Chapter 94
Layla
As the weeks passed, the clinic began to take shape. We had rooms and cots. Bandages and antiseptic. Food, water, shelter. So much to offer, but the one thing we lacked were patients.
“How is anybody supposed to find out about this?” Vanessa asked from the kitchen island, where she sat behind a half-empty bottle of wine. “It’s not like we can exactly start posting on Instagram about it.”
“Right.” I flopped down on the barstool beside her, a plate of pasta in each hand. It wasn’t anything fancy today; we’d worked a long day at the clinic following a long day at the hospital.
I didn’t mind long days—when I was helping someone. But Vanessa was right. I couldn’t exactly go around posting fliers or advertising for this safehouse—without giving its location away to the very people it was supposed to be safe from.
“Maybe we just need to wait,” I suggested. “I mean, I see patients all the time that I can tell are … well. You know. That need extra help. Maybe they don’t need to come to us. Maybe it’s a matter of me going to them.”
“Maybe.” Vanessa reached for the bottle to refill her glass, and even though I had only known her a few weeks, I knew something was bothering her.
“You all right?” I asked, taking the bottle out of her hands, under the pretext of filling my own.
“You’re finding them. You’re caring for them.” Vanessa tossed back the entire glass in one gulp. “I have nothing to contribute.”
“You’re still going to be a major part of this project, you know,” I reassured her. “Just because I’m finding them, doesn’t mean—”
Vanessa snatched the bottle away. “You gave me a place to stay, and all I’ve managed to do is drink your wine and eat the food you’ve cooked! I can’t stay here forever. But where can I go? What can I do? I can’t even cook!”
I refilled both our glasses, then moved the bottle to the far side of the counter. “Have you worked before?”
“Here and there,” she shrugged. “Under the table, washing dishes, cleaning, things like that. Nothing that ever paid well enough to afford me a place to live.”
“Then let me teach you some things.”
“Layla.” Vanessa huffed. She spun the glass of wine in her fingers. “I could never ask that of you. You’ve already done so much—too much.”
“I’m serious. You can shadow me at the clinic, once we get actual patients. From there, you can get your nurse assistant certification—”
“You’d do that?” A bright smile bloomed across her face, and something in me swelled with pride.
“Of course I would. It would help me, to have an assistant.” I chewed on my lip for a moment, still thinking. “But it wouldn’t be paid, not until you get your CNA. We’ll have to find something for you before that—I’ve got it!”
I snapped my fingers.
“What?” Vanessa’s eyes glowed, round and wide with hope.
“During the day, you’ll work with me, learning nursing stuff. Then, you’ll come home with me, and I’ll have you learn from someone far better than me. How would you like to learn to cook from my Nonna and mother-in-law?”
“Oh, I could never—”
“You can help out around the house,” I assured her. “Clean, watch the kids, help with cooking, that kind of stuff. Learn everything you need for the clinic, and eventually, we’ll have you back here. Running the show.”
“Layla—”
“Are you good with kids?” I asked. “When I work night shifts, you could keep Eli company. And you’d free up the apartment here, so once we do get patients, they’ll have a place to stay, too …”
Vanessa’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’d really trust me with your son?”
I met her gaze firmly. “You’ve been through hell and survived. I see the care you put into this clinics. Of course I trust you.”
Vanessa’s green eyes glistened, and she nodded. “I won’t let you down.”
I brought her home from work the next day to introduce her to the family. Her wide-eyed awe for the vastness of the manor was quickly swallowed up by shyness at the prospect of meeting my Nonna and mother-in-law Melissa.
Aldo was nowhere to be found, which had become something of the norm, as of late. I swallowed down my irritation, and directed her attention to Eli instead. “And this is my son. Eli. Eli, this is Vanessa. She’ll be staying with us for a while. Helping out around the house.”
“Can you cook?” Melissa asked, eyes narrowed.
“No,” Vanessa admitted, her voice small. “Not yet.”
“Good.” Melissa turned and strode for the kitchen. “Then you won’t have any bad habits to unlearn.”
And that was that.
Vanessa became Melissa’s tutee—and if I knew anything about either woman, they’d be fast friends soon enough. Same with Eli; he took to her immediately. By the end of the night, I left them reading bedtime stories, snuggled up in his vast bed.
Quietly, lost in my own thoughts, I wandered out into the gardens. Perched alone on a solitary garden bench, I stared up at the star-splattered sky.
Aldo still hadn’t come home.
It wasn’t unusual for him to be out late, but for him to be out this late—for him to be out this late every night … Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and for some reason he didn’t think he could tell me about it.
A small problem is proving more challenging than I anticipated.
My chest ached at the memory of his words. This small problem that he hadn’t bothered to tell me about was taking up all of his time. That meant it was likely even worse than I realized.
The shadows of the past were never far away, were they?
“Layla?”
I spun at the soft voice. Vanessa stood at the end of the garden path, the concerned creases of her face highlighted by silvery moonlight. Her eyes shone emerald in the faint light.
“Hey.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” I patted the bench beside me, and she settled in a few feet away. “Just thinking about … everything.”
“Me too. This place …” Her gaze slipped out across the gardens, the manicured grounds, the sparkling lake at the back. “It’s beautiful. Amazing. Unlike anywhere I ever thought I’d find myself.”
“I hear you there.” I tilted my head back to the sky. “It’s my husband’s family home. It … Well. It took me a long time to get used to it.”
“I can imagine.” Vanessa’s voice broke, and when I turned to her, she blinked hard against tears. “I don’t deserve this. Any of this. All this kindness …”
“We all deserve a chance to start over.”
“Do we?” Vanessa murmured. “Or are there some things that can’t be forgiven?”
The words struck too close to home. Too close to wounds in my heart I wasn’t sure would ever heal.
Some of those wounds were self-inflicted scars of my own judgement. And no, the dealers of such wounds didn’t believe that everyone deserved a second chance. That forgiveness could be given to all.
Some sins, I’d long since decided, were unforgivable. Some slates couldn’t be wiped clean. I just hadn’t decided yet what to do with such judgments against my own soul.
