July 12, 1997
Claudia Zacchara Mancusi winced when a new wave of chills raged against her aching muscles. She was in agony and she had learned the hard way that it was only worse if she tried to move. Despite that she almost smiled when she heard her husband recount how annoyed his mother was that the annual summer exodus to the lake house had been put on hold due to her condition. So sorry if my impending death interfered with your vacation, Isabella. Why don't you just pound some sand?
"But you know Mama, if it isn't all about her then she isn't having it," Bobby said.
Claudia did know that. The ironic thing was that having a self-centered and selfish mother in law was often more convenient than off putting. While Isabella was busy making it all about her, Claudia was free to just exist which was welcome change from life as Anthony Zacchara's daughter. As she reflected on that, once again, everything seemed to fade to black.
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Isabella Mancusi clutched her rosary as she exited the confessional. With a somber expression pasted on her face, she took several steps through the narthex into the candle altar in the sanctuary. There she bowed her head, then lit the luminary candle for her precious younger son, Eric Matthew Mancusi.
It had been exactly eleven years since Eric had died in the ICU at Chicago Mercy. The police had assured her that her son had died a hero. They had explained that he had interrupted a robbery and created a distraction to allow the owner of the small corner grocery, a father with two little boys of his own, to escape unharmed. That man had even come to her son's funeral, with his wife who had shown Isabella pictures of their sweet little boys. The pictures had reminded her of when Bobby and Eric had been little.
When she stepped back from the altar, Isabella felt clammy and short of breath. She clutched at her chest as waves of familiar fluttering heaviness overcame her. Gasping and panting she fumbled in her purse and hit her life alert pendant to summon the ambulance.