Chapter 16
Monica
Still wearing my chef’s whites, I raced into the emergency room so quickly that Alex had to run to keep up. When I got to the desk and asked where Nan was, the receptionist said, “Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”
“No, I just need to find my friend, Nan Wilja. What have you done with her?”
“Nothing,” she said, looking startled. “I mean, we didn’t do anything with her. She’s in exam area four, right through those double doors, left side of the corridor. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”
Uh-huh. Right. If everything’s fine you don’t end up in the hospital, do you?
We found Nan sitting semi-upright on the hospital gurney. Her right arm was encased in a blue cotton sling and strapped against her body at an angle, like she was about to recite the pledge of allegiance. There was a bandage on her forehead and a tube coming out of her left arm.
“It’s nothing,” Nan said in response to my gasp. “A broken collarbone. I shouldn’t have called you.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you call me? Nan, you broke a bone!” I clutched the bed rail with both hands. “Are they going to operate?”
Alex walked around the other side of the bed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a broken collarbone, not cancer. My friend Joey broke his collarbone playing hockey last year and they didn’t even put him in a cast—just strapped his arm to his chest so he couldn’t move it. Six weeks later, he was good as new.”
“You see?” Nan said. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, not exactly nothing.”
A man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a white lab coat walked into the room and stood at the end of the bed.
“Immobility and anti-inflammatories are going to be the primary means of treatment,” he said. “Plus some physical therapy. But you’re going to have to keep that sling on for at least ten weeks, Mrs. Wilja.”
“Ten weeks? Joey got his off in six,” Nan said, looking to Alex for confirmation.
Tall-Dark-and-Doctor smiled. “Yes, but Joey’s bones are about fifty years younger than yours.”
“Gee. Thanks for the reminder,” Nan groused, in a very un-Nan-like way. “Monica, Alex, meet Mark Francatelli, spreader of good cheer and pusher of pills.”
I gave him a sideways look, asking the question with my eyes.
“She’s just feeling a little loopy,” he explained. “I prescribed something for the pain. It tends to strip away the social veneer.”
He glanced at the embroidered logo on my chef’s coat.
“You work at Café Allegro? Love that place. Been there a couple of times. Best Italian food in town, sauce like my Nonna used to make. And the gnocchi?” He clasped his hand to his chest in a gesture of rapture. “Amazing. How is it I’ve never seen you there?”
The man had gorgeous eyes. Leonardo da Vinci couldn’t have had more gorgeous eyes. Mark Francatelli. I said his name in my head, adding an old country accent. Dr. Mark Francatelli. And he’d been to my restaurant and thought it was amazing. How much more perfect could you get?
“I was probably back in the kitchen, rolling out your gnocchi and making the sauce. I’m the chef,” I said. “And the owner.”
“Really? You run a terrific restaurant. And you’re Mrs. Wilja’s daughter?”
“Nan is a friend. Her kids all live out of town.”
“Oh, I see. Well, she’s going to need some help until the collarbone heals. If she doesn’t keep the arm totally immobilized, we’ll be looking at surgery and all kinds of complications. Maybe one of the children can come and stay with her for a few weeks,” he suggested. “Or she could go and stay with them. And I understand there are quite a number of dogs in the home, right? It would probably be best if they were boarded out for the next few—”
“Excuse me,” Nan said, raising her good arm and waving it overhead. “You do realize that I’m sitting right here? And that I’ve broken my collarbone, not cracked my head? I can take care of myself, thank you. The dogs aren’t going anywhere. Neither am I.”
“But you heard Dr. Francatelli,” I said. “You’ve got to rest and give the bone time to heal.” I reached out, intending to pat her arm but changed my mind when I remembered the IV needle. “Do you want me to call Chrissy? Maybe she could stay with you.”
“And have her nag me from sunup to sundown?” Nan glared at me and Dr. Francatelli in turn. “You’ll have to amputate before I agree to that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just use the good arm. It’ll be fine.”
“But how will you dress yourself?” I asked. “And cook? And take care of the garden? The dogs?”
“Why doesn’t Nan just come stay with us?” Alex offered.
I’d been thinking the very same thing. There was just one problem. “We just don’t have room for the dogs. Nan, could somebody else foster the dogs until you’re better?”
Nan shook her head slowly, almost like she was underwater. “Nope, that’s why Donna called me. Every foster family is already full up.”
“The dogs could sleep in my room,” Alex suggested.
“Seven of them? No. Besides, they can’t be left alone all day. You’re going back to school the day after tomorrow and I’ll be at work.”
“Forget about the dogs,” Nan said groggily, staring at a corner of the ceiling. “Who let all these butterflies in here? Somebody get a net.”
“Whoa, Nan.” Alex grinned. “You are so out of it.”
“Hmmm?”
Nan looked blankly at Alex, then shifted her eyes to me. “Hey, did you hear his name? Francatelli. Italian.” She nodded knowingly. “You got a thing for Italians, right? Plus, he’s gorgeous. And single. One of the nurses told me they call him Dr. Dreamboat.”
Nan gave an exaggerated wink. Alex laughed out loud, and I planted my face into my palm. Dr. Francatelli cleared his throat.
“All righty, then. I’m just going to reduce the dosage on those painkillers.”
He pulled a prescription pad
