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Chapter Sixteen
My life felt like a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. It had been seventeen hours since Dante’s phone call. My friends stayed with me in shifts, except for Jamie and Christopher, who stayed with me constantly. I didn’t sleep, and couldn’t eat. The only thing I did was lay in bed staring at my phone, which was plugged in on my nightstand.
Christopher went to the kitchen and Jamie sat down beside me on the mattress, the two of them working out a wordless choreography to make sure I was never left alone. Jamie brushed my hair back from my forehead and said softly, “You need to try to rest, Charlie. You won’t miss anything. The phone’s right there, and if it rings, it’ll wake you. I’ll wake you. I’ll sit right here while you sleep.”
I shook my head, staring intently at the phone, as if concentrating hard enough would somehow make it ring. “Go home to your husband, Jamie,” I mumbled.
“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re ok, Charlie.”
“But I’m never going to be ok. Not if he’s gone. I don’t know how I’ll survive it.”
“I’ll help you. You’ll get through it,” he said.
Christopher came back then, climbing up onto the bed and snuggling against me. He rested a little bowl on his leg and hand-fed me something that I didn’t taste as he said, “We still don’t know what happened. We’re not going to give up hope.” He shot Jamie a look as he fed me another bit of food.
Hours dragged, one after the other in a painfully slow procession. I started to doze just a little, despite myself, until the ringing of my phone jarred me awake. I grabbed it so quickly that I almost knocked over the lamp on my nightstand. Jamie’s hand shot out to catch it as I fumbled with the on button and blurted, “Hello?”
“Charlie. My angel.”
“Dante?” I yanked the power cord out of the phone and sat bolt upright, praying this wasn’t a dream.
“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” His own voice was faint, groggy, scratchy. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever heard in my entire life.
“Darling, where are you?”
“Rome. In a hospital. Just woke up from surgery. Had to call you right away.”
“Dante, what happened?”
“Was shot.” He sounded even groggier, as if talking was wearing him out. “Called an ambulance, like you said. Guess they found me. How long was I out?”
“Almost –” I looked at the clock “– twenty three hours. The longest of my life.”
“Nurse is trying to take the phone away. I’ll call you soon, ok?” I heard a woman’s voice speaking to him in agitated Italian, and then the line went dead.
“He’s alive. Thank God he’s alive,” I murmured, overcome with relief and gratitude.
“Where is he?” Jamie asked. He was sitting at my bedside, looking tired and rumpled in clothes from a day ago.
“A hospital in Rome. He just came out of surgery.”
Christopher smiled at me. “If he’s strong enough to call, he’s obviously doing ok. I’m so happy for you, Charlie.”
Jamie sent off a quick text, and then he stood up and said, “I just told Dmitri that Dante checked in from a Roman hospital. He’ll tell Dante’s men to call off the hunt. I’m going to go home and get some sleep, unless you need anything, Charlie.”
I shook my head. “Thanks for staying with me, Jamie. You’re a good friend. Please tell Dmitri and Callie and Jess thank you for all they did, too.”
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I will.”
After he left, Christopher took my cell phone from my hands and plugged it back in on the nightstand, then turned the light off and pulled the covers over both of us. “Thank you for being so strong for me, Christopher Robin,” I murmured, kissing the top of his head. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”
“I didn’t really do anything,” he whispered, already falling asleep. “But you’re welcome.”
The next time he called was almost eighteen hours later. I snatched my ringing phone off the nightstand and answered it with, “Dante?”
“Hi angel. Sorry it took me so long to call back. They gave me something that knocked me out.”
I grinned and said, “You sound a lot better.”
“Was I even speaking in complete sentences when I called before? The anesthesia hadn’t really worn off yet.” Dante’s voice was still a bit thin, his breathing slightly labored.
“You were, actually. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot four times.”
“Oh God.”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”
“When will that be?” I asked, expecting him to say it would be days or weeks before he was well enough to travel.
“In about fourteen hours.” He drew in his breath as if something was hurting him, then let it out slowly.
