Brava, Valentine

“I hope there’s not permanent damage.” Jaclyn’s eyes fill with tears.

“Who knows? It’s a wait-and-see situation. When it comes to a head injury, I know it’s better if you see blood. Then you know she’s not bleeding on the interior. P.S. I didn’t see a drop of blood,” Dad says.

It’s times like these that I wish someone in my family had gone into the field of medicine. We could use an expert right now. “You can bleed inside and out,” I correct my father. “It’s not an either/or.”

“Okay. Then her fall could be a killer of the silent type caused by a stroke.” My father folds his arms across his chest. “A stroke and a sub-see-quent blow to the head…she’s finished.”

“Dad.” Jaclyn mops up her tears with a scrap of brown paper towel from the restroom.

When Aunt Feen toppled, the reception officially ended. She came to fairly quickly while lying on the floor, after the thud, but she was woozy. The cake went uneaten, the net bags of confetti remained on the tables, the cookie trays were untouched. We grabbed our purses and followed Aunt Feen to the hospital quickly. I’m worried about my great-aunt, but I’m sad for Gram that her wedding day has been ruined. I get up and go to Gram. “I’m sorry about all of this.” I put my arms around her.

“It’s okay. I just want Feen to be all right.”

The doctor pushes through the door. Dominic rushes over to him. They converse in Italian.

“Does Dr. Kildare over there speak English?” Dad says.

“I do.” The doctor looks at my father. He’s around forty, slim build, balding, and wears glasses.

“No wedding ring,” Tess whispers.

I glare at her.

“Is it serious?” I ask the doctor.

“We did a scan of her brain and neck-there appears to be no trauma to the head.”

We actually applaud the good news.

“I’d like to see that scan,” Dad says under his breath. “What did they do it with? Pliers and a mirror?”

“Allora, dottore,” my mother purrs, “ mi dica la prognosi per mia zia?” My sisters and I look at one another. My mother flirts whenever a situation requires immediate service. This rule applies to mechanics and doctors as well as Pierre, who dyes Mom’s roots at the Jean Louis Hair Salon on Queens Boulevard.

“The scan showed nothing.” The doctor shrugs. “She is very lucky.”

“So what caused the fall?” Dad wants to know.

“Her blood alcohol level is extremely high,” the doctor says. “She’s inebriated.”

“Drunk?” My father throws his hands up. “Feen is drunk!” My father turns away in disgust.

“We gave her an espresso and two aspirins,” the doctor says. “She’s sobering up.”

“I don’t believe this,” Jaclyn says.

I’m begi

“So, what do we do?” Mom asks the doctor.

“Take her home and let her sleep it off,” the doctor says.

My family goes from a grief-stricken pre-funeral-pla

“I knew no good would come of this trip. You can’t take senior citizens abroad and hope they survive out of their comfort zone. I don’t think anybody should venture into areas where they don’t speak the language,” Dad says.

“Really. They don’t speak English in Bayside, Dutch, and that’s a quarter of a mile from our house.”

“You know what I mean. Foreign countries. Aunt Feen is too old and too American to be cavorting around the world. She can’t handle the stress, so she hit the bottle.”

“What stress?” Tess wonders. “She had to get dressed up and sit in a church and then go to a restaurant to eat. How hard is that?”

“It’s not. But something is troubling her. Why would Aunt Feen get drunk?” My mother addresses our group. “She’s not a drinker.”

“She’s jealous,” I tell them.

“Of what?” Mom asks.

“Of whom. She’s jealous of Gram.”

“Oh come on. They’re eighty and seventy-eight-jealous of what?”

“They’ve been competitive all their lives. Feen has always felt second-class, the baby who could never surpass the older sister. And Feen remembers who got the roller skates for Christmas and who got the socks.”

“Valentine, that’s ridiculous.”

“Really? If you had caught Aunt Feen on her second cocktail, three before she hit cement, she would tell you all about how Gram was the favorite, and how her sister always got everything she wanted. And now, Gram even has a husband. Aunt Feen faked being sick this morning for attention. She fell asleep at the ceremony like it wasn’t important enough for her to stay awake at her own sister’s wedding, and then, when neither of those things worked to her advantage, when her mere disdain of the whole wedding didn’t get it canceled, she did what she had to do to refocus the limelight off Gram and onto herself by getting stewed at the reception.”

“Dear God.” My mother shakes her head in disbelief. “Is this who we are?”

“And look. Aunt Feen won. We left the reception and came to the hospital and sat vigil for her. Now, instead of the bride being the center of attention on her wedding day, it’s Feen. Mission accomplished! And now, get ready. When she sobers up, expect complete contrition. She’ll be so sorry that she turned this day that belonged to her sister into one that she stole with an accidental fall. But don’t believe a word of it. This has been an act all along.”

“Charlie overheard her playing it up in there to the doctor. She pulled a full Meryl Streep, with tears and everything,” Tess says. “Told the doctor she had a nervous condition.”

“Aunt Feen ruined this wedding, and that was her intention from the moment she set foot on the flight,” I assure them.

“That’s sick,” Jaclyn says.

It’s hard for Jaclyn to imagine that one sister could ever turn on another. Tess, Jaclyn, and I have had our fights, but we get over our disagreements quickly. We root for one another’s happiness and do everything we can to support one another. We are not like Great-aunt Feen and Gram. Tess shakes her head sadly at the realization that what I am saying is true.

“It’s just awful. That’s all,” Mom says.

Gianluca and Lady Zing-Zang-Zoom push through the door. Carlotta’s perfume fills the air like a breeze after a sweet, summer shower. I hate her.

Gianluca looks around the room. When his eyes find his father, Dominic, he goes directly to him. They speak rapidly in Italian as Dominic explains the diagnosis. I can’t catch everything he says, but it sounds like Dominic is telling Gianluca that everything is okay and he is free to go.

Gianluca kisses Gram on the cheek, and then embraces his father. He then goes to my parents and says good night. Then he turns to the group, the rest of us, and sort of does a wave on his way out. I got a wave for you, I want to shout after him, and it’s four fingers short of a hand. Now, I hate him too. I can’t believe I was longing to kiss him only twelve hours ago. Now I’d like to sock him. Take your lips and go, I’d like to tell him. Too late. He took his lips and he’s gone. He’s out the door with Carlotta- lotta everything I ain’t got.

A cold winter wind kicks up, sending a chill through us as we walk back to the i

Arezzo is serene; it closes down early like most quiet Italian villages when night falls. The lights from the houses throw streaks of gold light onto the dark streets as we pass.

Alfred, Gram, and I walk together, not saying much. The only sound we hear is the soft click of our heels hitting the stone streets and the muted chatter of Tess and Jaclyn, who walk ahead of us, no doubt discussing whether to put Aunt Feen in rehab. We revel in a crisis that results in putting one of our own in a short-term residential facility. We enjoy nothing more than packing a picnic basket and visiting our infirm on the weekends.