The Turning Point (7 page)

“See,” he uttered, lowering his hand. “Infinitely better.” His words made the wisps of hair against my neck flutter, and I shuddered.

My jaw dropped.
Holy. Freaking. Hell. Who is this guy?

The temperature in the stone room skyrocketed. Each breath I inhaled burned a trail to my lungs and tugged low in my belly. I couldn’t think. Clearing my throat, I placed my hands on his hard shoulders and pushed back, sliding off his lap.

Lucas’s eyes widened and he stood quickly, taking a large stride toward the wall, becoming very interested in the graffiti once again.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Um, yeah.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I’m good.” There was a pinch in his voice.

“Thanks for taking the picture,” I said, joining him at the graffiti wall. I held out my hand, palm up. “May I have my phone?”

He plopped it into my hand. I tapped on the photo album icon, eager to see how it turned out. I sucked in a breath. “Holy wow.”

“Let’s see,” Lucas said, bending low to rest his chin on my shoulder. I had to take another deep breath to keep focused on the picture and not the heat radiating off of him.

The picture captured our profiles. The contrast between us was striking; his golden California-boy features lit up his half of the photo, where my dark Italian features left my portion in shadow. My round face stood out against the sharp angles of his chiseled jawline. His long, tapered nose barely touched the tip of mine.

Then there were our eyes. The connection I felt when we met this morning wasn’t just a feeling anymore…I could
see
it. A taut cord anchored our gazes. We were the only two people in the world in this picture. My heart thumped hard against my chest, like it wanted to beat but couldn’t. Something tight had a hold of it, squeezing.

“I like it,” he whispered at my ear. The stubble on his face scratched against my cheek and all my thoughts disappeared. I breathed him in, letting his nearness consume my senses. Chills cascaded down my back like a waterfall.

“Me too.”

“Ready?” Lucas threaded his fingers with mine and squeezed my hand.

I nodded, still dazed by everything I was feeling. “Yeah.” I clicked my phone off and the screen went black.

Together, we left the tiny cell and joined the noisy throng of tourists in the hallway. I was hit with a wave of sadness that Lucas and I weren’t the only two people in the world anymore.

We made a sharp left turn and were through the brothel and back out on the sun-drenched street.

I squinted against the brightness, still unable to get the image of our profiles out of my head. Stranger or not, the picture of him and me had just become my favorite picture, ever.

For a few minutes I had felt like the carefree, fun-loving me from years ago. The “me” before Penley’s death…the “me” that didn’t know about Huntington’s disease.

Lucas and I strolled down the street. We were close enough that my shoulder would brush against his arm. Pheromones mixed with the beauty and majesty of Pompeii were a potent combination, enough to get my heart pumping and my thoughts racing.

I didn’t bother with the map. I didn’t care where we were headed; I was just happy to be in his company. He was the very best kind of distraction, taking my mind off of things that were well out of my control. For the first time, I was actually excited not to have a plan.

The streets were flooded with tourists, even more so than they had been that morning. Lucas glanced at his watch and then nudged me with his shoulder. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“A little? I’m starving.”

I scanned our surroundings. “I think there’s a place to eat around here somewhere.”

“Nah.” He swung our entwined hands. “I heard it’s shitty and overpriced. There are a few places to eat not far from here, just outside the ruin. We could walk there, get a bite to eat, and then take the train to Herculaneum?”

I nodded. “That sounds like a great plan. But there’s one more thing I’d like to see before we leave, if you don’t mind. I’d understand if you didn’t want to wait. We can go our separate ways; I won’t be offended.”

Lucas drew his eyebrows down, squinting. “Is that a kind way of saying you want to get rid of me?”

“No, not at all.” I let go of his hand and waved away his concern. “I just don’t want to keep you if you have other places to be.”

Lucas put his lips at my ear and said, “The only place I have to be is right here.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, Mother Mary, and the Pope, did my heart just do a backflip?

“What did you want to see?” he asked.

“Huh?” I looked at him and shook my head. “What?” The part of my brain responsible for speech and cognition had been overridden by the part of my brain that wanted to curl up in his arms and get lost in his eyes and…touch my lips to his.

“What did you want to see?” he repeated. “You feeling all right?” He brushed his knuckles over my cheeks. “Your face is really flushed.”

“Yeah. Fine. I’m great!” I spluttered. I took a half step back, needing more space to think.

Dear Lord, what is wrong with me? I’m usually so…collected.
I took pride in not being ruled by my emotions and hormones. I thought rationally, sought out all possible answers, took all variables into account. I lived and thrived on having a plan, a backup plan, and a plan for the backup. But, goodness gracious, when his breath blew across my skin, the dormant nerve cells in my body fired at will, and I morphed into a bumbling idiot.

