That’s for the best. I don’t want to come in here and obsess over her more than I already am. Setting up those cameras was a bad idea—I’ve been logging into the feed and staring at her while she works all morning. Forget getting anything done. Not when I can mainline Fiorella straight into my fucking heart.
“You ever decide to drop this hardass bullshit, come find me.”
“Yeah? And what are you gonna do? You gonna make my dad not have cancer?”
“No, baby.” I turn and start toward the tent flap. “But I can listen if you want.”
She’s got nothing to say to that as I step back out into the afternoon sunlight.
I nod at Stefano. “You’re back on duty.”
He stretches his legs and mimes shooting himself in the head.
Chapter 19
Fiorella
Ipuke so hard I’m pretty sure a rib breaks.
“Fuuuuck,” I say, leaning back against the wall and gasping for breath. Sweat prickles down my forehead and my back. Every morning it’s like this: I wake up, feel fine for a while, but inevitably end up right here roaring like a dinosaur as I spew my guts out. And then I feel better.
Like magic. But black, disgusting magic.
It’s been five days since Luca set up the tent. Five days of working on the Spider during the day, trying not to roll over and fuck his brains out at night, and vomiting my brains out by sunrise. I’m like a zombie, staggering from one thing to the next, all the while doing my best to shut out the screaming warning klaxons in my skull.
“At a certain point, I can’t keep ignoring this,” I say to my own reflection. I look like baked dog shit. “Even if I am the queen of ignoring my problems.”
Almost as if my hand isn’t connected to my body anymore, I pick up my phone and hit Elisa’s number. My sister answers onthe second ring. “It’s early, you know,” she says with a yawn. “I was having the best dream. I was running a Dunkin’ Donuts and could eat as many?—”
“I threw up,” I say, cutting her off, because I think hearing her fantasy of gorging herself on shitty doughnuts will only make me ralph again.
“Oh, no, are you sick? I can come over right now.” I hear the sound of her rustling and getting out of bed. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
“No, no, I mean, yes, please come over, but you have to make a stop first.” I suck in a deep breath and slowly blow it out. Fuck, I can’t ignore this. I can’t keep ignoring all the stinking rotten signs. “I’ve been throwing up every single morning for a week. And my period’s late. Like, really, really late.”
A long silence.
I hear her breathing though, fast and short.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Okay. We can handle this. I can, uh, I’m not, uhhh?—”
I rub my face with one hand. Poor Elisa isn’t good in a crisis. I love her to death, but she’s a deer. She freezes when there’s a predator. While I’m more like a viper. My first instinct is to kill.
“Stop off at Rite Aid and get some pregnancy tests. Pick up a few different brands. Then come straight here and don’t tell anyone what you have, okay?”
“I can do that. Get pregnancy tests. Understood.” I can practically see her chewing at her little fingernail the way she does when she’s nervous. “Did you tell him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Does he know? About the puking?”
“He leaves early every day.” Lucky freaking me at least. “Just come over, okay? I want to get this over with.”
“See you soon.” But she doesn’t hang up. I stay on the phone too, desperate for her to say something that’ll make this alright. Because it’s not. It’s really not. “I love you, Fio.”
