When his wife brought him to me two weeks ago, I had been extremely nervous about the best course of action for his care given his age, but we caught his pneumonia very early, and with the right antibiotics and the role of attentive bedside nurse his wife played, he pulled through quickly.
“I’m prescribing you a date night with your wife at adelicious Italian restaurant. Di Mercutio is my favorite spot in the city and if you’ll allow me, I would love to treat you and Bernice to a meal.”
Immediately he shakes his head, holding his glasses as he does. “No, no, we couldn’t possibly?—”
“Please,” I stress. “It would be my pleasure.”
His wife looks up from her knitting and beams at me. “That would be lovely, Doctor Lucchetti. It’s been years since we’ve had a proper date night.”
Mr. O’Neil sighs, tossing his frail hands into the air in defeat. “Fine. We accept. Thank you, Doc.”
With my assistance, he gets off the exam table and I hand him his cane.
“I would still like for you to rest and make sure you are drinking plenty of fluids. Keep yourself warm. Go to bed early.”
“I’m in bed by seven every night.”
Chuckling, I continue my monologue. “Take your vitamins. Go on a short walk at least once a day.”
He waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. Eat my vegetables, spend plenty of time in the sun to help with Vitamin D.”
“Precisely.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” his wife says, standing to shake my hand.
“I am happy to help. I’ll give you some privacy. Pop the door open when you’re dressed and I’ll see you out.”
The door closes behind me, and I pull my phone out, looking down at the time. I have forty-five minutesbefore I’m due to meet Vinnie, which is just enough time for me to finish up with this patient, sanitize the clinic, make a quick stop for flowers, and get to Shakespeare Garden.
There’s a small part of me wondering which Vincenza will choose—to run away together or tell our families—though my instincts tell me she will choose to tell our families.
She loves them, and I cannot see her willingly walking away from the people she loves.
There’s a pit in my stomach as my mind conjures a scenario in which we sit down together and speak tomyfamily, seeing them all sitting in my family’s living room. With time, my parents will be supportive.
Mamma does not have a malicious bone in her body, and while the shock may cause her to seem closed off for a moment in time, she will one day welcome Vincenza with open arms and love her deeply.
Papà will be indifferent. I suspect he will be saddened by the news, to know the woman his son loves is the daughter of the man who killed his little brother, but again, with time, that feeling will pass.
Guilio won’t have a care in the world. Nor will Federico.
But Lorenzo… I am fearful of my cousin's reaction and can only hope my news does not ruin our already fragile relationship.
“Thank you again, Doctor Lucchetti,” Mrs. O’Neil’s voice sounds from the doorway as she helpsher husband through it. “We truly appreciate your care and compassion.”
“I will call right now and make your dinner reservations for Di Mercutio. Would you prefer tonight or tomorrow?”
“We have some leftovers to finish up tonight,” Mr. O’Neil tells me. “Better make the reservations for tomorrow. Four o’clock is preferred.”
“I’ll see to it that it’s arranged. Would you like me to have a car sent for you?”
“We can find our way,” Mrs. O’Neil insists. “You’re already offering us too much.”
I nod, not wanting to argue with the woman. I know pride when I see it, and I am already thrilled they accepted my dinner offer.
Mr. O’Neil had confided in me in our last appointment that he was afraid the pneumonia would take his life before he could take his wife on one last date. I promised to not let that happen.
He squeezes my hand on the way out, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he gives me a brisk nod. I return it and watch them until they’re tucked safely in a cab, then call the restaurant to make plans for their dinner.
