| Subject: Chapter 15 (long) |
Author:
Kate
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Date Posted: 16:02:11 03/30/01 Fri
In reply to:
by Kate
's message, "Things My Mother Taught Me" on 19:49:51 03/29/01 Thu
******************
Calm seas make sorry sailors.
Milla sighed impatiently at the traffic that blocked the twisting mountain road.
She hadn't meant to stay at Pompeii for so long. She'd reached the tumbled-down city just as the sun was beginning to creep up the golden stone walls and had quickly circumvated the tourists entrance to the city, sneaking past heavy iron gates until she was inside. She'd found a good spot and watched the sun come up, eating her chocolate and apple and wishing she'd brought some kind of leftovers for the wild cats that were beginning to come in from a night of mouse catching and mischief making. They gave her sullen looks and passed well out of reach, but Milla was used to their snubs. "I'll bring something tomorrow," she called softly, finishing her apple and throwing away the core.
She leaned back, watching the sky lighten. Glorious. She loved Pompeii, and it wasn't just because it was quiet at this time of day. She'd always been in love with it -- the romance of a buried city, the lovely wall paintings, the statues. They were still excavating and every now and then came across something else: jewelry, mummified people, mosaics in intricate patterns.
The first morning she'd come out, she'd stayed until the gates opened. She'd chatted with the old translators she'd worked with in college; she was introduced to the archeologists that were excavating near the edges of the city; she'd received two or three job offers.
When the sun came up fully, Milla wondered dreamily through the deserted streets, visiting old haunts and gradually coming into the part of the city that was closed off to tourists. Trying to be careful of her hand, she climbed gingerly over a few gates and rummaged around in the rubble as best she could with a bum hand, then happened to glance at her watch.
She was late.
Milla straightened abruptly, dusted herself off, and set off for the entrance, carefully climbing back over gates and barriers. She heard the first of the tourists murmuring throughout the city and she set off at a quick clip.
David would be irritated she'd stayed so long. And Sara and Sammy were coming today. Milla dug in her pocket for the keys to David's car, hopped in, and made good time until she got to the road that wound down to Sorrento. She promptly got stuck in rush hour traffic.
Move, she thought, her tranquil mood shattered. Come on, move.
Nearly an hour later, Milla raced across the patio of the Lucia, looking for any sign of Sara or Sammy. They should be here by now. But the only people around were a few hotel guests, still sipping coffee before starting on sightseeing.
She peered behind the front desk. No David, no Dulcie. The phone rang, and Milla went around the counter to answer it, took a reservation, and hung up.
On the counter was a green aspirin bottle. Milla absently recapped it and put it back in the drawer. Then, from behind her, she heard voices.
" -- sterilized. And we'll need some towels, just in case --"
Milla perked up. "Sara?"
"Milla darling, is that you?"
Milla hopped off her stool and was enveloped in a friendly hug. "I think you've gotten fatter! When did you get here? And where's Sammy?"
"He's in the back with your mother --"
From behind Sara, David said, "I'll be right back with the things you need --"
Milla frowned. "What's he talking about?"
"Don't worry, I think everything is fine now, but your mother --"
Milla groaned. "Don't tell me she had another attack."
"What do you mean, another? Have you seen her do this before?"
"No, but I've heard. Is she okay? How long did it last? Has anyone called her doctor?"
"No," Sara said. "But I'm about to. Actually, I thought Sam might, since David told us this is a nerve damage thing."
"That's what they're saying. I don't know. Is she all right?" Milla started for the door that led to their quarters.
"Milla, she's out like a light. She fell, though, and cracked her head open, so Sam's going to sew her up while she's unconscious."
Milla hesitated and Sara put an arm around her. "Why don't we let Sam clean her up before you see her?"
"That might be best," Milla admitted, already feeling queasy at the thought of blood. "Has anyone called Michael?"
"Who's Michael?"
"My step-father."
"I don't think so. David was going to call someone, but your mother stopped him."
Milla frowned. "Maybe I'll wait, then, till Sammy gets done. Dad will just worry if I call him and can't tell him enough information. He's very big on knowing every little detail."
Through the outside doors, Milla saw Dulcie come to the patio bearing a huge tea tray. She stopped and looked around, puzzled, then sat the tray down and came inside. "I've brought the tea," she said, and Sara smiled.
"Thanks so much," Sara said.
"Who's the tea for?" asked Milla.
"Us, now. We were going to all sit out and have elevenses together, but ... come on, we'll catch up with each other and when he's done, Sam will join us."
By the time Sam came out to the patio, the tea was gone, the scones were picked over and only one lemon tart remained. Sam took it and sat down.
"How's Mami?" Milla asked immediately.
"Sleeping. She'll be out for another few hours. David says the medication makes her sleepy; after reading the label, I believe it. I called the doctor on the bottle and he didn't seem too concerned about what happened."
"They are supposed to be trying to figure out what's wrong," Milla said darkly, setting her empty teacup down with an irritated snap. "They've been testing her for months and months, father says."
"Yes, that's what the doctor said."
Sara's eyes wandered to the sea. "Sam darling, what do you think about it?"
Sam frowned. "I don't know."
"You know, when she first started convulsing, the first thing I thought was epilepsy. Or maybe DTs."
"I don't think so," Sam shook his head.
"Then I remembered your mum. Remember when we first got married and she had all those problems?"
"I remember."
Milla asked, "What problems?"
Sara explained, "She'd been exposed to some sort of chemical agent years before that stayed dormant in her system. It's difficult to explain, but her doctor had just put her on some medication that acted as a catalyst. Until they figured out what was wrong, she was in bad shape." She turned to her husband and suggested, "Why don't you see if you could look at Milla's mother's medical chart? It could be something similar. You could probably request it from her doctor."
"We probably have a copy here," Milla shrugged. "Mami and Michael keep everything like that. A few years ago, my dad was tested and found to have a high probability of cancer; he and Mami both got inoculated and since then they've kept copies of their records here."
"What kind of cancer did he test positive for?" Sara asked.
"I don't remember. But he and Mami both had the same ... indicators? Is that what they're called?"
"Yes," Sara said. "It's curious that they'd both have the same type of thing ... unless it's something that's environmental. Were you tested?"
"Sure. I was clean. But my parents ... you know, they've not always run a hotel. When they were younger they were in the Peace Corps or something. I don't know where, exactly, but there were a lot of sick people and funny chemicals. That's how Mami found me."
"Found you?" Sara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm adopted. Didn't you know? I was born in Kosovo. We think, anyway. My real parents were shot and Mami was with the Peace Corps or Red Cross or something and came across me. The refugee camps were too full, so she took me in."
"Amazing," Sara said, shaking her head. Then she grinned. "No wonder you don't favor her."
Milla laughed. "I kind of look like my dad. My step-dad, I mean. But not much. He's really tall, and I'm obviously not. Too bad. I've always feel like the midget in the family. Anyway ... you want me to get you a copy of Mami's medical records?"
"You might as well, darling, you never know," Sara said, looking at Sam.
"I suppose," Sam said grudgingly.
"Great." Milla hopped up and went inside, but Sara frowned at Sam.
"That's not like you, Sammy," she said.
"What isn't?"
"To be so ... short with Milla. Especially when you could possibly help her mother. Is something wrong?"
Sam was quiet for a moment. But instead of telling his wife what he was thinking, he said slowly, "No. Nothing's wrong."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
Milla came back, lugging a box with her. "There's a lot here. Hope it's not too much. Where do you want it?"
"I'll take it upstairs." Sam sighed. "Why don't you go sit with your mother, Milla. Call me if she wakes up and is in pain."
***********************
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