“Okay,” I soothed. “Can I bring you anything? Some breakfast or coffee? Tylenol?”
“No. I don’t need anything.”
Her words sounded odd, but I let it go. I didn’t want to push her.
“I’ll check in later.”
She hung up, the lack of any goodbye bothering me more than I wanted to admit.
At lunch with my family, I was quiet. Distracted. Some underlying tone in Gabby’s voice had triggered a niggling worry in my chest. She had sounded distant. More upset than sick. I tried to push aside my strange fear, but it sat in my mind, festering.
Mama was worried when I told her Gabby was a little under the weather. She packed up some food, including a container of minestrone soup. “This make her better,” she assured me. “They come next week. You bring Theo to me again.”
I forced a smile. “Sure, Mama.”
“Oh, Stefano,” she mused, shaking her head. “So like your father. Your love is sick, and you worried.” She patted my cheek. “Go to her. Take her food. Let her rest. All will be good.”
I drove to Gabby’s, surprised when no one answered the door. I tried Mrs. Scott’s doorbell but still received no response. Gabby’s SUV wasn’t in the driveway and, worried, I took out my phone and called her, frowning as it went to voice mail.
I hesitated, concerned. Had she become sicker and gone to the hospital? Where was Theo? I glanced up at the sky as a raindrop hit my cheek. As I’d headed home, the clouds had moved in, and it was starting to rain.
Why would Gabby be out in this weather if she was ill?
I decided to call Charly and ask her if she had heard from her just as Gabby’s SUV pulled into the driveway. She stared at me through the window, and something in her gaze made my chest tighten. She climbed out of the vehicle and opened the hatch, pulling out some totes. I hurried down the steps toward her.
“Gabby, I was worried.”
“Why aren’t you at your mama’s?” she asked, her tone almost annoyed.
“I was. As I said, I was worried. She gave me some food to bring you.”
Her face softened. “That was kind.”
Then she pushed past me, climbing the steps.
“Give me the totes,” I offered.
“It’s fine.”
“Gabby—”
She cut me off. “I said it was fine, Stefano. I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few empty totes.”
I blinked at the anger in her words and followed her upstairs. She set down the totes, crossing her arms, everything about her screaming for me to back off. I felt my impatience growing at her attitude, although I tried to tamp it down.
“Obviously, you’re feeling better.”
“Oh?” she snapped.
“Too sick to come to lunch but well enough to go shopping.”
“I want to organize Theo’s toys. I needed some bins.”
“Where is Theo?”
“Playing with a friend.”
I stepped toward her, reaching out my hand, horrified when she backed away, shaking her head, avoiding my touch.
“Tesoro, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Dropping her arms, she squared her shoulders, meeting my gaze yet somehow looking right through me.
“I can’t do this anymore, Stefano. I-I don’t want to see you anymore.”
I stared at her, aghast, certain I had heard her incorrectly. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I stared into her eyes. They were calm, dead, showing no emotion. She was hiding herself from me. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
I reached for her hand. Her skin was clammy and cold. She was pale. “Talk to me, Tesoro. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I said I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“I heard what you said. Now, explain it. What the hell changed from last night to this morning?” I demanded.
She shook me off and stalked toward the door. “I came to my senses, that’s what happened. What’s going on is that you are smothering me. Constantly around me. I can barely breathe. I don’t want this. Your family. Your friends. Everyone so sweet and nice and welcoming. It’s too much. All of it. I can’t do this.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want you in my life.”
Her words sank in, tearing at my heart. I steeled myself, pushing down the hurt. I needed to stay focused. To figure this out.
“Are you sure about that?”
She held her head high, meeting my gaze. Hers was cold and vacant. “Yes.”
“You know what I think?”
She tossed her head, defiant and determined. “I don’t care what you think.”
“Too bad, because I am going to tell you. I think you’re scared. I think you feel something for me. More than you can handle. And instead of admitting that and talking to me, you’re running away.” I cocked my head. “You’re good at that, aren’t you, Gabriella? Running, hiding.”
“Get out.”
“Don’t do this. Talk to me. Let me in.”
“I don’t want to see you anymore, Stefano. I’ll be respectful at the garage, but that’s it. Don’t come here anymore. Don’t call me. Just stay out of my life.”