The Turning Point Page 3

  I felt the onset of tears, but I held my breath, keeping them at bay. I was not going to cry.

  “Even before your mamma got to hold you, you had already bonded with your daddy. About two weeks after you were born, you were finally well enough to come home. That was the day I drew this.” She tapped the notebook on my lap. “Andrea and Gio were on the couch and you were bundled tightly in the blanket my mom hand knitted for you. Gio brought you to his face and just cooed.” Nonna’s voice rose as she relived the memory. Her eyes sparkled like lit Christmas trees, her smile shining through. “That picture is seared into my brain. I could develop dementia and still remember that scene.”

  “Nonna, you shouldn’t joke like that.” Sometimes she had no tact.

  “Oh, nonsense.” She flailed her hand again. “That night, I went to my room and drew this portrait from memory. He loves you, Sophia. You should talk to him.” Nonna wrapped her arm around my shoulder and drew me to her side.

  “This drawing is lovely, Nonna. But, sadly, my last memory of him”—I spat the word—“is him leaving. I have no desire to speak to him.”

  “I have no desire to see the gynecologist, dear, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

  I rolled my eyes again. “Nonna,” I groaned.

  “You can do what you want; you’re a big girl. But my two cents, go see him and then you can be done with him.” She nodded once, took the notebook from my lap, and slapped it closed. “Want to use my phone?” she offered.

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll use mine.”

  She winked at me. “Good, because I just remembered I need to make an appointment at the gynecologist.”

  “Nonna!” I screeched. I got up from the bed and went to the door, ready to leave before she divulged any other medical information. I may be going to med school, but I did not need to know anything else about my grandmother’s yearly exam.

  “See, now we both have to make uncomfortable appointments. Misery loves company, Principessa.”

  “I have one word for you, Nonna: HIPA. Just remember HIPA.”

  She waved me off. “Oh, you and your fancy medical words.”

  I smiled and turned on my heel, walking out of her room. I admired her ability to lay the guilt on thick, her sketch giving me the courage I needed to make a very difficult phone call.

  Chapter Three

  If I’d thought talking to my dad on the phone was hard, getting my butt out the door to drive to his place was nearly impossible. All morning I procrastinated like it was an Olympic sport, which was totally not like me. But today, it was my favorite pastime.

  Any little thing I could find to take up time, I did. Instead of a quick shower, I opted for an hour-long bath, taking my time to read the latest romance novel I’d downloaded. The blazing hot water did wonders for my nerves and the steamy romance transported me to a fantasy world that was much more pleasurable than reality.

  By the time I was a shriveled prune and nearly halfway through my book, I finished up my bath, taking extra care in washing and conditioning my hair. I was a shoo-in for the procrastination gold medal.

  As I brushed the tangles out of my long, dark hair, there was a knock on the door. “Soph, you about finished in there? I’ve got to get to the shop.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” I pulled the door open. “Sorry.”

  She checked her watch. “What time are you meeting your dad?”

  I shrugged, playing dumb. “Don’t remember.” Innocently, I went about brushing my already tangle-free hair.

  Mom cocked her head and put both hands on her hips. Over the years, she’d gotten really good at that “Mom” glare. “Soph?”

  Inwardly, I cringed as she held the “o” in my name a little longer than was necessary, and then her voice did that weird pitch change thing at the end, getting higher before she pinched off the “f” sound. I was six years old again. Moms wielded some magical power in their voices that made their grown children feel three feet tall and mildly ashamed.

  Wide eyed, I answered as I bent over to fish the blow-dryer from the cabinet below the basin. “What?”

  “I know what you’re doing. Just get it over with.”

  I stood back up, plugged in the dryer, and flipped it on high. “What?” I said again, louder.

  Staring at Mom’s reflection in the mirror, she shook her head, lips moving.

  “I can’t hear you,” I shouted. This time I really couldn’t.

  Mom put her hand on the dryer and forced me to lower it. Next to my ear, she said loudly, “I need to brush my teeth.”

  “Oh, right.” I stepped to the side, closer to the bathtub, so she could do her business at the sink.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  I smiled and continued working the hot air from the blow-dryer across my head. For once, I was thankful for my thick hair and its unwillingness to dry quickly.

  Mom spat into the sink, met my eyes in the mirror, and said, “Hurry it up, Sophia. Don’t make him wait all day.”

  I pretended to ignore her. Who cared if I made him wait all damn day? As she left the bathroom, I gave her a tiny smile and a nod, still running the noisy dryer.

  * * *

  Yep, I definitely won the gold medal. By the time I pulled out of the garage, it had taken me four hours to get ready. That was a new record by far. But now was the moment of truth.

  I pulled up to the front of Gio Belmonte’s palatial home, a mansion compared to the shotgun-style house I’d grown up in.

  I killed the engine and let my head rest against the back of the seat. “Come on, Sophia, you can do this.” I hadn’t seen my dad in fifteen years, and it was by the grace of God that I’d never run into him considering we lived a town apart. I doubted I’d even recognize him if I did run into him. My only memories were that of a seven-year-old child. Surely he looked different…older.

