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It was as if a part of me was being torn away from the whole when he left me crying the bed. He will come back, but it won’t be the same. Salvatore has a real life, and for all I know he has another woman there waiting on him coming home to her. My whole body is green with the thought of another woman near him, I don’t want to lose him.
There’s this one single negative thought that keeps coming back, what if he doesn’t come back. He can stay home, and no one will know we are out here all alone. He could have been lying to me, and he didn’t have to go, he just wanted to go.
Raul is unsettled, like he can tell something is not quite right, and I think he might even be missing Sal. I bounce him on my knee while flipping through the Netflix menu again hoping something new has popped up in the past ten seconds since my last scroll. Not a single show catches my attention, and I end up just playing some cartoons to keep the baby distracted.
It’s only after he’s gone down for the night and I’m washing up that I realize I am still listening to and singing along with Dora the Explorer. I can only laugh at myself. When I am done in the kitchen, and I know the house has been locked up for the night I change the show. Rewatching comfort sitcoms from my childhood distracts me just enough that I forget I am all alone.
I hope Sal has got where he is going safely — the fact he flies himself around in a helicopter gives me the shits. Those things do not look like they should fly, and the sound makes me cringe. There is no other transport to get off this island, not unless a boat comes along like the one that delivered me. There is no pattern to when they come, or how many of them arrive each time.
The crew never come ashore, at least no further than the dock and the building attached to it. I haven’t bothered going down there since the night Sal dragged me into the house and told me I smelled bad.
It’s late and I can’t stop myself from nodding off, so I turn off the TV and go to climb into the empty bed. It still smells like him, and I bury my face in his pillow. It makes me feel closer to him. I wonder where he is, and if he’s thinking about me. In my restless sleep I dream of Sal, his rough touch, and the taste of his kisses.
Raul’s cries come through the baby monitor and wake me, he’s been so good about sleeping through. “Shhh.” I pick him up and comfort him until his cries stop. Tonight, we are both having a hard time staying asleep, and I go make him a bottle, change his diaper and rock him in the nursery chair until we both nod off again.
I sleep better in the chair with him than I did in the empty bed, and when he wiggles and squirms in my arms, I put him down in his crib. They know when we are upset, babies can sense our emotions. I need to pull myself together, so he isn’t upset.
When the sun comes up over the island lifting the ocean mist, I make myself coffee and some toast. It is strange not making two cups. I make Sal coffee every morning, even when he gets up hours before me. I can’t keep wallowing the whole time he’s gone, I need to keep myself busy.
When Raul gets up, I will take him down to the beach, he loves the sand and the waves on the shore. If we spend our morning there the time always passes too fast, and I would love it if these few days could fly by.
It’s windy but the sun is out, and I make sandcastles for him knock over with great glee and laughter. We swim in the shallow water, and he’s learning to kick his tiny legs to make a splash. He’s already grown so much since I got here, each day he does something new. After we swim, we sit down on the picnic blanket in the shade and have a snack. He mumbles in gobbledygook, laughing at his own little jokes.
“Mama.” When he says it, I freeze, maybe it was just some of his baby chatter, “mama.” It comes out again with a toothless smile. He called me Mama. My heart just about bursts with the love I have for this tiny boy. I pick him up and hug him close, wishing so badly Sal was here to witness his first words.
“Did you say mama?” I talk to him, my cheeks hurt from how hard I smile.
“Mama,” he mimics me and I laugh. What a precious thing to be his mama, even if I am not her, I love him like he is my own. It would break my heart if I ever had to let him go. He nuzzles his tiny head into my neck, and I know it is time for a bottle and a nap. The sun is high in the sky and it’s well after noon already.
We head back into the house, and while it was sunny on the beach there are dark clouds on the horizon past the lighthouse. The gorgeous weather isn’t going to last forever. I’m unpacking our beach bag when the head of security comes to find me. Instantly I think the worst, that Sal is in trouble.
“Is he okay?” I ask, feeling sick.
