Chapter 4 #3
So he had switched his breakfast to eggs and spinach.
After he got bored of that, he tried oatmeal with walnuts, a wheat bagel with lox, and when he started spending more time at the rock-climbing gym, it became whey protein smoothies with bananas and peanut butter.
It was all delicious and he definitely felt better, but none of it stopped the freight train of panic that would run over him from time to time.
The second attack happened in an air-conditioned movie theater while he was on a date.
The woman he was with showed him pictures on her phone of a spiral galaxy in the Canes Venatici constellation forty million light-years away that had been captured by the Hubble telescope that week, and before he knew it, he was pushing out the emergency exit door onto West Sixty-Eighth Street.
The universe was too, too big. No matter how much he gasped for air to prove he was a part of it, nothing could take away the cold, dark feeling of infinity.
On some level, he understood that New York did not cause the panic, but there was something inside him that continued to sense panic in the city anyway.
When the possibility of moving back to Italy came up, he couldn’t deny the slight sense of relief.
So far, it had been four years since he’d been back in his hometown and four years since he’d had any episodes.
It was hard to ignore the correlation, even if there was no causation to rely on.
It wasn’t that this job was without stress, but somehow the stress felt different.
It felt productive, even useful sometimes, and overall made less noise in his head, though he never knew what was coming next.
Sometimes he’d be securing funding to rebuild a pier, but other times he had to try to subdue a very eager poliziotto from running off a beautiful woman who probably wanted to throw something very heavy at his head. Weirdly, he was OK with all of it.
He didn’t know if he should expect to hear shouting upon entering the building—no, probably not.
Lora definitely seemed like the type to silently fume a hole into the floor before she would start screaming.
He walked directly in the front door and caught Franca’s eye.
She frowned deeply and pointed back toward his office.
Lora and Vilmari were sitting in the chairs in front of his desk with, as he’d expected, murderous expressions.
Luca Zingaretti, his one and only police officer at all of twenty-three years old, stood ramrod straight against the wall next to the door, his eyes focused somewhere ten feet above the heads of the accused.
He nodded to the women, trying not to flinch at their faces, then turned to Luca.
He explained that he was the one who had invited these women to come to his office, and though he was late, they were more than welcome to be there, so please accept his deep apologies, but his services were not necessary.
Luca, of course, replied that it was considered a federal offense to enter into the office of a government official without said government official present and asked if Andrea would like him to do a sweep of the office to check for any missing items or planted devices.
“Nononononono,” said Andrea, shaking his head vigorously.
“Non é necessario. Grazie mille, Luca.” The young cop raised a questioning eyebrow, but was finally appeased.
He left, reminding Andrea that he would be nearby in the piazza should any concerning behaviors require his assistance.
“Grazie, sì, grazie mille. OK, ciao.” He slowly closed the door on the retreating Luca. “Ciao-ci-ci-ci-ciao. Ciao. Ciao.”
He turned to the women again. “I am so, so sorry. I truly apologize. I should have been here earlier, but I needed to make a stop before my day began. Please accept my sincerest—”
“I admit that I did not think I would be starting my day breaking the law,” said Lora, her face tight.
“Luca is a little bit enthusiastic, I’m afraid,” he said.
“Asking for her phone number is enthusiastic. Pulling a badge on a tourist is grounds for litigation.” Vilmari pointed at the door.
“I agree. It will not happen again. Please,” he said, gesturing toward the cabinet. “Go right ahead.”
“The door was open, by the way,” said Lora, standing.
She wore a black tank top and black shorts that required him to physically force his eyeballs away from watching the muscles in her legs flex with movement.
Edging over to the cabinet, she pulled open the left side and gazed at the disorganized contents.
“I know the door is broken. I will fix it. Here, please take your time. There is a table there.” He pointed to a small wooden table under an alcove of arched wooden beams in the back corner of the office.
“You can use it as you like. I’ll be here working.
The office is technically closed today, as I said. ”
“You’re going to be here?” asked Lora. “The whole time.”
“It’s my office.”
“You said it was closed.”
“To the public. I am catching up with work.” He gestured toward the listing tower of files perched on the corner of his desk. “I’m really behind on some things, so I’ll be here all day.”
“Is that why things take longer to get done here?” Lora’s eyebrows drew together.
“OK, OK, we got this,” said Vilmari, grabbing a stack of papers from the cabinet. Andrea heard her add quietly, “Let’s keep it light, Mami, it’s going to be a long day.”
“Let me know if you need anything. Really,” he added, though it didn’t seem like either of them was listening. He sighed, pulling the first folder off the stack. If he got anything done today, it would be a miracle.