Chris didn’t like rehashing that day and I think that’s because he felt the weight of survivor’s guilt. Still, I couldn’t help but think it was some sort of sign from above that not only was he rescued from such a horrible attack but, ten years later on that very same day we met.
The thing about signs though is that they’re not always in your favor.
Fate is a beautiful thing until it isn’t anymore. Until you’re standing in the back of the church, prepared to marry your soulmate only to learn he was in a car accident. Until you’re wearing your wedding dress and identifying the body of your fiancée. Until you’re in the bathroom a month later staring at a positive pregnancy test wondering how you’re going to go on.
I’ve spent the last four years, staring into my son’s eyes asking myself why.
Why cheat death once and not twice?
Why make him leave this world never knowing his son?
Why make him leave me when I had so much love to still give him?
Like I said, no reason will ever make it right and time doesn’t heal anything. Fate is a bitter pill to swallow. Sometimes you have to slip that bitch under the tongue and pretend you’re okay.
Sometimes you have to pretend you’re not dying inside.
I’ve become quite the actress over the last few years and keep the crying to a minimum. In truth, there are times when I forget to cry, when I’m too busy being a mother, a father and guidance counselor to remember my broken heart. Then there are times after Chris is safely tucked in bed when I lock myself in the bathroom and mourn the perfect man, my perfect love.
Times like now when I sit behind my desk and stare at the dysfunctional couple in front of me and try not to scream as they bicker over the most senseless and superficial bullshit. So their marriage didn’t work, do they have any idea how lucky they are? They are both alive and able to be part of their daughter’s life. They get to watch her grow and witness life through her eyes. Do they have any fucking idea how precious that is or how many people aren’t that fortunate?
My guess is no.
“If you were paying attention to her we wouldn’t be here,” the father hisses. Dressed in his bunker gear, he scratches the scruff lining his jaw in frustration.
“Don’t you dare point a finger at me,” the mother barks back, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. “How was I supposed to know she took a water bottle filled with vodka to school?”
Grabbing my coffee, I roll my eyes as the dean of the school clears his throat.
“Mr. and Mrs. Casale,” he starts.
“It’s Mrs. Liconti,” the mother corrects. “He’s the Casale.”
My eyes dart to the fireman and it’s his turn to roll his eyes. Then his radio goes off and the ex-wife glares at him.
“For crying out loud, shut that thing off.”
Turning my attention to her, I watch as she huffs in disgust and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to throw my coffee in her face. I’m not an angry person—well, not really but, she strikes a nerve with me. Maybe it’s the way she looks at her ex-husbands uniform with disdain. I like to think I always had respect for first responders but after meeting Chris that respect became unmeasurable. For if that man didn’t save him, I never would’ve met the perfect man and for as short as it may have been, I wouldn’t have experienced that perfect love. All because a selfless man decided to be a hero, I am the proud mother of a beautiful boy and for that I will always be grateful to any serviceman.
“I can’t,” he sneers, turning down the volume.
“Famous words,” she mutters.
“Mrs. Liconti, Mr. Casale, please focus on the problem at hand. As we discussed on the phone, the school is suspending your daughter for one week due to today’s incident but, I also asked Ms. Moscato here so we could address Gabriella’s grades.”
“What’s wrong with her grades?” Mr. Casale asks, slicing his eyes toward me.
Placing my coffee cup on the desk, I straighten my posture and get my head back in the game. Extending my hand, I address the parents.
“Mr. Casale,” I start.
Sliding his hand in mine, he leans forward and shakes it gently. The expression on his face changes and his eyes narrow curiously as he studies me. An electric current passes from his fingertips to mine and I pull my hand back, diverting my attention to Mrs. Liconti. I offer her my hand as well but she crosses her arms against her chest.
“What’s this about Gabriella’s grades?” she snaps.
Lifting an eyebrow, I drop my hand and open the folder in front of me.
“Well I’ll just cut to the chase then,” I mutter, raising my chin. “Your daughter is failing all her classes.”
“How is that even possible?” Mr. Casale asks.
“Well for starters, her attendance is poor.”
“That’s a lie,” Mrs. Liconti fires back. “I drive her to the bus stop every morning on my way to work.”
Ignoring her outburst, I remove their daughter’s attendance record from the stack of papers and hand it to Mr. Casale.
“There has been six school days this year, and she’s shown up for one,” I point out. “In order for Gabriella to graduate at the end of the year with her class she has to make up twenty-seven credits which is nearly impossible if she takes on a full schedule and night school.”
“You didn’t know this was going on?” Mr. Casale asks Mrs. Liconti.
“You saw the same report card as I did.”
“Jesus Christ, Lisa, for once in your fucking life can you take responsibility. She lives with you for crying out loud,” he shouts. “If she was under my roof, I would know whether she was flunking high school and you better believe I’d put a fucking lock on my liquor cabinet.”
“Oh, you think you can do a better job, Jimmy? Go ahead! I’d love to see you try.”
My eyes widen as I watch them stand to their full height and fire insults at one another. It’s not a surprise the daughter is cutting class and drinking. Negative attention is still attention, and it’s obvious Gabriella wants more from her parents than to witness a pissing match between them.
