Chapter 16
Monica
Still wearing my chef’s whites, I raced into the emergency room so quickly that Alex had to run to keep up. When I got to the desk and asked where Nan was, the receptionist said, “Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”
“No, I just need to find my friend, Nan Wilja. What have you done with her?”
“Nothing,” she said, looking startled. “I mean, we didn’t do anything with her. She’s in exam area four, right through those double doors, left side of the corridor. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”
Uh-huh. Right. If everything’s fine you don’t end up in the hospital, do you?
We found Nan sitting semi-upright on the hospital gurney. Her right arm was encased in a blue cotton sling and strapped against her body at an angle, like she was about to recite the pledge of allegiance. There was a bandage on her forehead and a tube coming out of her left arm.
“It’s nothing,” Nan said in response to my gasp. “A broken collarbone. I shouldn’t have called you.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you call me? Nan, you broke a bone!” I clutched the bed rail with both hands. “Are they going to operate?”
Alex walked around the other side of the bed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a broken collarbone, not cancer. My friend Joey broke his collarbone playing hockey last year and they didn’t even put him in a cast—just strapped his arm to his chest so he couldn’t move it. Six weeks later, he was good as new.”
“You see?” Nan said. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, not exactly nothing.”
A man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a white lab coat walked into the room and stood at the end of the bed.
“Immobility and anti-inflammatories are going to be the primary means of treatment,” he said. “Plus some physical therapy. But you’re going to have to keep that sling on for at least ten weeks, Mrs. Wilja.”
“Ten weeks? Joey got his off in six,” Nan said, looking to Alex for confirmation.
Tall-Dark-and-Doctor smiled. “Yes, but Joey’s bones are about fifty years younger than yours.”
“Gee. Thanks for the reminder,” Nan groused, in a very un-Nan-like way. “Monica, Alex, meet Mark Francatelli, spreader of good cheer and pusher of pills.”
I gave him a sideways look, asking the question with my eyes.
“She’s just feeling a little loopy,” he explained. “I prescribed something for the pain. It tends to strip away the social veneer.”
He glanced at the embroidered logo on my chef’s coat.
“You work at Café Allegro? Love that place. Been there a couple of times. Best Italian food in town, sauce like my Nonna used to make. And the gnocchi?” He clasped his hand to his chest in a gesture of rapture. “Amazing. How is it I’ve never seen you there?”
The man had gorgeous eyes. Leonardo da Vinci couldn’t have had more gorgeous eyes. Mark Francatelli. I said his name in my head, adding an old country accent. Dr. Mark Francatelli. And he’d been to my restaurant and thought it was amazing. How much more perfect could you get?
“I was probably back in the kitchen, rolling out your gnocchi and making the sauce. I’m the chef,” I said. “And the owner.”
“Really? You run a terrific restaurant. And you’re Mrs. Wilja’s daughter?”
“Nan is a friend. Her kids all live out of town.”
“Oh, I see. Well, she’s going to need some help until the collarbone heals. If she doesn’t keep the arm totally immobilized, we’ll be looking at surgery and all kinds of complications. Maybe one of the children can come and stay with her for a few weeks,” he suggested. “Or she could go and stay with them. And I understand there are quite a number of dogs in the home, right? It would probably be best if they were boarded out for the next few—”
“Excuse me,” Nan said, raising her good arm and waving it overhead. “You do realize that I’m sitting right here? And that I’ve broken my collarbone, not cracked my head? I can take care of myself, thank you. The dogs aren’t going anywhere. Neither am I.”
“But you heard Dr. Francatelli,” I said. “You’ve got to rest and give the bone time to heal.” I reached out, intending to pat her arm but changed my mind when I remembered the IV needle. “Do you want me to call Chrissy? Maybe she could stay with you.”
“And have her nag me from sunup to sundown?” Nan glared at me and Dr. Francatelli in turn. “You’ll have to amputate before I agree to that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just use the good arm. It’ll be fine.”
“But how will you dress yourself?” I asked. “And cook? And take care of the garden? The dogs?”
“Why doesn’t Nan just come stay with us?” Alex offered.
I’d been thinking the very same thing. There was just one problem. “We just don’t have room for the dogs. Nan, could somebody else foster the dogs until you’re better?”
Nan shook her head slowly, almost like she was underwater. “Nope, that’s why Donna called me. Every foster family is already full up.”
“The dogs could sleep in my room,” Alex suggested.
“Seven of them? No. Besides, they can’t be left alone all day. You’re going back to school the day after tomorrow and I’ll be at work.”
