Chapter Six #2
Harbor View Medical is on the eastern edge of the city, set back from the road behind manicured hedges and a circular drive.
It looks nothing like any hospital I’ve ever been in.
The building is modern, all clean lines and pale stone and floor-to-ceiling windows.
It could pass for a luxury hotel. The lobby has actual art on the walls, not faded motivational posters, and the floors are polished tile, not scuffed linoleum.
This is what Marcello’s money buys. It’s a far cry from St. David’s back in Millhaven, with its bolted-down chairs and dead-eyed receptionist. Marcello’s world sometimes feels like a different planet.
Here, I’m greeted by a woman at reception who smiles easily and treats me like I’m checking into the Hyatt.
I take the elevator to the third floor. I’ve been here before to visit Fabio, but I’m always blown away by how nice it is.
The hallway is carpeted, quiet, lined with wood-paneled doors that belong in a boutique hotel, not a cardiac ward.
Fabio’s room is at the end of the hall. I push the door open and step into the room that is easily three times the size of a standard hospital room.
The medical equipment is all there, the monitors, the IV stand, the bed with its rails and controls, but the rest of the space has been designed for comfort.
There’s a sitting area with an upholstered armchair and a small couch.
A flat-screen TV on the wall. Flowers on the side table that I didn’t send.
The room is filled with natural light, there’s a view of the hospital’s garden, green and sculpted, with a stone fountain.
Remembering the hospital Fabio was in back home, I’m grateful for Marcello.
My life feels insane right now, but seeing how spoiled Fabio is, it feels manageable.
Fabio is sitting up in bed with a textbook on his lap and his phone propped against a water pitcher, playing a video I can hear from the doorway. His dark hair is neatly combed and his blue eyes are brighter. There’s more color in his face. More life. Just seeing him like this fills me with joy.
He looks up and smiles. “I was wondering if you’d visit today.”
“Of course I’m going to visit.” I pull one of the armchairs closer to his bed and drop into it. My body aches when I sit, but I hope my face doesn’t show it. “Sorry I couldn’t come by yesterday. I was feeling under the weather,” I lie.
“That’s okay.” He closes the textbook. “You deserve a day off from babysitting me.”
I frown. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. You know I love coming to see you.”
He grins. “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
I give him a chiding look. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, actually. They tweaked my meds and I haven’t been dizzy in two days.” He studies me. “You look rough. Tired. Are you not sleeping?”
“I’m sleeping.”
He looks unconvinced. “You look exhausted.”
“Oh, I’m just not used to my surroundings yet. You know how it takes time to sleep deeply in a new bed.” Not technically a lie. Marcello’s bed is very new to me.
“I guess that’s true,” he murmurs. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.” Uneasiness shifts through me because he looks serious.
“Well, I’d have to be blind not to notice how much nicer this place is than the other hospital.” He frowns. “How are you paying for this?”
“What do you mean?” I avoid his gaze. “Insurance is paying for most of it.”
“Elio.” He scowls. “I’m not an idiot. Insurance companies pay for as little as they can. This hospital is insanely nice. It must cost a fortune to stay here.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. Because we’re low income, they gave us a deal.” I feel awful lying to him, but what choice do I have? He’d lose his mind if he knew the truth.
His eyes narrow with skepticism. “Okay, what about the surgeon?”
“What about him?”
“I heard the nurses talking the other day. They were saying that Dr. Ashworth is one of the top cardiac surgeons in the country. The whole fucking country, Elio.” He frowns. “How the heck would we be able to afford someone like him?”
I exhale. “I thought I told you not to worry about that stuff. That’s my job, remember?”
“How can I not? Something is going on. I feel like you’re hiding things from me.” He looks worried. “You never talk about where you’re living. Are you still in a hotel?”
“No, I, uh, I got a small furnished apartment. It was less money than staying in a hotel long term.” I shrug. “Rent is a lot cheaper here.” That’s a complete lie, but he doesn’t know that.
“Elio,” he says softly. “I’m not a child. You can tell me stuff.”
My stomach churns with the temptation to come clean.
I’m so tired of carrying this burden alone.
Of going through what I’m going through with no one to talk to.
I hate lying to his face constantly. But telling him the truth would be selfish.
Nothing can upset him right now, and this situation I’m in would definitely upset him.
Once the surgery is done and he’s feeling stronger, then I’ll tell him everything. But not yet. It’s too soon.
