Page 48 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
“My shirt suits you. I can see where your perfect ass meets your thighs and just enough of—”
The shrill sound of a telephone splits the air.
“Is that a real phone? You have a landline?” she says.
I move quickly to the nightstand on the far side of the Murphy bed where I keep the phone.
“The phone is for my mother to call me. Long distance from Italy.” I wonder briefly why she would call in the middle of the night and then remember it’s New Year’s Eve—or rather New Year’s Day now.
“She’s calling to wish me Happy New Year.” I say, picking up the receiver and putting it to my ear. With a smile, while I watch Melissa and she watches me, I say in Italian, “Happy New Year, Mama.”
I’m not prepared for what comes next.
“Lucas, my bambino. I’m so glad you’re at home.” Her voice is distressed and the weight of dread settles in my stomach like a slab of stone. “I need you to come home.” There’s a sob in her voice. “It’s your papa—”
“What about Papa?” I keep my voice controlled in spite of the sudden chaos spinning in my head.
“He’s had a heart attack.” She breaks down.
I try and soothe her with words of comfort. I see Melissa move closer, her eyes concerned. I home in on her to ground me and she senses this, putting a hand on my arm. In the next tick of time her demeanor moves from concern to strong, calm, and steadfast support. The determined lines of her mouth and jaw give me what I need to talk to my mother.
“Mama, tell me, is he . . .” I force myself to ask, to say the words I can barely think. “Is he alive?”
“Si, he is in urgent care in the hospital here.”
I breathe now, not realizing I’d been holding my breath and I feel Melissa squeeze my arm while my mother tells me the name of the hospital he’s in.
“You must come home right away, Lucas.”
“I’ll be on the next plane,” I say, looking at Melissa. She picks up her phone and starts tapping it. I know she’s looking up flights.
“I’ll call when I land at Marco Polo Airport. Sometime tomorrow.”
“I’ll have a car pick you up. Maybe Louie can come with your old Fierro special—”
“No.” I barely conceal the panic in my voice, but I feel it in the thudding of my heart. Melissa looks at me, a question in her eyes, scaring the shit out of me. This can’t be how she finds out who I am.
“I’m bringing someone,” I manage to say, holding my breath, knowing my mother will be thrilled. Knowing Melissa will be shocked, unsure if she’ll go along. Taking a deep breath, I listen to the subdued delight in my mother’s voice.
“A young lady? I’ll be so happy to meet her, so happy for you to have someone, my bambino.” The smile is automatic when I hear her pet name for me. But she returns to the somber, worried voice. “Hurry home, Lucas. We all want to see you. Especially your father.”
“He’s asked for me?”
“Yes, of course. You know he loves you more than life.” She chokes up and I murmur comfort in Italian, eyes cast down, not wanting to lose it, for my mother and for myself. My father would expect dignity above all else and I’m trying my best to live up to his expectations, to him, his legacy. The family legacy.
My mother pulls herself together and tells me she’ll see me tomorrow. I hang up the receiver. Then I look at Melissa. In a split second she leans into me, wrapping her arms around me.
“I’m so sorry, Lucas. It’s your father? How bad is it?” The practical streak in her starts to show through the warmth and I smile to myself.
“It’s his heart. They have him stabilized for now. I’m not sure of his prognosis. Maybe the doctors aren’t sure either. I won’t know until I talk to them myself. Tomorrow afternoon, with any luck.”
She backs up and shows me her phone. “I found a flight on Alitalia to Venice from JFK departing at six a.m., but they only have first class seats available. The only coach fare I could find doesn’t leave until four in the afternoon—”
“Book it. Book two tickets, first class,” I tell her. It’s a no-brainer.
“Do you have the money for that?”
I pull my wallet from the nightstand drawer, slip the credit card out and hand it to her.
