A Winter Without Donna

I had just imported a batch of photos onto my computer when I heard a car pull into the courtyard and the engine cut off. I checked the time: one in the morning.

Luca walked in, left the overhead light off, and loosened his tie before coming to stand behind me.

"Mark said you came by today to bring me medicine?"

"Mm," I said flatly.

"You were there and didn't even bother to let me know?" Luca asked.

I selected an overexposed photo and adjusted the settings. "You looked busy. I didn't want to interrupt."

Luca glanced at my computer, then at the camera battery charging beside it. He seemed relieved and didn't press me any further.

Perhaps he was satisfied that I hadn't seen anything. Or maybe he knew I had, but trusted me not to make a fuss.

Then Luca said, "Get the heating pad out. My shoulder's killing me."

He took off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed with his right shoulder toward me.

Whenever his shoulder hurt, I used to warm up the heating pad and leave painkillers by his pillow.

The bedroom in the first apartment where I nursed him back to health was so narrow there wasn't room for a second bed.

I'd sleep on a blanket beside him so I could hear the slightest movement.

Later, we moved here, to a larger house with a new bed. Yet he still called my name at night.

Whenever he called for me, I got up right away.

This time, though, I merely glanced at his shoulder.

His shoulder hurt, yet he'd still gone out of his way to cook for Selina.

His shoulder hurt, so he had come home for me to take care of it.

I picked up my phone and asked Sergio, the butler, to bring up the medical kit.

Luca heard me and frowned.

"Why are you calling Sergio up here?"

I answered, "I've already told him. From now on, he'll take care of these things."

I turned back to my screen. I still had a few spots to touch up on the photo.

His eyes stayed on my face.

After a moment, he tugged his shirt back up over his shoulder.

"Are you really going to keep giving me the cold shoulder just because I missed dinner?"

I didn't say anything.

He pressed a hand to his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Selina doesn't even have everything she needs at the apartment yet, and her brother's gone. I went over to check on her. What's the big deal?"

I said, "She has a chef, and people to help her get settled."

Luca paused for a few seconds, as if he didn't want to argue.

Then he tried again. "I'll stay home Sunday night. Is that enough? Tell me ahead of time what you want to eat, and I'll make it."

He waited for my reaction.

In the past, if he had made time for me like this, I would have happily agreed on the spot.

I would have rescheduled shoots, turned down my coworkers' invitations, and gone home early to wait for him.

Sometimes he came home long after dinner, but I never had the heart to ask why. I'd simply tell him to get some rest.

Yet just hours ago, he'd been cooking for Selina at her apartment.

She sat at the counter, waiting for him to bring her the pasta.

Even with his shoulder hurting, he had worried that her first bite might be too hot.

I'd stopped asking him to cook for me long ago, afraid of exhausting him or aggravating his old injury.

But there he was, in another woman's kitchen, refusing to let even the chef carry her plate.

I lowered my head and opened the next photo. I didn't want to say a word.

Just then, Sergio arrived with the medical kit. Luca told him to leave it by the bed before turning to me.

"I'm going to take a shower. Give me a hand with my shoulder when you're done."

His tone had returned to normal, as though a Sunday dinner would be enough to put everything behind us.

Once the bathroom door shut, I made no move to prepare the heating pad. I didn't even glance at the medical kit.

Instead, I uploaded the edited photos to the magazine's shared drive.

An email from the London office asked when I expected to arrive so they could arrange housing and hand over my assignments.

I opened a flight booking page.

There was a direct flight to London late Sunday night. I'd arrive Monday morning.

In the past, whenever I had to travel for work, I'd always check Luca's messages before making any plans, worried he might need me while I was away.

This time, I just bought the ticket.

As I paid, the water in the bathroom stopped.

I heard Luca call, "Irene, is the heating pad warm yet?"

I typed in the verification code.

The payment notification popped up right away.

I saved the e-ticket. For the first time, I didn't answer him.