The Turning Point

by Marie Meyer

  “Thanks for coming in.” She shut the door behind her.

  Turning around, she held her hand out for me to shake. “Yes. Absolutely.” I reluctantly let go of Lucas’s hand to return the pleasantry.

  I’d wanted to have the test done before I started med school but hadn’t known the process was so detailed. I had two preliminary meetings with Ms. Turner, which Mom and Nonna accompanied me to because Lucas was in California. He’d promised to be here for the test (which he had been) and now, for the results. He’d wanted to be by my side for everything, but I understood he had a life in California. We were grown adults, and we were committed to making our long-distance relationship work. Which meant making sacrifices and compromises. I loved him, so that was the easy part.

  Sitting here in this room was the hard part. Finding out if all my hopes and dreams ended today.

  “Hi, Lucas,” she said, extending her hand to him. “Nice to see you again.”

  Lucas stood, putting his palm to hers. “Likewise, Ms. Turner.”

  “How long are you in town?”

  Why did she ask him that? What does it mean? Will I need him to stay longer?

  Dr. Turner rounded her desk and took a seat. She shuffled some paperwork off to the side, save one manila folder. “How are you, Sophia?” she asked, clasping her hands on top the file.

  “I’ve been better.” I grabbed for Lucas’s hand again.

  “Yeah, this part is never easy,” she said, her smile sinking a little. “Well, let me tell you where we go from here. We’ve looked at your DNA—your chromosomal makeup—from the blood sample you provided. With HD, we specifically concentrate on what is called a ‘CAG repeat’ to confirm a diagnosis.”

  We’d been over this before, and I’d done so much homework on HD these last four months, I could write my graduate thesis on the CAG repeat. “Less than twenty-seven repeats is ideal.” I nodded.

  Ms. Turner bit the corner of her thin smile. “Yes, anything below twenty-seven is considered a negative result.” She withdrew a white 8.5 x 11-inch sheet of paper from my folder. Passing it across the desk, she flipped it around so I could read it.

  I latched on to the necklace my grandfather had given me, dragging it side to side over the chain. “Wait!” I hollered, louder than I’d meant.

  “Soph?” Lucas said, squeezing my hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Panic rose in my chest, blooming like a field overrun with dandelions. My throat pinched closed. “I…I just…,” I stuttered.

  Ms. Turner got up from her cushy chair and went to the water dispenser. She stuck a cone-shaped paper cup under the spigot and lifted the lever. Water flowed from the spout and bubbles rumbled in the deep blue tank.

  She handed me the damp cup.

  I took a sip. It was cold and smooth running down the back of my throat. Lucas rubbed circles on my back.

  “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Baby, are you sure?” Lucas asked.

  No, I wasn’t sure. I wanted so much…to know the answer…but only if the answer was the one I wanted to hear. But then again, I wanted to know if the result wasn’t favorable, too…but then…I didn’t want to know. It was a vicious, eye-clawing battle in my soul.

  “Okay,” Ms. Turner said, coming to stand in front of me. “Listen, Sophia.” She sat on the edge of her pretty polished desk. “Until you’re certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that you want to know what’s on that paper, I will seal it up.”

  “Seal it up?”

  “No one’s forcing this decision on you. It’s one you have to make on your own. If you’re not ready, then we wait until you are.” She grabbed the paper from her desk and walked around to the other side. Pulling open a drawer, she took out a white envelope. Meticulously, she folded the paper and slipped it inside, licked the flap, and pressed it closed.

  She held it out.

  “When you’re ready, you can open this. For many people, being at home, surrounded by loved ones, seems to do the trick. Others prefer to be alone, finding comfort in solitude. No matter what you choose, though, if you open it, call me. I want to follow up with you, regardless of the outcome. I don’t care if you open it fifteen years from now. I will still be expecting a phone call, Sophia.” She smiled warmly; it matched the glow of the room.

  I couldn’t bring myself to touch the envelope. When I didn’t take it, Lucas did for me, lifting it from Ms. Turner’s fingers.

  “Take care of her, Lucas,” she said, coming back to the side of the desk where we stood.