“I will,” Jimmy shouts, turning his eyes back to me. “Where is my daughter?”
I don’t have a chance to answer and neither does the dean because Jimmy turns back to Lisa.
“She’s coming home with me,” he tells her. “And she’s staying with me until this is all sorted out. Fight me on it Lisa and I swear on everything Holy, you won’t like the outcome.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m promising you,” he says with a curt shake of the head before turning his attention back to me and the dean. “Again, where is my daughter?”
“I will get her,” the dean says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Ms. Moscato will you make sure Mr. Casale signs the detention papers?”
“Sure,” I say, taking the papers from his hand. I pull a pen from the drawer and offer it to Gabriella’s father. As he signs the suspension forms, I glance at Mrs. Liconti. Halfway out the door, she hikes her purse over her shoulder and turns to Jimmy.
“This isn’t my fault,” she adds before walking out of the office. The door slams behind her and I draw in a deep breath as I divert my eyes back to Mr. Casale.
“I apologize for that,” he says, handing me back the papers. For a moment I wonder if by that he means Mrs. Liconti or the entire exchange, including his part in it. Putting the cap back on the pen, he narrows his eyes before pointing it at me.
“Have we met before?”
“No,” I reply.
“You look very familiar,” he continues.
“Maybe we’ve passed each other in the halls during parent teacher conferences,” I suggest. Feeling the intensity of his stare, my hands fumble as I shove the form into the folder and push back my chair.
“Maybe,” he agrees, pausing for a beat. “Ms. Moscato?”
“Yes?”
“My daughter will graduate with her class,”
he says hoarsely, causing me to meet his gaze.
There is a whole lot reflected in his eyes but the thing that shines the most is regret. Maybe I was wrong to judge him and Mrs. Liconti. After all, I don’t know their story or how fate may have derailed the path they were on and I never did understand how love could turn to hate. What I do know for certain is the man standing in front of me loves his daughter and aside from the guilt seeping from his irises there is also determination.
“I hope so,” I reply.
The door to the office opens and the dean returns with Gabriella in tow. Obviously drunk, she sways in the doorway as her eyes find her father.
“Shit,” she mutters.
“Yeah,” he grunts, walking toward her.
“Where’s mommy?”
“She’s sitting this one out, kid. It’s you and me,” he says, taking hold of her elbow. Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze darts from the dean to me.
“Thank you,” he mutters. His stare lingers for a moment before he shakes his head and turns to his daughter. Once they’re out of sight, I turn to the dean.
“Well, that went well,” he says sarcastically.
I don’t respond as I grab the folder from the desk and make my way to my own office. Passing the window, I spot the firetruck outside and watch as Jimmy helps his daughter climb inside. Its quite the sight and for some odd reason I smile. It’s not forced or fake. It’s a genuine smile that takes me by surprise and causes me to raise my fingertips to my lips.
The firetruck pulls away and I make my way to my desk. The picture of Christopher stares back at me and the smile falls from my lips.
The perfect man.
My perfect love.
A sudden twist of fate.
Chapter 3
A Face Like Hers
Jimmy Casale
After the scene at the school, I loaded Gabby onto the rig. However, I was still on the job and hadn’t given much thought as to what I was going to do with her. With no other choice, I took her back to my house, got her situated as best as I could and ordered her to sleep it off. A call came over the radio just as we were leaving the house and back to work I went. It wasn’t until later that night when I returned home that I realized how unprepared I was to have my daughter with me full time.
Sure, both my girls had bedrooms at my house but I don’t remember the last time either of them actually spent the night. When they were little, they spent every other weekend with me—hence the Hello Kitty comforters and bubble gum pink walls but then the teenage years hit and they became too cool for sleepovers at dad’s house.
Aside from the childish room, Gabby didn’t have any of her belongings with her and of course Lisa wasn’t all that accommodating. Instead of letting our daughter go home and grab her shit, she ordered me to go out and buy her everything new. Which was ridiculous if you ask me. The kid was suspended from school but, hey, let’s get her a wardrobe and a shiny new laptop.
The first stop was the mall and let me just say, there should be a law against fathers having to shop with their teenage daughters. It’s one thing to sit in a chair while she tries on twelve pairs of boots, it’s a horse of a different color to have to stand outside Victoria’s Secret as she shops for underwear.
Next on the list was Target—another torturous place for all of mankind. There we got all her toiletries, a computer and some new bedding. By the time she felt at home two days passed and I had to go back to work, making it my turn to feel misplaced. It was the first time since I got on the job where I had to worry about what my daughter was doing or if she needed something. I didn’t know what her routine was or if she could be trusted alone. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. That she would go to bed at a decent time and not try to sneak out or smuggle anyone in for that matter. I wanted Gabby the little girl, the one who hung on my every word and thought I was her hero. The little girl who was content sitting on the floor playing with Barbie dolls.
