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“Madonna!” Gaetano was already in motion. He ran to his house, burst through the front door, and raced upstairs to his apartment, opening his door to find Dottor Marconi in the dining room, closing his black bag.
“Gaetano—”
“Dottore, how is she?” Gaetano tossed his leather envelope on the table.
“She’s fine now. She bruised her hip, but nothing is broken.”
“Thank God.” Gaetano sent up a silent prayer. “What happened, she fell?”
“Down the front stairs, coming home from the shops. She was with the boys.” Dottor Marconi slid off his spectacles, folded them, and tucked them into his pocket. “She didn’t hit her head.”
“When did this happen?”
“About two hours ago.”
Gaetano groaned. He had been knocking on doors when Maria needed him.
“The boys fetched Egidia.”
“Where are they now? In bed?”
“Yes, Egidia tucked them in.” Dottor Marconi put on his fine dark hat. “My nurse checked on them. She just left.”
Gaetano felt sick to his stomach. “How’s Maria? Can I see her?”
“She’s sleeping. I gave her something for the pain.”
“She’s in pain?”
“Not much, and the tablet will help. She did lose some blood, but she won’t require hospitalization. She can convalesce at home.” Dottor Marconi’s lined face fell, and his grayish eyes were solemn, and Gaetano sensed that something remained unsaid. It struck him that he was looking for the negative again, a natural assurance that should have been there, but wasn’t.
“And the baby, Dottore? Is the baby okay?”
“I’m sorry.” Dottor Marconi met his eye with sympathy. “Your baby was lost. She fell on her belly. There was nothing I could do.”
Gaetano felt his heart stop. He didn’t know what to say. He had to process what he was being told. The fall had killed their baby before it was even born. They had lost their child, a new boy or a girl. His heart broke for Maria, for the agony she must be feeling, for having gone through the ordeal alone.
Saint Paul, give her strength.
Dottor Marconi touched Gaetano’s shoulder. “The undertaker just left. I hope you don’t mind, I summoned him in your absence.”
Gaetano reeled. He didn’t want to picture the scene with the undertaker. The tiny baby, unformed. A black velvet sack, like they’d used for his parents. Did they have such things for babies? Small sacks of black velvet, containing heartbreak?
Saint Paul, give me strength.
“Gaetano?” Dottor Marconi pulled out a chair. “You should sit down.”
“No, thank you.” Gaetano didn’t want to sit, like a spectator to his own life. His responsibilities had already been met by other people. His sons had fetched Egidia. Egidia had summoned the doctor. The nurse had contacted the undertaker. Others were filling the space he should have filled. Gaetano realizedhewas the piece that was missing. Somewhere along the line,hehad become the negative.
“Gaetano, you must be strong. Maria will need you. I gave her instructions. She must rest in bed for at least two weeks. Summon me if there’s bleeding or problems.”
“I will, thank you.” Gaetano rallied. “How much do the boys know?”
“That she fell and she’s fine. That’s all. I leave the rest for you.” Dottor Marconi patted Gaetano’s arm. “These losses are tragic, but not uncommon. They happen more often than you know. It’s God’s will. Some mothers take it harder than others. Maria will do fine.”
“She’s more sensitive than she appears. She makes it look easy, but it isn’t.”
“Nevertheless, there’s no reason you can’t have another child, in time.” Dottor Marconi picked up his black bag. “I must go.”
