Page 30 of Forbidden Fruit
“Oh no,” I mumble.
I stay slumped over my arm at the side of the toilet for what feels like hours. At some point, I lay on the tiled floor to cool my heated brow.
Before I can not so peacefully pass out on my bathroom floor, I grab my phone from my dress pocket. I don’t have the strength to text, so I leave Mr Marquesi a voice note. I’ll be embarrassed when I’m well enough to care.
“Hi Mr Marquesi. I’m so so sorry but I won’t be able to work tomorrow. I think Anton gave me whatever he had and I don’t feel so well.”
I barely stop recording before a wave of sickness takes hold of me again and I wretch with renewed force. My stomach contracts, but there’s nothing to push out of my already empty stomach. The cramping makes me double over and my throat burns as if I had scratched it raw with my nails.
I’m not sure how, but I make it back to my bed. There’s no use trying to down anti-nausea pills or any other meds; I won’t hold them. Water is all I can swallow and I pray this won’t last too long. Livia and Anton need me.
In the darkness of my apartment, I wish my mother were here. She’s the only one who’s ever taken care of me. I wishsomeone would just hold me and soothe me and make me soup. I wish I wasn’t so alone.
In my feverish state, I conjure up Lino and his strong, muscle-corded arms. They hold me tight to his hard chest as his hands sift through my hair until I fall asleep.
SEVENTEEN
I HATE MYSELF FOR TOUCHING HER. BUT HATE ISN’T NUMBNESS.
Iclench my jaw as I listen to Vanessa’s message for the tenth time, debating what to do. She’s a grown woman who can take care of herself.
Yet, I love protecting her, my brain tells me.
Anton’s fever dropped, but he’s still sick enough that I will stay home with him again tomorrow. Taking care of him all day while supervising Livia at the same time was exhausting. And fulfilling. It was a good tiredness, the kind you only get when you do something worthy.
It’s probably selfish and awful to say that and my therapist, if I had one, should hear about it, but they kept the emptiness at bay. It was still there, hanging over my head like a cloud, but it didn’t make me want to stay in bed all day or use the ropes I play with for another purpose entirely.
Both children are now in bed and the fist not clutching the phone is clenching uselessly by my side as I debate what to do.
Vanessa has been working with us for over three months, living on the property for almost as long and I’ve never seen her go outside except for her groceries or that day she went to the beach with us. She sits inside all day on weekends and I saw thelights turn off at 10 pm on weekdays. She’s dedicated all her time to us. Well, to Anton and Livia.
I think about how lonely she must be and can’t help but grind my jaw at the image I conjure up of her small frame in bed with no comfort or help. If she’s as sick as Anton was today, she won’t even be able to get out of bed to feed herself. She probably doesn’t even have proper medicine in the bathroom cabinet.
The idea of her loneliness awakens something in me. Something I haven’t felt in years, if ever. A closeness I can’t even name. I’m a single child and I was already emotionally numb when Monica came into my life. I certainly never felt the need to protect her nor felt really close to her. We had different interests and ideals. Maybe that’s why our marriage ended the way it did. I never provided her with the comfort of my presence and the protection of my arms. I want to give that to Vanessa.
I don’t think about the repercussions of my impulsive decision when it comes to her and call my mother.
“Hipicculinu, cumu va?” she asks, then laments as I explain the situation with Anton.
“Mamma, he’s sick, not dying.” I roll my eyes at her theatrics, but one thing about my mother is that she can’t stand to see the people she loves suffering.
“Can you come over for an hour or two to make sure the kids don’t wake up while I’m gone?” I ask.
“Lino Ange Dominique Marquesi, you arenotgoing to work while your babies need you.”
“Mamma,” I sigh. She’s the only one who questions me. Even my father remains silent when I make a decision. But my mother? She has no such compunction. “Of course not. Vanessa caught Anton’s bug, and she’s sick too. I’m just going to bring her some medicine, but I don’t want the kids to be left by themselves, even if they’re asleep.”
“Vivi is sick?” Concern taints her voice.
“Don’t call her that. She’s my employee, not a friend.”
“Don’t be so callous,picculinu. It’s unbecoming. Vivi is an integral part of your household, whether you like it or not. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And when I get there, there’s better be soup for that poor girl. I’ll bring sage leaves from my garden for her.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose but don’t say anything. It’s no use. My mother believes a sage infusion in hot milk has magical properties, and no one can change her mind about it.
Iknock on Vanessa’s door for a good ten minutes, the container of soup hot between my palms. Maybe it’s only five minutes, but it feels longer. The key to the pool house is like a brand in the pocket of my pressed grey suit pants. I’ve watched her through the cameras in my home almost every day and she has no idea. What’s one more transgression? Sweeping my morals under the rug, I pull out the small metal key and turn it into the lock.
I don’t have time to call out her name as I see her lying on the tiled bathroom floor. My eyes bulge and I spring into action, dropping the container on the kitchen counter, then running into her space and falling on my knees at her side. Fear takes hold until I feel my heart might explode.