Short Story: Vertigo
This is the second story I wrote for my Reading & Writing Women's Fiction course and I realized I hadn't posted it. 6100 words. Enjoy!
Vertigo
“Kevin, for Christ’s sake,” Maggie whispered, wriggling out of his grasp and backing up against the pedestal of one of the ancient statues lining the walls of the Vatican Museum’s Museo Pio-Clementino galleries, eyes flicking warily around the corridor as people passed by, watching the young couple; a group of older women looked scandalized. “This is God’s house!”
“It’s only the museum,” Kevin laughed, reaching for her hand and ducking his head to nuzzle against her neck, pushing aside the collar of her cardigan with his nose. “I’ll be on my best behavior in the Sistine Chapel, I promise.”
“Oh, God, we are so going to hell,” Maggie sighed, lifting a hand to ruffle Kevin’s already-messy black hair. “Come on, loverboy. This is the first day you’ve agreed to leave the hotel room since the honeymoon started; let’s at least pretend to get some sight-seeing done.”
She turned her face to kiss the shell of his ear affectionately, then gently pushed him off of her, tangling their fingers together as they wandered off toward the exit of the Hall of the Animals, presently entering the Octagonal Courtyard. Maggie lifted a hand to lower her sunglasses from their perch atop her crown of silky red hair as they emerged into the sunlight.
Kevin swung their clasped hands as they approached the middle of the courtyard, not sure which of the corner displays Maggie wanted to approach first. They stood between two large pottery vases, a number of which surrounded a weird shrubbery set down into a small pit that looked like a well. Each vase was filled with little purple flowers that were wilting in the sweltering heat, and he stopped to pluck a sprig from the vase on his left, twirling the stem between the fingers of his left hand.
He looked up and around the courtyard, admiring the architecture. The small courtyard was surrounded on all sides by a series of cloister-like corridors, with arches to the north, south, east, and west, and smaller arches in each corner leading to the alcoves that held some of the most famous pieces of art in the museum. A number of people were crowded around the entrance to the Apollo cabinet, all dying to see the remarkable Apollo Belvedere.
He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Maggie when he heard her groan softly, turning to see her clutching her cell phone, which was flipped open, with one hand, her free hand rubbing over her belly. He was about to ask her who’d called or texted, but the expression of discomfort wrinkling her forehead wiped the question out of his mind.
“God, I have been cramping all morning,” she said frustratedly before he could ask what was wrong, and lifted the hem of her shirt to look at her stomach as though the reason for her pain would be plainly marked on her skin.
“Did you take something for it?” Kevin asked, his brows furrowed in concern as he met Maggie’s moss-green eyes with his warm brown eyes.
“Yeah, I popped a few Advil before we left the hotel,” Maggie said, wiping some perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. She glanced down at the phone and rolled her eyes before flipping it closed and stashing it back in the warm brown leather clutch Kevin had bought for her-and later surprised her with at dinner-in one of the posh Roman leather goods shops they’d passed by yesterday. She winced again, briefly, relaxing again after a few seconds. “Doesn’t seem to be working, though.”
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Kevin asked, letting go of Maggie’s hand so he could rub her back. “I can find a cab. If we can find our way out of here first, I mean.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Maggie said, lifting up on her toes just slightly to kiss the corner of Kevin’s mouth. She offered him a little smile as she lowered her heels to the ground. “Thanks, babe.”
“Prego, bella,” Kevin said playfully, using any excuse to try out his limited Italian vocabulary. “Ti amo.” He cupped her face in his hands, rubbing his nose against hers before leaning in to kiss her, his lips parting sweetly around her full bottom lip. He slipped the tiny spray of purple flowers just behind her ear, making a pretty contrast with her fiery hair. “Where do you want to go next?” he added, his words muffled against her mouth.
Maggie waved a hand vaguely somewhere behind her, the corners of her lips quirking into a smile as she kissed away from Kevin’s mouth. She smoothed the collar of his sunlight-warmed shirt and pressed her cheek to his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze. It was so nice to finally be alone, she thought, after all of the stress of the wedding and having family around 24/7. It was just the two of them now; no obligations, no responsibilities. There was something immensely freeing about that. No thank-you notes, no packing or unpacking, no real world for two whole weeks. It was such a wonderful stillness of time that she didn’t want to think about it coming to an end.
Kevin unfolded the map he’d jammed into the back pocket of his jeans, scanning the key to determine their position. “Looks like we’re in the Octagonal Courtyard,” he murmured, eyes flicking between the map and the key. “There’s the Hermes Cabinet, the Parseus Cabinet, the Apollo Cabinet, and the Laocoön Cabinet.” He pointed in a clockwise direction around the courtyard. “Which one should we hit up first?” He folded the map again, looking up eagerly at Maggie.
“I always liked Hermes the best of all the Greek gods,” Maggie said, shrugging her shoulders. “That all right with you, Kev?”
Kevin nodded. “Hermes Cabinet it is,” he said, taking her hand again and steering their course to the left side of the courtyard.
Shortly they approached the southwest corner of the Octagonal Courtyard, the Hermes Cabinet, around which more statues were arranged. In the corner, sheltered by an alcove painted in a deep shade of crimson, stood the modest, feminine figure of the Venus Felix, Lucky Venus, accompanied by her son, winged Cupid, his proud face turned up toward the sky.
Maggie and Kevin stopped before the plinth, gazing up at the carven figures whose expressive faces averted their gaze. Maggie let go of Kevin’s hand, moving to read the plaque beside the sculpture.
“Venus Felix,” she read aloud so Kevin could listen. “Major Roman goddess associated with love, beauty, and fertility. Key figure in Roman myths and religious festivals. Sculpture Roman copy circa 180-200 AD from Greek original. Inscription on base reads Dedicated by Sillustia and Helpidus to Venus Felix.” She straightened, looking over her shoulder at Kevin. “She must have been the patron goddess of Rome during that time or something,” she suggested, making a face mid-sentence and reaching to rub her shoulder, her speech slowing slightly, distracted by pain.
“You okay?” Kevin asked, taking a step toward Maggie, his eyebrows knitting together once more.
“Huh? Yeah,” she said, voice soft and a little hoarse. “I must have slept on it weird, that’s all. You know, those hotel beds… not as comfortable as the brochures would have you think.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine, really.”
Kevin nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Okay,” he said, little frown lines still visible around his eyes, his forehead wrinkled. “We can go back to the hotel if you want, honestly. It’s way too hot to be outside in the middle of the afternoon, anyway.” He tugged at the cuffs of his Oxford shirt, the only thing he’d packed that fit the Vatican dress code that wasn’t a wrinkled T-shirt.
“I’m fine,” Maggie repeated, a little more vehemently this time. “Let’s just finish this museum and we’ll go find a café and have a drink. I can stand another half an hour.”
Kevin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I really think we should go, Mags. I’m worried about you.”
“Oh my God, calm down,” Maggie said crossly, folding her arms. “I’m fine. I’m a little dehydrated, probably, and the cramps are probably from all the carbs I’ve been eating. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’ll take a nap before dinner and I’ll be good as new. I’m just not used to the humidity, that’s all.” She tossed her hair and pursed her lips irritably at Kevin.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Kevin said, his tone one of exasperation. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. We’re three thousand miles from home and it’s our honeymoon. I love you so much; I can’t help being nervous when I know you’re not feeling well.”