  Lucas got up from the chair and pulled me up with him. “I plan to.”

  “Sophia, call me.”

  “I will.”

  The three of us walked to the door, my future sealed away in an unassuming white envelope.

  * * *

  We’d left Ms. Turner’s office hours ago. It was late, but I still had no desire to go home. I was, however, in need of gelato, despite the freezing temperature outside. Sadness was best drowned in ice cream, no matter the season. I’d called Mom and told her Lucas and I were headed to the shop so she wouldn’t worry. I knew she was worried about me; I’d heard the anxiety in her voice. But she understood and respected my decisions, giving me the time and space I needed to figure things out. Again, another reason why my mom didn’t need a magic wand; she knew me, no magic required.

  Lucas and I spent the day visiting tourist destinations around the city, anything to serve as a distraction from the contents of that damn envelope—really, the same thing I’d done in Italy. When he’d come into town for my blood test, it had been a short visit—just two days. We’d spent most of it in his hotel room. We hadn’t seen each other in over a month and didn’t waste any time getting reacquainted.

  This trip was different. I was different. A sad mixture of Sophia, Atlas, Pandora, and Chaos. Controlled, burdened, addled, and unnerved.

  Even though I hadn’t opened the envelope, somehow I still knew what the paper inside would say. When I’d talked to my dad six months ago, I knew. In my mind, I was still Sophia, but my body had committed an act of treason, and the sentence was death.

  I glanced at Lucas in the driver’s seat. He’d been quiet most of the day. With my thoughts trapped in darkness, I never once thought about what he was feeling. He was amazing and selfless, and I still hadn’t figured out what I’d done to deserve him.

  “I’m sorry, Lucas.”

  He turned his head. “For what?” His brows pulled together.

  I shrugged. “For everything? For being self-absorbed and whiny, inconsiderate, mopey, indecisive…” I paused, trying to think of more adjectives to describe my current attitude. Lucas took my silence as the perfect opportunity to interject.

  He lifted his hand from the steering wheel and held it up. “Whoa, stop right there, Linebacker. First of all, I don’t like the way you’re talking about my girlfriend.” He shot me a sidelong glance. “Second, you have every right to be all of those things. I’m not going to minimize what you’re going through. It’s scary shit, and if you want to be self-absorbed, mopey, and inconsiderate, then go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be right here.” He grabbed my hand. “No matter how whiny you get, I still won’t let go.”

  “Make the next left turn.” I pointed, changing the subject.

  He turned the car into the narrow alley that ran behind the shop. “It’s right there, on the left, the green and white awning.”

  Lucas came to a stop and we got out. Rounding the car, I untangled my keys from the bottom of my purse, sending the envelope drifting to the ground. Quickly, Lucas bent to retrieve it from the dirty, icy slush.

  With the envelope in his fingers, he stood back up, holding his arms out wide. “Will you get over here and keep me warm? How you people live like this, I’ll never know.”

  I tried hard to suppress a smile, but I couldn’t. My golden California guy didn’t fit in with the dreary grayness of winter. “Not a fan of snow?” I sidled up next to him.

  “Give me sand, surf,
and sun any day. You can keep this shit.” Salt crunched beneath our feet.

  I unlocked the door and went inside, Lucas right behind me. I flipped on a few light switches in the back, knowing it would be enough to penetrate the darkness at the front of the shop.

  Shrugging my coat off, I tossed it onto a chair along with my purse. Lucas laid his on top of mine, along with the envelope. “So this is the famous Andrea’s Gelateria.” He wound through the tables, brushing his hand across their tops.

  “I don’t know about famous, but it’s pretty popular among the locals.” I went behind the counter, pulled on my apron, and dug out some bowls. “What will you have, sir?”

  For the first time today, I relaxed. I’d thought gallivanting all over the city would keep my mind off the envelope, but it hadn’t. It weighed heavy in my purse…at the Arch…while we ate Gus’s pretzels…walking through the botanical garden…it was all I’d thought about. But this—the simple act of slipping on my apron, holding a gelato spatula in my hand—settled me. Finding comfort in the little things. My muscles unclenched and I could breathe. This was me, not the results of some blood test.

