"Please..." I whispered into Regan's neck. "Please..."

Waves of ecstasy throbbed through me with every movement, every touch, finally exploding in a downpour of fiery sensation. Regan and I lay together, shutting out the rest of the world.

Before succumbing to the numbed sleep of satisfied lovers, a pang of guilt chipped away at my present state of bliss when thoughts of Rosetti surfaced in my mind. Being with Regan was wonderful, but I couldn't ignore the heartrending voice in the back of my mind warning me that I had just made a big mistake.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

When Regan left my apartment that morning, it was with the promise that we would get together again soon. That was a promise I was beginning to regret. When I closed the door behind her, a wave of relief swept over me that she was finally gone. What had I been thinking the night before? Am I that immature that I can't keep my hormones in check for one night? I must have been crazy to want to get involved with that woman again. Considering the circumstances, getting back into a relationship with Regan would be disastrous. I sat on the couch with my head in my hands, trying to sort all this out.

And then there was Rosetti. It had been two days and still no word from her. This fact really intensified the guilt I had felt the night before. Rosetti had asked me to take care of her mom if anything should happen to her. Although I didn't want to believe that anything had happened to her or ever would, for that matter. I had some spare time before I had to be at work, and I felt I needed to begin fulfilling that promise. Maybe it would relieve some of the guilt, too.

I walked over to the nursing home and rode the elevator up to the second floor. This is where Rosetti and I had met. Teresa Rosetti came here to die, as she had terminal cancer that had spread throughout her body. That was over five years ago. Her cancer was in remission, and if I hadn't believed in miracles before I met Teresa Rosetti, I surely believed in them now.

"Hi, Mrs. Rosetti. How are you?" I walked over to Teresa's bed and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Mina, it's good to see you," she said, grabbing my face with both hands and kissing me on both cheeks. Teresa was a tiny woman with a thick Italian accent. Her short curly gray hair and thick lensed glasses, which were too big for her face, always made me think she looked like Sophia on "The Golden Girls."

"Sorry I haven't been here in a while."

"I know...I know...you're a busy girl...big shot doctor and all," Teresa said, pride beaming in her voice. "Have you seen that crazy daughter of mine? Three days, she no come to see her mother. What the hell is wrong with her?"

"She's working, Mrs. Rosetti."

"Working? She's always working. She works too hard...like a man...always working."

"She's working a special assignment, so I told her I would check in on you. Is that okay?"

"Sure, okay."

"So how are you doing?"

"I'm a good...except for a little crease pain every once in a while...I feela pretty good," Teresa said, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.

"Crease pain? What's crease pain?"

"You don't know about crease pain? What kind of doctor are you?" Teresa laughed.

"Crease pain is here," Teresa said, placing her hands in her groin where her legs joined her hips. See...in a the creases...crease pain."

"Oh, now I see," I said, holding in the laughter. I loved this woman's logic. I could see where Rosetti got her way of thinking. "I never thought of that area of the body that way. You know, Mrs. Rosetti, I learn something new every day."

Teresa smiled proudly.

"So can I get you something for your...crease pain?" I asked. "I'm sure the nurses have some Tylenol or something that might help."

Teresa shook her head. "No, I'm a okay. The pain...it comes and goes. I don't worry about it so much."

"Nothing else hurts?" I asked, giving Teresa a quick medical look over. "No chest pain, no trouble breathing?"

Teresa shook her head.

"Good," I said. "I'm glad you're doing okay. I'll let Rosemary know you're doing well."

"Where did you say my daughter is? You know I haven't seen her in days," Teresa said.

"She's working on a special assignment for work. She should be finished in a day or two. I told her I would check in on you."

Teresa nodded.

"Have you had any other visitors?" I tried to make conversation.

"The Girl Scouts came the other day. They were dressed up for Halloween and went around to all the rooms and gave us candy. I feel bad I didn't have anything to give them."

"Oh, I don't think they expected you to give them anything. I think it's nice that they came to visit."

Teresa nodded. "I gave my candy to Otis. You know that crazy guy that rides around in the wheelchair with the cowboy hat. He thinks he's John Wayne or something."

I couldn't help but smile. I knew Otis. He was quite a character. When I worked here, the Girl Scouts came one day to sing to the residents. Otis, not wanting to miss the concert, came out of his room dressed only in his cowboy hat and scared the crap out of the troop and their leader. I remember dropping his hat in his lap and wheeling him back to his room to get him dressed.

