Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Positano, Italy
T he fact that Alessandra was almost too weak to finish the mural that hot summer night in July was not something she and Federico talked about on the drive back from the edge of Positano.
Early morning sunlight played across the rolling fields and lit up the house, the little place they’d shared since their wedding, the home where they’d brought their baby girl Elena, where they’d nursed each other back to health, where they’d bickered and slept and dreamed and planned.
When Federico cut the engine, Alessandra pushed at the door with the last of her strength, then fell back against the seat cushion, her head spasming.
Realizing she was too weak, Federico carried her from the car and into the house, where he laid her on the sofa so she could watch the rest of the morning through the window.
Federico hauled in all the mural supplies, cleaning the paintbrushes and putting everything away before joining her with coffee and cornettos stuffed with pistachio cream.
“I’ve never been this happy,” Alessandra whispered to him, cuddling closer. “I think it’s the best CAT mural to date.”
“I agree,” Federico said, kissing her on the nose.
A few seconds later, Elena joined them, digging into the brown paper bag to find her own cornetto.
She was older now, old enough to sleep alone at the house at night.
They’d told her that they were going to be at a party held by friends, that they’d be late, and that if anything happened, she needed to call them.
A part of Alessandra wondered if Elena knew about Alessandra’s identity as CAT, if she’d ever put together the facts and dates and realized.
But Elena was clever enough not to ask her mother that outright.
Although her mother was dying, although everything was about to shift to another dimension of fear and doubt, Elena was still just a teenager, making her way in the world.
She was still selfish and obsessed with her little life and her friends, and the boys.
That was what Alessandra wanted most for Elena: normality.
Of course, Elena also had heaps and heaps of CAT money. Elena didn’t know that yet. When she decided what she wanted to do for school and what she wanted to be, Federico would make the money known to her. She’d probably put the final pieces of the puzzle together then.
Two days after their return from the final mural making, Alessandra moved into the guest bedroom and couldn’t really get up again. She was too weak, thin as a rail, and trying to reckon with the fact that it really was the end.
Sophia came over that afternoon with heaps of food and plenty of gossip.
Sophia’s surgery last year had completely removed the cancer, and it was almost like she’d never been ill.
That was how vibrant she seemed. Alessandra often wondered if she was pretending to be this energetic for Alessandra’s sake. Maybe it was just a big act.
Alessandra’s father was softer about it, frequently sitting by her bed as they watched old movies they both loved and shared memories.
Unlike her mother, Alessandra was fairly certain Marius had never caught on to her CAT identity, and she was fine with that.
She just wanted to be his little girl, forever.
She never wanted anyone to know she was CAT, partially because CAT felt so much bigger than life, now.
CAT wouldn’t die of cancer because CAT wasn’t really human.
She thought brilliant thoughts. She performed brave acts in the name of art.
She was incredible in ways Alessandra could only hope to be.
Federico arranged for a hospice nurse to visit the house daily. When she arrived, Alessandra was surprised to realize she knew her, or had known of her for years.
“Lucia?” Alessandra said weakly, offering the woman a smile as she adjusted her hospital scrubs. “I didn’t realize you were a nurse!”
Lucia smiled grimly. “The art thing didn’t really work out.”
“It didn’t for me either,” Alessandra tried to joke, gesturing to her ailing body. “Obviously.”
Lucia looked like she didn’t know what to say. Finally, she burst out with, “I really am sorry about this.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry,” Alessandra told her. “You must see death all the time.”
Lucia blinked in confirmation. “My boyfriend got me this job,” she explained as she checked Alessandra’s various vital signs and prepared to care for her—doing all the things Alessandra could no longer do for herself, things Alessandra refused to let Federico do.
“Who are you seeing these days?” Alessandra asked, remembering that Lucia had been somewhat wild for a few years, having committed numerous crimes.
“His name is Ivan,” she said. “He’s from Bulgaria.”
“Does he make you happy?” Alessandra asked.