Maggie shook her head. “God, you’re such a-”
Kevin never found out exactly what he was, because Maggie never finished her sentence, doubling over instead. Her face froze in a hideous expression of pain: eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, hands clutching her belly.
“Maggie,” Kevin said, heart beating with what felt like enough force to explode out of his chest as he dropped to his knees, reaching up to support her shoulders as she hunched over in pain. “Maggie!”
Her sunglasses drooped off of her face and fell, clattering to the pavement. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to stand out more as the blood drained from her cheeks. She choked out a gasp, eyelids fluttering. She retched once, twice, then opened her eyes weakly, meeting Kevin’s gaze evenly for a second before they rolled back into her head and her leggy frame crumpled into his arms.
“Help!” Kevin yelled as he clutched her limp body, his voice cracking in panic, rising with every word. “Polizia! Somebody! Help!”
* * *
Kevin sat hunched over in one of the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs in the waiting room at Ospedale San Giacomo, head in his hands, palms pressing hard against his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes swimming against the darkness behind his eyelids.
It was all so unreal. The morning seemed so far behind him, and it was only two in the afternoon. They had woken early, a mess of limbs entwined beneath tangled sheets, to find pillows on the floor amid a trail of abandoned clothing and shoes, the only sign of last night’s passionate embrace, which was only accelerated by the consumption of two spectacular bottles of aged Sangiovese Chianti. Kevin remembered finding one of Maggie’s stockings in his hair, and her laughter as she rolled over to pluck it out and toss it away, her naked chest flush against his for a few moments before she crawled over him and clambered out of bed, grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table.
Kevin watched as she flipped it open, glanced at something on the screen briefly, her features shadowed by virtue of her being backlit by the east-facing window. The shadow over her eyes passed when she flipped the phone shut and fixed her gaze on Kevin, her expression softening at the way his hair stuck up in the front and how his eyes were carefully trained on her face even though she was standing in front of him, naked as the day she was born. The intensity of his gaze was such that her cheeks began to flush, the rush of blood to her head heating the tops of her ears and the back of her neck as well. She smiled almost self-consciously, feeling every inch of her body trembling from the sheer adoration he was projecting toward her, and grabbed the white silk dressing gown she had taken to hanging over the back of a chair near their bed. She tied the sash loosely and turned back toward Kevin, bending down to brush her lips across his brow and push his unkempt hair off of his forehead, her own falling around their faces like a canopy of flame. Kevin surprised her, clamping his arms around her waist and tugging her back onto the bed, where she fell with a giggly shriek, sprawled over Kevin’s body. He made to roll over on top of her, probably in hopes of resuming last night’s activities, Maggie thought, but she laughed, shaking her head, and sat up, straddling his thighs.
“No, no, no,” she teased, pressing her hands down on his bare chest. “Time to hit the showers, or we’ll be standing in a line outside the Vatican until we die.”
“Showers?” he repeated, eyes lighting up as he clutched her hips and sat up. “If you say so, Mrs. Hollister.” He grinned, tugging the sheet out from underneath Maggie, and with a great grunt stood up, one arm underneath her, the other splayed against the small of her back.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” she laughed, lazily coiling her arms around his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him. Morning breath or not, he thought, she was perfect.
“Whatever,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers with a gentle tap to her backside that set her off laughing again as they disappeared into the bathroom. “You know you want me.”
They had breakfasted on fresh fruit, bellinis, and croissants slathered in Nutella in the sunlit breakfast room reached through a door just off of the hotel foyer, Maggie continually sipping from a little cup of espresso, the Italian coffee having thrown her caffeine addiction into full throttle since the first shot she’d had in an attempt to alleviate her jet lag after they landed in Rome. Kevin had laughed at her little shudder of pleasure as she downed the remains of the espresso, slamming the little cup back down on the table as though she’d just done a shot of tequila, and declared, satisfied, “I am ready to face the day!”
If he’d known it was going to be this kind of day, he would have stayed in bed.
He had been sitting in the waiting room for what felt like days but had really only been a couple of hours. No one had come to talk to him, to give him any updates on her progress, to reassure him that she was going to be okay, for a long time. He thought it was better that way in some respects; at least then he knew that all hands were on deck where Maggie was concerned, and that they were taking good care of her.
“No news is good news, after all,” he thought to himself.
“Not when you’re in a hospital,” an ugly little voice in the back of his head piped up.
A voice broke his reverie. “Mr. Hollister?”
Kevin’s head snapped up, and he looked around wildly for the source of those words.
The doctor who had come to talk to him earlier approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Kevin could feel the nausea welling up in this throat, the prickling behind his eyes. His legs felt numb and weightless.
“Mr. Hollister,” repeated the doctor, her voice rich and warm. His eyes flicked briefly to the photo ID clipped to the pocket of her lab coat. She extended her hand. “I am Dr. Carla Vecchio.”
Kevin stood up so quickly his head spun, legs trembling with anxiety. She wouldn’t be smiling if she were delivering bad news, he reasoned. Only a sadist would do that, and most of the Italians they’d run into on their vacation were kind and funny, with the exception of that bus driver who wouldn’t give them the time of day for speaking English to him. He broke away from this convoluted piece of logic and fixed his eyes on Dr. Vecchio’s.
“Maggie,” he managed, clasping her hand with both of his, “please, how is she?”
Dr. Vecchio patted his hands with her free hand and gestured for him to sit. She eased herself into one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs as well, smoothing a fallen tendril of hair back behind her ear. “Your wife has just come out of surgery. You are lucky you arrived so quickly. She lost quite a lot of blood, but her AB-negative blood type allowed us to give her whatever blood we had on hand. We might have lost some time testing her if you hadn’t remembered to give us her Red Cross card.”
She smiled at Kevin, who was by this time slumped with relief in his chair. The feeling was starting to come back to his lower extremities, and the weight on his chest seemed to dissipate almost immediately. Maggie was alive. She was going to be all right.
“What happened to her?” Kevin asked, the laugh lines around his eyes now fraught with concern.
“It was an ectopic pregnancy,” Dr. Vecchio explained. “The embryo didn’t implant in the uterus as it should normally. It kept growing in the fallopian tube, and as a result, the tube ruptured. It’s an extremely traumatic experience, and it can happen to any woman.”
It took Kevin a moment to wrap his head around all of this. Maggie was pregnant? “Why wouldn’t she tell me?” he thought to himself, unable to keep from feeling a little hurt. They were partners now; this was the kind of thing he deserved to know. It would have been his baby, after all. “Maybe she didn’t know,” added a voice in his head. That had to be it, he reasoned. Maggie wouldn’t intentionally keep something that important from him.
“How far along was she?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“I would estimate six weeks, maybe seven, but no more.”
“Will she still be able to… have babies?” Kevin asked, his eyebrows furrowing together as he wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans.
