11. Chapter 10 Ginevra
Isneak into my home around six in the morning, hoping to get in before my mother wakes. The door smacks into the vacuum that I placed there in a rush while trying to clean the house which I never finished. The chaos of clutter is the first thing I see before her rocking chair comes into view. She has moved it from its position looking out the window to a spot facing the front door and wakes the moment I step one foot inside.
“Ginevra, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
She could have called me. “I’m sorry, Mom. I slept over at Eva’s. She was lonely with her parents gone and her brothers were ganging up on her.” I’m hoping she will take it easy with me since I was with the Morettis.
She sighs, moving her blanket off her legs. When did she get so tiny and fragile?
“Ginevra, I’m sick,” she says, her voice low.
I drop my purse on the ground and close the door before I’m at her side. “Do you have a fever?”
I press my wrist to her forehead to see if she’s warm. She has been in and out of the doctor for the last year, but no one can figure out what’s causing her to feel so bad.
“I’m not that type of sick, darling.” She pats my hand, her eyes looking tired and sad. I have a hard time remembering my mother happy.
“Is it a cold?” I ask, confused. I haven’t heard her coughing.
“I’m the type of sick that won’t get better.”
I stand there looking down at her while trying to process what she’s trying to tell me.
“What are you talking about?” My voice falters as I stare at her, and she stands.
Her limbs shake as she moves. “Look at me, Ginevra.” She motions to her paper-thin skin. “I haven’t been healthy for years now. You must have noticed.”
“It’s just your depression. We’ll get through this together. A warm cup of tea will make you feel better.” My fingers fumble with each other and I pick at the rough edge of my thumb, trying to tear the flaking skin off. She just needs a few days of sunshine and she’ll be fine. “I’ll get the water ready.”
Her hand reaches out, grabbing mine. “This is more than that. Honey, I have cancer.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. I have to blink a bunch of times to push back the tears that want to advance forward. It’s an immediate response the moment I see my mother’s tears.
My heart thunders so hard it shakes my entire body. “No. We will get another opinion. We’ll fight this.” I grab my phone and start searching for doctors.
My mother’s wrinkled hand rests on mine. I slowly lift my eyes to hers, fighting against the tears that want to war their way through. I will not cry in front of my mother. I’m the strong one in our family.
“Are you terminal?” I ask, my voice cracking at the end as my emotions get the better of me.
She shakes her head at me. “My sweet girl, we all die someday.”
A rogue tear slips over my lashes and I use my palm to wipe it away. “How long?” I demand, growing angry that she never confided in me before. She gave up before we could fight.
“A few months, at best.” Her voice trembles and it breaks my heart.
My tears are flowing over my cheeks and she rips her gaze from mine, sitting back down in her chair. My stomach drops and I feel sick the moment I realize she’s not going to be here forever. By next Christmas, she’ll be gone. I’ll no longer have a mother. No more parents. I’ll be alone. It’s not like Jude is home much anymore.
“You should have told me sooner.” The pleading in my voice is shameful, I should be strong for her, but I’m too weak for that.
“There was nothing we could have done then, and I know you. You would have quit school and would have never made anything of yourself. I’m proud of you, Ginevra, and I’m not sure I ever say that enough.” The moment she says it, I know it’s true.
“That’s the most unfair thing you can say,” I lash out, frustrated that she refused to ask for help.
“I love you, Ginevra.” She closes her eyes, and a moment later, I can hear her small snores. I stand over her and kick myself for never asking more questions. I should have seen something was wrong, more than depression.
I suck on the inside of my cheek, feeling my frown heavy on my face. Even though it’s the weekend, I was planning on going into work, but the solitude of that is no longer comforting.
With a heavy sigh, I pick up my purse and get back into my car. A good drive will help to clear my head. I just need to think of a way to get my mother to see reason, to see there’s still a chance to fight the cancer. To give her a reason to want to stick around. Then she’ll come around.
The heavily populated rows of suburban houses become more spread out until I hit the highway. The city high-rises are behind me as I drive away with no clear location in mind. I weave through the high-speed roads until a sign catches my attention, pointing toward the smaller towns.
Jude used to tell me that when my father was alive, we used to take random drives like these as a family. I pick up my phone, going into recent calls to phone my brother. Like all the other times, he doesn’t pick up.
“Jude, Mom’s dying.” My voice breaks. “Come home, ya jerk. We need you. I need you.” Figures. I wasn’t expecting him to answer. I just hope he comes home soon. I hate when he disappears, and lately he’s been doing these disappearing acts for longer and longer.
My car slows, even as I press the gas, and it makes a spitting type of sound. I glide the slowing car to the shoulder of the busy highway before it comes to a complete stop. Looking down at the dashboard, my gas tank is empty.
I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. This is just my luck these days. My eyes are tired and sore, even though I’ve done nothing to warrant it. The stress of my life sits heavily on my chest and all I want to do is cry. Cars fly past me at high-speeds.
This time, I don’t hold back. I let my tears out, along with the loud, ugly sobs my throat releases. I cry so hard it’s impossible to see anything. My vision is clouded with salty water. My shoulders release their tension, but the weight on my chest is still there. At least I’m able to breathe better. I’m just so tried. Tired of having to be everyone’s rock.
When my tears dry up, I flip my mirror down and try to clean up my face. The task is hopeless. My eyes are red and swollen, my face has black streaks of mascara, and half my makeup is smeared off in different places along my cheeks. I’m a mess. I just want someone to hug me and not make me say anything.
I pick up my phone, searching for the nearest gas station. It would be a half hour walk at least. My eyes follow the flow of traffic. It’s too dangerous to walk along this stretch of road. My hand rubs down my face, not knowing what to do.
