The Turning Point (21 page)

“I love you, Soph. You’re going to be all right. And when you get off that plane tomorrow, I’ll have my arms and lips ready.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

W
heeling my carry-on behind me, I pulled up to the end of the security line. I wouldn’t be going anywhere quick. One would think the city was being evacuated with the number of people flying out today. This place was packed.

With a sigh, I dug through my bag, pulling out my travel documents so I’d be ready when I needed them. I was antsy to get home. The more distance I put between Lucas and me, the easier it would be to get back to reality. With all of Mom’s talk of fairy godmothers and magic wands last night, I realized my summer in Italy had been the fairy tale. I’d lost sight of what was real and let myself get carried away. I needed to go home; then everything would be fine.

I shuffled forward.

With each step I took, my legs grew heavier. My heartbeat pounded in my ears the closer I got to the front of the line. I might as well have been standing in quicksand, because I was sinking.

Instead of focusing on the excitement of going home—getting to see Mom and Nonna—my mind replayed the time Lucas and I spent together.

I inched forward despite the bog of memories.
It had only been six weeks. How can six weeks’ worth of memories weigh this much?

Lucas’s dimple and smiling eyes ran through my head, as did other things I loved about him: the way he slept with one foot poking out of the covers…the way his not-awake voice broke through the silence late at night…his exuberance to try new things without any fear…his deep, throaty laugh that segued into a cough when he got excited…his gentle, yet firm touch…the way he kissed me, like I was something precious to behold, and with the simple act of our lips touching, the planet would continue to orbit.

I flipped open my messenger bag again and yanked out my phone. Memories were often subject to tricks of the mind. Our brains had a unique way of distorting the truth, especially when our hearts decided to get involved. Maybe it would help shift things into perspective if I looked at a picture of him; I’d see the Lucas in the photograph, not the idealized, flawless creation my brain had conjured in his absence.

I scrolled through some landscapes of Capri, a picture Lucas took of me sticking my tongue out after sampling some terrible gelato, a photogenic dish of lemon shrimp cream pasta Lucas and I shared, and the selfie we’d taken as we passed through Lovers Arch on the way to the Blue Grotto.

My heart sank. Staring at the photo didn’t reset my opinion of “the real Lucas.” My brain hadn’t raised maudlin notions of the time we’d shared.

It was real. Everything.

The warmth of his hand on my cheek, the whisper of his breath at my ear, the brush of his smile against mine, the gravitational pull of his eyes, and the anchoring of my heart with his.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I gasped, looking up from the photo. An older woman started at me, irritation bleeding from her eyes. “Move ahead,” she commanded, gesturing to the large gap in front of me.

Move ahead. Yes. That’s what I should do. I took a tentative step forward and stopped.

Move ahead? Is that what I want to do?

Behind me, the lady groaned.

I’m having a crisis of conscience here. Didn’t she understand that?

What had I done?

“Spostarsi!”
she shouted. “Move!”

I glanced at her, taking another step forward in line. As I closed the gap, little truths echoed in my head, voices…Mom, Nonna, and Dad’s nurse Lydia, all of them intertwined with Lucas’s.

I will always love your father,
Mom said.

Your dad loves you, Sophia,
Nonna affirmed.

He left because he didn’t want you to watch him die
, Lydia confided.

I love you,
Lucas dreamed out loud.

But Lydia’s words were the punch to my gut. Dad had walked out on me all those years ago, and I’d just done the exact same thing to Lucas.
For
the same reason.

I was my dad. I finally understood him.

Sometimes, in order to move ahead, you have to go backward.

“Excuse me!” I shouted, whipping my head around. Staring at the annoyed lady behind me, she cocked her head, clearly exasperated. “I have to leave.” Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I squeezed past her. “Excuse me. Thank you.”

She stepped aside but grumbled something in Italian. If I had to guess, it probably wasn’t very nice.

Once I got beyond her, I continued to the back of the line, elbowing my way through a throng of travelers, trying not to roll my suitcase over anyone’s feet. “
Scusi
…pardon me…,” I apologized.