“You might have trouble conceiving,” the doctor responded honestly. “We had to perform a tubal ligation-that is, cauterize the ends-on the ruptured tube to stop the bleeding, so now the eggs from only one ovary will be available for conception.” She offered him a sympathetic smile. “You are both young and healthy, which is an advantage, but there are always alternative methods-in-vitro fertilization, surrogacy, adoption.”
Kevin nodded, but he felt heartbroken for Maggie. She had always expressed a desire to have children when the time came-not too many, but enough to make her and Kevin feel like a family, and not just a couple. He blinked hard to stay the stinging sensation from his eyes, and looked up at the doctor again.
“Let me tell her?” he pleaded. “She’s going to be freaked out as it is, waking up in a hospital in a foreign country; pardon the expression.” Calling countries outside of his own “foreign” always seemed a bit rude to him. “I think she’ll take the news easier if I break it to her gently.” He rubbed his eye, exhausted from the heat of the day and the stress of being alone in the hospital. “If she has questions I’ll be happy to let you cut in, but I just think she’ll be more comfortable hearing this from me.”
“I understand completely,” Dr. Vecchio said, nodding. She eased herself out of the chair and smoothed her coat. “Your wife will be asleep for a while yet; the anesthesia will take some time to wear off. Why don’t you go the trattoria across the street, get yourself an espresso and a panino. Mrs. Hollister is in stable condition. She needs to rest, and you need to eat, get some color back in your cheeks.” She squeezed Kevin’s shoulder gently, comfortingly. “It will do you some good to get some air.”
Kevin nodded, dragging a hand down the side of his face. “I am a little hungry, now that you mention it,” he said, standing with some difficulty, knees stiff and back tense. The doctor smiled again and left him to his thoughts, her heels clicking against the tile floor and fading as she disappeared around the corner of a corridor.
He was certainly relieved that Maggie was no longer in immediate danger, but he couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling that settled on him the moment he stepped into the hospital. The cold sterility of the waiting room was uncomfortable enough without being in a completely different country on top of everything. But maybe Dr. Vecchio was right; if he left the place for a while, maybe it would soothe his frazzled nerves.
He stooped to collect Maggie’s clutch from beneath his chair, then straightened slowly, his forehead wrinkling as he considered what to do with it. On one hand, a man walking around carrying a purse, no matter how small, was a little weird; on the other hand, there wasn’t much else he could do with it. He could leave it at the nurses’ station, but he didn’t think Maggie would like her bankcards and cell phone left unattended.
“Fuck it,” Kevin thought with a short shake of his head, rolling his shoulders. There were bigger things to worry about than impugning his masculinity, and besides, he reasoned, this was Europe, birthplace of the man-purse; he probably wouldn’t get much flack for it, especially since he was only crossing the street.
He gripped the top of the bag with his left hand and left the waiting area, emerging shortly into the late afternoon sunlight, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He crossed the street, barely avoiding a collision with a wayward Vespa before seeking the shade of a line of warm sand-colored buildings. A wood and wrought-iron sign reading Trattoria swung overhead as he approached the small café-style restaurant. He stepped inside, hoping to escape the sweltering August heat before remembering air conditioning was hard to come by in most of the older buildings they’d been to. Still, he noticed, the door and windows were open to permit a breeze to ruffle his sweat-dampened hair and lift the corners of the stack of paper menus lying haphazardly on the counter; it wouldn’t be terribly uncomfortable.
Kevin’s eyes wandered over the chalkboard tacked up against the wall behind the counter and, finding all the menu selections to be in Italian, settled for ordering something he knew how to say.
“Scusi,” he said politely to an older woman who emerged from the back room, her thick black hair flecked with grey at the roots. “Panino caprese, per favore.”
She nodded kindly and turned her face from him, shouting the order towards the back door; the kitchen, Kevin assumed.
“Quanto costa?” he asked, putting Maggie’s bag down on the counter and fumbling in his pockets for a few spare Euros.
“Due e cinquanta,” the woman replied, punching some numbers into the cash register, which promptly popped open.
Kevin’s eyebrows knit together as he attempted to figure out just how much that was in English. “Two-fifty?” he finally had to confirm sheepishly, embarrassed to resort to his native language for such a simple question.
“Si,” the woman said, watching him fumble in his pockets, only to come up with €1.45 in change.
He resisted the urge to curse in frustration and remembered Maggie’s purse. She had held on to most of the money during their trip, since Kevin had stopped carrying his wallet in his back pocket for fear of being pick-pocketed. He felt a little uncomfortable going through her things without her permission, or her presence, at the very least, but he was just going to take a €5 note and that would be it.
He shifted things around in the small bag, removing her cell phone to access her money-clip, a trinket of her father’s she’d filched from the pile of clothes and insignificant belongings going to Goodwill after his death during her first year of college, just after she’d started dating Kevin in earnest. He remembered being terrified, unlocking the door of her dorm room after class one rainy March afternoon to find her tangled up in her bedsheets sobbing, looking for all the world like someone had shot her dog right in front of her.
He tiptoed around the corner of the bed to see the smashed remnants of her cell phone, destroyed in a fit, he learned later, after receiving the news that her father had suffered an unexpected stroke at the office and was pronounced brain-dead upon arrival at the hospital. Maggie sat up in bed suddenly, the freckles standing out on her pale face, white as a death’s-head, red-rimmed eyes watering afresh at the sight of Kevin’s hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket dripping on the throw rug under his feet. Her shoulders went limp once more, lower lip trembling as she crumpled in on herself. The sight was almost enough to make Kevin start to cry, and he couldn’t help but toe his shoes off, let his jacket drop to the floor, and crawl into bed with her, pulling her into his arms, where she buried her tear-stained face, runny nose and all, in his neck and clung to him for hours. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to.
She had seemed so much smaller in this moment, he’d thought, not unlike this morning when she’d fallen unconscious into his arms. This morning. He blinked, the money clip still in his hands, and the woman behind the counter cleared her throat, his sandwich having arrived from the kitchen while he’d ventured off into the veins of memory. He yanked a €5 note from the clip and passed it to the cashier, who presently offered him his change and his plate. Slightly frazzled, he gathered up Maggie’s possessions and the change in one hand, and the plate in the other, and grabbed a seat near the front window, scattering the change on the table and dropping Maggie’s cell phone on top of a small pile of euro-cents.
He immediately dug into his sandwich, taste buds tingling at the feel of juicy tomato on his tongue. Mild but tangy fresh mozzarella practically melted in his mouth, and fragrant basil felt like a fresh, clean breeze on his face. He leaned back in his chair, sliding down a bit in the seat, relishing a moment of peace and simplicity in this day from hell. His eyes drifted shut for a few seconds, but he cracked an eyelid when he heard a buzzing sound-Maggie’s phone was receiving a text message.
Kevin lifted an eyebrow, studying the outside of the phone. Maggie’s mom had gifted them with a calling card in the event they needed to get in touch with someone back home while on their honeymoon, but it was stashed, unused, in Maggie’s other handbag. He couldn’t think why anyone would waste so much money on an international text unless it was urgent, so he flipped the phone open and looked at the text receipt screen. The sender’s name was Chris. Kevin frowned. Maggie’s younger brother was called Christian but he didn’t go by a nickname. Still curious, he pressed the enter key and the text message popped open.