  Sitting up straight, I stared out the passenger side window. The orange tile shingles appeared to shimmer in the steamy afternoon sun. The lawn was well kept, along with the two nicely trimmed bushes in front of each window.

  God, I don’t want to do this. I knew I sounded like a petulant toddler, but I couldn’t help it. I’d made my peace with him being gone. Why did he have to open old wounds? He’d made a clean break. Why come back now?

  Only one way to find out, Soph. Mom’s voice sounded louder in my head than my whiny one.

  “You’re twenty-two freaking years old, Sophia. Act like a damn grown woman and get in there,” I mumbled, pulling the latch on the door. I put one heeled shoe on the ground and got out of the car. With my purse in hand, I smoothed out the black pencil skirt and black and white striped shirt I wore and stepped around the car and up the brick-paved walkway.

  I pushed the doorbell and listened to the chime play “Für Elise.” A moment later the door peeled back and an attractive brunette smiled back at me. Her dark blue eyes were kind.

  “Sophia?” she asked.

  I nodded, clearing my throat. “Yes.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you. Your dad talks about you often. I’m Lydia.”

  Does he, now? I wonder what it is he has to say, considering he knows NOTHING about me. And who was this woman? Lydia? Mom never said anything about another woman.

  “Thank you.” Despite all the negative comments running through my head, I managed to find an untapped well of polite words still lingering deep inside me. I smiled, hoping it looked sincere, because it certainly didn’t feel that way.

  “Come in.” The woman pulled the door open wider and stepped to the side, allowing me access to the gorgeous foyer.

  The floor of the entryway was composed of small pieces of mosaic glass tiles. Each tile fit together to create a beautiful yellow sun outlined with deep ocean blues. My admiration of the floor wasn’t lost on Lydia, who was closing the door behind me.

  “It’s stunning, isn’t it?” she said adoringly.

  I brought my eyes up and nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

&n
bsp; “This house has a rich history. Your father would love to tell you about it, I’m sure.” She walked a few steps past me and motioned with her arm. “He’s waiting for you in the library.”

  I followed her down the hall, taking in the abstract artwork adorning the walls as I went. “This place has a library?” My voice echoed down the marble hallway.

  It was official. Gio Belmonte was not the guy I remembered. That guy had been a figment of a child’s overactive imagination. My dad still lived in our tiny shotgun house, drank a beer at dinner, and stole kisses from my mom when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  “Right this way.” Lydia stopped at the entrance of what I assumed was the library. Like Vanna White, she showcased the doorway with a flourish of her arms and hands.

  I stepped up to the door and peered inside, suddenly very nervous to see him. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  No sooner had I turned around to beg her to stay than she retreated down the hall. Her dark hair bounced with each click of her heels on the white and black checkered tile floor as she disappeared around the corner.

  I wrinkled my nose and gave a silent growl, balling my hands into fists at my sides.

  “Sophia?” A distant, deep male voice called from the other room. “Come on in.” The voice came closer.

  I took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other, crossing the threshold. The checkered floor carried from the hall into the room. Instead of walls there were bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling. As a bibliophile, I’d died and gone to heaven. I could spend hours in this room soaking in all the titles that lined the shelves. My eyes roamed to the ceiling as I stepped backward, taking in the stacks. Wow.

  “Sophia.” That voice brought my admiration of the library to an end, like a needle scratching across a vinyl record. I wasn’t a bibliophile here to admire books; I was an abandoned daughter. And this wasn’t heaven; it was hell. Who knew the two places could simultaneously take up the same space.

  My eyes followed the sound of his voice until I saw a man in an electric wheelchair coming toward me. A wheelchair? When did that happen?

  “Sophia, thank you for coming,” he said, smiling broadly.

  It had been years since I’d seen him, and he looked nothing like the man I remembered. He was a stranger. But even more off-putting was that I looked like him. I had Mom’s eyes, but there was no denying that I was Gio’s daughter. The shape of his face, the slant of his nose, we even had the same plump cheeks when we smiled.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked. It was in that moment that I realized I had yet to speak.

  “Um…uh…” Apparently I’d forgotten how to speak. “No.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  “Come, sit down.” He motioned toward the sofa in the middle of the room with his head. Pressing the button on the arm of his wheelchair, he moved in that direction, too.

  I followed, albeit completely ill at ease with the whole situation.

  He parked his chair at the end of the sofa and patted the cushion, an invitation for me to sit.

  Reluctantly, I accepted, though opting for the middle cushion. I needed space.

  “How are you, Soph?” he asked, folding his hands in his lap.

  “It’s Sophia,” I corrected. Soph was what Mom and Nonna called me. It was too intimate. He didn’t get to call me that.

  He nodded. “Sophia.”

  For a moment, we both sat quietly. As much fun as it was listening to the both of us breathing, this was not how I planned to spend a Wednesday afternoon. I could be helping Mom at the shop or studying for school, which began in a week and a half. Geez, getting a root canal would have been more preferable.

  “Mom said it was imperative that you speak with me?” I wasn’t here for small talk, so he’d better get to the point.

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “I did need to speak with you. For a couple of reasons. I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll be brief.”