Clearing the bustle, I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. I had no clue what I was doing, but I did know I needed to call Lucas.

With my suitcase in one hand, I started walking while I searched my phone for Lucas’s number. I walked with purpose, in a hurry to get somewhere quiet.

I alighted on Lucas’s name and tapped it just as I ran full steam ahead into something solid and unmoving.

“
Umph
—” I groaned, my breath rushing out of my lungs from the impact. Large, strong hands gripped my shoulders, absorbing some of the impact.

I looked up and saw two cobalt eyes boring into mine.

His ringtone sounded, a high-pitched staccato.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I gasped. “Lucas!” How was he here? How did he find me? I just ran into him, again. How is that possible?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Sophia.” He let go of me and stepped back, putting a polite distance between us. His tone was cold, detached. Hurt.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He lifted his hand and glanced at the incoming call. I caught a glimpse of my name at the top of the screen.

Oh, shit!
I’d called him. I fumbled with my phone and stabbed my thumb at the bottom, ending the call. “Sorry.”

His expression softened slightly. “You were calling me?”

“Uh…yeah.” My reply came out sounding more like a question, but I couldn’t help it. I’d just been knocked for a loop. I was reeling. Coherent thought was impossible at the moment. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t that hard, Sophia. I knew when you were flying out; we’d talked about it.”

Oh. Right. “Um…”

Now’s your chance, Sophia. Spill your guts, tell him how stupid you were, what an idiot you are. Tell him you love him,
the voice in my head demanded.

“Why are you here?”

“Why were you calling me?” he countered.

So many reasons ran through my head, but I couldn’t verbalize one. “Uh…” I just stuttered.

Lucas clutched my elbow and tugged, leading us out of the middle of a busy thoroughfare. “Let’s get out of the way.” Dozens of people filtered around us, hurrying in all directions.

“You forgot something,” he said, holding up a necklace.

St. Raphael dangled between us.

“Oh my goodness, thank you.” My heart swelled. I put my palm at the bottom of the pendant. Lucas dropped the chain, and it pooled in my hand.

“When I woke up the other day, I expected to see you but had a nice view of the night table instead. That was lying on it.” He nodded, regarding the contents of my hand. “Then I rolled over, thinking maybe you were on the other side of me, and I found this.” He dug in his back pocket and pulled out the note I had left him.

“You know what sucks about this whole situation?” he asked with a humorless chuckle. “I broke my own damn rule. I expected. I expected to wake up with you next to me and when you weren’t there…” He trailed off.

“You were disappointed,” I finished.

He blinked a couple times, his eyes a furious blue. “Damn fucking right I was disappointed. Against my better judgment, I let myself hope for something, and once again, all I got was disappointment.”

So much hurt bled from his eyes. I wanted to erase the last forty-eight hours, go back and make it so he’d wake up to my face instead of a cold, empty pillow and a piece of paper. Sickness boiled in my belly. He was the last person on earth I ever wanted to hurt. What I had done, I’d done out of love, because I didn’t want him to feel any pain.

He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “I don’t know what it is about the women in my life, but they all have this deep-seated urge to leave me at some point.”

A knife plunged right between my ribs, piercing my heart. My face contorted into a grimace. I was no better than his mom or Julia.

“Lucas—”

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, glaring at me. “I get to talk now. You had your chance right here.” He held my folded note between his thumb and forefinger.

I bit back tears. He had every right to be angry with me.
God, what did I do?

“This”—he flicked the paper—“is bullshit. Well, some of it isn’t, but most of it is.” Ripping open the letter, he scanned my words, his eyes flicking from me to the paper, then back again. “Should we start with the bullshit first? ‘Love comes with expectation.’ ‘Love is like a bump that wakes you up,’” he read.

“Here’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He turned the full force of his blue eyes on me. “Love is unexpected. It slams into you with the force of a damn bullet train, crashing into you at speeds greater than two hundred miles per hour. There’s risk in love, adventure, peace, happiness, and the thrill of figuring out the future with the person you’re in love with. Love isn’t a momentary bump in the road, something you get over and forget about. It’s a high-speed journey of shared unknowns. Unexpecteds.”

