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“He’s dead,” Carmine said. “Him and the rest of them.”
“They’re dead?” He nodded. “All of them?” Another nod. “And you aren’t?”
He cracked a smile at her question. “Last time I checked,” he said, reaching for her hand and pressing it against his chest, over his heart. “I think it’s still beating.”
“It is.” She stared into his eyes—eyes she worried she would never see again. “I missed you.”
“Mi sei mancata,” he said. “I’m glad you’re awake now.”
“Where were you earlier?”
He didn’t respond right away. “I had an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“That doesn’t matter right now.”
“That’s the same thing your father said.”
“Yeah, well, there you go. We should probably listen to him.”
“You’re a rebel,” she said. “Since when do you listen?”
“I never did before and look where that got us. I figure it’s time to start, since he seems to know what the hell he’s talking about.” He paused. “Sometimes, anyway. Other times I still think he’s full of shit.”
She laughed at his response. They both lay quietly, holding on to each other as she tried to clear the fog that settled in her brain. Her memory was sketchy, an odd tension mounting in the room as a result. “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I was worried . . .”
“Well, stop worrying.” His voice was firm. “You need to focus on getting better.”
“You sound like your father again,” she said, his evasive answer doing nothing to calm her fears.
“Apparently I’m more like him than we thought.”
“You’re nothing like him,” she said. “You’ll never be like him.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
She wondered what he meant when there was a knock on the door. Dr. DeMarco walked in, and Carmine groaned at his father’s arrival. “We talked him up.”
Dr. DeMarco raised his eyebrows. “It’s not nice to talk about people.”
“It’s nothing I wouldn’t say to your face.”
“True, son. You’ve never been one to hold your tongue.”
“Isn’t that part of my charm?”
“I wouldn’t call it charm,” Dr. DeMarco said. “Your mouth gets you into trouble as often as it gets you out of it.”
“Haven’s never had any complaints about my mouth,” Carmine said playfully. She blushed and jabbed him in the ribs. Even though her touch was light, Carmine clenched his teeth to muffle a cry.
“He has a fractured rib,” Dr. DeMarco explained when she eyed Carmine peculiarly. “It would be fine by now if he’d learn to take it easy.”
She felt guilty for hurting him. “Sorry.”
