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Anni sighed. “You can’t just go around threatening people to make them do what you want.”
“How else am I supposed to get anything done?”
“You can try talking to her, appealing to her compassionate side. Perhaps the patient confidentiality duty isn’t as absolute once the person has passed away?”
“I think my way will get better results—”
“No,” Anni said firmly. “I’ll make an appointment, and we’ll go and speak to her together.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Anni, so we’ll try it your way first. But if it doesn’t work, then I’m threatening her.”
***
We made an appointment to see Dr. Fontaine the following week.
In the doctor’s office, we sat across from the psychologist. She was smartly dressed and looked to be in her forties.
“Mr. Marchiano,” she said, “your request for information is an unusual one. This is not how we usually do things.” She was choosing her words carefully, no doubt aware by my surname and by what Rita had told her that I was part of the Mafia—the Marchiano family was notorious throughout Chicago.
“We understand that, Doctor,” I said, “but is there anything you are able to tell us that might help me understand better what drove Rita to take her own life? I know that she was probably suffering from postpartum depression and that she was getting help from you. I also know that she found her life difficult due to her religious beliefs. I’m just trying to fill in the gaps if I can.”
The doctor nodded. “Unfortunately, I’m still bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. However, I can say that Rita was brave enough to come forward and seek help. You and your children should seek comfort in the fact that she wanted to get better, not just for herself, but for you and your children. Her family was very important to her.”
“I’ve read a bit about postpartum depression, but I’m still not clear on what causes it?” I was keen to find out anything which could improve my understanding of what Rita had gone through.
“Postpartum depression is often caused by the imbalance in hormones after a woman gives birth. Pregnancy and birth result in a surge of various hormones within women. It’s an emotional time for women, and some individuals can continue to struggle for some time. It seems that everything became too much for Rita, but the one thing she told me repeatedly was how much she loved you and the children and how much she wanted to get better for you all.”
As we drove home, I turned to Anni. “I’m glad you convinced me to just talk to the doctor rather than threaten her. After hearing what she had to say, it’s made it easier for me to understand what happened so that I can try to consign it to the past. I need to focus now on making sure that the children are happy after everything they’ve gone through and also that you’re happy—because I love you and the kids, and I want us all to be happy together.”
Anni smiled at me. “I want us all to be happy as well.”
“I’m so lucky to have you, Anni, and so are the children.”
“And I’m lucky to have found you. I never imagined I would get married at twenty and have a readymade family, but it’s all worked out and I love being a mom to Clara and Clemente.”
I’d come to fully appreciate just how good Anni was with the kids. I’d recently agreed with her idea to put photos of Rita around the house. At first, I’d worried how the children would take it. But after seeing their positive reaction, I knew Anni had been right. Just this morning, I’d seen Clara touch a photo of her mother and say, “Momma was so pretty and happy.” I wanted the kids to have good memories of her.
“Clara’s been so much happier since you’ve joined our family,” I continued, “and you were right when you said she would feel less frustrated if she could articulate herself better. I’m glad we’ve been going to the speech therapy sessions together—I’m glad that we’re doing things as a family.” And when I said the word ‘family’, Anni’s face lit up, making my heart sing with love for her. She’d not only accepted me and the children, but shewantedto be with us, and that was the best feeling in the world.
ANNUNCIATA
The following Saturday, after lunch, Clara came up to Lorenzo with a ball in her hands. She was wearing her new white cat costume, while Clemente was running around in his new striped tiger costume.
“Will you play with me?” she asked her father.
“I’d love to play with you. You look very pretty in your cat costume.” It was an exact replica of my costume, just in a smaller size, and Clara had a blue ribbon tied in a bow around her neck, matching the ribbon Wilbur had on his collar today.
“Can we play outside, Dadda?”
My eyes immediately shot to Lorenzo, and I saw him go very still. He was completely stunned and overwhelmed. She’d called himDadda.
“Of course, we can, mia preziosa.” His voice was hoarse and his eyes glassy, but I could tell he was trying not to make a big deal of it.
Clara hadn’t called him Dadda since before Rita died, and I knew that had really hurt. I smiled at Lorenzo, knowing how much this meant to him, and he gave me a dazed smile back.
Later that afternoon, I sat down with Clara to do her daily speech therapy exercises.
Clemente sat down on the floor as well—he enjoyed the therapy games we played and often joined in. I made the sessions as fun as possible so that it wouldn’t feel like work to Clara or make her self-conscious about her speech skills.