Tears filled my ears.

“When my mom left,” he continued, “it hurt, but I didn’t have the energy to go after her, no desire. I had my dad. He was cool. I carried on. When Julia left, I had the energy but no desire to win her back. I opted to use that energy to run as far away from her as possible.” He regarded me with steely eyes. “Then you left. I was fucking pissed. I wanted to write you off as an inconsequential one-night stand, forget your name, and pick up where I’d left off.”

My heart beat like a jackhammer, ripping me open violently and all at once. His words, salt water on my wounds.

“Believe me, I tried. For two days, I stared at your necklace and tried to talk myself into hating you. I lost count of how many times I threw the fucking thing in the trash.”

I looked down at St. Raphael in my hand. A tear plopped onto the pendant.

“But dammit, every time I said I was going to leave it in there, I was already walking over to pull it out. That’s how I knew this was different than all the other times. I kept going back to the trash, to salvage what was there. Time after time after time. No matter how tired I was, how little energy I had, I bent down, picked it up, and brushed it off. Always coming back.”

He put his fingers on my chin, gently forcing me to look at him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see the pain in his eyes…the pain I’d caused.

“Sophia,” he said calmly. If this had been a fairy tale, I’d say he’d said my name lovingly. “Look at me, please.”

I shook my head but looked anyway. He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and wrapped his hands around mine, running his thumb over the necklace, wiping away my fallen tear. “I couldn’t throw something this beautiful away.” He squeezed my hands. “Two nights with no sleep, I figured out what makes you different from my mom and Julia.”

“What?”

“They left for selfish reasons. They had to do what they felt was right for them, I guess. But you…you ran because you thought I’d be better off without you, that you weren’t good enough for me—which by the way, is more bullshit. What you did was selfless. That’s what made you different from them.”

“Lucas,” I choked, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh…” He lifted his hand to my cheek. “Want to hear the parts that aren’t bullshit?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“One line you wrote really got to me. You said, ‘Maybe one day we’ll bump into each other again and look back on the Italian adventure we shared.’ For starters, you have a bad habit of running into me, and it’s a habit I hope you never break.” His lips broke into a crooked smile. “One day’s here, baby, but I’m not looking back. I’m looking forward, to a future with you.”

I nodded, a dopy grin on my face. “When I ran into you, I’d just gotten out of the security line to call you. I had to tell you how stupid I was. That I was wrong. I couldn’t leave without you knowing how much I love you.”

The blue of his eyes sparkled. “You’re my unexpected. And there will never be any disappointment in that.” He kissed me softly, whispering against my lips, “I love you, Sophia.”

I kissed him back, with everything I had to give. No matter what the future promised, I knew I didn’t want to face it alone. And with Lucas by my side, I knew I wouldn’t have to.

“Silver,” he said, pulling away.

“What?”

“Another color. The necklace.”

Lucas peeled my fingers back, pulling it free. “May I?” He unhooked the clasp, and I lifted my hair. Looping his hands behind my neck, he fastened the necklace.

He admired the pendant. “I get more than ten million colors, Soph. I get you.”

O
nce again, I was seated in Ms. Turner’s homey office. When I began the testing process four months ago, right after I’d gotten back from Italy, I thought it would be a simple blood test and I’d find out the results. That was not the case.

Ms. Turner, my father’s genetic counselor (and now mine), had seen me on two other occasions, preparing me for the test and today, results day.

For the last four months, I’d been a nervous wreck. I knew why my dad had given me that trip to Italy. It was the calm before the storm. A chance to forget about life for a while and just live. Dad knew that once I got home, uncertainty would gnaw away at my sanity and the only way to satiate its hunger would be to get tested.

