“JAR? Wait til I get a hold of Sasha! That’s lazy. Not even my Irish ex-wife used jarred gravy! Now my motha’ is probably rollin’ in her grave, too!”
“That’s an awful lot of rollin’, Mr. Capadonno!” Letty exclaimed as she carried his dinner to his bedside. She carried a wooden tray with his plate of spaghetti, garlic bread, a tall drink and a small bowl of custard set neatly on top.
“Laziness!” Mr. Capadonno complained.
In his eyes, it is a mortal sin to eat spaghetti with jarred sauce or gravy or whatever the hell you want to call it. For the sake of this argument, let’s just call it the father friggin’ spaghetti topping, Letty mused.
“Here ya go, Mr. Capadonno. Just how you like it! Here’s your parmesan cheese, some fresh garlic bread, and a tall glass of orange Metamucil!”
I really tried to make it sound effing fantastic.
“Dinner of champions!” Letty continued in a high-pitched voice. She wore the sweetest of smiles on her face as she doted on her patient.
Michael Capadonno looked up at Letty with a gaze as sharp as a thousand knives. She was unnerved for a moment as the old man looked at her from his cool brown eyes. Slowly, his right eyebrow began to arch as a sly smile creased his face.
Though the men are as different as night and day, I can see Miles in the curl of Michael’s smile.
“Not quite, Letty, but it’ll do,” Michael said as Letty placed the wooden tray table on his lap. Helping him sit up in bed, Letty propped up Mr. Capadonno’s pillows behind his slightly hunched back, in an effort to make him more comfortable.
Easing back onto his pillows, Michael let out a sigh of relief, before picking up his fork and taking a bite of his spaghetti. Slowly, he chewed his food and glanced up at Letty with an appreciative smile.
“It’s good, Letty. Thank you.”
Michael Capadonno may have a rap sheet as long as the wall of China, but the man had manners.
“You’re welcome, crabby man, “ Letty said with a smile. Being his caretaker for so long, Letty and Michael had developed a rapport.
He is a total pain in the ass, but even I have to admit, he is charming. It is no secret that I am fond of Michael Capadonno. He wasn’t a good man in his youth. He had done some terrible things. When his daughter, Sasha, originally asked me to be his caretaker, I declined. I knew a little too much about the Capadonnos to feel comfortable with the position. It wasn’t until Michael himself started pursuing me relentlessly that I finally agreed. The old guy reminded me of Miles. This was something that was both in his favor and to his disadvantage.
Miles.
It’s been years since I’ve seen Miles. I’m not the same girl he left behind. I know his years away will have broken down and changed the boy I loved. But I have to see him. I have to see if the Miles I love still lives in those eyes.
Lost in her thoughts, Letty was brought back to reality by Michael Capadonno’s rough voice.
“Letty,” Michael said, gently touching her hand.
Letty flinched as Michael’s touch ripped her from her thoughts. Clearing her voice, Letty replied.
“Yes, Mr. Capadonno?”
“For the millionth time, just call me Mike,” he said with a gentle tone to his voice. His eyes had a striking quality to them. Filled with emotion and inflection, Michael Capadonno clearly had something that he needed to tell Letty. Every nerve in Letty’s body was alive with anxiety. Her stomach lurched as she stared back at him, the seriousness of his expression making Letty very nervous.
When Michael Capadonno wants to have a serious discussion, you listen and you listen good. He’s the last man on earth you want to piss off.
“Okay, Mike. Is there something you want to talk about?” Letty asked as she removed her hand from his grasp.
Michael patted the empty spot on his bed as he continued to stare up at Letty. Letty could feel her anxiety increasing by the second. Against her better judgment, she sat on the edge of Michael’s hospital bed and waited for the old man to tell her what it was that was plaguing him.
In my experience, when a patient knows that they have no treatment options and no avenue of recourse, often their nurse gets more details on their wrong-doings than their bartender, barber, preacher and psychiatrist combined. This is no different with Michael. I know far more than I want to know about the man that sits before me. But I am not running. I made a commitment, and I plan to see it through. I am not about to abandon a man who is knocking on the devil’s door.