Screening my calls, Red?
Kevin felt the back of his neck heat up, and closed the message. Who was this person, and why did he call Maggie “Red”? He had never known anyone to call her by that nickname. Furthermore… Kevin opened the message again. Screening my calls, Red? Had she really been getting phone calls from this guy?
Kevin closed the phone. It was absolutely a violation of Maggie’s privacy. For all he knew it could be some new guy at work pestering her. But why would she have given him her number? Maggie was a private person. Still, the niggling feeling that something was off about this situation made Kevin flip the phone open again. He checked Maggie’s missed and received calls, and that name, Chris, popped up a few more times-less frequently after the wedding last Saturday, but enough times to make Kevin feel nauseated.
The phone buzzed again, and another text message popped up:
Newsflash, Red: Just because you got married doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I’m not just your fuckbuddy and you know it.
Kevin slammed the phone shut with alarming force-enough to cause the trattoria owner to peer out from the kitchen again to check on him-and shoved it back in Maggie’s purse, his appetite officially ruined by the cold, empty feeling welling up suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or betrayed, whether he wanted to cry or throw up, whether he should stay where he was or return to the hospital or go back to the hotel. His face felt warmer than usual in the sultry August heat, but he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or humiliation; possibly both, he allowed.
He pushed his chair back and stood slowly, pulling himself up using the edge of the table. He picked up Maggie’s bag, holding it away from his body as though it were diseased, and left the change on the table for the trattoria owner before escaping into the suffocating heat.
* * *
Nothing could relieve the heaviness that lay like a mantle of lead on Kevin’s shoulders. His eyes were blank, devoid of emotion; his lips were drawn into a thin line. The blue plastic chair dug into his back but he could hardly feel it. Despite his exterior numbness, his brain was on fire. What was he going to say to her? What would he do when he saw her eyes flutter open, frantically trying to process her whereabouts? For a brief moment he hoped she wouldn’t wake up at all. It seemed possible; it had been a few hours since he’d returned to the hospital, and he had been given no updates on her condition. He felt strangely unbothered by this fact; he was numbed enough by betrayal and hurt not to care anymore.
“Mr. Hollister!” A nurse was speaking to him in thickly accented English, and by the sharp tone of her voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d called out to him.
Kevin glanced up, and she softened at the deadness behind his eyes, not knowing the true source of his grief. “Yes?”
“Your wife is awake in room 206,” she said gently. “I can take you to her if you would like to see her. She was asking for you.”
His heart ached at those words. She was too drugged-up to be insincere, wasn’t she? Still, the leaden weight on his back remained. He stood slowly once more, as he did hours ago when he left the hospital, and let the nurse lead him up two flights of stairs and down a short corridor before stopping outside Room 206.
“Just in here,” the nurse said, gesturing toward the door handle. “If Mrs. Hollister needs anything, just press the button next to her bed and someone will come up to help you.”
Kevin nodded and reached for the door handle, resisting the impulse to vomit. He blinked and pushed, and suddenly the door was open and he was inside the dimly lit room. The shades were pulled down, but Maggie’s face was turned toward them anyway, like a flower following the sun across the sky.
She started when the door opened and turned her head slowly to glance at the dark figure standing in the doorway. “Kev,” she said hoarsely, her voice cracking. He could see from the faint light coming in from the hallway that her face was wet. “Baby, what happened?”
He lost his nerve, seeing her curled up, small and terrified, in that tiny hospital bed. Kevin shut the door and crossed the room to sit in the chair at her bedside. He took her cool, pale hand in both of his and lifted it to kiss the center of her palm. “They had to tie your tubes on one side. One ruptured from an ectopic pregnancy.” He paused, taking in her reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he asked finally, voice low.
Maggie looked pained. “I don’t know,” she said, sniffling and raising one shaking hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. “I found out a few days before the wedding and I didn’t know how I felt about it yet. I still don’t know how I feel about it. I thought we would have a year to ourselves, you know?”
He nodded slowly. “You weren’t going to… take care of it without me knowing, though, were you?” There was a weighty significance to the way he phrased “take care of it,” and he caught Maggie’s eyes with his own, a fierce light in his gaze.
“I don’t know-” Maggie started, but changed her mind when she saw the look on Kevin’s face. “No. No! Okay? God, Kevin, it’s my body.”
“And it’s my baby,” Kevin retorted, his voice still quiet and measured, but with an undertone of absolute seriousness. The next words escaped from his lips before he could think to stop them. “Or isn’t it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Maggie responded after a long pause, her voice pitching up a few notes.
Kevin released her hand and bent down to pick up her bag from where he’d dropped it on the floor when he sat down. He put it on the bed and sat back in his chair. “You missed a few texts while you were out.”
If any more blood could have drained from Maggie’s face, it would have at that point. “You went through my phone?” she whispered, opening the clutch and pulling out her cell phone with trembling fingers. She opened the last text from Chris and closed her eyes; Kevin couldn’t discern the reason for it.
“I told him to leave me alone,” she said quietly, closing the phone and resting her hands in her lap. “After we got engaged. Remember how I changed my phone number and e-mail address? He wouldn’t go away.”
“Who is he? How did you meet him? When? Did you sleep with him? How many times?”
“Jesus Christ, Kevin, 20 Questions much?”
“Don’t be cute with me. I’m dead serious.”
She flinched at the coldness in his voice. “He works with me. He’s an account exec. He started at K2 a couple of years ago.” Maggie was a copywriter for a Philadelphia advertising firm and spent long hours at the office drafting copy for major ad campaigns. “I was assigned to one of the accounts he was working. He was always hitting on me. I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered.”
“I’m guessing you decided on flattered,” Kevin cut in flatly, “since you obviously slept with him.”
Maggie lifted her left hand, the one not attached to an IV, and wiped her eyes again. “You were traveling so much for work back then and I missed you. I didn’t know what else to do. He wanted me, and for some stupid reason it felt like you didn’t. ‘Why would he travel this much if he wanted to be with me?’ I kept asking myself. So when he got me drunk at the party the partners threw after landing the Comcast account, I didn’t say no.”
“Don’t you dare try to pin this on me,” Kevin said, raising his voice. “All that traveling was for you. I wanted to make a life for us, to give us some security before I proposed. Don’t-How could you-” He stopped and stood with a swiftness that made his head spin and his vision darken briefly. “This is how you pay me back?”
“It wasn’t emotional,” Maggie protested. “I love-”
“Don’t bother,” Kevin cut her off. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore. And for the record, fucking someone because you’re lonely? That’s being emotionally attached to someone.” He shook his head, shoulders quivering with anger. “I have to go. I can’t talk to you like this. I can’t even look at you.” He locked eyes with her briefly before dropping his gaze to the foot of her bed. “Call me when they let you out and I’ll see how I feel about you then.”
Maggie looked horrified. “You’re not seriously going to leave me here by myself!”
Kevin steeled himself and spun around, striding toward the door. “Watch me.”
“Kev,” Maggie said loudly, and louder, “Kevin!” But it was no use; her cries went unanswered as he strode numbly down the corridor, overwhelmed by the upside-down world he’d walked into this morning.
