Chapter 17
Tomasso
I didn't want to go into the doctor's office a few days later, knowing what was waiting for me. Luisa seemed a little slow walking toward the door, both of us knowing it was inevitable. When we got to the door, she reached up and pulled her hand back from the handle, not wanting to touch it, but eventually doing so and opening it for me.
The nights since my father came back home had been the best of my life. After discussing business with Guillermo Mendosa, the two crime lords agreed on a beneficial partnership, one that would give the Mendosas a foothold in the Pacific Northwest with their beef and agricultural exports, while the Bertolis would be the exclusive distribution company for said exports. It was a win-win for both parties, and one that could exist totally above-board, giving legitimacy to both groups and giving the IRS another reason to stay off our collective asses.
The evenings with Luisa were the highlight for me, though. We made love every night, starting from just after dinner until we both fell asleep in my bed. We were insatiable, hungry for each other's body as much as we were relishing in the discovery of the person who truly was our soul mate. The only thing we didn't do was say the three words that were on the tips of both of our tongues. Our inevitable parting would be painful enough without those words hanging in the air between us.
Which brought us to the day at the doctor's office. Not our family doctor, but the orthopedic surgeon who’d done the repair of my ankle. "Mr. Bertoli, in the twenty years I've been doing surgery, I've done maybe a hundred ankle reconstructions," he said as he studied the x-rays again. "It's not one of those surgeries that you get to do a lot of, and it's certainly not the type that you expect people to quickly recover from. In fact, most of my patients walk with some sort of hitch in their step for the rest of their lives. In your case, I can say that you’re recovering faster and stronger than most patients that I treat. The bones in your ankle are setting well, and even the tendon reattachments seem to be strengthening. We don't normally see that until six weeks or more from now, when movement is started. This is remarkable."
"Oh . . . great," I muttered, trying not to sound too down. It was of course great news, but Luisa and I both knew what was to come.
Still, the doctor noticed, and he looked up from the chart he'd been scribbling on. "I would’ve expected a more enthusiastic reaction, Mr. Bertoli. You should be back to your normal self before you know it.”
I blinked and put a fake smile on my face. "It's great news, doc—just other things on my mind, that's all."
"I see. Well, you can start putting weight on the foot as long as you keep that brace on. Slowly increase weight as you go, but you'll need to keep your crutches for at least another two or three weeks. After that, we can look at transitioning you to a cane or something. Let me go talk to my assistant, and we'll get you scheduled for your next checkup. Is there anything in your schedule that we need to accommodate?”
"No," I said quietly, "nothing." Nothing except I want you to smack my fucking leg with a baseball bat so I can have an excuse for Luisa to stay longer, I thought as he left the room. Alone, I looked at her. She kept a brave, calm look on her face. The doctor came back, holding an appointment slip, and that was that.
Walking out, both of us were glum, and the ride back to the mansion was practically silent, with not even the radio playing to break up the depressing atmosphere. We got home and were greeted by Dad, who saw our somber expressions. "Your ankle doing better?"
"Ahead of schedule," I replied, looking down at the offensive limb and cursing it. "Apparently, all the care and attention from Luisa has given me super recuperative powers."
My father nodded and took a deep breath. "I see. Luisa, I’d love to have you stay longer, but your tourist visa will expire soon, and now that my son is semi-mobile . . .”
"I know, Mr. Bertoli," Luisa whispered. “My father expects me home soon. Can you have someone make the arrangements for me?"
"Of course. I spoke with him while you were at the doctor—he’s a little anxious. He wants you to fly out tomorrow." Dad looked at the two of us for a minute, then turned. "We'll have dinner at seven. Adriana and Daniel caught an early flight, so they’ll be joining us."
"Thanks," I said, taking Luisa's hand. "We'll look forward to it."
We went to Luisa's room, where she picked her suitcase up out of the corner where she'd been keeping it and set it on the bed. "If you don’t mind, I think I'll pack," she said quietly. "I need the time to think."
“You don’t want help?” I asked. "I can at least carry some clothes."