As the hours ticked by and I stared at the clock in the firehouse, I realized how much time had passed and how many precious moments I missed. My daughters were growing into young women and the memories I often replayed in my head were just a piece of their past. You don’t realize it at first or at least I didn’t. I was too busy living day to day, trying to be in two places at once to realize a phone call every night and dinner twice a week with my kids wasn’t enough.
Vowing to change that, I decided after my shift I would go home, make her favorite—chicken marsala and then, we’d get back to basics. Back to the days when Gabby didn’t have to wonder if I had her back when she knew for certain her dad would move heaven and earth for her. Then and only then would we get to the root of why she was drinking and cutting out of school.
My plan was solid until I went home, opened the fridge and spotted a loaf of bread and a half a gallon of milk. Now here we are at Jose Tejas—her favorite restaurant, sharing a bowl of chips trying to decide between enchiladas and burritos. One thing about my daughter that I’m certain of is that she is as indecisive as her mother.
The waitress finally takes our order and the silence stretching between us is painfully uncomfortable. Avoiding me, I watch as she chews on her straw and glances around the crowded Mexican restaurant. Part of me wonders if she chose this place so she wouldn’t have to talk to me much.
“I spoke to your sister today,” I start, waiting for her to turn her attention back to me. “Told her you’re staying with me.”
No response.
“I’ll hit the supermarket after we leave here,” I say, changing the subject. “If there is anything specific you want let me know or we can go together…”
She slurps the rest of her drink through the straw instead of replying. Frustrated, I rake a hand down my face and scratch the scruff lining my jaw.
“Has your mother called you?” I question.
That seems to strike a nerve with her and she finally meets my gaze.
“She called this morning,” she replies with a shrug. “I didn’t answer.”
“How come?”
“What’s the point?” she says. “She’ll yell at me and tell me how much I disappointed her or she’ll blame you for everything, like you poured the vodka in the bottle for me.”
As true as that might be, I don’t agree with her. I think part of the reason she is acting is out is because of the shit job Lisa and I have been doing co-parenting. It’s easier to point fingers at one another than to come together despite our differences. The blow is softer to the pride we’re both struggling to hang onto.
“You know she blames you for everything right?” she adds. “Every time me or Gianna get into trouble it’s your fault. She uses the excuse you weren’t around enough when we were growing up. Sometimes, when she’s really pissed, she raises her head to the sky and asks God why we had to take after you and not her.”
Pausing, she diverts her eyes away from me.
“When the grades are good, we’re her daughters but, when we fuck up we’re Jimmy’s girls,” she whispers.
She’s not lying.
I’ve witnessed Lisa’s theatrics firsthand and while it burns my ass, she pulls this shit in front of our kids, I bite my cheek forcing myself to remain focused. As much as I want to tell Gabby her mother is an asshole that’s not what she needs to hear. It won’t fix shit.
“Watch ya mouth,” I mutter. Sighing, I lean forward and touch a finger to her chin. She turns hers gaze back to me and I offer her a wink. “Your mother loves you, Gab. We both do,” I assure her. “The both of us made mistakes when it came to each other and unfortunately when it came to you and your sister too. There are some wrongs in life we can’t make right no matter how much we want to. All we can do is make a conscious effort to be better going forward but you gotta do your part too,” I say, pausing to grab her hand. Startled, confusion masks her pretty face as she stares at our joined hands.
“You gotta talk to me,” I say, forcing her eyes back to me
. “You need to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Who said anything is bothering me?”
“You did. Maybe not with words but with your actions. Come on, Gab. You know not to drink and you sure as shit know not to get sloshed at school.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” she defends quietly.
“Don’t make it right,” I argue, watching as she bites her lower lip in deep thought. “And while we’re at it, we might as well discuss your grades and why they’re slipping. Your guidance counselor said you haven’t been showing up to your classes.”
“There is no point,” she mutters. “I’m not going to graduate with my friends. I’m too far behind.”
“She doesn’t seem to think so,” I counter, cocking my head to the side as I draw in a deep breath. “According to her, if you work your ass off from now until June you have a shot at that diploma. Then next year you can start a community college, build your grades up and transfer to whatever school you want.”
“Why do I have to go to college?”
“You don’t have to do anything. You can flunk school and deliver pizza if that’s what you want but, I know you Gab. I know you want better for yourself. You used to want to be a kindergarten teacher, what happened?”
She raises an eyebrow.
“You remember that?”
“Baby girl, I remember everything,” I tell her. “Including all the times you would run to me whenever there was something bothering you. You weren’t just your daddy’s little girl, you were my best pal.”
“And then you left,” she whispers, eyes full of unshed tears.
“I didn’t leave you, Gab,” I say, taking her hands. “Never you. You and your sister are everything to me.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything,” I reply hoarsely. Watching her wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands, makes my heart feel like it’s in a vice. As painful as this conversation is, it’s long overdue. All these years, I’ve been coasting through, fighting fires and making ends meet believing I was doing the right thing as a father and a man. I knew the divorce didn’t only hit me but my girls too and yet, I never took time to discuss it with them. I never asked them if they were okay. I went about life just like I did when I was with their mother, always waiting for the alarm to ring.
Burn Me Anthology Page 7