Vertigo
“Kevin, for Christ’s sake,” Maggie whispered, wriggling out of his grasp and backing up against the pedestal of one of the ancient statues lining the walls of the Vatican Museum’s Museo Pio-Clementino galleries, eyes flicking warily around the corridor as people passed by, watching the young couple; a group of older women looked scandalized. “This is God’s house!”
“It’s only the museum,” Kevin laughed, reaching for her hand and ducking his head to nuzzle against her neck, pushing aside the collar of her cardigan with his nose. “I’ll be on my best behavior in the Sistine Chapel, I promise.”
“Oh, God, we are so going to hell,” Maggie sighed, lifting a hand to ruffle Kevin’s already-messy black hair. “Come on, loverboy. This is the first day you’ve agreed to leave the hotel room since the honeymoon started; let’s at least pretend to get some sight-seeing done.”
She turned her face to kiss the shell of his ear affectionately, then gently pushed him off of her, tangling their fingers together as they wandered off toward the exit of the Hall of the Animals, presently entering the Octagonal Courtyard. Maggie lifted a hand to lower her sunglasses from their perch atop her crown of silky red hair as they emerged into the sunlight.
Kevin swung their clasped hands as they approached the middle of the courtyard, not sure which of the corner displays Maggie wanted to approach first. They stood between two large pottery vases, a number of which surrounded a weird shrubbery set down into a small pit that looked like a well. Each vase was filled with little purple flowers that were wilting in the sweltering heat, and he stopped to pluck a sprig from the vase on his left, twirling the stem between the fingers of his left hand.
He looked up and around the courtyard, admiring the architecture. The small courtyard was surrounded on all sides by a series of cloister-like corridors, with arches to the north, south, east, and west, and smaller arches in each corner leading to the alcoves that held some of the most famous pieces of art in the museum. A number of people were crowded around the entrance to the Apollo cabinet, all dying to see the remarkable Apollo Belvedere.
He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Maggie when he heard her groan softly, turning to see her clutching her cell phone, which was flipped open, with one hand, her free hand rubbing over her belly. He was about to ask her who’d called or texted, but the expression of discomfort wrinkling her forehead wiped the question out of his mind.
“God, I have been cramping all morning,” she said frustratedly before he could ask what was wrong, and lifted the hem of her shirt to look at her stomach as though the reason for her pain would be plainly marked on her skin.
“Did you take something for it?” Kevin asked, his brows furrowed in concern as he met Maggie’s moss-green eyes with his warm brown eyes.
“Yeah, I popped a few Advil before we left the hotel,” Maggie said, wiping some perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. She glanced down at the phone and rolled her eyes before flipping it closed and stashing it back in the warm brown leather clutch Kevin had bought for her-and later surprised her with at dinner-in one of the posh Roman leather goods shops they’d passed by yesterday. She winced again, briefly, relaxing again after a few seconds. “Doesn’t seem to be working, though.”
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Kevin asked, letting go of Maggie’s hand so he could rub her back. “I can find a cab. If we can find our way out of here first, I mean.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Maggie said, lifting up on her toes just slightly to kiss the corner of Kevin’s mouth. She offered him a little smile as she lowered her heels to the ground. “Thanks, babe.”
“Prego, bella,” Kevin said playfully, using any excuse to try out his limited Italian vocabulary. “Ti amo.” He cupped her face in his hands, rubbing his nose against hers before leaning in to kiss her, his lips parting sweetly around her full bottom lip. He slipped the tiny spray of purple flowers just behind her ear, making a pretty contrast with her fiery hair. “Where do you want to go next?” he added, his words muffled against her mouth.
Maggie waved a hand vaguely somewhere behind her, the corners of her lips quirking into a smile as she kissed away from Kevin’s mouth. She smoothed the collar of his sunlight-warmed shirt and pressed her cheek to his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze. It was so nice to finally be alone, she thought, after all of the stress of the wedding and having family around 24/7. It was just the two of them now; no obligations, no responsibilities. There was something immensely freeing about that. No thank-you notes, no packing or unpacking, no real world for two whole weeks. It was such a wonderful stillness of time that she didn’t want to think about it coming to an end.
Kevin unfolded the map he’d jammed into the back pocket of his jeans, scanning the key to determine their position. “Looks like we’re in the Octagonal Courtyard,” he murmured, eyes flicking between the map and the key. “There’s the Hermes Cabinet, the Parseus Cabinet, the Apollo Cabinet, and the Laocoön Cabinet.” He pointed in a clockwise direction around the courtyard. “Which one should we hit up first?” He folded the map again, looking up eagerly at Maggie.
“I always liked Hermes the best of all the Greek gods,” Maggie said, shrugging her shoulders. “That all right with you, Kev?”
Kevin nodded. “Hermes Cabinet it is,” he said, taking her hand again and steering their course to the left side of the courtyard.
Shortly they approached the southwest corner of the Octagonal Courtyard, the Hermes Cabinet, around which more statues were arranged. In the corner, sheltered by an alcove painted in a deep shade of crimson, stood the modest, feminine figure of the Venus Felix, Lucky Venus, accompanied by her son, winged Cupid, his proud face turned up toward the sky.
Maggie and Kevin stopped before the plinth, gazing up at the carven figures whose expressive faces averted their gaze. Maggie let go of Kevin’s hand, moving to read the plaque beside the sculpture.
“Venus Felix,” she read aloud so Kevin could listen. “Major Roman goddess associated with love, beauty, and fertility. Key figure in Roman myths and religious festivals. Sculpture Roman copy circa 180-200 AD from Greek original. Inscription on base reads Dedicated by Sillustia and Helpidus to Venus Felix.” She straightened, looking over her shoulder at Kevin. “She must have been the patron goddess of Rome during that time or something,” she suggested, making a face mid-sentence and reaching to rub her shoulder, her speech slowing slightly, distracted by pain.
“You okay?” Kevin asked, taking a step toward Maggie, his eyebrows knitting together once more.
“Huh? Yeah,” she said, voice soft and a little hoarse. “I must have slept on it weird, that’s all. You know, those hotel beds… not as comfortable as the brochures would have you think.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine, really.”
Kevin nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Okay,” he said, little frown lines still visible around his eyes, his forehead wrinkled. “We can go back to the hotel if you want, honestly. It’s way too hot to be outside in the middle of the afternoon, anyway.” He tugged at the cuffs of his Oxford shirt, the only thing he’d packed that fit the Vatican dress code that wasn’t a wrinkled T-shirt.
“I’m fine,” Maggie repeated, a little more vehemently this time. “Let’s just finish this museum and we’ll go find a café and have a drink. I can stand another half an hour.”
Kevin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I really think we should go, Mags. I’m worried about you.”
“Oh my God, calm down,” Maggie said crossly, folding her arms. “I’m fine. I’m a little dehydrated, probably, and the cramps are probably from all the carbs I’ve been eating. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’ll take a nap before dinner and I’ll be good as new. I’m just not used to the humidity, that’s all.” She tossed her hair and pursed her lips irritably at Kevin.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Kevin said, his tone one of exasperation. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. We’re three thousand miles from home and it’s our honeymoon. I love you so much; I can’t help being nervous when I know you’re not feeling well.”