  Lucas walked up to the freezer. “Hmm…” He considered the choices. Tapping a finger on the glass, he said, “Pumpkin salted caramel swirl.”

  “A fine choice.” I smiled. Reaching into the freezer, I scooped the gelato from the serving dish and passed it over the counter.

  He took the dish, lifting the spoon from the center. “Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled, licking the spoon. I shivered. I couldn’t help it. I knew what that tongue was capable of.

  “Holy shit,” he groaned, “this is amazing.”

  Chuckling, I scooped some mint chocolate chip into my dish.

  “I bet all those other flavors cry when you’re around.”

  I put the scoop down and licked my fingers before joining him on the other side of the counter. Hoisting myself up, I sat in front of the cash register. “Why would they cry?”

  “From neglect. You give them no love. It’s always mint chocolate chip with you.” He turned his spoon upside down and shoved another bite into his mouth.

  I pulled my spoon from my mouth with a pop. “It is the best.”

  “Uh-uh, I disagree.” He took another bite. “Pumpkin caramel is the best.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Mint chocolate will always reign supreme in the land of Princess Potato. I’m an expert. I know these things.”

  He cocked his head. “Let me taste.”

  I dug my spoon into my dish, offering him a heaping bite.

  “Huh-uh.” Shaking his head, he leaned in and put his mouth to mine, opening my lips with his tongue.

  He tasted like autumn. The earthy sweet fusion of pumpkins and caramel flooded my senses. His warm mouth coupled with his ice-cream-cooled tongue reminded me of a glorious fall breeze, of hoodies, and campfires, and home.

  I parted my legs so he could settle between them. Lucas crooked an arm around my waist and slid me forward on the counter, pressing our bodies together.

  Pumpkin salted caramel was my new favorite.

  His lips were firm yet soft as they worked over mine. He kissed me deeper, holding me close as he pressed his hand against the curve of my backside. With a slow lick across the seam of my lips, he pulled away, but only a little. “Mint chocolate, Your Highness,” he breathed heavily, “reigns supreme.”

  Kiss-drunk, I stared into his blue eyes. “I disagree.”

  Looking back at me with an intensity I’d never seen before, he whispered, “You’re it for me, Sophia.” He took my gelato in his hand and reached behind me, setting both our dishes on the counter; then he cradled my head between his hands. “No matter what’s in that envelope over there? Whether we get five years, ten years, or a hundred years, there will never be another person I want to spend this life with. And I guarantee that whatever time we do get, it won’t be enough, but it will have been everything.”

  I sucked in a breath, my heart clenching. He ran his thumbs over my cheeks.

  “So many people have bucket lists, things they want to accomplish before they die. Mine isn’t a list; it’s one thing…to hold your hand.” He dropped his hands to my lap, lacing our fingers. “Kiss your mouth,” he continued, leaning close, our lips brushing together. “Touch your skin,” he said, unclasping his left hand from mine to run it under my sweater. His right trailed through my hair. “To look into your charcoal eyes and wonder what you’re thinking.” He stared.

  “That’s more than one thing,” I muttered.

  With an imperceptible shake of his head, he held up one finger. “One. They’re all pieces of the same thing…all the colors that make up the same rainbow…I want to love you.”

  “I want that, too. More than anything. But I’m scared, Lucas. The rest of my life hinges on what’s inside that envelope. I’m not ready to lose pieces of myself.” Tears streamed down my face. “I’m not ready to die.” I choked on the last word.

  He backtracked a few steps and snatched the envelope off his coat. “I’m dying, Sophia,” he said matter-of-factly, standing between my legs again. “You’re dying, my dad’s dying, your mom, Dean, anyone with a pulse. The only difference between you and the rest of us? You get a life meter. You get to know when yours will start to run out.” He held up the envelope. “If your number is higher than twenty-seven, what are you going to do with the time you have left?”

  “I don’t know!” I shouted. “What can I do?”

  He pulled at my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Live. Just like the rest of us.”

