Mason had been heartbroken. In spite of our young age, in spite of his parents’ relief-yes, relief-at our daughter’s death, in spite of our precarious financial situation, in spite of everything, he’d wanted to try again right away. It was one of the things that had driven us apart. Just thinking about having another baby brought a stab of fear and pain so great it made me feel faint.
“Are you okay?” Mason asked at my elbow.
I glanced back at him and smiled. “Fine.”
“You look pale,” Nico said. He was behind me, on my other side, watching the game. In the other room, the baby cried, and the pain in my middle increased as if in response. I gasped, my hand instinctively moving to cover my lower belly. The cramping, which had been dull and constant, suddenly became a sharp, stabbing thing.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mason again.
I struggled for breath to speak. The pain had taken it. “I don’t know.”
“What is it?” Nico turned me to face him, frowning.
Everyone was looking now. Even Mama Dorotea, who had heard the concern in her son’s voice, had appeared in the kitchen doorway, a turkey baster in her hand. In the next room, I heard the baby crying in earnest now. Probably hungry, I thought, remembering how my breasts had ached after Isabella was born, making milk for a baby who would never eat.
“I’m just a little dizzy,” I managed to whisper, but the room was receding, going black at the edges, and I knew it was more than that. Something was suddenly very, very wrong.
The last thing I remembered was Mason and Nico kneeling over me, the sound of a baby crying far away, and me, speaking my daughter’s name like a prayer.
“What happened?” I croaked, opening my eyes to the same sight-Mason on one side, Nico on the other. This time they each occupied a rail, leaning over to look at me in the hospital bed. I knew I must have fainted-I remembered that much. And the pain, the sharp, stabbing, searing pain in my belly. That was gone now.
“There’s my bella.” Nico smiled, brushing hair out of my face.
Mason, not to be outdone, leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Hey beautiful.”
“What happened?” I asked again, swallowing hard. My throat hurt. Why did my throat hurt? “Can I have some water?”
They both reached for it at the same time, but the Styrofoam cup was on Mason’s side. He held it for me while I sucked on the straw, peering at them over the lip of the cup.
“You’re going to be all right,” Nico soothed. He spoke softly in Italian, smoothing my hair, picking up where Mason had left off.
“English, please,” Mason insisted, glaring at him as he put the water back on the table. “Dani, you had to have an operation.”
“What?” I half sat, looking around the room. There was another bed, but no occupant. No nurse or doctor was in the room. “What kind of operation?”
“Your womb,” Nico said, speaking English. “She was damaged.”
I looked at Mason, wide-eyed, feeling my limbs turn to ice. “What is he talking about?”
“It was your IUD.” Mason swallowed, glancing toward the door, probably hoping a nurse or someone else would come in and tell me the rest. Dear God, what was the rest? Did I want to know? I could already imagine. I’d gotten the intrauterine device right after we’d lost Isabella. Mason and I had fought long and hard about it. He didn’t want to use any birth control-he desperately wanted another baby. I remembered telling him, “Babies aren’t like light bulbs. You can’t just go out and replace them.” I’d won that argument.
“Wait…” I looked between them, up on my elbows, wearing just a hospital gown, a thin sheet as cover. I was afraid to look beneath it. I couldn’t feel much of anything, but I was woozy. They’d probably pumped me full of pain meds. “No. Please tell me…” I swallowed, the thought so beyond comprehension I almost couldn’t speak it. “Please tell me it’s not gone. I’ll… will I still be able to have children?”
Mason looked at me, surprised. “Do you want to?”
“I…” I blinked back tears. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”
Mason shrugged. “I just… I just remembered you saying, after Isabella…”
“Your IUD perforated the uterus,” Nico interrupted. “You had internal bleeding.”
“You lost a great deal of blood,” Mason reiterated. “That’s why you fainted.”
“So did they take it?” My voice was choked, hoarse.
“No, no,” Nico assured me, clasping my hand. Mason took the other one. “They stopped the bleeding and repaired it.”
I sat back, shaking in relief, so surprised at my own reaction I could barely speak.
“How long do I have to stay here?” I glanced around at the white walls, the curtain half-pulled around the bed.
Mason looked at Nico. “The doctor said until tomorrow.”
“But you can’t go back to your place,” Nico chimed in. I stared at him. “You can’t be alone. You need someone to be with you for at least a week.”
“So you’re coming home with us.”
“With you?”
Nico nodded, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “We’ll take good care of you.”
“My bedroom’s near the bathroom,” Mason said, unlocking the apartment door.
“Mine’s by the kitchen,” Nico countered.
“My bed’s easier to get in and out of.”
“Mine’s bigger.”
“Mine-”
“Oh for god’s sake, I’ll sleep on the couch!” I cried, plopping down on it and pulling a blanket over my head. “I’m glad the furniture finally arrived!”
“Now see what you did?” Mason sighed.
“Me?” Nico scoffed. “You started it.”
“Are you two-year-olds?” I pulled the blanket down, rolling my eyes. “Keep it up and I’m going back to my place, no matter what the doctor said.”
Jezebel came wandering out of the kitchen. She perked up upon seeing me, leaping onto the arm of the sofa beside me and swishing her tail. I petted her head and she purred.
“Thank you for taking care of her.”
“Of course.” Mason smiled. “And you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
“Let’s not start this again. The couch will be fine.”
“Are you hungry?” Nico asked. “I made soup.”
I smiled at him. “Starving.”
We all sat on the couch and watched a marathon of La Piovra — Italy’s version of The Godfather as a television series-and ate soup. Even Jezebel came to lick the remains out of my bowl. I found myself dozing off, leaning first on Mason’s shoulder, then adjusting to lean against Nico’s. Both men cradled me, petted me, rubbing my head or my feet.
“Sleepy bella.” Nico kissed my cheek. “We should let her rest.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“But it’s early yet,” I protested, glancing at the clock-only seven!
“Your body needs to heal,” Mason insisted.
“And you do that best while you’re sleeping.”
I smiled. “Tag-teamed.”
They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” I flushed. “You’re very, very bad men and I hate you both.”
They kissed me goodnight, each of them. They both tasted like chicken noodle soup, but I savored the difference in the press of their mouths, the way Mason’s lips parted a little, how Nico breathed me in with his kiss.
“Goodnight, Dani,” Mason whispered.
“Goodnight, bella,” Nico echoed.
I smiled, but I was so tired, I barely got the word out before I drifted off. “’Night.”
The boat rocked back and forth and I clung to the sides, my knuckles white. The heat was close, blazing. My face was so hot it felt blistered. Ahead of me a hooded figure steered the gondola on a river of lava and I wondered if this was the River Styx. Was I dead? Was this death?
My first thought was Isabella. Would I see her again? What was past the barrier ahead?