Lucia scoffed gently. “I don’t know.”
Alessandra turned her head to look at Lucia hard. “He should make you happy!”
“I don’t know,” Lucia said, trying to fix her face. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Perhaps Lucia was accustomed to the dying people on her rotation offering her advice on how to live. Maybe that got annoying for her. Alessandra reminded herself to be kinder to Lucia. She seemed like she didn’t really have any friends, but Alessandra couldn’t say why.
As the weeks went by, Alessandra and Lucia developed a little rapport, at least when Alessandra wasn’t too weak to talk.
Lucia told her bits and pieces of her past, how terribly she’d failed at art school, how much her mother needed her, how little money she had.
She hinted that Ivan was not kind to her, that she needed to find a way out of the relationship, but that she didn’t know how.
Alessandra was a listening ear, someone Lucia could trust, if only because Alessandra had no more than six to ten weeks to live.
That was what the doctor said, at least.
Alessandra wanted Lucia to know that there was so much love in the world that she needed to go find it. She wanted Lucia to know that it was never too late.
But more than anything, she wanted to translate these facts to her daughter.
Elena spent a lot of time in Alessandra’s room, drawing or talking about school, or telling her mother stories.
These were some of Alessandra’s favorite times, because they pulsated with Elena’s excitement for the future, a future that Alessandra wouldn’t know but could feel.
Alessandra didn’t want to say anything like, “I’ll be with you wherever you go,” because she didn’t want to say anything cheesy.
But she said, “I love you,” a lot. Elena always said it back.
When Alessandra became delirious one afternoon, Lucia left the room to find Federico, who was usually the only person who could really calm her down. Alessandra held Federico’s face with her hands and gazed into his eyes, speaking nonsensically. She was feverish and cold at the same time.
She could hardly understand herself as she said, “You can’t let anyone know. It’s my legacy. I mean, it’s her. It’s CAT. Please don’t let anyone know! I don’t want my name in the news! I don’t want anyone to see me like this! Please!”
Federico put a washcloth on her forehead and kissed her fingers and promised her, in whispered words, that he would never let anyone know her identity. He would carry it for the rest of his life.
“Not even Elena,” Alessandra said, probably too loud, but she’d forgotten there were people in the house. She’d forgotten that it was possible to give yourself away in the safety of your own home.
Her chest seized, and suddenly she returned to herself.
She kissed Federico and held him as tightly as her stringy arms could.
He got into bed with her and cuddled her.
They gazed out the window, where it was nearly autumn and everything was burnt red and dark green.
Alessandra couldn’t believe that she’d never go for a walk with her husband again.
She couldn’t believe she’d never paint another mural.
She couldn’t believe she wouldn’t be at her daughter’s wedding. She couldn’t believe any of it.
She told Federico, “You made me happier than any person ever could have. I love you. I love you. I don’t know what my life would have been without you, but it would have been meaningless.”
She wondered if she made any sense.
But Federico told her that he loved her. That he wouldn’t have understood life without her. That she gave his life meaning.
It was then that they both noticed the shadow lurking near the doorway. Federico lurched up, calling out, “Elena?”
But it was Lucia, who ducked in to say, “I’m just checking in. Do you need anything from me?”
Alessandra smiled at the woman, a woman who’d become her friend over the past few weeks.
It didn’t occur to her that Lucia had eavesdropped on anything she’d said.
Alessandra didn’t think that she would ever use all the stories Alessandra had told her to manipulate thousands into thinking that Lucia, in fact, was CAT, the famous muralist.
Federico was too distraught to consider it himself.
Lucia returned down the hall, her head awash with information she would soon tell Ivan.
Three weeks later, after saying goodbye to all the people she’d ever deeply loved, Alessandra passed away, holding Elena’s and Federico’s hands.
Sophia and Marius were just down the road, on their way with a big pan of lasagna, hoping to get Alessandra to eat a few more nutrients, a few more forkfuls of cheese.