Page 14 of Reclaimed Dreams
What would he do if she just didn’t come home? Exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions in just the last half hour, Jo considered it. She could just leave it all behind. Never had running away looked so good.
“I wish it would burn to the ground,” she whispered. Why couldn’t he see that this fucking show and that damned company were tearing them apart? Why did he keep putting it first? No, she couldn’t go back to those thoughts now that she’d broken free. She was an independent woman who could do as she pleased.
She could walk away from everything. Giddy rage filled her head with ideas she’d never contemplated before. But she sure as hell was thinking them now.
Sofia sat silent, so Jo pushed on.
“He will never leave that company unless it is gone. I didn’t want to bring this up, but you should know. I am considering leaving your father.”
Saying it out loud scared her a little, but her filters were fully gone, burnt up in her temper and rage.
“What? Does Dad know about this?”
“I don’t know what your father knows. We haven’t spoken since he announced that ridiculous television show. He knew. He knew I needed him, and he put that company first again.”
Jo finished her too-sweet coffee gone cold in one gulp and gathered her things. There was little left to say, and Alessandro was waiting.
“So he could leave it in a strong position for the rest of us.” Sofia tried to explain, but Jo wasn’t having it.
“Don’t be naive. He won’t leave until a backhoe loads his casket into the ground.”
Jo looked over Sofia’s shoulder and saw Alessandro getting out of his car. She couldn’t handle this meeting between her daughter and her friend and the questions that would follow. Not with her filters lying in ashes on the floor. Who knew what else might pop out?
“I don’t want to see what happened to me happen to you too. I love you, Sofia. It’s just not worth it. My ride for the excursion is here. I’ve got to run. Thanks for the coffee. Give my love to Enzo and Frankie.”
Jo kissed Sofia’s cheek and prayed her daughter would listen to her advice as she hustled out the door.
“Sorry I’m late. I was having coffee with my daughter.”
Alessandro brushed away her apology and opened her door with a flourish. “Nonsense. Family always comes first.”
14 years ago
Jo swung in through the front door, hair wild and flannel shirt hastily thrown over her pajamas, having barely made the school drop-offs in time. Tossing her purse and keys on the table in the foyer, she sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen. In precisely fifty-three minutes, she had a showing for a client looking at homes in Los Altos and still had to pull herself together. She also had to get the kids’ baseball uniforms through the wash before their games tonight, start dinner in the crock pot, and pick a bag of lemons for Mrs. K as a thank-you for picking up Frankie from practice this week.
As she rushed past the piles and messes created by her lovely family, a million different tasks crowded her mind, making it hard to hold on to just the ones she’d prioritized for this morning. She’d have written them all down except she didn’t even have time for that, nor to deal with the resulting overwhelm of an eight-page to-do list.
Dom had already headed out to the job site. Jo could catch up with him at the office this afternoon, assuming the showing went well. There were a few potential flip properties she wanted to run by him, maybe see if he was interested in letting Gabe do some more involved work this summer, now that he was seventeen. It would help to have extra hands and would keep the labor cost down even more.
Spinning into the kitchen, Jo opened the cabinet to grab her favorite to-go mug that Sofia had gotten her last Christmas. Not seeing it, she whirled to the dishwasher. It had to be here. Yes, the mug was hot pink and said Mom on the side in purple glitter, but it was her lucky mug. The dishwasher was empty. Dom must have emptied it before he left.
She smiled at the thought. He might strike out in the cooking department, but he was solid batting cleanup. Too much baseball. Between Enzo and Gabe both in different school leagues, and Frankie playing softball, she was drowning in sweaty stirrup socks and dusty sliding pants.
Her watch judged her inability to caffeinate effectively, taunting her with the minutes flying past as she searched for her mug. Frustrated, Jo yanked a random mug from the shelf, one of Dom’s that looked like caution tape.
Refusing to believe this would jinx her, Jo turned to the coffee machine and stopped midstride. There was her mug, already filled with coffee and a little milk, just the way she liked it. She couldn’t fight the grin that spread across her face. That man.
Jo sipped her still-hot coffee with a sigh of appreciation. Perfect. This might be the only still moment she got all day, and Dom had taken the time to make sure it was right. She might want to strangle him from time to time, but he came through when it counted.
She glanced down at her watch. Forty-six minutes left. She took another bracing sip before gathering beef stew ingredients from the fridge and dumping them into the crock pot. Coffee rapidly disappearing, she crossed to the laundry room and tossed all of the dusty uniforms into the washer.
On the floor, Dom had shed his favorite pair of work jeans, beat to hell and covered in all kinds of dirt. Feeling gracious and blessedly awake, she tossed them into the wash as well so he wouldn’t have to wait a week to wear them again. It was the little things they did for each other these days that showed their love. No one had time for big romantic gestures with four children, but they had time to take care of each other.
As the washer filled with water, Jo finished her coffee and headed up to hop into the shower. It would likely be cold, but she’d keep it quick. She’d have to be quick to make it to Los Altos in time. In and out, hair washed and body scrubbed, she had perfected the five-minute shower when her babies were little. The skill still served her well because with six people showering there was never enough in the water heater to go around.
Wrapping up her hair in a towel, she rushed to dry herself and put on lotion and minimal makeup. She hoped her black suit didn’t smell too bad, because she hadn’t managed to catch the cleaners while it was open yesterday, and the funeral suit was the only option still here. She turned toward her closet, and again pulled up short. The dry cleaning was hanging in a bag on the bar with a yellow receipt stapled to it. Her husband’s Sharpie scrawl caught her eye.
Jo- You’ve got this. Knock ’em dead. Love, Dom.
