Always Alone | ✓

Chapter Six

"WHAT HAPPENED TO your hand?" is the first thing Dad asks when he picks me up from the airport Wednesday afternoon.

"Hi, Daddy! It's good to be back home," I say, smiling cheerfully and reaching for a hug.

"Genevieve, what happened to your hand?"

"Dad, relax. I just broke my thumb. It'll heal in a couple of weeks. No biggie," I say nonchalantly, knowing that if he hears any crack of concern in my voice, he'll think I'm omitting how bad the fracture is. He'll take me to another hospital to get it looked at.

After my dense decision to hit a punching bag with my bare hands, I took an Uber to the hospital.

Dr. Perez examined my hand for any blood vessel damage and performed an x-ray. He said it was a simple fracture and the thumb was not displaced. Wrapping my thumb in a Spica cast, he warned me not to ever do that again and said everything will be healed in a few weeks, just in time for Christmas.

When I got to school on Monday, all my students wanted to know what had happened to my hand and asked to sign my cast. It was really cute how they all got excited about putting their autographs on my arm. They think I'm a badass teacher now.

"How did this happen?" Dad asks yet again, concerned and a little exasperated.

"I was boxing without the gloves."

"Genna! Why would you do that? You know better. What are you doing boxing?" His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel harder. "Did someone mess with you?"

I don't even know why I said anything. My parents take things out of proportion. Just imagining what Mom will say gives me goosebumps.

"I'm fine, Dad, really. No one is messing with me, especially with Angie around," I try to lighten his mood. "I just wanted to try it."

I look out the car window to the long road ahead of us clustering with cars this late in the afternoon. Some trees are covered with red and yellow leaves, others are naked and tingle with tomorrow's firewood.

One of the things I miss most about living up north is making a fire. There's nothing like snuggling up on the carpeted floor with a few blankets in front of the fireplace, hearing the crackle of fresh wood gathered from the backyard and the twinkle of fire lights.

"Are you sure that's all?" he asks and I nod. Dad lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second as if thinking if he should let it go or keep asking. He decides to let it pass. "How about you tell me more about work and the kids?"

Where Mom would've kept on prying, trying to get information out of me, Dad leaves it alone. I know he wants to know my reason for going to the gym and the cost of the hospital bill, like any good parent would, but it will just torment him more. And I also know he leaves the snooping to Mom and will ask about it when they're in bed later tonight.

I go on to tell him about work and the lessons I've planned for next week. I tell him about Mr. Henry and Mrs. Ruiz who've been helping me with parent communication and classroom management.

"Home sweet home," the words roll off my tongue as we make a left on Bach Hollow Road.

My childhood home comes into view.

The small cape cod stands alone but for the red-orange whit linden trees that line the property. Its deep brown deck blankets the home with a comforting feel and the stone chimney stands high above the gray shingled roof, adding to the tranquil atmosphere.

It is so quiet around that I can hear the dried-up leaves falling on the yellow burnt grass. The aroma of autumn is slowly ending, welcoming a hazy shade of winter in its rouse.