Breathe, Sophia. Do something. Don’t just stand there. And for the love of God, DO NOT look into his eyes!

Glancing at my feet, I flipped the cover of my bag over and pulled out a bottle of water. I unscrewed the cap and drank deeply. Swallowing, I tested the waters and looked Lucas in the eyes, forcing myself to breathe.

See, you can look at the charming, handsome man without hyperventilating.

“Sophia?” he said, concern coloring his voice. Two vertical creases formed between his eyebrows as his eyes pulled tight. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and took another swig of water. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Nothing. I’m good.” I held up my hand between us. “I was going to say I wanted to see the Garden of Fugitives.”

His jaw ticked and then he broke into a grin, his dimple deepening. I had to fight the urge to run my finger over it.

“Got your map? Let’s find it.”

“Oh yeah.” I slipped my water bottle back into my bag and took out my crinkled map. “Here.”

Lucas and I examined the map carefully; then I spotted what we were looking for. I pointed down the street we were headed. “The Garden of Fugitives. That way.”

“Good eye,” Lucas said, nudging my shoulder. “And it’s near an exit, too. Perfect.”

Stopped in their tracks by something much larger than them, thirteen people with lives, hopes, dreams, and plans never got to see the light of another day in AD 79.

Tears sprang to my eyes and threatened to spill over. I hadn’t expected the plaster casts to affect me this way. There were two casts in particular that tore at my heart. To the left of the enclosure was a person frozen in time, trying to crawl his way somewhere safe, or maybe to a loved one. In the strain of his muscles, I could feel his distress, his urgency to move, and a fresh wave of sadness overtook me, knowing he didn’t make it to where he’d intended. Of all the ruins in Pompeii, the casts told the real story.

When I laid eyes on the tiny cast of a child, I wondered what was going through his mind. How did parents sooth their children, knowing this was the end? They’d never get to see them grow up. Their babies were going to die in the most horrific way possible. How helpless and terrified they must have felt.

Even in the ninety-degree heat, chills ran through me, prickling my skin. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and sniffled.

Lucas pressed his hand to the small of my back and rubbed light counterclockwise circles. Even though I knew nothing about him, I was glad to share this experience with him. His presence, his touch, brought me an unexpected peace I wouldn’t have felt had I come here alone.

“It’s ironic, but these casts are what breathe life into this place. They make it real,” Lucas said somberly.

Sniffling again, I nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

“Going about their business one minute and reduced to this the next.”

I shivered. Flashes of my dad in his wheelchair came to mind. I’d been going about my business too; then my genes—like a volcano—threatened to blow apart my whole future.

I sucked up my tears and whipped around. An emotional breakdown was the last thing I wanted Lucas to see. “Time for lunch,” I blurted out.

“You’re ready to go?” A look of confusion passed over his face.

“Yep.” I drew in a quick breath. The air was dusty and hot. It tickled my throat, trailing a subtle burn to my lungs. I’d had enough of ancient sadness. I’d had enough sadness of any kind. I needed to get my mind off of hopeless futures.

“You’re sure?”

With a deliberate nod, I sighed. “More than you know.”

F
or all Pompeii had to offer, I was not in the right frame of mind to enjoy the beauty and majesty of the ancient city. Maybe the plaster casts hadn’t been a good idea. I should have stuck to Pompeii’s sexy side; at least that hadn’t reminded me of death and what awaited me at home.

When I looked at the casts, all I saw was hopelessness, ruin. The frozen statues, with their animated arms, legs, and faces, would haunt me forever. Passing through the exit, it was nice to step back into the twenty-first century and put their ghosts behind me. I knew I was in Italy to do touristy things, but Herculaneum didn’t sound appealing anymore—just another serving of anguish and desperation.

I needed fun. Anything to take my mind off of impending death.

“You’re quiet.” With his hands shoved in his pockets, Lucas kicked at a pebble, sending it skidding down the ornate sidewalk.

I shook off my dreary thoughts. “Sorry. The casts just got to me more than I thought they would. Had you seen them before?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” Every question I asked this guy, he answered in vague, one-word responses.

“Didn’t realize that question required a monologue for an answer.”

“Tell me something about you no one else knows.” I ignored his smart-ass comment and forced the issue. I wanted to know something personal, be in on one of his secrets.

Tourists and locals filled the busy commercial area, drowning our silence. After we’d put another city block behind us, I wondered if he’d heard me. Glancing at him, I noticed he watched his feet as he walked. I was just about to repeat my question when he said, “Mr. Waddles.”

“Uh, what?”