"Have your sons been up to see you lately?"

"No. My boys...ay..." she gestured with her hands, "they live a too far away." Sadness clouded Teresa's face.

"So you must miss your sons."

Teresa nodded. "I miss my Gianni. He's a good boy. You know he calls me every week. That's a big deal for a boy...to call his mother like that."

"I see." I knew all too well about the bond between an Italian mother and her sons. The boys in an Italian family were treated like kings. Their mothers shined their shoes, ironed their clothes, cooked their meals, and basically took care of them well into their thirties and forties, until they got married. An Italian mother would stick up for her son no matter what. I remember reading an article about a mobster who was convicted of killing and maiming several people over a weeklong crime spree. After the trial, they interviewed his seventy-four-year-old mother, who defended her son by saying that he was a good boy and they must have the wrong guy. When the interviewer told the woman what her son had done, she sat quietly for a moment as if letting the reality of her son's crimes sink in. To the interviewer's surprise, the woman's only comment was, "Oh, I wondered why he didn't show up for Sunday dinner that week."

"Do you hear anything from Tony?"

"Ay, Tony...mister big shot. He's too busy to call his mother." Teresa waved her hands in the air, obviously upset at the mention of her eldest son.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, wishing I'd never brought up the subject. I always wondered why Rosetti never talked much about her brothers. Seeing Teresa's reaction to asking about Tony made me think there was more to it than a lack of communication on their part.

"Even that wife of his...you'd think they'd want to know if I was alive or dead...nothing, not a phone call or a letter...nothing."

"Well, I'm sure they think about you. After all, you are their mother. Being so far away, it can be hard for them to visit." I tried to smooth things over.

Teresa leaned back against her pillow with her arms crossed across her chest. She looked like a stubborn kid sulking. I couldn't help but smile.

"I have some errands to run before I go into work. Do you need anything at the store?" I asked.

"I don't know...I'm outta that stuff for the teeth." Teresa tapped her crooked arthritic finger on her front teeth. "I usually get it at the gift shop downstairs, but they ran out."

"Okay, so you need toothpaste?"

"No...no...not a toothpaste. You know that glue stuff," she said, baring her dentures at me. I heard her loose dental plates click together.

"Denture Grip?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it."

"Okay, I'll pick some up for you. Anything else?"

"I need a birthday card. Get a nice one, those ones they sell in the gift shop here are cheap. And maybe some decent food. The chef they got here knows nothing about cooking. Her spaghetti sauce tastes like watered-down ketchup." Teresa made a face.

"I'll see what I can do," I said. "But you know, I'm not that great a cook, either."

"I know, Rosemary told me."

Her comment made me chuckle. Rosetti had a lot of nerve talking trash about my cooking because she was no Julia Child herself.

"When I get outta this place, I'm gonna teach you girls how to cook. How do you expect to catch a man if you can't cook?"

That comment made me laugh even more. If only Teresa knew neither one of us was interested in catching a man.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing...I'll be sure to tell Rosemary about the cooking lessons. It will give us both something to look forward to."

"You tell that daughter of mine that it wouldn't kill her to take a day off once in a while."

"I will, Mrs. Rosetti. And I'll stop back with your Denture Grip before I go into work this afternoon."

"Tank you, Mina. You a good girl," Teresa said, cupping my face in her hand.

I kissed Teresa on the cheek and said goodbye. I loved visiting Teresa. She could always make me laugh, just like Rosetti. It was one of the reason's Rosetti and I were such good friends.

Another pang of guilt thumped in my heart. I quickly banished the thought. I couldn't deal with this now. Anyway, Rosetti was nowhere to be found, and that in itself was unnerving. Had we really started something before she left? Given what had happened between me and Regan the night before, the budding romance with Rosetti seemed so far away and unreal. Being with Regan again had brought back a lot of memories. It felt so right being with her, so why did I feel so guilty? Why when the more Regan became available to me did I want to push her away? In my heart, I knew Regan wasn't good for me, but for some reason, I couldn't let it go. Would I choose Rosetti over Regan? Would I even have a choice? Were both relationships nothing but an unreachable dream?

