Driven By Fate(28)

“What—what’s wrong?”

His head came up on a wince. “Hey, Frankie. Just this damn flu. Can’t seem to shake it this time.” He hefted himself off the stair, wincing as he grabbed the railing. “I just need some coffee. Maybe a bagel.”

Joe thumped down the stairs, probably with no idea he’d sent her heart plummeting to the ground. She’d never seen her uncle show weakness, at least of the physical variety. Lately, though, he’d been sick more often than usual. The flu, migraines. Had she been so wrapped up in school and her business idea that she’d missed something? When she’d come to live with him, he’d been closed off emotionally. That hadn’t changed—not much, anyway—but this? This was new. Scary. He was all she had in the world. She couldn’t lose him, too. Nor could she express anything like fear or concern. It would make him shut down, raise his defenses. They were alike in that way—independent islands.

What if there was something more serious he wasn’t telling her?

Legs feeling weighted, she followed her uncle down the stairs into the kitchen to find him staring at the refrigerator. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hey, have you looked outside? Not a cloud in the sky. No one’s going to make millions driving a cab today.” She felt his gaze sharpen on her back, but she ignored it, pouring herself a mug of coffee. “Perfect timing for the flu. Just take the day off.”

“I took yesterday off.” He gestured absently toward the ceiling, but something about the gesture was flippant. Unlike him. “The mortgage isn’t going to pay itself.”

“I’ve got you covered.” She noticed her fluttering hands and shoved them into her pockets. “The extra hours go by fast when I’m talking to people. You know how friendly and approachable I am.”

Her sarcasm fell flat. Joe wouldn’t even look at her. This felt nothing like the awkwardness she’d experienced as a child. He wasn’t uncomfortable or looking for an avenue of escape. No, he was a blank slate. Apart from his blood shot eyes, there was no indication of what he was hiding.

She had to set her coffee mug down on the counter. “What’s up?”

His Adam’s apple rose, fell. “I haven’t worked in seven weeks.”

Shock laced through her system, tying knots around her organs. “What?” He didn’t respond, just folded his hands on the table. Legs unsteady, she sat down across from him. Dread, so much dread, dug claws into her midsection. “I don’t understand.”

He laughed without humor. “No, you wouldn’t. Nothing would stop you from driving. Not even stiff fingers and shooting pains in your hands.”

The words fell like stones on the table, scattering to land in her lap. “I-is that what’s been happening to you?”

Uncle Joe nodded slowly, flexing a hand in the air between them. “The stiffness was manageable for years, but now…a few months ago, I was smack in the middle of Times Square. This pain—” He cursed as a tremor took his hand. “It shoots through my palm and I can’t grip the wheel. Frankie, I could barely pull the damn cab over. I was blocking traffic on Forty-Second Street.” He let his hand drop to the table. “The second and last time it happened on the road, I almost rammed the back of a school bus. I couldn’t turn. A school bus, Frankie.”

“But you didn’t,” she blurted, hating the guilt etched on his features. He was usually so proud, outspoken. “Have you gone to the doctor?”

“What do you think?”

That was a no. Her uncle and his friends considered it a mark of manliness that they reserved medical attention for broken bones only. Frankie leaned back in her chair, for once not comforted by the familiar creak. “What have you been doing for the last seven weeks?”

His sigh filled the kitchen. “I go as far as the park, then I read the paper. Catch a game on television at the bar. Lately, I’ve gotten tired of pretending and I just tell you I’m sick.”

Frankie wanted to shake some sense into her uncle. He would shut down, though, close himself off if she came across as anything but practical and no nonsense. Good ol’ Frankie. One of the boys. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment how sick to death she’d become of hiding her emotions to make people less uncomfortable. Right now wasn’t the time to melt down, though. The axe was getting ready to fall. She could feel it, poised above her head, gleaming in the sunlight.

“Has the mortgage been paid? The bills…” When Joe stayed silent, she nodded jerkily. This wasn’t happening. Not now. If all went according to plan, she’d have her business up and running in eight months. Eight measly months and she could have handled this, but not now. Not when she already owed the Prestons and all her extra savings were allotted for her dream.

Immediately, she scolded herself for the selfish thought. She wouldn’t have a dream if her uncle hadn’t raised her, given her a home, and the career that had inspired her, given her hope. If it meant keeping a roof over their head, closing the gap her uncle’s lack of income left behind, she’d forgo the dream for now.

A voice slithered its way into her conscious, caressing her inner desires like a silk glove. There was the job Porter had given her, wasn’t there? She made double the amount working for him, enough to cover her uncle’s income, as well as her own. Briefly, she considered the idea of working for Porter without what came after. Without sex. But that was a pipedream if she’d ever had one. If they were in the same room, she’d want him. She’d find a way to justify one more time. One more mind-blowing, inhibition stealing, seal of ownership on her soul.