  “Thank you.” It was about time he cut the crap and stopped pretending we were best buds.

  “I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. I was glad your mom told me about graduation.”

  I sat, emotionless. If he was waiting for me to thank him for making time for me, he was going to be waiting a long time.

  Rubbing his palms against the tops of his thighs, he sighed. “Anyway…”

  Was he uncomfortable, too? Hmm…

  He lifted his right hand and grabbed a large manila envelope from the little table beside him. “I got you something. A graduation present.” He held the paper out to me.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want his gifts.

  “Sophia, please take it. I want to do this for you.” He stretched his arm closer.

  Slowly, I reached for the envelope, half expecting it to bite my fingers off. Once it was within my grasp, I laid it in my lap, not bothering to look inside; it was going in the trash the minute I got home.

  Gio’s eyes fell to my lap for a moment before he brought them back to my face. The smile was gone from his eyes this time. I think he was finally catching on to the fact that I wasn’t going to accept his gift. He pressed his lips into a thin smile. “It’s a trip to Italy,” he said nonchalantly.

  I looked at the unassuming package. A trip to Italy? Who gives a complete stranger a trip to Italy?

  “My parents never moved to the States. It wasn’t until college that I moved here. We have a lot of family heritage over there, Sophia. I wanted to give you the opportunity to get to know that part of you. I also thought it’d be nice if you met your nonno. He’s never left Battipaglia. He grew up there, as did I.”

  “Is your mother still there?” I asked. He hadn’t mentioned her.

  His shoulders slumped, and I noticed his hands twitching slightly in his lap. Parkinson’s disease maybe? My mind flipped through different neurological and muscular disorders that caused muscle spasms.

  “She passed away several years ago. I wish she’d had the chance to meet you. She would have loved you.”

  Yeah, hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn’t it? But I kept my snarky bitterness to myself. I didn’t need to be hateful at the expense of my dead grandmother. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s actually the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “My grandmother?” I asked, confused.

  “She’s part of it. Did your mother ever mention why I left?” His black eyes bore into me.

  I shook my head. “Mom doesn’t talk about you.”

  “Nor should she.” His expression was somber. “I’m not making excuses for my actions, Sophia, but there was a reason why I left you and your mother.”

  “And it has to do with my grandmother? What? She didn’t approve of you having a family, so you left?” I realized I was raising my voice, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to hear his reasons. In my opinion, there wasn’t a reason good enough to warrant abandoning your wife and young daughter…a daughter who thought the world of her dad, no less.

  Gio raised his hand. “No, no, it was nothing like that. Even though your grandparents never had the chance to meet you, they were very proud.”

  Years of hurt and anger pooled in my veins. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to get up and leave his cold, impersonal mansion. I glanced at my watch, wanting him to just say what he needed, because this was turning into a colossal waste of time.

  Looking at Gio again, I noticed his gaze drop to my wrist, too. “I’m sure you’re busy.” All the softness and warmth in his tone disappeared. I guessed he realized that I wasn’t interested in a stroll down memory lane or a chance at rekindling a daddy/daughter relationship.

  “I’m dying,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have the same illness that my mother passed away from.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” And I was. No matter how much I disliked the man—no, I hated him—I didn’t wish illness or an untimely death upon him.

  “There’s no easy
way to say this, Sophia, but what I have is genetic.”

  Genetic? What was he saying? My mind cataloged all the genetic disorders I’d studied over the last four years of school. “And what is it? What’s your diagnosis?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled the words. “I have Huntington’s disease.”

  Like the roar of a train barreling straight at a car stuck on the tracks, my dad’s words hit me with the same amount of force. His words reverberated in my head like the sound of metal on metal. Sparks flew and incinerated any hope I had of becoming a doctor. The moment Huntington’s was out of his mouth, I was already reciting symptoms.

  A genetic dominant disorder that gradually kills nerve cells in the brain. Individuals with Huntington’s experienced loss of coordination, uncontrolled muscle spasms, declined cognitive function, impaired walking and speech…the list went on and on, until eventually, you died.

  All I needed was one dominant allele, and I could kiss my future good-bye. By the time I finished my fellowship, I could be presenting with early symptoms. Cardiac surgeons needed steady hands. I stared at my hands…hands I wouldn’t have control over. I stared at Gio. He couldn’t be much over fifty and he was already confined to a wheelchair.

  Where does that leave me?

  Goose bumps rose on my skin, along with a thin layer of sweat. I shivered. Swallowing, my throat felt like sandpaper. It closed off, refusing to allow any more oxygen into my lungs. The walls closed in.

  When my dad walked out on me fifteen years ago, he changed the course of my life…how I viewed life and love. Now, with a four-word sentence, he derailed my life’s goals, everything I’d worked so hard for.

  By nature I wasn’t a gambler. I didn’t like taking chances. Too many horrible things happened in my life as a result of having no control, and now, here I was spinning the roulette wheel. Did I have the gene or not? A fifty-fifty chance stood between life and a horrible death.

  “I think you should get tested, Sophia. That way you can know for sure,” Gio said casually, like he hadn’t just shot my future to hell. “I can give you the number of a genetic counselor and I have the finest doctor money can buy.”