“Something no one knows about me.” He took his eyes from the ground and stared me down. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll deny I ever told you.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “What is a Mr. Waddles?”

“Mr. Waddles is my favorite stuffed animal.”

“Oh, really? Do you two cuddle at night?” I teased. A gorgeous, grown man with a favorite stuffed animal? That was precious.

When he smirked, I noticed it pulled up higher on the left side. Maybe that was what made his dimple so pronounced. Whatever the reason, his crooked mouth and dimple made for a swoon-worthy smile.

“Right now, Mr. Waddles is holding down the fort in San Diego, hanging out in the back of my closet.”

“And what is the story behin—”

“Uh-uh.” Lucas shook his head, interrupting. “I answered your question. You’re the only one on this planet who knows I still have Mr. Waddles.”

I gave him a big, toothy smile. It did feel nice to be privy to one of his guarded secrets. “Wow. I’m honored. One day, maybe I’ll even get to meet Mr. Waddles.”

Lucas’s eyes flashed. “Maybe,” he drawled. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, pointing.

“Am I answering the same question? Something no one else knows?”

He nodded. “Go for it.”

I thought about it. He’d offered a silly story, which I could have guessed was more significant than he let on, based on the way he turned the question back on me so quickly. I was confident Mr. Waddles’s real story would come to light at some point. But what was I going to tell him?

Mom and Nonna knew a lot about me—I usually told them everything—but I was careful to keep them in the dark when it came to my first three years of high school. Being a freshman on the varsity soccer team, I learned real quick what it meant to be “popular.” So had Penley. We partied with the best of them. Was it cheating if I told Lucas something that only Penley knew? She wasn’t going to rat me out.

“I lost my virginity in the backseat of Scotty Hendrickson’s mom’s Trailblazer on the night of my junior prom.”

Yep. Take that, Lucas Walsh. I just one-upped your Mr. Waddles.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, not my finest moment.” I cringed. “Where are we eating, by the way?”

Both of us came to a stop on the sidewalk and took in our surroundings. “How about McDonald’s?” Lucas pointed straight ahead. “It’s always a trip to see what passes as McDonald’s in a foreign country.”

“I’m game.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of greasy fries and chicken nuggets.

We beat a path to the Golden Arches. Lucas grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, ushering me inside.

Branding at its finest. Even clear across the Atlantic Ocean, McDonald’s still looked and smelled like McDonald’s. I reveled in its familiarity. But there were some differences; the menu had many of the standard American favorites, accompanied with some not-so-American choices. The McLobster for one. That did not sound appetizing at all. Seafood was gross even in the finest of restaurants. No way would I order it at a McDonald’s.
Ewww!

“What are you having?” Lucas asked, surveying the menu overhead.

My usual came to mind. “McNugget Happy Meal with a Coke.”

He turned his head in my direction, cocking that eyebrow again. “A Happy Meal? Aren’t you a little old for those?”

“Says the guy with a Mr. Waddles.”

He pointed again. “See, this is why Mr. Waddles stays in the closet.”

I pouted. “Poor Mr. Waddles, he gets no respect.”

Lucas shook his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Buon pomeriggio,”
the cashier greeted us. “What will you have?”

Lucas looked to me and nodded, like a true gentleman, allowing me to order first. “Chicken McNugget Happy Meal with a Coke,
per favore
.” Yeah, look at me whipping out the Italian pleasantries like a native. My cool factor just went up ten meters.

The cashier typed in my order and asked, “Is the toy for a boy or girl?”

Ah, the sole reason I always ordered Happy Meals. The toy. Growing up, I had quite the collection of Happy Meal toys, much to my mother’s and Nonna’s chagrin. But, really, they only had themselves to blame; they were the ones buying them for me.

I glanced around, looking for the toy display; I had to make a well-informed decision. Behind me, it seemed my choices were Transformers or Littlest Pet Shop. “Boy,” I answered. Definitely the Transformer; those things were so cool.

“And you,
signore
?”

The cashier’s attention shifted to Lucas, as did mine. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was looking at me. I couldn’t read the expression in his wide eyes, but they were dazzling nonetheless.

“Lucas, she’s ready for your order.” I motioned to the lady behind the counter.

Shrugging, he snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in. “Oh, right. Umm”—he stared at the menu—“Big Mac, fries, and a Coke.”

“
Grazi
,” she said.

I reached for my bag, but Lucas put his arm on mine and shook his head. “Whoa there, Linebacker. I asked you to lunch, remember?”

I pulled my lips in a fraction of an inch and nodded. “So that’s what it’s going to be, then? Linebacker?”