“Listen,” I say quietly. “I know you’re not a child or an idiot.
But this is crunch time, right? The most important thing right now is that you don’t stress about things.
Everything is fine. If I’m not telling you every single detail, it’s because that’s what’s best for you.
” I lean forward. “All you need to know right now is that I found a way to pay for everything.”
He picks at his blanket, and his jaw tenses as he meets my gaze. “You didn’t knock over a liquor store or anything, right?”
I laugh. “No, I didn’t do anything illegal. You know, we made a lot of money on that GoFundMe thing.”
“We didn’t make this kind of money.” He waves to the luxurious room.
“No,” I agree, trying to come up with another reason we have the funds. “But there are a lot of people out in the world with extra money who are willing to help people like us.”
He lifts his brows. “You mean you found like an angel investor or something?”
More like a Devil investor.
“Yeah, something like that.” I give him a reassuring smile. “You need to trust me and not worry so much. Haven’t I always handled everything? Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
His eyes soften. “You have. But who takes care of you, Elio?”
His question catches me off guard. “I don’t need taking care of.”
“Everyone needs that sometimes.”
My chest squeezes at the concern in his voice. “Look, you don’t need to worry about me right now, okay? Now is the time for you to focus on getting stronger, so you can have the surgery. Once you’re healthy again, I’ll explain everything to you.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. I’ll give you all the boring details. But right now, your only job is to rest up and build your strength for the surgery, okay?”
“Okay.” He gives a hesitant smile.
“You trust me, right?”
“Yeah, I trust you, Elio. I trust you more than anyone in this world.”
“Good. That’s what I want to hear.”
A knock at the door saves me from any more questions. Dr. Ashworth steps in. I met him once before very briefly. He’s a tall alpha in his fifties, with graying temples and wire-rimmed glasses. He has a steady, unhurried manner that I find calming.
“Elio, I’m glad you’re here. I can tell you and Fabio the news at the same time.” He moves closer, studying a clipboard in his hands. “I’ve completed my review of all the pre-operative testing.”
“Have you?” I ask warily. I can’t read his expression so I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad.
“Yes. I’ve looked over the echocardiogram, cardiac MRI, the full blood panel. I’m very pleased with what I’m seeing.”
Fabio and I share a relieved glance.
“The obstruction is significant, as we expected,” Dr. Ashworth says.
“But the surrounding cardiac tissue is healthy and responsive. Kidney and liver function are excellent. Blood pressure has stabilized well on the beta-blockers. Fabio is an excellent surgical candidate. I’m confident we’re going to get a very good outcome. ”
“That’s fantastic,” I say, patting Fabio’s arm. “When do you think you can do the surgery?”
“Well, my surgery schedule was booked solid.” He clears his throat. “But… uh… at Mr. Foschini’s insistence, I’ve been able to move a few things around. We’ll be able to fit Fabio in within the next three weeks.”
“Really?” Fabio squeaks. “That soon?”
“Yep.” Dr. Ashworth nods.
“That’s really good news,” I say, beyond relieved. I didn’t miss the part about Mr. Foschini’s insistence. Marcello is the only reason things are moving so quickly, and I feel a surge of gratitude for him.
Dr. Ashworth smiles. “Yes. That gives us time for one more round of imaging and to fine-tune Fabio’s medications before surgery.”
“How long is the actual surgery?” I ask.
“The septal myectomy itself usually takes three to four hours. Afterward, your brother will go to the ICU, probably overnight, possibly longer depending on how he does. Then he’ll move to a step-down unit. If recovery goes smoothly, we’d hope to discharge him within five to seven days.”
“And after that?” Fabio asks. His voice is steady, but his knuckles are white where they grip the blanket.
“Cardiac rehabilitation. Plan on several weeks to three months of structured recovery. How quickly you rebound all depends on you, Fabio, and the work you put in. You’ll need to rebuild your strength.
To help you do that you’ll have supervised exercise, monitoring, gradual rebuilding.
It’s demanding, but patients your age with your overall profile often do very well.
” He looks at Fabio directly. “You’re young, otherwise healthy, and clearly motivated.
Those are three things I like to see in a surgical patient. ”
Fabio looks at me. His blue eyes are bright with something I haven’t seen in months. Hope. Not the careful, rationed kind he performs to keep me from worrying. The real thing, raw and unguarded.
“So I just have to stay strong and focused for the next three weeks,” he says softly.