As I drove downtown to the store, I was wondering why Rosetti, the out and proud lesbian that she was, still found it impossible to tell her mother she was gay. She always told me how lucky I was to be out to my family. She said she envied that, especially since my family seemed to be doing okay with it. She said that even though her brothers knew about her, she could never tell her mother. When I asked her why, she said it would probably kill Teresa to know her daughter was a lesbian. Rosetti said Teresa would blame herself for her daughter's choice of lifestyle. She didn't want her mother carrying that guilt around with her the rest of her life, so she never told her. Knowing Teresa, I don't think her feelings for her daughter would change one bit if she knew Rosetti was gay, but I could understand Rosetti's hesitation. We always fear losing those we love the most.

I stopped at the Rexall drugstore and picked up Teresa's Denture Grip, then headed over to Giuseppe's Italian store to bring back some good Italian lunch to Teresa. Giuseppe's reminded me of the mom and pop grocery stores my grandmother used to take me to on Saturday mornings. Giuseppe's had the long glass deli counter where orbs of provolone cheese hung by thick twine overhead. Freshly butchered chickens lay next to trays of mozzarella balls that floated in milky water next to bowls of olive and roasted red pepper salad. The smell of fresh baked bread and pasta sauce was making me hungry. My stomach rumbled. I ordered a cavatelli and meatball dinner for Teresa and a "Dino" for myself. "Dino"-named after Dean Martin-was one of the names Giuseppe gave his sandwiches. Other Italian delicacies were the "Frank Sinatra," which was a rib-eye steak sandwich with hot peppers, and the "Godfather," which was filled with cabacole, pepperoni, hot peppers, tomatoes, and smothered in provolone cheese. The "Dino," my favorite, was a turkey and roasted red pepper sandwich on a fresh Italian roll. The roll it came on was so fresh, it was still warm. I couldn't wait to dig in, so I ate the sandwich on the way back to the nursing home.

"Hey, you back already," Teresa said, looking up from "The Price is Right" on TV.

"Yes, here's your Denture Grip, and oh, I brought you a little surprise."

I took the aluminum foil lid off the warm pasta. "These are from Giuseppe's. I thought you might like them for lunch." I handed Teresa a white plastic fork.

Tears formed in Teresa's eyes. It was like someone gave her a million dollars instead of a $2.99 pasta lunch. Teresa dug in, moaning with each forkful.

"This sauce is pretty good. It's not my sauce, but it's a pretty good," she said between mouthfuls.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

"No thanks. I ate a turkey sandwich earlier."

"Look at you...you're too skinny. Here, take a taste."

Teresa stabbed a few cavatellis on her fork and offered them to me. I took a bite.

"Yes, that is good. But I'm still pretty full from my sandwich."

"Too bad," Teresa said. "But that only means more for me." She laughed.

I watched Teresa as she ate. I couldn't stop thinking of Rosetti. About how I missed her and how I may have damaged our friendship by what had transpired the night before between me and Regan.

Teresa finished off the entire meal in ten minutes. She dabbed at her orange sauce-stained lips with the white paper napkin that had come with her meal.

"Why the long face?" Teresa asked.

"Oh," I said, surprised that Teresa noticed. "I've had a lot on my mind lately. You know, work and stuff." I tried to gloss over the issue.

"Like what?"

"Things have been busy at work."

"Yeah, what else?"

Reluctantly, I went on. "A...friend of mine...I haven't heard from her in a few days, and I'm worried about her," I said, not sure Teresa would catch on that I was talking about her daughter.

Teresa made the sign of the cross. She reached over to her nightstand and picked up her crystal rosary beads. "I'll say a prayer for your friend," Teresa said. "Sometimes it's the only thing we can do for the ones we love."

What if something did happen to Rosetti? Would I be standing here someday telling Teresa what the chief had to tell Pam Grier's mother? The possibility of that happening seemed too real at this moment.

"I better get going." I headed toward the door of Teresa's room. "I'll stop in tomorrow to see how you're doing."

Teresa looked in the bag the Denture Grip came in. "Hey, what about the birthday card?"

"Oh, Teresa, I'm sorry. I forgot the card. I can pick one up tomorrow if you like."

"Tat's okay. I don't need it right away," Teresa said. "Tank you for the cavatellis, Mina."

"You're welcome." I made a mental note to pick up the card for Teresa.

As I walked down the hall toward the elevator, I realized how much I missed working at the nursing home. I missed the people I took care of here. Some were still there and some were gone. In all my years as a nurse and even now as a resident, this was the one place where I felt I made a true difference in people's lives.