Lucas paid the cashier and grabbed the tray when our order was ready. Carrying it to an empty booth near the entrance, we sat down by a window. “It got you to say yes.” He winked.

“Is this a real date, then?” It had been years since I’d been on a date. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to
date
. We’d had an easy camaraderie all day long; I feared putting a formal label on it would mess that up.

He stopped fiddling with the items on the tray and looked at me, his eyes smoldering. “Do you want it to be?”

When he unleashed the full force of his eyes, God help the person in their line of sight. I gaped like a fish out of water. “Uh…what do you want it to be?”

“A real date.” He nodded and went back to the tray. Picking up my Happy Meal box, he held it between his fingers before passing it over. “Cute.”

Reaching across the table, I lifted the yellow sports car–shaped box from his hand. “Yeah, it is cute.” But compared to Lucas’s boyish charm, there was no comparison. A thrill of excitement sent tingles through my body…a real date.

Smiling, I pulled apart Bumblebee’s flaps and got a whiff of homey-greasy-American-goodness. Here I was, my first day in Italy, sitting in a McDonald’s, on a date. I barely recognized myself. And for once, it felt nice not to be me.

I took a bite of my chicken nugget. I hadn’t been hungry at Pompeii, but now I was famished. My stomach was ready to wage a civil war in retaliation to my neglect.

Lucas tore into his burger. “You know,” he said, mumbling around the food in his mouth, “I’m not one to eat Mickey D’s at home. Give me breakfast food or a burrito any day. But this”—he pointed to his burger—“is divine.”

I took another bite and agreed. “It really is.”

Lucas and I sat quietly for a minute, enjoying our lunches. Taking a sip of soda, he washed down a few fries and smiled at me. “I’m feeling this relationship is a bit one-sided.”

“How so?”

“You know my birthday, where I’m from, and my favorite places to eat. The only thing I know about you is that you’re American, you’re traveling alone, and you got busy in the back of an SUV.”

I shrugged and popped a fry in my mouth. “Seems pretty balanced to me. Three facts for three facts.”

He wagged a finger. “Nope, I’ve offered a fourth. Mr. Waddles?”

Crap!
He had me there.

“Where are you from, Sophia?”

“St. Louis. I just graduated from Washington University. I’m starting med school in the fall.”

“Wow, a doctor. I’m impressed.”

I nodded. I used to be impressed by that distinction, too, but it sort of felt like a lie now. I may not have the opportunity to become a doctor. And then what? The prospect of becoming a doctor had consumed my life for so long, there was nothing else I was good at. It was the only thing I knew. A sinkhole opened up in the pit of my stomach, and I was standing at the edge, peering into the scary, black depths. “Technically, I should be there right now, but my dad sprang this trip on me at the last minute and my mom insisted that I go. I withdrew from summer classes, rearranged my fall schedule, and here I am.”

“Remind me to thank your parents.” Lucas grinned and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

My lips pressed into a thin smile and my cheeks warmed. He was such a flirt. “What about you? What’s your story?”

His smile faded slightly as he mulled over my question. “Not really that interesting.”

“Oh, and mine was? Come on.”

He shrugged. “I was in my second year of grad school but decided to take a break to focus on my design company.”

“That’s right, you said you design video games?”

“I do. Me and my friend, Dean. We’ve been designing video games for the better part of three years. Our senior year of college, we struck gold when our indie zombie survival game,
Undead Resurrection
, hit it big. That was the beginning of WalStock Software Design. Since then, we’ve turned out a new game each year and have a pretty clutch fan base.”

“Sheesh, you’re like a legitimate grown-up. I’m impressed.”

“Ha. Yeah, right,” he said with a quick roll of his eyes. “I also like sleeping till noon, spending my days at the beach, surfing, and loading up on energy drinks. A right grown-up there,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“At least you’ve got stuff figured out…know where your life is headed.” My shoulders slumped.

“What are you talking about? Med school isn’t like falling down a damn rabbit hole. Takes a dedicated, no-nonsense adult to make it through that.” He tossed the napkin on the table and sat back in his seat.

“I guess.” I shook off the chill of uncertainty the best I could. “It’s just, I’ve had some stuff happen over the last few weeks. Has me questioning whether med school is a good choice.”

“Fucking life,” Lucas sighed.

Stepping out into the world was scary. Even more so now that I didn’t know what my world would look like in fifteen, twenty years. All my careful plans scattered like dandelion seeds in the wake of my dad’s pronouncement.

I hated uncertainty. With a passion. Control was a basic life need, like water, air, and shelter. I envied Lucas. He had control of his life. It had direction and purpose, and he seemed happy. I used to have that kind of security. I wanted it back.

“Yeah, fucking life.”