“He is fine, but there’s a tropical storm that will probably become a hurricane soon on its way. We are in the direct path, and I need to get the house storm ready. Please take everything you need for you and the baby down to the storm cellar, plan for at least a few days. If we need to shelter, it has to be ready.” My blood runs cold as fear grips me from inside, that sounds bad. All of it. “I will board up the house and do what needs doing with my team, but please make sure you and Raul are prepared.” This tiny little island against a hurricane? We will be flattened. My mind is racing with what we will need, water and power will probably be cut for God only knows how long.
I will need food for all of us, and water and baby formula. Clothes, and blankets, it gets damn cold if it rains for long on this rock. I can’t think. My body stays frozen, and I can’t even get myself to do anything.
“Lucia.” His booming voice snaps me back. “We need to do this quickly, we have no way of knowing how fast that weather will arrive.” I nod and open the pantry door, thinking what we can live off if we can’t cook. I pack supplies into boxes, and shuttle them down to where I was held captive when I got here.
It’s cold concrete, damp and sad. The light flickers and buzzes above me, and I check the shelves of storm supplies already down here. Flashlights, a camping stove to cook on or boil water. Emergency blankets, a first aid kit, cases of bottled water and what looks like military food rations. At least it is something, and with what I have added we should be okay to ride out the storm. I pack clothing, diapers and all the things I know I will need for Raul. I don’t want to forget anything, or wish I had something and not be able to get it. I move his whole room downstairs and put up a small camping crib that was in Sal’s office before.
By the time I am done he is awake and crying. I am not sure what we do now but waiting for Mother Nature to attack us feels awful. “The satellite images show we will probably be fine tonight, but by morning the storm winds and surge will be hitting hard.” He makes jump when he talks behind me. “We can stay in the house tonight. If it gets bad, we will move downstairs.”
What does bad mean? How bad? I have seen news clips of these storms in America, and that’s a continent not a speck of dirt in the ocean. I am too afraid to ask so I just nod in agreement. I hold Raul tight against my chest, wanting to shield him from whatever danger might be coming.
“I’ll cook dinner tonight, and make sure we have extra for tomorrow, it should keep.” He nods before his two-way radio crackles, and he leaves me alone again.
Now I am alone with my fear, my worry and the little boy that called me mama today. “We will be okay, I know we will,” I say to him, hoping he can’t sense my terror. “I will keep you safe little one.” My hands are shaking, but I sit him in his feeding chair which I keep in the kitchen and give him a teething biscuit to gnaw on while I cook. If I am busy, I can’t think about all the possible things that could go wrong, if I am busy, I can’t think about Sal.
He cannot fly a chopper through a hurricane, which means he isn’t coming home — not until this storm passes. I’m going to face this alone, without him. He left us here. I experience a twinge of anger when I think that Sal left and now we are in harm’s way. He should be here!
The beautiful sunshine of late afternoon is warm through the windows as I watch the black clouds of the storm on the horizon. They get closer and closer each time I look, like a bad omen chasing us. The sunset paints the sky shades of pink as it drops down behind the curtain of blackness. The staff eat with me and Raul at the table, no one talks much. If they do its idle chatter about nothing important.
Raul plays with his food, only the occasional mouthful making it into his mouth. But he’s content and quiet so I let him just mess with it. He’s had a bottle, and I know he won’t go hungry, this is more about him getting used to solids. He’s curious about real food, and I am sure he will be eating with us in no time. Like all good Italian children, he loves pasta, and would chomp on it all day.
Clouds soon block out the moonlight, and shroud the island in a cool mist, the sound of the waves breaking is even louder as the surf gets rougher with each passing hour. I can sense the tension in the house. Everyone is on edge, no one wants to go to bed in case the storm makes land. I’m exhausted from the stress and anxiety, and when I sit down on the sofa with Raul on my lap we doze off for a while. Him curled up on top of me, seeking comfort from a monster he can only sense.
The whistle of the gale force storm winds wakes me up, and I shift so I am comfortable without waking him up. Security is taking turns to sleep and watch, everyone who lives on the island is in the living room at the center of the house. Everyone except Sal. God alone knows where he is right now, but I wish it was here.