  I yanked the envelope from his fingers. “And you’re really signing on for this? All the heartache and devastation? You saw the ache in Martino’s eyes when he looked at pictures of Grazi, the longing in his voice when he spoke of her. That will be you. Is this what you want?” I waved my hands up and down, gesturing to my body.

  “I wasted six years of my life with the wrong person. I’ll be damned if I spend the rest of my life without the right one. I want all of you, Sophia. I want to love you. I’m going to love, no matter what.”

  I put my finger under the seal and tore through the envelope, like ripping off a Band-Aid. My fingers shook as I pulled out the test results. “Ms. Turner was right about one thing,” I said. “This is how I want to find out. In the shadowed light of a comfortable place, in your arms.”

  Thoughts of Penley raced through my head. If she’d had the chance to know, would she have looked? Would she have given up soccer, something she loved, in order to save her life? Probably not. Penley was soccer. She adored it. It gave her life meaning and purpose.

  Despite what number was on my paper, could I give Lucas up?

  Absolutely-freaking-not. He helped me remember what it meant to be passionate and alive. He was the sunshine to my rainy day, and together we were the rainbow. We’d weather the shit storm together.

  He ran his hands up and down my arms, like he always did.

  I held my breath. This was the turning point. There was no going back, no unknowing.

  All I have to do is open it. One look and I’ll know for sure….

  Pulling the flaps apart, I stared at the words. So. Many. Words. Numbers. I couldn’t focus on any in particular but scanned for one phrase, anything that would tell me where my CAG expansion levels fell.

  “What is it, Soph?” Lucas asked, his voice a low, quiet rumble, like distant thunder.

  My eyes locked on his. Tears cascaded down my face. “Twenty.”

  Lucas exhaled. “Twenty?”

  Crying, my lips broke into a wide smile, and I collapsed against him. “It’s twenty.”

  “That’s less than twenty-seven. Oh my God, Soph!” Lucas cried, throwing his arms around me.

  “I’ve spent half the year thinking I had one foot in the grave.” My shoulders shook. “I was convinced I had it.” I hiccupped, lifting my head from his shoulder. “I thought you were going to have to watch me die,” I sobbed.

  “Baby,”
he whispered in my ear. “I’ve done nothing but watch you live.”

  I hugged him to me, refusing to let go. My heartbeat thumped in my chest…

  Bump. Bump. Bump.

  Bump. Bump. Bump.

  It didn’t matter what that paper said…when I remembered how to love, I truly started to live.

  See the next page for an excerpt of Marie Meyer’s Across the Distance!

  Chapter One

  The tape screeched when I pulled it over the top of another box. I was down to the last one; all I had left to pack were the contents of my dresser, but that was going to have to wait. Outside, I heard my best friend, Griffin, pull into the driveway. Before he shut off the ignition, he revved the throttle of his Triumph a few times for my sister’s sake. Jennifer hated his noisy motorcycle.

  Griffin’s effort to piss Jennifer off made me smile. I stood up and walked to the door. Heading downstairs, I slammed the bedroom door a little too hard and the glass figurine cabinet at the end of the hall shook. I froze and watched as an angel statuette teetered back and forth on its pedestal. Shit. Please, don’t break.

  “Jillian? What are you doing?” Jennifer yelled from the kitchen. “You better not break anything!”

  As soon as the angel righted itself, I sighed in relief. But a small part of me wished it had broken. It would have felt good to break something that was special to her. Lord knew she’d done her best to break me. I shook off that depressing thought and raced down the steps to see Griffin.

  When I opened the front door, he was walking up the sidewalk with two little boys attached to each of his legs: my twin nephews and Griffin’s kindergarten fan club presidents, Michael and Mitchell.

  Every time I saw Griffin interact with the boys, I couldn’t help but smile. The boys adored him.

  I watched as they continued their slow migration toward the porch. Michael’s and Mitchell’s messy, white-blond curls bounced wildly with each step, as did Griffin’s coal black waves, falling across his forehead. He stood in stark contrast to the little boys dangling at his feet. Their tiny bodies seemed to shrink next to Griffin’s six-foot-four muscled frame.