Maggie shook her head. “God, you’re such a-”
Kevin never found out exactly what he was, because Maggie never finished her sentence, doubling over instead. Her face froze in a hideous expression of pain: eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, hands clutching her belly.
“Maggie,” Kevin said, heart beating with what felt like enough force to explode out of his chest as he dropped to his knees, reaching up to support her shoulders as she hunched over in pain. “Maggie!”
Her sunglasses drooped off of her face and fell, clattering to the pavement. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to stand out more as the blood drained from her cheeks. She choked out a gasp, eyelids fluttering. She retched once, twice, then opened her eyes weakly, meeting Kevin’s gaze evenly for a second before they rolled back into her head and her leggy frame crumpled into his arms.
“Help!” Kevin yelled as he clutched her limp body, his voice cracking in panic, rising with every word. “Polizia! Somebody! Help!”
* * *
Kevin sat hunched over in one of the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs in the waiting room at Ospedale San Giacomo, head in his hands, palms pressing hard against his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes swimming against the darkness behind his eyelids.
It was all so unreal. The morning seemed so far behind him, and it was only two in the afternoon. They had woken early, a mess of limbs entwined beneath tangled sheets, to find pillows on the floor amid a trail of abandoned clothing and shoes, the only sign of last night’s passionate embrace, which was only accelerated by the consumption of two spectacular bottles of aged Sangiovese Chianti. Kevin remembered finding one of Maggie’s stockings in his hair, and her laughter as she rolled over to pluck it out and toss it away, her naked chest flush against his for a few moments before she crawled over him and clambered out of bed, grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table.
Kevin watched as she flipped it open, glanced at something on the screen briefly, her features shadowed by virtue of her being backlit by the east-facing window. The shadow over her eyes passed when she flipped the phone shut and fixed her gaze on Kevin, her expression softening at the way his hair stuck up in the front and how his eyes were carefully trained on her face even though she was standing in front of him, naked as the day she was born. The intensity of his gaze was such that her cheeks began to flush, the rush of blood to her head heating the tops of her ears and the back of her neck as well. She smiled almost self-consciously, feeling every inch of her body trembling from the sheer adoration he was projecting toward her, and grabbed the white silk dressing gown she had taken to hanging over the back of a chair near their bed. She tied the sash loosely and turned back toward Kevin, bending down to brush her lips across his brow and push his unkempt hair off of his forehead, her own falling around their faces like a canopy of flame. Kevin surprised her, clamping his arms around her waist and tugging her back onto the bed, where she fell with a giggly shriek, sprawled over Kevin’s body. He made to roll over on top of her, probably in hopes of resuming last night’s activities, Maggie thought, but she laughed, shaking her head, and sat up, straddling his thighs.
“No, no, no,” she teased, pressing her hands down on his bare chest. “Time to hit the showers, or we’ll be standing in a line outside the Vatican until we die.”
“Showers?” he repeated, eyes lighting up as he clutched her hips and sat up. “If you say so, Mrs. Hollister.” He grinned, tugging the sheet out from underneath Maggie, and with a great grunt stood up, one arm underneath her, the other splayed against the small of her back.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” she laughed, lazily coiling her arms around his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him. Morning breath or not, he thought, she was perfect.
“Whatever,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers with a gentle tap to her backside that set her off laughing again as they disappeared into the bathroom. “You know you want me.”
They had breakfasted on fresh fruit, bellinis, and croissants slathered in Nutella in the sunlit breakfast room reached through a door just off of the hotel foyer, Maggie continually sipping from a little cup of espresso, the Italian coffee having thrown her caffeine addiction into full throttle since the first shot she’d had in an attempt to alleviate her jet lag after they landed in Rome. Kevin had laughed at her little shudder of pleasure as she downed the remains of the espresso, slamming the little cup back down on the table as though she’d just done a shot of tequila, and declared, satisfied, “I am ready to face the day!”
If he’d known it was going to be this kind of day, he would have stayed in bed.
He had been sitting in the waiting room for what felt like days but had really only been a couple of hours. No one had come to talk to him, to give him any updates on her progress, to reassure him that she was going to be okay, for a long time. He thought it was better that way in some respects; at least then he knew that all hands were on deck where Maggie was concerned, and that they were taking good care of her.
“No news is good news, after all,” he thought to himself.
“Not when you’re in a hospital,” an ugly little voice in the back of his head piped up.
A voice broke his reverie. “Mr. Hollister?”
Kevin’s head snapped up, and he looked around wildly for the source of those words.
The doctor who had come to talk to him earlier approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Kevin could feel the nausea welling up in this throat, the prickling behind his eyes. His legs felt numb and weightless.
“Mr. Hollister,” repeated the doctor, her voice rich and warm. His eyes flicked briefly to the photo ID clipped to the pocket of her lab coat. She extended her hand. “I am Dr. Carla Vecchio.”
Kevin stood up so quickly his head spun, legs trembling with anxiety. She wouldn’t be smiling if she were delivering bad news, he reasoned. Only a sadist would do that, and most of the Italians they’d run into on their vacation were kind and funny, with the exception of that bus driver who wouldn’t give them the time of day for speaking English to him. He broke away from this convoluted piece of logic and fixed his eyes on Dr. Vecchio’s.
“Maggie,” he managed, clasping her hand with both of his, “please, how is she?”
Dr. Vecchio patted his hands with her free hand and gestured for him to sit. She eased herself into one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs as well, smoothing a fallen tendril of hair back behind her ear. “Your wife has just come out of surgery. You are lucky you arrived so quickly. She lost quite a lot of blood, but her AB-negative blood type allowed us to give her whatever blood we had on hand. We might have lost some time testing her if you hadn’t remembered to give us her Red Cross card.”
She smiled at Kevin, who was by this time slumped with relief in his chair. The feeling was starting to come back to his lower extremities, and the weight on his chest seemed to dissipate almost immediately. Maggie was alive. She was going to be all right.
“What happened to her?” Kevin asked, the laugh lines around his eyes now fraught with concern.
“It was an ectopic pregnancy,” Dr. Vecchio explained. “The embryo didn’t implant in the uterus as it should normally. It kept growing in the fallopian tube, and as a result, the tube ruptured. It’s an extremely traumatic experience, and it can happen to any woman.”
It took Kevin a moment to wrap his head around all of this. Maggie was pregnant? “Why wouldn’t she tell me?” he thought to himself, unable to keep from feeling a little hurt. They were partners now; this was the kind of thing he deserved to know. It would have been his baby, after all. “Maybe she didn’t know,” added a voice in his head. That had to be it, he reasoned. Maggie wouldn’t intentionally keep something that important from him.
“How far along was she?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“I would estimate six weeks, maybe seven, but no more.”
“Will she still be able to… have babies?” Kevin asked, his eyebrows furrowing together as he wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans.
