Chapter One
Janae Vanni Luchesi came into the world allegro. She wanted to be born worse than any child on earth.
Conceived while I was taking the pill like daily communion, Janae decided
to surprise us two weeks early.
And we weren't ready.
I was alone in our first home, a three-bedroom brick ranch in Wilmont in
Northwest Roanoke, Virginia, and I had to call Giovanni at Luchesi's Deli and Pizzeria, which is really a glorified bakery
that Giovanni and his father run on Fourth Street five miles away.
"My water broke,” I told Giovanni.
Three simple words and twenty minutes later, Giovanni carried me to that
lime-green Cadillac boat of his, and off we went, fish-tailing and swimming to the hospital.
With just my toothbrush.
He parked at the emergency entrance of Lewis-Gale Hospital in Salem and
carried me inside.
"I can walk, Giovanni,” I said.
"But you are leaking!” he shouted.
Inside, he lost it at the first desk we came to. “My wife, she is
having il bambino!"
He always breaks into Italian when he gets emotional.
"What's ill?” the countrified nurse said.
“I am having a baby,” I said with an attitude. Guess
she couldn't see the brown watermelon poking out of my yellow tent-dress. “My water broke half an hour ago.”
"Is your doctor at this hospital?”
No. We were on our way to New Jersey and just decided to drop this chap
off. “Yes. Dr. Sprague.” I felt Giovanni's arms weaken. “Could you maybe get me a wheelchair?”
"What is your name, ma'am?” the nurse asked.
She didn't believe we were in the right place. “Renee Luchesi.”
She looked from me to Giovanni. “Is this your husband?”
Are you a heifer? “Yes. Now get Doctor Sprague.” Stat!
Once our doctor found us in the waiting room, I calmed down.
Giovanni didn't, asking way too many stupid questions (“This water
breaking-it is normal?” and “Do your contractions hurt?”) and race-walking his skinny Italian behind
up and down and up that hall for no apparent reason at all.
When Mama finally arrived, Giovanni snapped at her, talking with his hands.
“I called you three hours ago! What took you so long?”
“Don't be yellin' at me, Giovanni!” Mama snapped back. “Her water
broke, that's all. It's gonna be a while.”
Thirty hours later, Giovanni looked stank, smelled stank, was
stank. While Mama sat quietly and read a few true crime books, Giovanni was worrisome, running around looking for nurses,
wiping the tiniest dot of sweat from my forehead, and practically shoving crushed ice down my throat. I was doing fine, and
once they hit me with that epidural, I was flyin'.
Then they said “C-section.”
My blood pressure rose like a rocket and shot even higher when Mama and
Giovanni argued over who should go into the operating room with me.
"I brought her into this world,” Mama shouted, “and
I can take you out!”
“Well,” Giovanni shouted back, “she's my wife
and she's going to have my child!”
“As far as you know,” Mama snapped.
"What is this 'as far as you know' business?”
“Mama's baby, daddy's maybe,” Mama said with a smirk.
"And what does that mean?”
"I'm going in alone,” I interrupted. “Both y'all gonna scare
my daughter back in!”
An hour later, with Giovanni holding my hand, Janae came screaming into
the world looking like anybody's white girl.
“She'll darken up,” Mama said later when they brought Janae
to me. “She ain't gonna be ashy like her daddy.”
It took me six weeks to get up and around afterwards.
Giovanni still hasn't recovered.
