Page 88 of Just for a Taste

The condensation pouring out of the shower, typically a source of comfort, was now stifling. With little more than a smallmm-hmm, Lucia climbed on a step stool designated for just that. I sighed in relief as steam rolled out of the small window and the air immediately lightened and cooled.

I pulled my belt and my robe fell into a heap on the ground, just as I wished I could. Though I wanted to fully emerge myself in the downpour, Doctor Ntumba’s scoldings the first time I got my chest-tube dressing wet were still fresh in my mind.

I stepped halfway into the shower, contorting my body in various directions. While awkwardly washing my body, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d even get the technique down by the time the sutures came out.

I stepped out the second I finished scrubbing, half of my body searing with pain and the other half searing from the hot water.

Outside, Lucia had hardly moved. She remained sitting on the stepladder, her knees drawn to her chest and holding her cheeks in her hands.

With the added lighting, I could finally notice the spidery veins in her eyes and the purplish collar beneath them. As long as I had known Lucia, I had never asked her exact age. To me, the only thing that mattered was that her spirit was that of a child. Looking at her now, I wondered how much the human soul weighed, and if it was as much of a struggle to carry it as it looked.

At the sound of the glass door sliding shut, Lucia’s eyes flickered up at me and away from whatever distant plane they had been in. Though her step lightened as she darted across the room, it was clear whatever miasma possessed her had not been exorcized. I tried not to wince as she slid my arm into a sleeve with the same speed as she always did, and if she noticed, it didn’t show. When would my medicine kick in? Had I even taken any?

I huffed to myself as I buttoned up my shirt, fully aware that double-dosing wouldn’t be a good idea. Lucia would remember in my stead, I realized, as she was the one who had brought me breakfast that morning.

“Hey, Lucia, do you know if I took the medicine this morning?”

“Yes, Signorina Bowling,” she answered, returning to her spot by the window, all the way across from the bathroom.

So the strange distance Lucia kept between us upon my return hadn’t been in my imagination after all. She had tidied the house from afar these past two days, and when she spoke with me, it was oddly tense small talk.

“Is something wrong?” I asked outright. “You’re being different.”

Lucia didn’t look at me. She just sighed and continued to stare out the window. The gesture was on the verge of being too overt, so much so that I wondered if it was just for show. But when she finally glanced over, I knew it was at least partially genuine.

“I heard you learned a lot about the Medici family while you were away.” She sighed again. “I did as well.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“The house got lonely while you were gone. I asked Signora Carbone about what happened to my parents.”

Lucia gave me a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes—those downturned, baby-blue eyes from the corpse in the photograph.Oh.

I tried to open my mouth and ask for clarification, but nothing came out.

She held up her hand and shook her head, dismissing my question quickly. “Don’t worry about it, signorina. Getting better is your job right now. Things will be back . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, but it was implicit:to normal.

I manually turned the gears in my mind to convince myself she was right, that once these stitches were out of my side, we’d all be happy again.

If only because my medication started kicking in, it worked. “Yes, I’m sure they will,” I said, putting on my shoes to head to the main hall. “See you later!”

She gave me a small wave as I left. Shortly down the hall, Zeno was leaning against the wall, one foot propped up and a book in his hands. At the sight of me, he tucked it into his arm with a smile. “Good morning,mia passerotta.”

I grinned back and said, “Can you believe it, Zeno? I’m finally disconnected from them all!”

I moved my arms around me for emphasis and Zeno winced on my behalf, evidently remembering the sutures in my side before I did.

“I know, I know,” I muttered before he could say something himself. “Just because I’m not hooked up to anything doesn’t mean I’m totally fine.”

“How kind of you!” Zeno teased, ruffling my hair. “You saved me the effort of saying it myself.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Enough scolding. I’m off to garden now. I’m sure my roses desperately need pruning.”

He tensed at my words. “Don’t forget to wear gloves. No matter how precious, those roses of yours have thorns.”

“Uh, sure,” I replied, raising a brow at his words.

Doctor Ntumba had told me as much as well, but never so gravely. Zeno spoke as though I were at risk of impaling myself straight through my hand, and I was half convinced he’d change his mind and explicitly forbid me from dirtying my hands. Instead, he huffed in dismissal and returned to his book with a glower.

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