“You might have trouble conceiving,” the doctor responded honestly. “We had to perform a tubal ligation-that is, cauterize the ends-on the ruptured tube to stop the bleeding, so now the eggs from only one ovary will be available for conception.” She offered him a sympathetic smile. “You are both young and healthy, which is an advantage, but there are always alternative methods-in-vitro fertilization, surrogacy, adoption.”
Kevin nodded, but he felt heartbroken for Maggie. She had always expressed a desire to have children when the time came-not too many, but enough to make her and Kevin feel like a family, and not just a couple. He blinked hard to stay the stinging sensation from his eyes, and looked up at the doctor again.
“Let me tell her?” he pleaded. “She’s going to be freaked out as it is, waking up in a hospital in a foreign country; pardon the expression.” Calling countries outside of his own “foreign” always seemed a bit rude to him. “I think she’ll take the news easier if I break it to her gently.” He rubbed his eye, exhausted from the heat of the day and the stress of being alone in the hospital. “If she has questions I’ll be happy to let you cut in, but I just think she’ll be more comfortable hearing this from me.”
“I understand completely,” Dr. Vecchio said, nodding. She eased herself out of the chair and smoothed her coat. “Your wife will be asleep for a while yet; the anesthesia will take some time to wear off. Why don’t you go the trattoria across the street, get yourself an espresso and a panino. Mrs. Hollister is in stable condition. She needs to rest, and you need to eat, get some color back in your cheeks.” She squeezed Kevin’s shoulder gently, comfortingly. “It will do you some good to get some air.”
Kevin nodded, dragging a hand down the side of his face. “I am a little hungry, now that you mention it,” he said, standing with some difficulty, knees stiff and back tense. The doctor smiled again and left him to his thoughts, her heels clicking against the tile floor and fading as she disappeared around the corner of a corridor.
He was certainly relieved that Maggie was no longer in immediate danger, but he couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling that settled on him the moment he stepped into the hospital. The cold sterility of the waiting room was uncomfortable enough without being in a completely different country on top of everything. But maybe Dr. Vecchio was right; if he left the place for a while, maybe it would soothe his frazzled nerves.
He stooped to collect Maggie’s clutch from beneath his chair, then straightened slowly, his forehead wrinkling as he considered what to do with it. On one hand, a man walking around carrying a purse, no matter how small, was a little weird; on the other hand, there wasn’t much else he could do with it. He could leave it at the nurses’ station, but he didn’t think Maggie would like her bankcards and cell phone left unattended.
“Fuck it,” Kevin thought with a short shake of his head, rolling his shoulders. There were bigger things to worry about than impugning his masculinity, and besides, he reasoned, this was Europe, birthplace of the man-purse; he probably wouldn’t get much flack for it, especially since he was only crossing the street.
He gripped the top of the bag with his left hand and left the waiting area, emerging shortly into the late afternoon sunlight, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He crossed the street, barely avoiding a collision with a wayward Vespa before seeking the shade of a line of warm sand-colored buildings. A wood and wrought-iron sign reading Trattoria swung overhead as he approached the small café-style restaurant. He stepped inside, hoping to escape the sweltering August heat before remembering air conditioning was hard to come by in most of the older buildings they’d been to. Still, he noticed, the door and windows were open to permit a breeze to ruffle his sweat-dampened hair and lift the corners of the stack of paper menus lying haphazardly on the counter; it wouldn’t be terribly uncomfortable.
Kevin’s eyes wandered over the chalkboard tacked up against the wall behind the counter and, finding all the menu selections to be in Italian, settled for ordering something he knew how to say.
“Scusi,” he said politely to an older woman who emerged from the back room, her thick black hair flecked with grey at the roots. “Panino caprese, per favore.”
She nodded kindly and turned her face from him, shouting the order towards the back door; the kitchen, Kevin assumed.
“Quanto costa?” he asked, putting Maggie’s bag down on the counter and fumbling in his pockets for a few spare Euros.
“Due e cinquanta,” the woman replied, punching some numbers into the cash register, which promptly popped open.
Kevin’s eyebrows knit together as he attempted to figure out just how much that was in English. “Two-fifty?” he finally had to confirm sheepishly, embarrassed to resort to his native language for such a simple question.
“Si,” the woman said, watching him fumble in his pockets, only to come up with €1.45 in change.
He resisted the urge to curse in frustration and remembered Maggie’s purse. She had held on to most of the money during their trip, since Kevin had stopped carrying his wallet in his back pocket for fear of being pick-pocketed. He felt a little uncomfortable going through her things without her permission, or her presence, at the very least, but he was just going to take a €5 note and that would be it.
He shifted things around in the small bag, removing her cell phone to access her money-clip, a trinket of her father’s she’d filched from the pile of clothes and insignificant belongings going to Goodwill after his death during her first year of college, just after she’d started dating Kevin in earnest. He remembered being terrified, unlocking the door of her dorm room after class one rainy March afternoon to find her tangled up in her bedsheets sobbing, looking for all the world like someone had shot her dog right in front of her.
He tiptoed around the corner of the bed to see the smashed remnants of her cell phone, destroyed in a fit, he learned later, after receiving the news that her father had suffered an unexpected stroke at the office and was pronounced brain-dead upon arrival at the hospital. Maggie sat up in bed suddenly, the freckles standing out on her pale face, white as a death’s-head, red-rimmed eyes watering afresh at the sight of Kevin’s hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket dripping on the throw rug under his feet. Her shoulders went limp once more, lower lip trembling as she crumpled in on herself. The sight was almost enough to make Kevin start to cry, and he couldn’t help but toe his shoes off, let his jacket drop to the floor, and crawl into bed with her, pulling her into his arms, where she buried her tear-stained face, runny nose and all, in his neck and clung to him for hours. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to.
She had seemed so much smaller in this moment, he’d thought, not unlike this morning when she’d fallen unconscious into his arms. This morning. He blinked, the money clip still in his hands, and the woman behind the counter cleared her throat, his sandwich having arrived from the kitchen while he’d ventured off into the veins of memory. He yanked a €5 note from the clip and passed it to the cashier, who presently offered him his change and his plate. Slightly frazzled, he gathered up Maggie’s possessions and the change in one hand, and the plate in the other, and grabbed a seat near the front window, scattering the change on the table and dropping Maggie’s cell phone on top of a small pile of euro-cents.
He immediately dug into his sandwich, taste buds tingling at the feel of juicy tomato on his tongue. Mild but tangy fresh mozzarella practically melted in his mouth, and fragrant basil felt like a fresh, clean breeze on his face. He leaned back in his chair, sliding down a bit in the seat, relishing a moment of peace and simplicity in this day from hell. His eyes drifted shut for a few seconds, but he cracked an eyelid when he heard a buzzing sound-Maggie’s phone was receiving a text message.
Kevin lifted an eyebrow, studying the outside of the phone. Maggie’s mom had gifted them with a calling card in the event they needed to get in touch with someone back home while on their honeymoon, but it was stashed, unused, in Maggie’s other handbag. He couldn’t think why anyone would waste so much money on an international text unless it was urgent, so he flipped the phone open and looked at the text receipt screen. The sender’s name was Chris. Kevin frowned. Maggie’s younger brother was called Christian but he didn’t go by a nickname. Still curious, he pressed the enter key and the text message popped open.
