Chapter 11
Author's Note: This chapter is about the kids but Tony and Angela will feature heavily in my next chapter. Please read and review and let me know what you think of the story so far.
Mrs. Rossini unlatched the numerous locks and bolts on her front door and opened it to three pathetic looking young people accompanied by one toothy blonde. Al had bloody cotton balls stuffed up his swelling nose, Jonathan's right eye was swollen shut and Samantha's left cheekbone was bruised and puffy.
"Look at the lot of yous … what happened?" Mrs. R cried in alarm. She'd seen her share of Brooklyn tempers and schoolyard scraps but these three had clearly been pummeled.
Mrs. Rossini went right to work—she sat the kids at her kitchen table, got the iodine, antibiotic cream, ice-packs and tended to each one of them with Sherri's help. The kids told her about Kevin, prompting Mrs. R to bolt all nine locks on her door.
"That's quite the shiner you've got there, kid", she told Jon as she applied a fresh steak to his eye.
"At least it's the other eye this time", he replied sardonically. He looked at Sam with his good eye, managing to elicit a tiny smile from her. He was referring to the black eye she'd given him almost two years ago when he'd ambushed her with a surprise kiss at the pinnacle of his unrequited crush before being sent to live with Michael.
"Yeah, but the shiner I gave you was worse", she joked. He chuckled softly and lightly stroked her bruised cheek.
"Boo, if that bastard ever comes near you again, I'm going to kill him", Jon declared.
"I think you'll have to get in line behind my dad and me", she told him.
Mrs. Rossini looked at the dejected, injured kids and started boiling a huge pot of water for spaghetti. "I'm gonna feed you; at least your tummies will be full, even if your faces are sore. You poor, poor kids. You've come to the right place." They watched as Mrs. R fussed around her kitchen, throwing various ingredients onto her counter top-some zucchini, fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, mozzarella, ground beef, garlic and pasta of course. She expertly chopped, stirred, browned and baked.
"You know Samantha, when your mother was a teenager she dated this guy, uh, Tommy something-that was before she fell in love with your father." Mrs. Rossini had been quite close to the Milano family while Marie was growing up.
"She did?" Sam was curious about this.
"Yeah and he hit her—same as what happened to you. You should have seen Nick. For all his flaws, that man was a good father. He rearranged that boy's face—Tommy had to drink through a straw up his nose after your grandfather's beating." Mrs. Rossini gave her sauce a hard stir.
"A guy hit my mom?" Sam was aghast but she also felt a deep kinship to her late mother. She'd been a girl just like her, struggling with bad judgement too. She sighed, wishing she'd had more time with her mom—that her mom could see her now.
"Why did she go out with him?" Sam wanted to know more about Marie.
"It was a long time ago—she was only sixteen. But that Tommy, he was a handsome devil, just like that awful Irish boy. Marie was naïve and so young. You remind me so much of her, you know? You're wearin' her smile. She was such a beautiful girl. God rest her soul." Mrs. Rossini quickly did the sign of the cross and wiped a tear from her eye. She'd been the neighbourhood mother to all those kids growing up and when Marie had met Tony, she'd encouraged the relationship, loudly.
"So that's who you got your gorgeous smile from, eh Boo? I wish I'd met your mom—sounds like she was really special", Jon told her.
Samantha was unexpectedly gripped by a dormant deep longing for the mother she'd lost at such a young age. She'd only been eight years old when Marie had passed away. Her memories had a distant, dream-like quality to them. She could no longer picture her mother's face nor remember her voice. But she remembered her mother's perfume-Chanel No. 5. Sam wore it as an homage to her mom and because it comforted her. It was now her own signature scent. Samantha shifted on the hard kitchen chair; the blisters on her backside were painful and she was missing her mother. She quickly took off for the bathroom to have some privacy.
"Maybe you should see if she's alright", Mrs. Rossini prompted Jonathan. The lovelorn looks between the kids surprised her, but not in a bad way. The Bower kid was kind and he looked at Sam the exact same way that Tony had looked at her mother. She wondered if the boy was the cause of Sam's hasty departure to Ireland. She also questioned whether Tony and Angela were aware of the simmering passion between their grown children. She'd sensed something brewing in that house on Oak Hills Drive … she'd noticed it on the day of Tony and Angela's wedding. 'Hmf', she thought to herself—'leaving me in the dark like that.' She strained the spaghetti and watched as Al and Sherri made themselves cozy on the living room couch. "Will wonders never cease?" she muttered under her breath.
Jon headed toward the bathroom to check on Samantha. He was about to rap on the door when he heard her exclaim "oh dear" in dismay.
"Are you alright in there?" he asked her.
She opened the door a fraction, shaking her head. "My blisters burst open—they're kind of a mess. Can you bring me Mrs. R's first aid kit with gauze … lots of gauze?" Jon hurried back to the kitchen, grabbed the medical supplies and handed them to Sam.
"Do you want some help?" he called out through the closed bathroom door.
"Uh ..." Sam hesitated. She did need help and it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen before. She opened the door and let him in. "Well this isn't awkward", she said.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can get Sherri …"
"No, not Sherri. What, and pull her away from Al? Besides, I don't think she's done stuffing cotton balls up his nose", she giggled.
"Those two have it bad", Jon declared.
"No kidding. And, um, it doesn't bother you?"
"Why would it? You know where my feelings lie. Now, let me see those burns." Jon decided to attempt a confident bedside manner with his 'patient'.
Sam nodded and faced away from him. She shyly lifted her skirt and turned back to look at him. "Can you disinfect them and put new gauze please?" Her heart was pounding—she was feeling too self-conscious to pull down the panties herself. She gave him permission and waited, hands on the edge of the sink, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He was ever so gentle with her, being careful not to scrape the burns with the underwear's elastic. He pulled them down and gasped.
