Invitation to Italian. Tracy Kelleher

      “And the baby?”

      “Underweight and with a low Apgar score, but she’ll pull through.”

      “I presume this came as an emergency room admit?” Sebastiano said.

      Julie nodded.

      “Then you are to be commended. They were lucky that you were on call.”

      “This is not about me. This is about the fact that she had never received any prenatal checkups simply because the clinic is not open long enough during the day,” Julie decried in frustration. She threw up her hands…and bumped the glass vase. Before Julie could react, it skittered off the desk and seemed to hang suspended until it fell on the rug, thumped loudly, then bounced twice more. There was an ominous clink as it landed against the metal heater vent.

      “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” Julie rushed to retrieve the vase. She brought it back to the desk, wincing when she noticed a visible chip in the rim. “Please, I will gladly replace it.”

      “You can’t. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.” Sebastiano spoke so quietly it was clear he was seething internally.

      Julie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. I suppose it had sentimental value, too?” What a total screwup, she thought.

      “It was a gift upon my acceptance of my position here at the hospital.”

      “Oh…” Julie’s voice trailed off.

      “Never mind the vase,” Iris said behind her. Julie turned.

      Sebastiano glanced at Iris. “As a board member, I’m sure you’re well aware of its value.”

      “I never cared for it. If it had been left to me, I never would have chosen it. Black and orange may be the colors of Grantham University, but I always found the piece somewhat garish. I’ll make sure we give you something more suitable to replace it—a simple Paul Revere-style silver bowl.”

      “You’re too kind,” he said. That didn’t stop him from glaring at Julie. “But that still doesn’t eclipse Dr. Antonelli’s carelessness.”

      “Let’s move on for now,” Iris ordered, ignoring the obvious tension in the room. She turned to Julie. “I’m curious as to your comment about the clinic,” she said. “I wasn’t aware there was a problem.”

      “With all due respect to Dr. Antonelli, if I may?” He measured his words.

      Julie crossed her arms. She tapped her fingers on her elbows. She didn’t like being preempted.

      Sebastiano forged ahead. “With all due respect, the clinic is open three days a week and one evening, more than the state mandates. Moreover, the hospital maintains these hours despite the cuts in government spending.” He waited, looked at Iris, then back at Julie.

      She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She raised her hand.

      “Which way are you aiming this time?” he asked, jutting his chin out.

      Julie paused. She knew just where she’d aim. But she didn’t. Instead, she clenched her jaw. “I realize the hospital is trying to do its part for the community—but it’s simply not good enough. Here we live in one of the richest towns in the country, and we still find expectant mothers risking death due to inadequate medical care. Do we really want it written on our tombstones that we exceeded state mandates? Wouldn’t we rather be known as the local hospital that did everything it possibly could?”

      Sebastiano lowered his eyes to the blotter of his desk. He lined up his Montblanc pen exactly in the middle, parallel to the horizontal edges. “You know there are proper channels for lodging a complaint about hospital policies.” He lifted his head and focused on Julie. “An unannounced visit to my office while I am discussing business with the head of the board is not one of them.” He didn’t threaten.

      He didn’t need to.

      Julie wet her lips and realized that some of her fury was starting to seep away. Maybe it was all the hours with no sleep. Maybe it was the thought that she could lose her privileges at the hospital. And then maybe it was staring into Sebastiano Fonterra’s disturbing deep-brown eyes that finally took the wind out of her sails.

      She had felt she was right to barge in when she did. Maybe that was the problem. Too much emotion, not enough strategy. When would she ever learn?

      Julie held up her hand. “You’re right. I apologize. To you and to Mrs. Phox.”

      Iris nodded in acceptance. In fact, she seemed to have an amused look on her face. “No need to apologize, dear.”

      Julie swiveled on her clogs to leave but caught herself before she had fully turned away. “I still have to ask, though.” She couldn’t help herself.

      He waited silently.

      “How can you live with the thought that a baby could have died knowing we could and should have done more?” She peered at him closely.

      He remained standing like a man in charge, barricaded on the other side of his desk, but something about him—be it his normally entrenched aura or some indefinable spirit—appeared to contract within.

      Until finally, after what Julie felt was one of the most awkward moments of her life, he responded, “I do what I do every morning. I get up and try to do what I think is best for the future of this hospital.”

      “And you can be sure that members of the Grantham community recognize that,” Iris said in support.

      Oh, hell, who was she kidding? Julie thought. Iris was right. Sebastiano had improved things at the hospital. He appeared to have an almost miraculous green thumb when it came to raising money, and he had spearheaded interim renovations on the chemotherapy infusion clinic besides increasing the number of social workers to help patients navigate the intricacies of insurance coverage for various levels of care. Charging full steam into his office, wanting to do the best for her patients, she’d made a mess of things. “As those of us on staff at the hospital realize what you’ve done, as well,” she said belatedly.

      Suddenly she ached, inside and out, and she wasn’t sure what hurt more. She brought her hand to her cheek and rubbed it. She felt a bump. That’s right. That stupid ultrasound machine. Well, she’d have a doozy of a bruise tomorrow. That was for sure. The sooner she got out of this predicament, the better. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” she said, easing her way toward the door.

      “Before you go, Julie.” Iris caught her in midflight. “Just the other day, Sarah was showing me the baby pillow you made for little Natalie—my granddaughter,” she said by way of explanation to Sebastiano, with a beaming smile. “And then she gave me the sampler pillow you made for me. It’s beautiful, and it will definitely take pride of place in my library. And I just love the saying, ‘If I had known how much fun grandchildren would be, I would have had them first.’” She mimicked writing the words with queenlike aplomb.

      Then she turned abruptly toward Sebastiano. “You do know, of course, that Julie does absolutely magnificent needlepoint, extraordinary stitches.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “No, I learn something new every day about Dr. Antonelli.”

      “Yes…well…I have many facets, including my innate ability to run half-cocked into a situation. So, if you’ll excuse me again…” She winced. The talking was really starting to take a toll on her composure, not to mention her sore cheek.

      Sebastiano frowned. “Actually, you’re not excused. If you ladies would stay here for a moment, there’s something I need to do. I’ll be right back.” He circled the desk and left the room quickly.

      Julie looked over at Iris. “Well, that was a little weird,” she said, feeling embarrassed.

      Iris looked at Julie, then glanced over her narrow shoulder at the open door before slowly turning back to Julie. She waited a second before commenting, her pearls shining with a yellow, old-monied hue in the morning light