Anita nodded, unable to speak.
“She passed out, but she’ll be all right,” the man said.
A young woman in a thick synthetic fur came running from the café across the street, holding a paper cup. She handed it to the kneeling man, who, in the space of thirty seconds, seemed to have become the one in charge of their mother’s life. He splashed a few drops on Emilia’s face, then lifted her head, trying to make her take a sip. Her skin was white, almost translucent, and had softened like Play-Doh.
“Does your mom have low blood pressure? Do you know?” the man asked Anita. “Is she on any medications?”
Anita shook her head, terrified. She had no idea.
“Is she allergic to something? Diabetic?”
“No, no.”
More people stopped, asked questions, whispered.
Sofia burst out crying. “Is she going to die?”
The woman who had brought the paper cup stroked her hair. Anita felt a sharp, cold pain like teeth gnawing at her stomach.
“No, sweetheart. She’ll be fine, she just needs a little sugar…” the woman said, but exchanged a nervous glance with the man in charge. The woman pulled out her phone and leaned close to him.
“Should we call an ambulance?”
The man made a gesture as if to prevent the woman from saying more, as if she was overreacting.
“Let’s wait. I don’t think it’s necessary.”
He turned to the girls.
“Where is your father?” he asked with a hint of impatience. “Is he with you?”
Anita nodded slowly, as if in a trance.
“Please go get him. Now.”
Anita, without saying a word, turned around and ran back inside. She bumped shoulders with a waiter who was gathering the dirty linens from their table in a bundle. Anita ran to the end of the room, grabbed Sandro by the sleeve. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she thought it was going to crack any minute. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sofia, still sobbing, who had followed behind her.
“Please come outside and help her. She’s dying!”
Just pronouncing the word made Anita’s knees nearly give in, her vision blur. How could this happen so quickly? Was the world coming to an end? She saw the handsome blond woman’s face crumble in slow motion—the wife, who else?—but she held her gaze steadily on Sandro and kept tugging at him, her five fingers clutched around his wrist.
“Get up! We need to call an ambulance—I told you she’s dying!”
As if he were her property, she yanked him from the table. Her peripheral vision caught the stupefied expression of the grandparents and Ottavia shaking her head in despair and disbelief. As Sandro stood up she heard the girl’s voice, childish and yet strangely strident.
“Papi, where are you going….Papi, why?”
Sandro didn’t put forth any resistance; he followed the girls across the room and through the creaking doors with the restaurant’s name etched in gold in an old-fashioned font.
He couldn’t have done otherwise: this had to be the last act, the closing one.
* * *
When they reached the small crowd gathered on the sidewalk, Emilia was already sitting up. Her gaze was unfocused, otherworldly, her face drained of color. The bald man was still kneeling next to her, helping her into her leather jacket. As soon as Sandro appeared, followed by the girls, everyone made space for him to come through. The bald man stood up, shook Sandro’s hand.
“I’m a doctor—your wife just fainted. Her pulse is stable now; it could be just a hypoglycemic episode. She looks okay now but I’d take her to the emergency room, just to be safe.”
Sandro nodded slightly, not contradicting him. He and Emilia exchanged a glance. She made a gesture with her hand that shrugged off the man’s assumption. People stared, confused, at this brief interaction and at the awkward distance that remained between them. Sofia and Anita were standing behind Sandro, holding hands.
“Should we call an ambulance?” Sandro asked.
Emilia stretched her arm toward the doctor, who helped her stand up.
“No, we’ll take a taxi. It’s fine. I’m okay, really.”
She stood up. She looked beautiful and tragic, a delicate, tiny thing. The short bob of dark hair was stuck to her damp skin and the film of sweat made it glow like a pearl. The dress she was wearing was stained and crumpled. She smelled like vomit.
Sandro stood, uncertain, with too many eyes fixed on him. He looked lost.
“Are you sure? I can drive you home if—”
Emilia stopped him with her open palm.
“No. Anita will call a cab.”
She handed her bag to her daughter.
“You do that, my love.”
Right at that moment they saw a taxi come their way. Anita ran to the curb and hailed it.
“It was just a spell, nothing to worry about. Thank for your kindness,” Emilia said to the doctor, ignoring Sandro.
Sofia and Anita grabbed her hands from each side and led her toward the taxi. Before getting in, Emilia turned toward Sandro, who was still standing on the sidewalk.
“Could you take care of the check? I forgot to pay the bill.”
As the car drove off Anita turned around and gave a last look at Sandro through the rear window. He was surrounded by the few onlookers who had come to Emilia’s rescue, looking lost, like an actor who has forgotten his lines and has no clue as to what to do next.
* * *
In the back of the taxi Anita and Sofia huddled against Emilia. Anita pressed her body as close as possible to her mother’s and sniffed her.
“You stink,” she said and repressed a giggle.
Emilia looked out of the window.
“I know. I’m disgusting.”
Sofia whispered into the curve of her mother’s neck, “Can we all take a bath when we get home?”
Emilia nodded and ran her hand through Sofia’s hair.
“Today it’s Anita’s birthday and you both get to do everything you want,” she said. “But only for twenty-four hours, remember. Then I’m the boss again.”
She leaned back on the headrest and closed her eyes. Her breathing got deeper almost instantly. Astonishingly, she had fallen asleep. Anita stared at the miracle of her mother’s chest rising and falling, at the faint beat of her pulse visible through the inside of her wrist. As if moved by a mysterious instinct, Anita reached for the soft spot beneath Emilia’s neck, the small, hollow dent right between her collarbones. She placed two fingertips on it, feeling the warmth of the veins pumping blood into her mother’s heart, and left them there, as if conjuring a powerful spell. A magical trick that, she believed, would disperse everyone’s unhappiness and keep them safe forever and ever, till the end of time.