Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
This gesture might seem normal, coming from a maternal figure. But my family tends to clutch their emotions close to their chests, and my mom is no exception.
Her shoulders shake as I wrap my arms around her. “Mom, are you crying?”
When she speaks, her voice is shaking just a little bit. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
At her words, all the emotions that I’ve been holding back rush up to my eyes, escaping as tears. “Me too.”
We sit there, uttering no words but saying all the essential things to each other with our embrace.
“Now, I’ve been told I have a grandson?” Mom breaks away from the hug and reaches into her purse for some Kleenex to wipe her tears, offering me the familiar, floral-scented tissues.
I nod as I clean the tears from my face and blow my nose, laughing out of relief even though I know shit isn’t done hitting the fan. I get up and lead my mom up to the second floor of the mansion, ignoring the cold stares of the woman sweeping the stairs and the guys hanging up a large painting.
We walk down a wide, long passageway until I spot the painting of a minotaur backing a terrified woman into a dark corner. It reminds me of my first meeting with Matteo. Funny how I went from being scared of him to seeing him as my protector and back to being scared of him again, although I guess I have a more nuanced picture of him now.
I stop by one of the many identical doors and push it open. Someone has come in here to make the bed for me, but Jack is still napping in his crib, undisturbed.
“Oh, he’s precious,” my mom gasps. Jack isn’t her first grandchild, although I suppose that doesn’t make him any less special.
We stand by the crib, carrying a hushed conversation over the sleeping child. Mom wants to know everything about Jack, and I’m all too happy to oblige. It’s not often that I find a captive audience who’s actually interested in the fact that Jack’s favorite color changes every month, or that he’s starting to get better at eating on his own.
“You must’ve been terrified,” she says, her gaze soft when I get to the part about the kidnapping. It’s hard to believe that was only yesterday.
“Yeah.”
She steps away from the crib and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. As I join her, I’m reminded of the last time we sat on the bed together, side by side just like this. Four years ago. When she told me to kill the person I’d been my whole life and start over somewhere far away.
Mom’s gaze is firm but gentle. “It sounds to me like many things have happened over the past few days. Your head must be spinning.”
“Matteo told me about Gio yesterday,” I blurt out. “Dad was right. I killed him.”
Mom grips my upper arm. “Grace, no. You can’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true. It wasn’t your fault,” she says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You thought you were going to die if you’d stayed. I don’t blame you for leaving and neither should you.”
“If it weren’t for me leaving, he’d still be alive today.”
“If it weren’t for Moses listening to some burning branches in the desert, some Egyptian firstborns would’ve gone on to lead full lives.” Mom gives me a wry smile. “Honey, it’s called the butterfly effect. One thing leads to another, but that doesn’t mean it’s anybody’s fault or intention.”
I let her wisdom soothe the guilt clenching my stomach. It’s still there, coiling like a snake that may launch an attack at any time. Even if I’m going to make my peace with it, it’ll take some time.
“What am I going to do, Mom?” I sigh. “What should I do?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t tell you that.” She shakes her head, crushing any hope I have of her giving me a clear answer. “You shouldn’t think about what I want anyway or what your dad wants. Forget about what the Guerrieros want.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I was raised to be a good girl, and now she’s telling me to go against all the instincts she’s embedded in me?
“Life is short, Grace. Gio’s death has taught me that. And in a way, your death too, even if it wasn’t real. You only get one life. No do-overs. Live your life the way you want.”
She has changed, I realize. I’ve only been gone for four years, and my mom now has an entirely different life philosophy. Taking a closer look at her face, I notice the new lines and age spots, the leathery texture of her skin.
“Now, things aren’t as bad as we thought they were four years ago,” Mom says. “Keeping the baby and marrying Matteo wouldn’t have been the death sentence we’d thought it would be. But that doesn’t mean you should marry him now.”