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Chapter 50: Per pietà, non dirmi addio

Ihad always been told deep-breathing helped with discomfort, but it seemed to have the opposite effect right now. So many months ago, I had winced at the tightening of strings on a corset, and here I was, on the verge of tears from strings being cut. I was scared to look down, scared that once the last stitch was removed, I would see my skin unfurl in a heap on the ground.

There was a tug—the first of many stitches to be removed—followed by the uniquely sickening sensation of string being pulled through skin. I held my breath.

“Please stay still and breathe normally,” Doctor Ntumba scolded, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone. “The more you move, the greater likelihood I’ll actually cause pain.”

I let out a smallmm-hmmand fought the urge to say what I was actually thinking: that Zeno, who was not a doctor, had at least waited for the lidocaine to kick in when he gave me stitches.

“You really were right,” I said beneath my breath, suppressing both a laugh and a wince as she wormed out the next few stitches. “These two weeks have been horrible. I didn’t think the pain and discomfort was ever going to end. It still hasn’t, all the way.”

“But you did well, Cora,” she replied with a smile in her voice. “You were a star patient.”

“Was I?” I scoffed. “I was crying every five minutes once you tapered me off hydrocodone.”

“As would anyone else in your circumstance.”

There was one final tug, and then she shifted away. I looked down to see not a pile of my skin, but a mostly healed line of reddened skin along my side. The sight of my body, free of wires and free of stitches, solidified the fact I had crossed a threshold.

“Do you need anything else from me?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the exam table. “Are there any more procedures or medications?”

“Not unless you develop an infection of some sort. No, I would say that while the pain will linger for a long time, you are quite healed.”

I shrugged my shirt on. The area where she had removed the stitches was still quite sensitive, yet feeling the fabric rub across my skin with little resistance was strangely relieving.

“Thank you for all of this, Doctor Ntumba,” I whispered.

She chuckled and continued to gather up her supplies. “Of course. It was a refreshing change of pace to have a patient other than Zeno. I had almost forgotten one’s blood work could look any different from his.” Then, after giving me another smile, she added, “Have a nice day, Cora. Enjoy yourself now that you properly can.”

I beamed from ear to ear and leaped off the exam table, murmuring more thanks before rushing out into the main area of the abbey. I entered the abbess’s suite, a room I had only really passed through as of late, and paused to marvel at its majesty for the first time in months. It was still early morning, a time Zeno would still be fast asleep, when I would normally sleep beside him. Perhaps I should have simply gone back to bed and gotten up as normal, but I couldn’t. Every part of me felt as bright as the light pouring through the bay window, and I was all too eager to catch the tail end of dawn. For once, I could even draw it in pastels.

I filled a satchel with my old art supplies, a small book, and a few snacks. Then, as I walked out the door, it hit me: I could go anywhere. I was unimpeded by wounds or danger or anything, so why limit myself to painting the sunrise from within the abbey walls? I scoured my mind, considering countless possibilities, then decided on a small area I had driven past several times before.

The spot was little more than a small grove on the cliffside, with barely enough room to set out all of my supplies, but the view it overlooked was immaculate. At this time of day and year, Poggioreale would be an undeniably beautiful contradiction to a ghost town. Mature wildflowers and ivy would frame the lifeless stone architecture. Orange hues from the heavens contrasting with cool blue grass undulating amongst the ruins. Perhaps I could focus on making a realistic landscape, or I could hint at village ghosts in an impressionistic work.

With these ideas and more bustling around in my head, I headed down to the parking area to seek Signora Rafia.

The sun shined directly in my eyes, but I could squint through it somewhat. In the shaded alcove tucked between the abbey and the main road, I saw a woman preoccupied by something as she stood between two cars.Perfect timing,I thought, holding up a hand.Who knew this would be such a short goose chase?

I broke into a light jog, taking full advantage of the sloped terrain. “Signora Rafia, I—”

After ducking into the shade, I realized the person was not Signora Rafia after all, but someone even more elusive. I hadn’t seen Signora Carbone since that night in the garden, at least not up close.

She looked worse than before, even more exhausted than I could have imagined—and, suspiciously, crouched beside the cars. She straightened slowly, her expression flat.

“Oh, hello,” I said, slightly out of breath. I tucked my satchel behind my back, as though I were the one with something to hide. The fabric scratched as I tightened my hands and tried not to stare at hers.

“Hello, Signorina Bowling,” came the low reply. “You are up earlier than expected.”

“Uh, yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Do you know where Signora Rafia is? I was—”

“Why?” The question was as immediate as it was harsh. I blinked once, twice, thrice, and stammered an incoherent reply for a painful amount of time before Signora Carbone sighed and shook her head. “The reason doesn’t matter. Shouldn't you be eating breakfast soon? Lucia has it ready.”

As if on cue, my stomach gurgled, and I considered acquiescing until an enormous cloud floated overhead. I tightened my lips.

“It’s fine. I’ll eat when I get back. I really should be going soon. I don’t want to miss painting the sunrise.”

She shook her head. “Duca de’ Medici would be quite upset to learn hisbeniaminais skipping meals. Especially while she is unwell.”