Page 15 of Reckless Vow

“Micah’s disease has taught me to live for each day.” She snaps the book closed. “Right now he lives for meeting his grandchild, and that’s what we’re focusing on.” She digs her fingers between the pages and pulls the book open again.

“Whatever you say, Mom.” I stand up, kiss her forehead and turn to leave.

“I’m just sorry I won’t be here to spend more time with you. Promise me we will have time to catch up,” she says to my back.

“We will.”

“I’m sorry.”

Fuck this conversation with all its double meanings. I stay rooted, the door handle in my hand, but I don’t push the door open.

I want to pretend I didn’t hear her, because that would mean accepting that she really, truly knew what happened back then.

But I don’t have it in me to unearth that further, so I don’t acknowledge her. But neither do I move.

“For not fighting for you all those years ago,” she confirms. “Now I’m staying out of it.”

I leave without responding. I came tonight to see my mother, to hug her, to tell her I love her and leave.

Instead, all sorts of shit has been stirred up in my head about the past.

And I fucking got engaged.

Chapter6

Brook

My legs.

They move instinctively, feet tapping and twirling on the soft carpet, my arms weaving through the air, shaking off the frustration of the day.

What a fucking day.

The music pulses through my earbuds into every crevice of my exhausted body. The fast, rhythmic beat echoes the frantic pace of my heart.

I close my eyes, letting the music sweep through me as I seek a sweet escape. Usually, each beat is a drum roll, banishing my troubles, freeing me from the tight grip of stress.

Music has always been my therapist, my confidant. Today, it doesn’t seem to understand my need to let go. My body moves in sync with the pulsating rhythm, but I’m not finding relief.

My worries tend to fade away to the beat, swaying and shimmying, but none of today’s occurrences can fade away.

Baldo Cassinetti proposed to me.

The girl in me rejoiced, because that was something I used to dream about.

There’s probably still a diary in my desk drawer in the corner of my room where I practiced the Cassinetti signature.

Not that anything that ensued after I fell for the boy would ever allow for a wedding or any future together.

Yet here we are.

Baldo Cassinetti proposed to me.

The heartbroken woman doesn’t understand what’s happening. He took me by surprise, to say the least. What was he thinking?

I twirl in place a few times, bobbing my head, hoping some other way of thinking triggers understanding, but nothing happens.

I stumble, but catch myself before falling, and I may have even saved the move gracefully.

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