Screening my calls, Red?
Kevin felt the back of his neck heat up, and closed the message. Who was this person, and why did he call Maggie “Red”? He had never known anyone to call her by that nickname. Furthermore… Kevin opened the message again. Screening my calls, Red? Had she really been getting phone calls from this guy?
Kevin closed the phone. It was absolutely a violation of Maggie’s privacy. For all he knew it could be some new guy at work pestering her. But why would she have given him her number? Maggie was a private person. Still, the niggling feeling that something was off about this situation made Kevin flip the phone open again. He checked Maggie’s missed and received calls, and that name, Chris, popped up a few more times-less frequently after the wedding last Saturday, but enough times to make Kevin feel nauseated.
The phone buzzed again, and another text message popped up:
Newsflash, Red: Just because you got married doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I’m not just your fuckbuddy and you know it.
Kevin slammed the phone shut with alarming force-enough to cause the trattoria owner to peer out from the kitchen again to check on him-and shoved it back in Maggie’s purse, his appetite officially ruined by the cold, empty feeling welling up suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or betrayed, whether he wanted to cry or throw up, whether he should stay where he was or return to the hospital or go back to the hotel. His face felt warmer than usual in the sultry August heat, but he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or humiliation; possibly both, he allowed.
He pushed his chair back and stood slowly, pulling himself up using the edge of the table. He picked up Maggie’s bag, holding it away from his body as though it were diseased, and left the change on the table for the trattoria owner before escaping into the suffocating heat.
* * *
Nothing could relieve the heaviness that lay like a mantle of lead on Kevin’s shoulders. His eyes were blank, devoid of emotion; his lips were drawn into a thin line. The blue plastic chair dug into his back but he could hardly feel it. Despite his exterior numbness, his brain was on fire. What was he going to say to her? What would he do when he saw her eyes flutter open, frantically trying to process her whereabouts? For a brief moment he hoped she wouldn’t wake up at all. It seemed possible; it had been a few hours since he’d returned to the hospital, and he had been given no updates on her condition. He felt strangely unbothered by this fact; he was numbed enough by betrayal and hurt not to care anymore.
“Mr. Hollister!” A nurse was speaking to him in thickly accented English, and by the sharp tone of her voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d called out to him.
Kevin glanced up, and she softened at the deadness behind his eyes, not knowing the true source of his grief. “Yes?”
“Your wife is awake in room 206,” she said gently. “I can take you to her if you would like to see her. She was asking for you.”
His heart ached at those words. She was too drugged-up to be insincere, wasn’t she? Still, the leaden weight on his back remained. He stood slowly once more, as he did hours ago when he left the hospital, and let the nurse lead him up two flights of stairs and down a short corridor before stopping outside Room 206.
“Just in here,” the nurse said, gesturing toward the door handle. “If Mrs. Hollister needs anything, just press the button next to her bed and someone will come up to help you.”
Kevin nodded and reached for the door handle, resisting the impulse to vomit. He blinked and pushed, and suddenly the door was open and he was inside the dimly lit room. The shades were pulled down, but Maggie’s face was turned toward them anyway, like a flower following the sun across the sky.
She started when the door opened and turned her head slowly to glance at the dark figure standing in the doorway. “Kev,” she said hoarsely, her voice cracking. He could see from the faint light coming in from the hallway that her face was wet. “Baby, what happened?”
He lost his nerve, seeing her curled up, small and terrified, in that tiny hospital bed. Kevin shut the door and crossed the room to sit in the chair at her bedside. He took her cool, pale hand in both of his and lifted it to kiss the center of her palm. “They had to tie your tubes on one side. One ruptured from an ectopic pregnancy.” He paused, taking in her reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he asked finally, voice low.
Maggie looked pained. “I don’t know,” she said, sniffling and raising one shaking hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. “I found out a few days before the wedding and I didn’t know how I felt about it yet. I still don’t know how I feel about it. I thought we would have a year to ourselves, you know?”
He nodded slowly. “You weren’t going to… take care of it without me knowing, though, were you?” There was a weighty significance to the way he phrased “take care of it,” and he caught Maggie’s eyes with his own, a fierce light in his gaze.
“I don’t know-” Maggie started, but changed her mind when she saw the look on Kevin’s face. “No. No! Okay? God, Kevin, it’s my body.”
“And it’s my baby,” Kevin retorted, his voice still quiet and measured, but with an undertone of absolute seriousness. The next words escaped from his lips before he could think to stop them. “Or isn’t it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Maggie responded after a long pause, her voice pitching up a few notes.
Kevin released her hand and bent down to pick up her bag from where he’d dropped it on the floor when he sat down. He put it on the bed and sat back in his chair. “You missed a few texts while you were out.”
If any more blood could have drained from Maggie’s face, it would have at that point. “You went through my phone?” she whispered, opening the clutch and pulling out her cell phone with trembling fingers. She opened the last text from Chris and closed her eyes; Kevin couldn’t discern the reason for it.
“I told him to leave me alone,” she said quietly, closing the phone and resting her hands in her lap. “After we got engaged. Remember how I changed my phone number and e-mail address? He wouldn’t go away.”
“Who is he? How did you meet him? When? Did you sleep with him? How many times?”
“Jesus Christ, Kevin, 20 Questions much?”
“Don’t be cute with me. I’m dead serious.”
She flinched at the coldness in his voice. “He works with me. He’s an account exec. He started at K2 a couple of years ago.” Maggie was a copywriter for a Philadelphia advertising firm and spent long hours at the office drafting copy for major ad campaigns. “I was assigned to one of the accounts he was working. He was always hitting on me. I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered.”
“I’m guessing you decided on flattered,” Kevin cut in flatly, “since you obviously slept with him.”
Maggie lifted her left hand, the one not attached to an IV, and wiped her eyes again. “You were traveling so much for work back then and I missed you. I didn’t know what else to do. He wanted me, and for some stupid reason it felt like you didn’t. ‘Why would he travel this much if he wanted to be with me?’ I kept asking myself. So when he got me drunk at the party the partners threw after landing the Comcast account, I didn’t say no.”
“Don’t you dare try to pin this on me,” Kevin said, raising his voice. “All that traveling was for you. I wanted to make a life for us, to give us some security before I proposed. Don’t-How could you-” He stopped and stood with a swiftness that made his head spin and his vision darken briefly. “This is how you pay me back?”
“It wasn’t emotional,” Maggie protested. “I love-”
“Don’t bother,” Kevin cut her off. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore. And for the record, fucking someone because you’re lonely? That’s being emotionally attached to someone.” He shook his head, shoulders quivering with anger. “I have to go. I can’t talk to you like this. I can’t even look at you.” He locked eyes with her briefly before dropping his gaze to the foot of her bed. “Call me when they let you out and I’ll see how I feel about you then.”
Maggie looked horrified. “You’re not seriously going to leave me here by myself!”
Kevin steeled himself and spun around, striding toward the door. “Watch me.”
“Kev,” Maggie said loudly, and louder, “Kevin!” But it was no use; her cries went unanswered as he strode numbly down the corridor, overwhelmed by the upside-down world he’d walked into this morning.