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“It’s okay. I can call Erin.”
Her mouth pinched tight and her chin quivered. “Thank you.”
There were signs posted everywhere asking people not to use cellphones. “How about I find you a soda and make that call? I’ll be back in five minutes.”
She nodded, and he pressed another kiss to her hand, reluctantly letting her go. Assuming space might loosen the tension in his chest, he moved through the double doors to the adjacent hall, but distance didn’t help the worry to subside.
The muscles of his neck flexed and knotted. His heart pounded. The scent of antiseptic filled every tight breath, and his ears twitched at the quiet shuffle of hospital staff nearby. This place was all function and no comfort, and he wanted to get her out of there but knew that wasn’t an option. Unlike him, Mariella loved her father.
Once away from the patient rooms, he dialed his sister.
“Hello?”
“Erin, hey. I, um…Are you with Giovanni?”
“Sort of. He’s on stage. Why? What’s up?”
“Okay, don’t freak out. I’m at the hospital with his sister.”
“Mariella? What happened?” Her voice sharpened with panic.
“She’s fine, but his father had a heart attack. He just got out of surgery and that’s all I know. Mariella’s been trying to reach him.”
“Oh, my God. What…What should I do?”
“I don’t know. Can you come home?”
“Of course we’ll come home. But should I pull him off the stage?”
He wasn’t the right person to make that decision. He didn’t know how normal families operated in situations like this. “Is he close to his dad?”
“I mean, they argue but—compared to our family—Wait. What am I saying? Yes, they’re extremely close. Shit, Harrison, I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, calm down. Just take a breath. How much longer is his act?”
“I don’t know. Where’s my phone?”
“You’re on it.”
“Fuck.” He could hear her frantically moving about. “He’s been on for about a half hour. He won’t be done for at least another twenty minutes. I should get him, shouldn’t I? What if something else goes wrong, and we don’t get there fast enough?”
“Erin, breathe. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to call a driver to take you back to the hotel so you can get your stuff together. On the ride there, book two flights home. Get your luggage and go back to the show. By then Giovanni will be finished and you two can head directly to the airport. I’ll pick you up when your flight gets in.”
“Okay. I can do that.” She exhaled. “Is it bad, Harrison? Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. Don’t think too far ahead. Just focus on getting out of there and getting home.”
“Okay.”
He ended the call and found a vending machine with sodas. When he returned to Mariella, she was speaking to a nurse. As soon as she saw him, she rushed to his side.
“The surgery went well, and he’s just waking up. They’re going to move him soon.”
“Good.” He handed her the soda. “I talked to my sister. She and Giovanni are flying home tonight.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He never saw her so worried. Every little tremble spiked his anxiety. Once again, he wanted to get her out of there, but this was where she wanted to be, close to her family.
“I’ll stay with you.”
She hugged him, her body momentarily sinking into his, as if the weight of so many new worries made it a struggle to stand. “Thank you.”
Over the next few hours they situated Mr. Mosconi in a room and several more relatives came to check on him. The nurses were adamant that no more than two people go into the room at a time, and Mrs. Mosconi refused to leave her husband’s side.
When Mariella finally got to see her father, Harrison waited in the hall with Frank and Maureen McCullough, and the rail thin, tiny Italian relic that was Mariella’s grandmother.
“Does she always stare like that?” he asked, whispering to Mrs. McCullough.
“Oh, just ignore her, love. She’s just takin’ your measure.”
He glanced back at the little old woman who watched him with twin beady eyes. “Measuring me for what?”
Mrs. McCullough patted his knee. “It’s good you were here with Mariella. She doesn’t have anyone, and with Giovanni away, well, it’s just nice of you to be there for her.”
He glanced at Frank McCullough who hadn’t taken his eyes off the door to Paulie’s room.
Mrs. McCullough lowered her voice and whispered, “Paulie’s his best friend. Frank was very upset when we got the news. Not too long ago I was in my sister’s position, waitin’ on my husband to come around so I could give him an earful of shite for scarin’ me so. Paulie was there the whole time, waitin’ with me for Frank to come out of it.”
Harrison looked back at Mr. McCullough, noticing the balls of his fists and the hard set of his jaw. The whites of his eyes weren’t very clear, and he wished he knew the words to offer some sort of comfort, but he had no clue what to say to a man in such situations. The mere idea that a family could care this much for each other shocked him.