I turn my phone in my hands, having no one to call for help. Well, there is one person that I keep circling back to. Soren would come and get me. It would take one call and he’d drop everything to help, but then I’d be in his debt, and that’s no place I need to be.
Over and over, my phone turns in my hands until I convince myself I have no other option. I press dial on his number and he answers in half a ring, like he was already planning to press down on his phone, but then my call showed up.
“Gin?” he answers, confused.
“Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks, picking up on my crappy attitude.
“I ran out of gas, but I’m about an hour from the city. I pulled off to the shoulder of the highway.” I wait for him to make fun of me, or tell me I should have been smarter, but it doesn’t come.
“I’m on my way. Send me your location.” Thankfully, he hangs up, not wanting to have a conversation while he drives this way.
It’s windy outside, but the sun is shining, making my car warm on the inside. The bright sun beams warm my skin and I close my eyes against the glare. I wish I had a pumpkin latte right now. That is my last thought as I drift asleep.
I’m startled awake by a loud bang on my car window and I scream, propelling myself forward and hitting the steering wheel, having forgotten I’m in my car. I look to the left to find Soren’s gorgeous-yet-furious glare on me.
Why did I even call him?
He opens the door, demanding, “Why the fuck is your car not locked? You were sleeping; anyone could have walked up to you. I had to knock ten times before you even stirred. Jesus Christ, Ginevra!”
I sniffle a bit from my nose being blocked by my cry fest from earlier and his brow furrows before softening. That look is worse than his glare. I turn my head, not wanting to look at him right now.
I hear him crouch down, his presence less looming, and his fingers rest on my chin. Gently, he moves my chin to his level.
His normally black irises are a warm chocolate brown as he searches for something. I tuck my lips between my teeth, feeling my tears wanting to surface once again. I thought I’d cried them all out, but here they are, trying to fight their way to the surface.
I shake my head, not saying a word for fear that the moment I speak, I’ll cry all over again. I refuse to allow Soren to see me this way. He will ridicule me for years after this.
My seat moves all the way back before Soren scoops me up like I’m a doll and drops his body on the seat with me sitting on him. He holds me tightly, almost making it hard to breathe. I fight the feeling of safety he provides and try to get out of the car, but his grip never wavers. I stay firmly planted in his lap.
I close my eyes, still warring against my tears, but they slip through no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut. They cascade over my lashes and down my cheeks silently.
“Just let it out.” Soren’s voice is soft and sweet, making this all so much harder. It’s the gentle touch of his lips on my forehead that is my breaking point. I take in a deep breath and a sob breaks loose from deep within my throat. Soren’s hand brushes over my side in a comforting gesture, and never once does he tell me to stop. He doesn’t say anything, but maintains his strong hold on me.
The cool breeze flutters across my skin, but Soren’s body heat keeps me from being cold. I finish crying and wiggle to free myself, and this time his hold loosens but he doesn’t let me go entirely. I’m able to flip down my visor mirror and the image of red swollen eyes stares back at me.
“You’re beautiful no matter what,” Soren compliments.
I flip the visor up. “Thank you for coming.”
Soren’s grip finally relents and I get out of the car.
“Did someone hurt you?” His words linger and that protectiveness that darkens his eyes whenever he’s ready to burn the world down for his sister shines brightly in his eyes.
“No,” I sigh.
He nods, not prodding further, and I’m not sure he believes me. I glance behind my car, seeing a new truck I’ve never seen him drive before idling behind us.
“There’s a gas station about a half hour away,” I mention. “We can probably get a gas can and come back.”
“No.”
“What?” My head jerks back and I look over my shoulder at him.
“I’m not letting you drive in your condition. I’ll make one of my employees come to get your car. You’ll have it before work on Monday.” Soren’s voice is stern, leaving no room for argument, and I’m too tired to fight him on it.
He goes around to the back of his truck and pulls out a gas can. I take a moment to study him as his attention is on filling my car up with gas. The task seems so natural to him, and yet, I’ve never pictured him as the get-your-hands-dirty type of vehicle owner. I wonder if he knows how to change oil and do all those types of things.
I can’t get his words from the other night out of my head. What have I ever done to you? I’m starting to think I’ve been wrong about Soren. Is it possible he’s been my scapegoat for hating the fact I don’t remember my father? Do I blame his family, and Soren is just the easiest of them to lash out at? Have I been the one in the wrong all this time?
I walk around the truck, taking note that it doesn’t even have plates on it, before getting in on the passenger side. “You know, driving with no plates will get you a ticket. It doesn’t matter what your last name is.” I cringe at my tone, not meaning for it to come out so harsh.
Soren chuckles, reversing before turning us around. “I just picked this beauty up from the dealership. They’ll give me more than a few hours of grace, I’m sure. And let’s be honest, I don’t care about a ticket.”
A few hours? Did he buy this truck just to come get me? I look at his profile as he drives. No, it has to be a coincidence.
Instead, I ask, “Why do you need a truck when you have a motorcycle and a car?”
“Neither of them are appropriate for packing around a gas can.” He shrugs, not looking at me, keeping his eyes on the road.
My heart soars at his answer. He bought the truck to come help me. I look out the window, feeling the creep of a blush start at my neck and work its way into my cheeks. I know Soren calls himself heartless, but how can he be when he’s come to save me twice in twenty-four hours?
I don’t have time for silly crushes that will lead nowhere. I’m too busy working to take care of my family. A part of me never wants to know what love feels like. I never want to be so devastated that I can’t go on when that love doesn’t last. I can’t allow myself to become my mother.