Chapter 8 #3
Blood dripped into the sink, and her heart smiled at her daughter’s resilience.
Not for her shrinking at the sight of blood.
Bella reveled in helping, and was always asking about Gen’s patients, never squeamish when Gen described—without names—some of the cases she’d seen.
If Bella maintained her marks in school she’d make a great doctor one day.
Rain pattered against the kitchen window, the darkened skies enabling her to see her smiling reflection against the glass.
How crazy to think that the illegitimate daughter of a solo mom who worked as a cleaner might herself have a daughter who could do extraordinary things?
Thank goodness for her mom for believing in Gen, for sacrificing so much.
“Here you go.”
The cut wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but would require proper bandaging to prevent infections. There was a cuts protocol at hospital, and Gen veered a little toward paranoia to ensure she didn’t bring any nasty infections home.
She supervised as Bella applied the ointment, then the Band-Aids, before disposing of things carefully and washing her hands. “Good job. Think you might want to be a nurse one day?”
“Come on, Mom. You know I want to be a surgeon.”
“A surgeon, huh?” That would take more years of training than Gen had undergone.
Cost more, too. She’d have to hope that Bella was lucky enough to find a scholarship or five to help her through.
Even with the funding support Gen had received, she’d have medical school bills for years. Hence why she and Mom lived here.
She shuddered. Imagine if Kyle were to find out where she lived. At least it wasn’t the trailer park, anymore.
“So, want me to cut up the rest of the toppings? Seeing as you can’t be trusted with a knife,” Bella teased.
“Love you too.” Gen poured herself a wine and supervised. Fortunately none of the toppings had been blood-stained, and little actual real cutting remained to be done.
Bella loved to make the pizzas her own, complete with smiley faces outlined in pineapple chunks—something that definitely wouldn’t meet Kyle’s notions of Italian authenticity. Nor her mom’s.
As the pizzas baked they chatted about what they’d do this weekend, when Gen returned from her shorter shift tomorrow.
“And you’re looking forward to spending time at Monique’s next Monday?”
Bella nodded. “It’ll be fun.”
“Good.” And phew. Mom’s work commitments meant she’d been unable to get out of a Monday job, which had presented some problems, with Gen’s long shift and Bella still at school.
And while some people didn’t mind leaving under-ten-year-olds at home alone, she’d seen what could happen to kids left alone, and avoided it as much as possible.
So the fact that the mom of Monique, Bella’s one real friend at school, had offered to have her overnight felt like an answer to prayer. If she believed in such things.
The oven dinged, and she helped Bella retrieve the hot sheets from the oven. Minutes later they were eating.
“Mmm, this is really good.” A long stringy piece of mozzarella lifted from the plate to Gen’s mouth.
“You’re so messy, Mom.”
Gen glanced down at where her top was dotted with crumbs. “Oh well.”
Neatness wasn’t her forte when it came to eating. She was so used to having to eat on the run it’d take a month of Sundays before she slowed down enough to eat unhurriedly. Bella, by contrast, was very neat. Her heart panged. That was another quality she’d apparently derived from her father.
They watched Ella Enchanted, another of those ridiculous Disney-esque movies that suggested girls who worked hard could still win the handsome prince.
Gen knew that wasn’t true, although many people would probably look at her life and see some Cinderella comparisons.
But Bella loved it—unsurprisingly, she was a big “girl-power” fan—so Gen couldn’t say no.
Not when this was the most relaxed she’d felt all week.
Bella was asleep when Gen’s mom came home. The key in the door was always a reminder to quickly stash away any trash, and make the place look a little less lived in. Mom had always said she hated to come home to a dirty house.
“How was work?”
Mom complained, as she often did, but Gen had learned this was more her mother’s way of decompressing from the day. On Friday nights she cleaned at a local dentist after her regular shifts, and was always tired.
“How about you?”
“It was okay.” Apart from those unsettling couple of glimpses she’d had of Kyle before.
What was wrong with her that she was seeing him everywhere she turned?
First at the hospital, then outside in a seat.
It was like he’d infected her brain. She’d even imagined she’d glimpsed someone who looked like him on her street!
She glanced at her mom. Should she say anything about seeing Kyle lately?
Probably. But if she did, Mom was sure to get mad and start climbing her high horse about how that man had got away with everything.
And after the stress of the week it was just so nice to sit here, feeling calm, relaxed for once.
That conversation could wait a little longer. Even if she had a strong suspicion that it probably couldn’t wait too much more.