Page 18 of Vows of a Mobster

“In the garage,” he replied. That couldn’t be a coincidence. To run into her that many times in my own building.

“Do you know who she is?”

“No,” he replied. “I thought you might know her name. It cannot be a coincidence to run into her that many times,” he echoed my earlier thought.

“Find out who she is and what she’s doing in my building,” I told him in a hard tone. “If she is a threat, I want to know.” He knew what that meant but even as those words left me, her soft smile and bedroom eyes played in my mind.

Eight

Brianna

The moment I woke up to hear Emma crying, I knew something was wrong. I ran to her room and found her covered in vomit.

“Oh baby,” I picked her up, uncaring of it getting all over me. I cradled her in my arms, rubbing her back. “Shhhh, it’s ok. Mommy is here,” I murmured softly to her.

I walked into the bathroom with her in my arms, started running water into the tub, then sat on the toilet seat with her on my lap.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I whispered to her. “Does your tummy hurt?”

She nodded in response, her blue eyes glistening with tears. She started her medication last night and one of the side effects was an upset stomach. Maybe I should have given it to her on an empty stomach, although the directions said with the food.

I pulled her pjs off, tossing them onto the floor. Testing the water for warmth, I found it to be the right temperature.

“Ready to get into the bath?” I asked Emma, as she clung to me.

“Yes,” she answered in her small voice. She looked pale. “Will you stay?”

“Of course,” I told her. I lifted her and gently put her into the tub, as warm water kept pouring into the tub.

I knelt down onto the tiled floor, in front of the tub as I slowly washed her blonde curls. “You’ll feel so much better after the bath, you’ll see,” I murmured softly to her. “Do you want Elsa or Cinderella shampoo today?”

“Elsa please,” she answered, a slight interest in her blue gaze.

“Great choice,” I commended her softly. I poured blue liquid into her hair and washed her hair in gently round motions. “Mmmm, it smells great. Like Elsa ice. What do you think?”

A small chuckle left her lips. “No, Mommy. It smells like berries.”

I pretended to take a sniff. Then another. “You might be right, princess,” I told her as I pretended to think it through.

“I’m right,” she claimed.

“Okay, head up so we can rinse it off,” I urged her softly. It was her least favorite part. But she did it without a complaint.

“Good job,” I beamed at her. Once she was washed up, I sat down on the floor and waited for her to play in her bubbles. There was no sense cutting it short. Once chemo started, she’d be too tired even for that.

I leaned backwards and placed my head against the wall, closing my eyes. God, some days I felt like I bounced from one extreme to the next. I went to bed hopeful and determined everything would work out, to wake up to a feeling of desperation at seeing my child hurt. Late last night I got an email from Dr. Guzman that none of the volunteers tested were a match. Still, I fell asleep with a sense of hope.

Was it normal for a person to run through these extremes?

A splash of water had me opening my eyes. Emma pretended she was a fish in the tub, swimming back and forth.

“I’m swimming,” she beamed, but she still looked very pale.

“Great swimming,” I told her.

“I am a great swimmer,” she announced proudly. “Like Nemo.”

“Just like Nemo,” I agreed softly. “He was a strong swimmer, wasn’t he? Even though his dad didn’t think so in the beginning.”