“Forget about the dogs,” Nan said groggily, staring at a corner of the ceiling. “Who let all these butterflies in here? Somebody get a net.”
“Whoa, Nan.” Alex grinned. “You are so out of it.”
“Hmmm?”
Nan looked blankly at Alex, then shifted her eyes to me. “Hey, did you hear his name? Francatelli. Italian.” She nodded knowingly. “You got a thing for Italians, right? Plus, he’s gorgeous. And single. One of the nurses told me they call him Dr. Dreamboat.”
Nan gave an exaggerated wink. Alex laughed out loud, and I planted my face into my palm. Dr. Francatelli cleared his throat.
“All righty, then. I’m just going to reduce the dosage on those painkillers.”
He pulled a prescription pad from his pocket and started scribbling. As he was doing so, Dr. Malcolm Kelly pushed open the exam curtain and stepped into the room. He’s our vet, so I already knew him. But until he explained what had happened, I didn’t know he was the one who’d called the ambulance.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “I was worried about leaving her alone, but I had to drive Nan’s car back to her place, get the dogs settled, then take a cab back to pick up my car . . .” He flapped his hand, dismissing the details. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. And that she’s okay.”
He looked toward Dr. Francatelli. “Broken collarbone?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Francatelli shared his concerns about finding someone to help. I was impressed by how patient he was, explaining everything yet again. I was also impressed by his chiseled jaw, Roman nose, and voice like a gondolier. Dr. Dreamboat indeed.
“Well,” Malcolm said, “I could take care of Nan and the dogs.”
He could? Didn’t he have an animal hospital to run?
“Really,” he said, responding to my curious look. “Taking care of seven dogs is all in a day’s work to me. And since I’ve just retired, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. I can come over every morning and evening to walk and feed the hounds, and take care of anything else that needs doing.”
“When did you retire?” I asked. “I brought Desmond in for a checkup just last month.”
“It’s a recent development. More according to my ex-wife’s timetable than mine.”
Ex-wife? So Malcolm Kelly was single? I looked at Nan, wondering what she thought about this interesting piece of information, but she was staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes, humming to herself.
“But it does mean I’m available to give Nan a hand. Can’t hurt to have someone around with a medical background, can it?”
“You’re a physician?” inquired Dr. Dreamboat.
“Animal, not human,” Malcolm said. “But if Nan were a border collie, the treatment plan would be pretty similar.”
“Oh, how I would love to be a border collie,” Nan said dreamily.
Dr. Francatelli’s pocket started beeping. He pulled out his phone and read an incoming text. “Sorry, but I have to run. Nan can be released as long as there’s someone willing to take responsibility for her home care.”
“We’ve got this,” Malcolm assured him.
“All right, then, Nan, you rest and take it easy. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Nan stopped humming and waggled her fingers in his direction. “Toodle-loo, Dr. Dreamboat.”
Dr. Francatelli handed me Nan’s prescription. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Same here.”
My cheeks were already flaming in the wake of Nan’s Dr. Dreamboat comment, but since I couldn’t possibly be more embarrassed than I already was, I pulled a business card from my pocket.
“Next time you’re in the restaurant, give this to the server and you’ll get a free dessert. And if you say you know me, maybe I can pop out of the kitchen and—”
Nan, who was still humming, hummed louder. Then she started to sing. “O sole mio, la, la, la, laaaaaa . . .” Proving that there actually is no limit to how embarrassed a person can be. I could have smothered her with a pillow.
Dr. Francatelli pocketed the card. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
He smiled and I felt my knees go weak.
“Oh, that was smooth,” Alex said after he left, circling his thumb and forefinger into an “okay” sign. “Very subtle.”
“Remind me to ground you later,” I muttered.
“Well, Nan,” Malcolm said cheerily. “What do you say? Should we get out of here?”
Nan blinked a few times. “We?”
“Malcolm is going to drive you home,” I explained. “He’s going to help take care of you and the dogs until your collarbone is healed.”
Nan shook herself, as if trying to clear away the cobwebs.
“Oh, no. I appreciate your kindness, Malcolm, but that won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, even with one hand tied behind my back. Or my front,” she said, staring down at the blue sling. “Anyway, I’ll be fine on my own. And I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”
“Not at the moment,” he assured her. “I’m the most logical choice. And since your doctor won’t release you unless there is someone to take care of you—”
“He’s right,” I said. “It’s either Malcolm or Chrissy. You decide.”
“No, no. Anything but that,” Nan said, and slumped back onto the pillows.
