Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 16

“Well I’m not Italian, am I?”

“Alyson, I’m half Italian,” mum says, playing with the wedding ring on her finger.

I mock-glare at her. “Everyone’s against me, aren’t they?”

“Mum, that doesn’t count. You weren’t born there,” Rick says. “I wish we lived there. The food is good.”

Dad looks at him through the reflection, glasses resting on top of his head. He still hasn’t changed out of his uniform, and I can’t tell if it’s because he didn’t bring a change of clothes or just because he wants to wear it. “How do you know what the food tastes like? We’ve never been to Italy.”

Rick shrugs. “I just know. You know what happens to the cat?”

Dad blinks at the sudden change in conversation. “Whose cat?”

“The curious one.”

Dad frowns. “Who told you that?”

“Alyson,” Rick says, pointing right at me.

I glare at him. “You don’t know what the word secret means, do you?”

He shrugs, trying to look innocence. “I’m only ten. I don’t know everything.”

Ten is only a number. Cancer doesn’t care how old you are. “Nice excuse,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Or it would be if it worked.”

As silence dawns over us, I stare out the window again. Watching has become a hobby—as strange as it is. But it just happens. You watch people because they’re not you. They’re not dying. They don’t have the same problems you do. Most of the time, I just sit there and wonder, what if? A million things come to mind. If I didn’t have cancer I could be one of those girls, dressing skimpy and sleeping with anyone. I could be on drugs—that aren’t ones to fight a tumour. I could be on the way to marrying my childhood sweetheart.

But no matter what I imagine, it doesn’t come true. I still have a fast spreading tumour. I’m still going to be in heaven—if it even exists—by the end of the year.

When the car finally stops, my head comes up rapidly and I have to blink to un-cloud my vision. Everything blurs, and I swipe a tear out of my eye. For some reason my necks hurts and my arm is numb.

“Ah, sleeping beauty, woke up,” a voice yells and I turn to glare at dad.

“Why does my neck feel broken?” I ask, stretching my arm. It’s not easy in the cramped car. When my hands slams into the roof dad only laughs, even as I cradle my wrist, milking the—lack of—injury.

“You fell asleep. Don’t know how. One minute you were talking—the next? You were out like a light. I tried to wake you,” dad says, opening the car door.

I blink against the harsh light, shielding the view with my arm. I know he’s right—the last thing I remember is the conversation. It seems like that was forever ago. “Figures. And . . .” I look at the clock radio, “. . . it’s only three in the afternoon.”

Rick chimes in from outside the car, “I wanted to draw on your face but dad wouldn’t let me. Mum even had a pen she was going to give me.”

I roll my eyes, unsurprised to hear it. “Of course you were.”

“Come on, we have to meet your mother. She’s already in the store.”

Following dad’s orders, I undo my seatbelt, jumping out of the car. On shaky legs I stretch my ears, wincing as the sound my back makes as it cracks. “What store?”