Thicker Than Blood | Page 3

much." Her words seemed so obviously contrived. Her mind was elsewhere. He turned to her screamed, "You have to tell me why!" His voice echoed through the halls.
She stared at Sergio. Her face was cold as stone. Two male nurses jogged into to the waiting room. They looked at Teressa. She waved them off. "Sergio, the chemo, the radiation, they hurt the good cells too." Sergio reached in his jacket and pulled out a flask. Normally he tried to be more discrete, but he just didn't care right now. He felt the pain in his stomach numb from the alcohol. "What about Joe?" His Italian accent was strong. She just glared at him. Sergio stared right through her. Can't even save your own sister, some fucking doctor, he thought. I'm so alone. They sat in silence, disgusted. I just attacked the one person who had stood by through the whole ordeal. I'm awful, Sergio couldn't believe how he felt. Sergio grabbed Teressa's hand. She started to pull it away. "Teressa, I'm sorry." Tears ran down his face anew. "I will never scream like that again." She just glared at him. "I, I can't be alone. Joe's so fragile. I can't do it," Sergio stuttered. Teressa's eyes widened. She held his hand with both of hers. "Never again." Teressa looked calm and focused. "I promise." "What are you going to tell Joe?" "The truth," Sergio said. He stumbled as he got up. Teressa reached out to help him. He pulled away and wiped his eyes. He trudged toward the playroom. Sergio looked for his son in the pastel children's waiting room. He spotted him in the corner as he stepped in the doorway. The skinny sixth grader looked too old and sad for the colorful playroom. The smiling suns and happy trees painted on the walls seemed to mock his son. Joe was gently rocking back and forth in the plastic chair. He looked at his dad's face and their eyes connected. Joe stopped rocking. Sergio fell to the ground. They hugged his body as he wept. Joe and Teressa held hands.
Chapter 1
Joe Vallone would have to leave work late today. Drivers were mapping out a new crop of winter potholes on the NY streets. The Sun repair shop was busy, but Joe wouldn't rush. He resisted the pressure to keep pace with the tide of walk-in repairs. Joe's boss had asked him to stay late, rather than miss more business. Auto undercarriage had the potential to be exceptionally dangerous for Joe. An array of high power springs, shaved metal edges, high pressure seals, pry-bars, and a two ton car held over your head with a compressed fluid, could slow any mechanic who thought about it. Most of Joe's cohorts seemed careful, but not compared to Joe. One mistake could kill him. He might not survive so much as a one inch gash or bruise. Being alone in the garage was not a good idea, but Joe had some good ideas to compensate. He had made a padded sleeve to reach into hot engine compartments. He built a telescoping rod with tiny infrared, visual, and ultrasonic cameras, out of old palmtop parts and a car antenna. He even had a full robotic arm that mimicked every human joint from the shoulder down. He adapted it from an early flawed robotic prosthetic his aunt rescued from a trash heap. Often his coworkers wanted to borrow the reinforced metal plated arm when pulling a pressed harmonic dampener or stubborn brake drum. His gear did not protect him every time. About two years ago, he had folded back a thumbnail while working on The Combatant, a robot he and some friends were building for a contest show. The pain was subtle, just enough to alert him to the damage. He told his sponsor Lucy Kane about the injury and they decided to drive to the hospital just in case. His thumb had grown to the size of a golf ball by the time they got to the emergency room. The doctors there immediately began a transfusion and eventually drained a pint of blood from his swollen thumb. Joe's Aunt Teressa was there that day. She was due in surgery, so she couldn't stay long. She made some adjustments on his chart, and told him to call her. Joe remembered calling her at home the next day. "Hello." His aunt replied, "Hello Joe. How nice of you to drop by yesterday," sounding a little sarcastic. "Thank you for being there for me," Joe grumbled. "How is you thumb?" "Better." Joe lied. "Joe, you are headed for trouble. Why? You're smart. There are plenty of hobbies you can do that don't endanger your health." Any hint of sarcasm was gone. "If you want to design machines,