"Ah, sì, sì. Please, come in, I'll be with you in a moment," the voice answered.
The buzzer sounded. I opened the door and held it for Isaia. A blast of air-conditioning swept over us and we both sighed. The front room was empty of people, so we contented ourselves by looking at the glasswork on display. The room was lined with mirrors. I made a silly face at Isaia when I caught him looking at me in the mirror and was rewarded with the tiniest smile.
A few moments later, the owner of the voice appeared from behind the cash desk. He and I blinked at each other and our smiles stretched simultaneously. Cute. Very cute. His hazel eyes looked warmly down at me from the platform behind the till, and then at Isaia. He had short curly black hair which was receding slightly, even though I doubted he was much over twenty. His broad shoulders seem to fill the room and his dimples made my heart trip.
"Buongiorno," I said, grinning stupidly.
He smiled back even broader. A warm feeling seeped through my stomach.
"You're American?"
"Is my accent that bad?" I snapped my fingers in a 'gosh darn it' gesture. "I'm actually Canadian."
"Ah, Canadian. Beautiful, and no, your accent was perfect." We exchanged a firm, hot handshake. He must have been working in front of the oven because his hand was far warmer than it should be.
"I'm Rafaele Dimaro. Welcome to our little shop. You must be..." he referred to a paper that had been taped to the counter, "Elda Bassegio?"
"No, I'm Saxony, her au pair. She gave me her ticket since she wouldn't be able to use it in time. Is that okay?"
"Of course. And who is this?" He looked down at Isaia, who'd been standing solemnly at my side.
"This is Isaia." I took the hat off his head and frowned at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. I could have sworn they weren't there a minute ago.
"Welcome Saxony and Isaia," said Rafaele, putting his hands together. "Are you ready for a private demonstration of the ancient art of glass blowing? A secret that was protected for thousands of years?" He waved his fingers mystically.
Isaia stared.
"We're ready, right?" I took Isaia's hand and he looked up at me and nodded. I noted with pleasure that there was some interest on his face. Finally, something that animated him, even if it was slight.
"Then please follow me," said Rafaele. He swept an arm across his face like a magician behind a cape.
Isaia's mouth lifted at the corners.
I was not prepared for how stifling the workshop was. A blast of hot air blew my hair back. My eyes went dry and my upper lip felt suddenly damp. No wonder Rafaele's hands were so warm.
A short hallway lined with shelves full of glasswork led to a workspace. Two ovens yawned from a stone wall. Tools littered a metal table and seats lined the workspace at a safe distance from the heat. A red glow emanated from one oven, while the other was dark and cold. Metal blowing rods leaned against the wall in a line.
"Prego." Rafaele gestured to the seats.
Isaia and I each took a chair in the front row.
"Before we begin, I'll explain a little about the history of..." The door chimed, and Rafaele broke off. "Oh accidenti. Excuse me, I've forgotten to lock the front door. I will help the visitors quickly and then return. Forgive me."
He left in a rush, and Isaia and I waited. I fanned myself with my hat. As the minutes passed, Isaia grew restless. He was staring into the fiery oven when I heard him inhale. It was a raspy, wheezing sound.
"Isaia?"
He turned and looked at me. His coal black eyes were filled with a pain that hadn't been there a few moments before. My heart skipped a beat.
"What is it, honey?" I crouched in front of him. "Isaia?"
He put his hands on my shoulders to brace himself. The same red glow I'd seen on the first day rose in his eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The glow was there and then gone, just a flicker, only this time there was no sunlight coming in from anywhere.
I gasped. I had not imagined it. I put my hands to the sides of his face, fear curdling in my guts. He was burning up, and his breathing grew more laboured. I put my lips against his forehead. He was beyond feverish. Elda had explained that he sometimes gets sudden fevers, but she'd never impressed upon me their ferocity. Or was this one extra bad?
Peering into his eyes, I watched for the strange glow to reappear. I put my hands to the sides of his ribs. I almost snatched my hands back from his belly — he was nearly hot enough to burn me. His torso was even hotter than his forehead.
He inhaled again, wheezing. He lifted up his t-shirt and displayed his skinny white belly. We both lit up from underneath, throwing strange shadows across our faces. A red glow illuminated his belly from the inside, as though he'd swallowed a piece of hot coal. The dark shadows of his ribs stood out through his skin. I thought I could even see his heart pulse darkly in his chest.
"I-Isaia," I stuttered, but I had no words. I put a hand against the shelf to steady myself. The world spun. I squinted my eyes shut against the vertigo and hoped that I was imagining things.
I opened my eyes. The glow was still there.
The sound of voices came again from the other room. The door chime went off.
I took a steadying breath. "I have to get you home. Right now." I pushed his shirt down. The glow was still faintly visible through the fabric.
Rafaele entered the workshop. "I apologize about that... Whoa!" He nearly stumbled over us. I stood up and stepped in front of Isaia to hide the glow.
"Is everything okay?" His smile disappeared and his brows knit together with concern.
"No, I'm sorry." I took one of Isaia's hands but kept him a little behind me. Isaia put his head down, as though he was ashamed. His breath whistled in his chest. "Isaia is suddenly not feeling well. I have to take him home."
"Of course, of course. I'm so sorry." Rafaele stumbled to get out of the way. He followed us through to the shop, all the while asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I dug for my phone and texted Giovanni to come back, it was an emergency. My phone dinged immediately and he said he'd meet us in ten minutes.
"Is there something I can do?" Rafaele asked again.
"Do you have water?" I asked, mentally cursing myself. Elda had warned me to keep him hydrated. But he'd had water not that long ago. Was it not enough? Had I been neglectful? Had I brought this on? Guilt burned in my throat.
"Yes, absolutely." He bent over behind the till and opened a small fridge. "This place gets so hot, we'd be crazy not to." He handed me a cold bottle of water.
"Thank you." I opened it and handed it to Isaia. He drank, and winced as though swallowing too much. "Not so fast, darling," I said.
I assured Rafaele that Isaia would be okay, but worry was etched all over my face. My lips trembled. Isaia was most certainly not okay, and he was in my care. Why wouldn't Elda have prepared me better? Was it possible this had never happened before?
"Signorina, please," Rafaele implored as I opened the door. "Leave me your number. I will worry. Text me later that everything is okay. Please?" His request was so sincere and sweet that it gave me pause. If I were him, I'd want to know that everything turned out okay, too. I gave him my number.
I picked Isaia up and strode in the direction of the dock. Each breath he took whistled faintly. We arrived at the dock and I set Isaia down and called Elda. I felt as though I couldn't draw enough breath. Was this what a panic attack felt like? Pull yourself together, Saxony.
"Saxony?" Elda's soft voice made me sigh with relief.
I tried not to sound completely panicked. "Elda, are you able to meet us at home? It's Isaia, he's got a fever."
"Where are you?" She was sharp and all business.
"On Murano. We went to the glass-blowing demo but left early because Isaia..." I paused, the image of his glowing belly swam before me. "Got really hot. Giovanni is on his way to pick us up."