"Those burns look very painful", he said with a wince. She braced herself as he began to clean her wounds, handling her burns so tenderly and cautiously. She submitted to the medical treatment he gave her, relieved that he was here to help her. She felt completely safe with him and trusted him even when the iodine stung and the washcloth felt like sandpaper.
"Sorry", he whispered when she let out a sharp gasp of pain. "I'm going to apply the antibiotic ointment now, then the gauze. It shouldn't hurt …I'll be super careful."
She took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. He spread the ointment on her wounds; his fingers moving deftly over the burnt skin. His touch was a balm and she closed her eyes. He'd been gentle as a lover and now, the feel of his warm hand on her bottom was beginning to affect her breathing.
For his part, Jon was trying not to think about the fact that he was rubbing ointment on her nude behind. Once he'd gotten over the shock of seeing the burns, he couldn't help but realize that she was half naked in the tiny confines of this bathroom. He mused that this was the second time they were together in a bathroom during a crisis. Third time if he counted her dead faint from dehydration in California last year.
"Stop", she blurted out suddenly. "This isn't a good idea … I'll do the gauze myself. Thank you but you should go!" Sam inhaled deeply to steady her ragged breathing. She turned around to face him and noted that the pupil in his good eye was dilated from arousal like her own. They were swimming in dangerous waters.
"Yeah, I'd better go … hold on, let me calm myself down. Okay, fat naked guy, fat naked guy, fat naked guy …" he chanted a few times. "I'm alright now", he exhaled as he exited the bathroom.
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"I don't think I ever ate so much in one sitting", Jon declared from the passenger seat of Sam's car. Mrs. Rossini had stuffed them full of Italian food after tending to their injuries. He and Sam were on their way back home.
"I'm sure that Dad and Angela will be happy to have the leftovers. Car reeks of garlic though … crack open the window, will you?"
"Hey, where are you going? The interstate's that way", Jon said in alarm. Sam had completely missed the turn off.
"There's someone I really need to talk to before we head home. Do you mind? I won't be long." Samantha pulled her car into Saint Agatha's Cemetery. The sun was setting and a slightly cool breeze was rustling the poplars. She parked the car, turned off the ignition and stared out the window for a moment, admiring the sunset.
"Is this where your mom is buried?" Jon asked.
"Yeah … I kind of miss her tonight. More than usual." She looked at him a bit sadly but then her eyes lit up. "Hey, come meet my mom, Jonathan."
"Uh, meet her? Suuuure." He followed her out of the car and down the small winding path that led towards the gravestones.
"Well, here she is", Sam said without preamble. "I should have brought flowers, darn."
"Hey, it's a spontaneous thing, right?" Jon looked at the gravestone that read Marie Isabella Milano Micelli, cherished daughter, wife, mother and friend. 1952-1980.
"God, she was so young", he said stunned. I mean, I knew but … seeing it here. It's so sad. She was only twenty-eight."
"Twenty-seven actually. She died before her birthday. They all died young."
"They who?"
"My mom, her mom before her, my dad's mom and her sister too. None of them made it to thirty. They all had cancer. On my mom's side, ovarian cancer and on my dad's side, breast cancer." Sam looked up at the sky and shuddered. She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm already twenty this year", she whispered to nobody in particular. She appeared forlorn for a moment as though wrestling with her own thoughts. Jon was about to ask her if she was alright when she suddenly turned around and smiled at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Come closer", then to the gravestone, "Mom, this is Jonathan Bower. You know about him already but I wanted him to meet you. I'm having a hard time today, Mom. Mrs. R told me about Tommy-the awful boy who hit you. Well, seems we have that in common." Sam sniffled and stared into the dying sun, mesmerised by its orange glow. "I miss you Mom … I wish I could talk to you and feel your arms around me again. I wish you could have seen me graduate from high school and be there when I become a nurse. I just wish … wish you hadn't died. You were way too young. It's not fair", she cried.
"Hey, hey, Boo?" Jonathan came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. He held her against him, warding off the early evening wind. It was beginning to pick up and he saw that she had goose bumps. "Come on, Sam. Let's go home. You're cold." He tried to lead her to the car but she resisted.
"Don't you get it?" she told him.
"What? That you miss your mom today? Yeah. Kevin hitting you today and Mrs. R telling you stories about your mom must have stirred up a lot of feelings and …"
"Yeah but not just that stuff!"
"What? What's wrong, Sam?"
"What if I die young too? What if I've only got seven years left? When my mom was my age, she was already married to my dad and pregnant with me. I barely got to have any time with her."
"You don't know when you'll die, Sam. None of us do." He tried to reassure her but a whisper of fear crept across his spirit. Would she be buried here in less than a decade too? Would he be bringing flowers to her grave in seven short years? No! He wasn't going to let fear get the best of him.
"Those kinds of cancers are hereditary. I'll probably die before I turn thirty like all the women in my family did."
"You're scaring me, Sam. Stop it."
"Sorry Sweetie … I'm not trying to scare you. I just wonder if I'll be joining my mom here in a few years."
"Sam?" Jon turned her around to face him. "I love you and I won't let you die. I'm going to become the best oncologist in the word and I'm going to save you if you get sick and …"
Samantha put a finger to his lips to quiet him. His fearful babbling wasn't why she'd brought up her possibly short life span.
"Jon, I didn't mean to freak you out. I guess what I'm trying to say is … uh, carpe diem. Seize the day. You know, like in that movie, Dead Poet's Society. If the early deaths of women in my family are any indication, I may only have seven years left."
"Sam, if that's true, then what the hell are we doing waiting around for three more of those years?"
"Exactly my point."