I liked Ms. Turner’s office. It was devoid of the obligatory human anatomy posters and cheap dollar-store prints of flowers and lighthouses that usually lined the walls of a doctor’s office. Instead, she filled her space with personal photos. Trips to third world countries, her arms wrapped around smiling children. I’d like to do that one day, travel to an underprivileged nation and offer free medical care. Maybe Doctors Without Borders?

But before I started making travel plans, I needed to find out if I was going to have the opportunity to pursue a career in medicine in the first place.

The nervous beast ate at my insides, feasting on the last morsels of my bravery. Lucas held my hand tightly, grounding me, keeping my thoughts in the light and away from the shadows.

The window shades were open, allowing sunlight to filter through. Had Ms. Turner done that on purpose? With the room drenched in light, buttery sunshine, would her news come across less devastating?

“Sophia!” Ms. Turner said cheerily, sweeping into her office. Was her attitude a sign? Was she so pleased with the results she couldn’t contain her joy? Or was she overcompensating, dipping the terrible news into the buttery sunshine to make it more palatable. I knew a spoonful of sugar helped the medicine go down, but I didn’t think the same applied to finding out if I’d won or lost the genetic lottery.

“Thanks for coming in.” She shut the door behind her.

Turning around, she held her hand out for me to shake. “Yes. Absolutely.” I reluctantly let go of Lucas’s hand to return the pleasantry.

I’d wanted to have the test done before I started med school but hadn’t known the process was so detailed. I had two preliminary meetings with Ms. Turner, which Mom and Nonna accompanied me to because Lucas was in California. He’d promised to be here for the test (which he had been) and now, for the results. He’d wanted to be by my side for everything, but I understood he had a life in California. We were grown adults, and we were committed to making our long-distance relationship work. Which meant making sacrifices and compromises. I loved him, so that was the easy part.

Sitting here in this room was the hard part. Finding out if all my hopes and dreams ended today.

“Hi, Lucas,” she said, extending her hand to him. “Nice to see you again.”

Lucas stood, putting his palm to hers. “Likewise, Ms. Turner.”

“How long are you in town?”

Why did she ask him that? What does it mean? Will I need him to stay longer?

Dr. Turner rounded her desk and took a seat. She shuffled some paperwork off to the side, save one manila folder. “How are you, Sophia?” she asked, clasping her hands on top the file.

“I’ve been better.” I grabbed for Lucas’s hand again.

“Yeah, this part is never easy,” she said, her smile sinking a little. “Well, let me tell you where we go from here. We’ve looked at your DNA—your chromosomal makeup—from the blood sample you provided. With HD, we specifically concentrate on what is called a ‘CAG repeat’ to confirm a diagnosis.”

We’d been over this before, and I’d done so much homework on HD these last four months, I could write my graduate thesis on the CAG repeat. “Less than twenty-seven repeats is ideal.” I nodded.

Ms. Turner bit the corner of her thin smile. “Yes, anything below twenty-seven is considered a negative result.” She withdrew a white 8.5 x 11-inch sheet of paper from my folder. Passing it across the desk, she flipped it around so I could read it.

I latched on to the necklace my grandfather had given me, dragging it side to side over the chain. “Wait!” I hollered, louder than I’d meant.

“Soph?” Lucas said, squeezing my hand. “What’s wrong?”

Panic rose in my chest, blooming like a field overrun with dandelions. My throat pinched closed. “I…I just…,” I stuttered.

Ms. Turner got up from her cushy chair and went to the water dispenser. She stuck a cone-shaped paper cup under the spigot and lifted the lever. Water flowed from the spout and bubbles rumbled in the deep blue tank.

She handed me the damp cup.

I took a sip. It was cold and smooth running down the back of my throat. Lucas rubbed circles on my back.

“I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Baby, are you sure?” Lucas asked.

No, I wasn’t sure. I wanted so much…to know the answer…but only if the answer was the one I wanted to hear. But then again, I wanted to know if the result wasn’t favorable, too…but then…I didn’t want to know. It was a vicious, eye-clawing battle in my soul.

“Okay,” Ms. Turner said, coming to stand in front of me. “Listen, Sophia.” She sat on the edge of her pretty polished desk. “Until you’re certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that you want to know what’s on that paper, I will seal it up.”

