Safe Harbor Read Online Free Page A

like a trusted family member.
    Knocking first to make sure she wouldn’t be walking in on Dorothy, Stevi gave the housekeeper to the count of twenty before opening the door. That’s when Stevi remembered that the housekeeper had gone for a much-needed rest to visit with friends in Ohio. Stevi slipped in, then quickly closed the door behind her.
    Dorothy’s small room would have made a nun’s quarters look almost frivolous. The only visible item that was in the least bit personal was a framed photograph that had been taken a couple of Christmases ago in the reception area by one of the guests. Dorothy and the entire Roman family, including Cris’s son, Ricky, were standing in front of a ten-foot Christmas tree.
    The sewing box she was looking for was next to the only upholstered chair in the room. Both faced the window for better light, she guessed.
    Opening the sewing box quickly, Stevi picked up a spool of white thread and a needle that looked to be of average thickness and length. Pausing, she wondered if Silvio would rather use a thinner needle. Or a thicker one? Unable to decide, she took three and hoped she wasn’t missing something obvious.
    She quickly closed the sewing box, leaving it where she found it.
    She opened the door just a crack to make sure no one was passing by. Most people were either still in their rooms or had gone to the dining area for breakfast, which meant she was relatively safe, she reasoned, as she slipped out of Dorothy’s room and hurried back to her own.
    “Got it,” she declared, leaning against the door she’d just closed, looking for all the world like a fugitive who had outrun her pursuer.
    “Did you have to drive into town to get it?” Silvio asked. His eyes remained on the unconscious patient as he held out his hand to her.
    “It wasn’t easy to find,” she answered defensively. Coming forward, she placed the spool of thread in his hand. When he looked at her quizzically, she produced the three needles. He took the midsize one.
    Silvio had already used the alcohol and gauze to wash the area around the wound and to try to stem the flow of blood.
    As she watched, he measured out a length of thread, snapped it away from the spool and threaded the needle after first dousing it with alcohol.
    Then, with a sure hand, he methodically sewed up the man’s wound. With each stitch he took, he spared a glance toward the unconscious man’s face, waiting for some sort of reaction or sign that he was waking up. But the man continued to be unconscious.
    Mercifully, Stevi thought, the stranger wasn’t awake to feel the needle.
    Finished with his handiwork, Silvio bit the end of his thread.
    The stitches were small, neat and parallel. Gardeners, she was certain, didn’t know how to sew like that. Most people didn’t sew like that.
    She looked at the man she had known almost from the very beginning of her life. What he had just demonstrated took training.
    “Silvio?” she said uncertainly.
    “Yes?” he responded, a guarded note in his voice.
    “Where did you learn to sew like that?”
    He shrugged. “I had a mother who was too busy to take care of the seven children she had given birth to, so I did what I could to help out.”
    Stevi frowned. The stitches were more professional than those of a child who was desperate.
    “And you sewed their clothes?” she asked, trying to coax more out of him.
    “Sometimes,” he said with another shrug. “I also might have learned how to do that while I worked at the hospital.”
    She really hadn’t known what sort of work Silvio had done in a hospital in his past. She’d made a few assumptions, she now realized. This was not the skill set of an orderly or a janitor.
    Just who was this man her father had taken in all those years ago?
    “Silvio?” she pressed.
    “Yes?” His back was to her as he tried to make his patient as comfortable as possible.
    Placing his fingers against the man’s pulse, he silently counted the beats, then