“Then it’s settled,” Malcolm said. “I’ll go see about getting the discharge papers ready. With luck, we’ll have you home before dinner.”
“That’s sounds nice.” Nan’s eyelids started to droop. “But does anybody have a net? Someone needs to climb up there and get the butterflies.”
* * *
Malcolm seemed to have everything under control, so Alex and I drove back to the restaurant to get ready for the dinner rush.
As soon as Alex put in his earbuds and started listening to music, I phoned Grace to fill her in on what had happened to Nan, and to try to get the scoop on what, if anything, had happened with Luke.
“Oh no!” Grace said. “Poor Nan. Is she okay?”
“She’ll be good as new in a few weeks. And she was definitely feeling no pain when we left,” I chuckled. “Dr. Dreamboat prescribed some really nifty meds.”
“Dr. Dreamboat?”
“Nothing. Just something Nan said. Not important. I’ll tell you later. Maybe.” I coughed. “Anyway, how’s your day? Anything interesting happen? Did you have any . . . uh . . . visitors or anything?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Luke Pascal just happened to be in Starbucks at exactly three o’clock today. Isn’t that crazy? I mean, what are the odds? Oh, and next time I see you, remind me to choke you.”
“What?” I laughed. “You said not to give him your phone number. I didn’t.”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Monica. When I said don’t give him my number, you knew that I didn’t want to see him or hear from him, period.”
I didn’t roll my eyes, but I could have.
I mean, sure, I knew what Grace meant when she said not to give Luke her number. But until now, she hadn’t been specific about not wanting to see Luke at all, which led me to believe that at least a part of her did want to see him again. And why shouldn’t she?
Yes, I understood about being married and that she really loved Jamie and would never want to be disloyal to him. But look at all she’d done for him—making sure that he had the best care money could buy, working all the hours God gave her and then some just to keep her insurance and pay the bills. She hadn’t bought so much as a pair of shoes since I’d known her. For Grace, even a latte was a splurge because everything she did, she did for Jamie. Shouldn’t that be enough? Did loving Jamie mean that she had to sacrifice even the possibility of happiness for herself? After all, it wasn’t like Luke had made an indecent proposal; all he wanted to do was take her dancing. What was so terrible?
The last person who made an indecent proposal to me was Vince. And that was before the wedding. The day we said “I do” was the day the honeymoon was over. At least she had somebody interested, somebody nice. Grace needed to lighten up.
“So . . . when you say you never want to see him or hear from him again, that means you don’t want to go dancing with him either? I’m just trying to get some clarity here.”
“Monica, you’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“Oh, come on, Grace. Don’t be like that. Do you want me to say I’m sorry? Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. But I was only trying to help. You’ve been alone for so—”
“I have to go.”
“What? You’re going to hang up on me just because I told Luke where and when you take your coffee break?”
“No, I’m going to hang up because I have so much work to do that I’ll be lucky to get out of here before midnight. But if I needed a reason to hang up on you, the Starbucks stalking incident would be a pretty good one.”
“So . . . are you going to be mad at me forever?”
“Not that long.”
“How long? A year? A month? A fortnight? I need specifics.”
“Seriously, Monica. I have to go.”
“Okay. But before you—”
There was a click, then a dull buzz. I took the phone away from my ear and stared at it.
“She hung up on me.”
Alex pulled out his earbuds. “Are you surprised? She said she was going to.”
“You were listening?”
“Well, it was kind of hard not to. I only paid ten bucks for these,” he said, holding up the earbuds. “It’s not like they block everything. Plus—nothing personal—but you talk kind of loud.”
“Well,” I said, feeling defensive. “It comes from spending so much time in the kitchen. I’m always shouting orders.”
“Yeah.” Alex sighed deeply and faced front, suddenly intent on the road.
“What?” He said nothing. “I’m serious. What were you going to say?”
“It’s just that . . . at the restaurant, you’re the chef, the boss. You shout an order and everybody goes running to carry it out.”
“So what? That’s my job. Somebody has to be in charge.”
“Right. I get that.” He bobbed his head to prove it was true. “But the whole world isn’t the restaurant.”
“So you’re saying I’m pushy?”
He shrugged. I could see he was trying to tread carefully.
“I’m saying that when you have an idea, you go for it. Sometimes that’s a good thing. But not always. Sometimes it’s better to give people some space.”
Before I could comment or question further, he put the buds back in his ears, listening to his music, leaving his words to sink in, giving me space.
I could have smacked him for it.