“Seal it up?”

“No one’s forcing this decision on you. It’s one you have to make on your own. If you’re not ready, then we wait until you are.” She grabbed the paper from her desk and walked around to the other side. Pulling open a drawer, she took out a white envelope. Meticulously, she folded the paper and slipped it inside, licked the flap, and pressed it closed.

She held it out.

“When you’re ready, you can open this. For many people, being at home, surrounded by loved ones, seems to do the trick. Others prefer to be alone, finding comfort in solitude. No matter what you choose, though, if you open it, call me. I want to follow up with you, regardless of the outcome. I don’t care if you open it fifteen years from now. I will still be expecting a phone call, Sophia.” She smiled warmly; it matched the glow of the room.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch the envelope. When I didn’t take it, Lucas did for me, lifting it from Ms. Turner’s fingers.

“Take care of her, Lucas,” she said, coming back to the side of the desk where we stood.

Lucas got up from the chair and pulled me up with him. “I plan to.”

“Sophia, call me.”

“I will.”

The three of us walked to the door, my future sealed away in an unassuming white envelope.

We’d left Ms. Turner’s office hours ago. It was late, but I still had no desire to go home. I was, however, in need of gelato, despite the freezing temperature outside. Sadness was best drowned in ice cream, no matter the season. I’d called Mom and told her Lucas and I were headed to the shop so she wouldn’t worry. I knew she was worried about me; I’d heard the anxiety in her voice. But she understood and respected my decisions, giving me the time and space I needed to figure things out. Again, another reason why my mom didn’t need a magic wand; she knew me, no magic required.

Lucas and I spent the day visiting tourist destinations around the city, anything to serve as a distraction from the contents of that damn envelope—really, the same thing I’d done in Italy. When he’d come into town for my blood test, it had been a short visit—just two days. We’d spent most of it in his hotel room. We hadn’t seen each other in over a month and didn’t waste any time getting reacquainted.

This trip was different. I was different. A sad mixture of Sophia, Atlas, Pandora, and Chaos. Controlled, burdened, addled, and unnerved.

Even though I hadn’t opened the envelope, somehow I still knew what the paper inside would say. When I’d talked to my dad six months ago, I knew. In my mind, I was still Sophia, but my body had committed an act of treason, and the sentence was death.

I glanced at Lucas in the driver’s seat. He’d been quiet most of the day. With my thoughts trapped in darkness, I never once thought about what he was feeling. He was amazing and selfless, and I still hadn’t figured out what I’d done to deserve him.

“I’m sorry, Lucas.”

He turned his head. “For what?” His brows pulled together.

I shrugged. “For everything? For being self-absorbed and whiny, inconsiderate, mopey, indecisive…” I paused, trying to think of more adjectives to describe my current attitude. Lucas took my silence as the perfect opportunity to interject.

He lifted his hand from the steering wheel and held it up. “Whoa, stop right there, Linebacker. First of all, I don’t like the way you’re talking about my girlfriend.” He shot me a sidelong glance. “Second, you have every right to be all of those things. I’m not going to minimize what you’re going through. It’s scary shit, and if you want to be self-absorbed, mopey, and inconsiderate, then go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be right here.” He grabbed my hand. “No matter how whiny you get, I still won’t let go.”

“Make the next left turn.” I pointed, changing the subject.

He turned the car into the narrow alley that ran behind the shop. “It’s right there, on the left, the green and white awning.”

Lucas came to a stop and we got out. Rounding the car, I untangled my keys from the bottom of my purse, sending the envelope drifting to the ground. Quickly, Lucas bent to retrieve it from the dirty, icy slush.

With the envelope in his fingers, he stood back up, holding his arms out wide. “Will you get over here and keep me warm? How you people live like this, I’ll never know.”

I tried hard to suppress a smile, but I couldn’t. My golden California guy didn’t fit in with the dreary grayness of winter. “Not a fan of snow?” I sidled up next to him.

