Page 9 of Amadeo
“You have a five O’clock meeting coming up.”
Mr. Descalia gave him a nod. “I was wasting time by reliving Italy again, wasn’t I?’
Max did not answer as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Mr. Descalia turned then strode back down the hall to his study.
We watched him leave then looked back at Max.
He was no longer there. The butler had been there just sixty seconds ago.
I turned my head to stare at Amadeo.
He shrugged. “That’s like…just the way Max is. I know it’s kind of weird but he moves fast. The man is a legend among us boys. He—”
“Amadeo!” His father interrupted.
“Crap.” Amadeo laughed as he motioned to the study door and gave me a nod of his head.
I went through the doorway past him. The room was stunning. Especially for a study. All mahogany and steel. It differed immensely from the rose hallway with the old paintings.
Amadeo led me over to the chairs in front of a massive desk. Surprisingly, it wasn’t modern like the rest of the room. I stared at it.
“It is beautiful, no?” Mr. Descalia asked as he noticed me staring at his desk.
I nodded as I sat down.
“And si, it is an antique. Belonged to my grandfather. Max went back over to Italy and had it shipped here. He rode with it in fact. All the way from Italy to America.”
“Your butler?”
He nodded. “Just to be sure nothing happened to it. You know how shipping is in the world nowadays. I could only imagine the scratches, chips and even cracks. Those idiota stronzos would have destroyed it.” He paused and added, “Pardon the language.”
“So your butler went to get your father’s desk?” I asked because this was interesting to me.
“Yes, I inherited Max from my father. And yes, I know that sounds odd to inherit a butler or an actual human being. Believe me…I fought it but to no avail as you can see. Then I had no idea about the desk almost being sold off. Max went and got it for me a few years back.” He paused and looked at me. “Amadeo says you need to speak to me.”
So here it was. I already knew this wouldn’t go over so well. I had only spoken to Stephano Descalia a few times and I did have to say, none of those talks had ever been this friendly. “I think Mr. Walker should be put back into the hospit—”
“No,” Mr. Descalia instantly cut me off.
“Father, at least listen to what—”
“I already arranged this,” he now cut Amadeo off.
“She is his doctor,” Amadeo went on. “You need to listen to her reasoning on this.”
I blinked a little. He sure was backing me up on this.
Mr. Descalia looked over at me and said, “Very well.” He leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead.”
I stared at him. “You mean we can take him back?”
He shook his head. “I meant go ahead and give me your reasoning.”
I nodded and I let out a long breath. “I have found that fifty-four percent of comatose patients never wake up.”
Amadeo nodded. “I read up on this.” He looked over at me. “Well, if I could call Googlereading up,” he quipped. “I mean I have to sit in that chair for six hours a stretch and I can only play shoot 'em up games on my phone for so long, ya know?” He smirked and raised his cell phone up. “So, these are the facts.” He read from his phone screen, “A large proportion of comatose patients, potentially fifty-four percent, may not survive. Estimates suggest that between twenty percent and forty percent of comatose patients do not regain consciousness at all. Then a significant number of survivors may experience severe disabilities. And while the other forty-six percent will gradually regain consciousness, the time frame varies from days to months. Even among those who do regain consciousness, many will have significant disabilities and only a small percentage will return to their previous level of functioning.”
