous whirlpools.
“Hello?”
“Ryan, what’s going on? Is Anthony okay?”
“You would already know if you had bothered to answer your phone last night.”
I gaped at the nerve. “It was the middle of the freaking night, Ryan. What happened?”
“If you would stop talking, I’d explain.”
“Explain. Faster,” I said through clenched teeth.
“He’s doing fine now, but Anthony broke his arm this morning.”
I sprang to my knees as if in prayer. “He what? H-how did that happen?”
“This morning, well, I guess the ‘middle of the freaking night’ for you, we started on our Vespa tour here in Venice. We got in an accident.”
“You let our son drive a Vespa?!”
“Jeez, Amantha, calm down. You always overreact. No, I was driving, and it’s perfectly legal for him to be my passenger.”
“Don’t youdaretell me to calm down! Is he in the hospital? I’m looking up flights right now. Don’t let the doctors give him penicillin, Ryan, he’s allergic?—”
“Don’t worry about the penicillin; I’m not an idiot. And don’t fly out here. The last thing Anthony needs is you getting all worked up. He’ll be fine. I mean, he did take the brunt of the fall and we all got pretty scratched up, but the bone didn’t even break the skin. The doctors said it will heal just fine after they were done operating?—”
“Operating? He had surgery?” I whispered as the blood drained from my body.
“Well yeah, he needed a few pins. I couldn’t exactly wait for you to finish your beauty sleep to give the docs the go-ahead. We’re hanging out here until the doctors discharge us. We might have to cut the trip short depending on?—”
“Give him the phone.”
Ryan huffed again. “Amantha, come on. Don’t be so emotional. Let him rest.”
“Ryan Fitzpatrick Willis, you give him the damn phone right now or I’ll sue.”
A shocked silence followed.
Maybe the rant at the fountain had loosened my tongue, but the mama bear inside me felt ready to tear him limb from limb.
“Okay, jeez. Just proved my point, but fine.”
A slight rustling preceded Anthony’s small, tired voice.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Tears streamed from my useless self, completely incapable of doing anything for my intercontinental son.
“I’m good now. I mean, it killed at first, but the pain meds are working now.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry this happened. I can be there tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry, baby, you just rest up. I’ll see you soon.” I tried to sound brave even as my falling tears dotted my bedspread.
“It’s okay, Mom. Really. Like Dad said, I’m going to be fine. I mean, unless you have super bone healing powers...”
His weak joke only made me cry harder.
“It’s going to be okay, Anthony, I promise. Let me talk to your dad and we’ll figure everything out. I love you so, so much.”