“Give me sand, surf, and sun any day. You can keep this shit.” Salt crunched beneath our feet.

I unlocked the door and went inside, Lucas right behind me. I flipped on a few light switches in the back, knowing it would be enough to penetrate the darkness at the front of the shop.

Shrugging my coat off, I tossed it onto a chair along with my purse. Lucas laid his on top of mine, along with the envelope. “So this is the famous Andrea’s Gelateria.” He wound through the tables, brushing his hand across their tops.

“I don’t know about famous, but it’s pretty popular among the locals.” I went behind the counter, pulled on my apron, and dug out some bowls. “What will you have, sir?”

For the first time today, I relaxed. I’d thought gallivanting all over the city would keep my mind off the envelope, but it hadn’t. It weighed heavy in my purse…at the Arch…while we ate Gus’s pretzels…walking through the botanical garden…it was all I’d thought about. But this—the simple act of slipping on my apron, holding a gelato spatula in my hand—settled me. Finding comfort in the little things. My muscles unclenched and I could breathe.
This
was me, not the results of some blood test.

Lucas walked up to the freezer. “Hmm…” He considered the choices. Tapping a finger on the glass, he said, “Pumpkin salted caramel swirl.”

“A fine choice.” I smiled. Reaching into the freezer, I scooped the gelato from the serving dish and passed it over the counter.

He took the dish, lifting the spoon from the center. “Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled, licking the spoon. I shivered. I couldn’t help it. I knew what that tongue was capable of.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, “this is amazing.”

Chuckling, I scooped some mint chocolate chip into my dish.

“I bet all those other flavors cry when you’re around.”

I put the scoop down and licked my fingers before joining him on the other side of the counter. Hoisting myself up, I sat in front of the cash register. “Why would they cry?”

“From neglect. You give them no love. It’s always mint chocolate chip with you.” He turned his spoon upside down and shoved another bite into his mouth.

I pulled my spoon from my mouth with a pop. “It is the best.”

“Uh-uh, I disagree.” He took another bite. “Pumpkin caramel is the best.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Mint chocolate will always reign supreme in the land of Princess Potato. I’m an expert. I know these things.”

He cocked his head. “Let me taste.”

I dug my spoon into my dish, offering him a heaping bite.

“Huh-uh.” Shaking his head, he leaned in and put his mouth to mine, opening my lips with his tongue.

He tasted like autumn. The earthy sweet fusion of pumpkins and caramel flooded my senses. His warm mouth coupled with his ice-cream-cooled tongue reminded me of a glorious fall breeze, of hoodies, and campfires, and home.

I parted my legs so he could settle between them. Lucas crooked an arm around my waist and slid me forward on the counter, pressing our bodies together.

Pumpkin salted caramel was my new favorite.

His lips were firm yet soft as they worked over mine. He kissed me deeper, holding me close as he pressed his hand against the curve of my backside. With a slow lick across the seam of my lips, he pulled away, but only a little. “Mint chocolate, Your Highness,” he breathed heavily, “reigns supreme.”

Kiss-drunk, I stared into his blue eyes. “I disagree.”

Looking back at me with an intensity I’d never seen before, he whispered, “You’re it for me, Sophia.” He took my gelato in his hand and reached behind me, setting both our dishes on the counter; then he cradled my head between his hands. “No matter what’s in that envelope over there? Whether we get five years, ten years, or a hundred years, there will never be another person I want to spend this life with. And I guarantee that whatever time we do get, it won’t be enough, but it will have been everything.”

I sucked in a breath, my heart clenching. He ran his thumbs over my cheeks.

“So many people have bucket lists, things they want to accomplish before they die. Mine isn’t a list; it’s one thing…to hold your hand.” He dropped his hands to my lap, lacing our fingers. “Kiss your mouth,” he continued, leaning close, our lips brushing together. “Touch your skin,” he said, unclasping his left hand from mine to run it under my sweater. His right trailed through my hair. “To look into your charcoal eyes and wonder what you’re thinking.” He stared.