Gabriella's Story: A Novel

By Kathy Almeida

What happens when you find yourself pregnant and unmarried during a time when that is considered taboo and your choices are limited? What do you do?
Gabriella is a young woman who falls in love, but then her true love is sent overseas to serve his country in the armed forces, leaving her alone and vulnerable. In steps an old flame and what happens next sets Gabriella on a course she never dreamed of. It's a story about not only one, but three women whose lives are interwoven and connected not only by blood but by one event that changes their lives and destiny forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798765247150

Kathy Almeida

Kathy Almeida is a creative artist. She lives in Belleview, Florida along with her husband and family on a farm with their animals - which includes a dog, three cats, five cows, a rescued steer, a donkey, and up until this year, a very bossy goat. She loves taking care of her family and her special needs adult son who has autism and a seizure disorder. She writes, paints, and crafts - inspired by her love of life. Mikaela’s Story 2 is her 7th novel and 8th book.

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Gabriella’s

Story

A Novel

KATHY ALMEIDA

Copyright © 2023 Kathy Almeida.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Author Photo by Michael Almeida

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4714-3 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4716-7 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4715-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921677

Balboa Press rev. date:  11/29/2023

For my sister, Daryl

I love you and treasure all the times we shared together. You may have left this earth, but you are with me in my heart, mind, and soul forever.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

She came here often, sometimes cutting class, just so she could see him. She’d look for his bright orange Punch Buggy that he’d park in the same spot every time, to see if he was there. And if he was, she’d park her red and white Triumph convertible next to his and run barefoot across the highway on the hot pavement to the Tropicana Beach Hotel. Walking past the hotel to the beach area, she’d stand searching for him in the ocean water.

The ocean was turquoise, just like the color of his eyes. A plane passed low over the water, advertising a new place to eat on Collins Avenue. A few seagulls stood at the shoreline, keeping vigil as the ocean waves rolled back and forth onto shore, singing their own song, as they crashed, floated, and sailed in smoothly. The sky overhead was filled with white puffy clouds of all shapes and sizes gracing a bright blue sky all the way to the eastern horizon.

She smiled, her heart beating fast, as she spotted him sitting on his board, his head turned eastward, as he waited for that next big wave to come in, which in Miami usually meant a three-footer. Watching him for a bit, she stood, biting her thumbnail, her long dark hair blowing in the wind, sometimes whipping around her face. She’d still, holding her breath as she watched him lay flat on his board, paddling hard as the wave caught up to him and then catching it, he’d stand, his body tan and his hair bleached blond from the sun, riding the wave all the way to shore.

He’d picked up his board and before heading back in to swim out again, he’d turn and wave to her. And she’d smile, her heart alight with fire.

She’d find her place in the sand, sitting alone but never lonely. She’d run her hand through the sand, picking up a seashell holding it in her palm, turning it over and over as if it were a meditation stone, keeping her eyes on her surfer.

She waited for that moment, as the sun was slowly making its descent into the western sky, when he’d come to shore on that last wave, pick up his board and start walking towards her. Standing she’d run to him, and wrapping his free arm around her, he would look into her eyes, and then kiss her, oblivious to anything but one another as the pelicans flew overhead.

The year was 1969, the summer of her first love.

Chapter 1

Present Day

Gabbie

"M om, look at these letters I found," I said, handing her a pile of envelopes held together by a big rubber band.

Where did you get them? Mom asked.

I found them upstairs in the attic in that old cedar chest that was grandma’s.

Oh.

Do you know what they are? I asked.

Did you read them? she asked.

No, I said.

They look like love letters, Mom said, peering closer.

Huh, how can you tell and who’s ST? And what do the initials stand for? That’s not Pop’s name, I said.

I don’t know, you’ll have to ask your grandmother, Mom answered as she took a sheet from the dryer and handed one end to me to help her fold it.

I laid the envelopes on the counter in the laundry room and grabbing the end of the dark blue sheet folded it in half with her, then in quarters, before Mom took it, flattened it to her chest to get the air out of it, making it smaller, then laid it on the counter. Pulling out the next sheet, we began the process over again.

I noticed that the letters came from Germany.

Really.

So, what happened?

I don’t know. Maybe they lost touch.

Why?

I don’t know, she’s never talked about it, Mom said, handing me a towel from the basket.

I wish I knew more, I said, folding the towel and putting it on top of the dryer next to the love letters.

Go ask your grandmother.

May 1970

Gabriella

Your name please, the woman in the white nurse’s uniform asked.

Gabriella Catalano, I said, surprising myself, choosing to use my great grandparents last name, instead of mine.

Date of birth?

July 25, 1952. That was kind of true. Right month and year. Different day. I couldn’t help myself.

Okay, have a seat over here and fill out the rest of the form please.

Okay, I said, taking the form she handed me. I took a seat in the waiting room and filled out the rest of the form. Occasionally I looked up to the faces in the rest of the room, wondering if they could see my secret. One catching my eye, I quickly looked down and continued filling in the blanks.

Finished I walked up to the window and handed the woman behind the open window the information she’d requested.

Thank you, have a seat and we’ll call you in when it’s time.

I sat back in the chair that I’d recently vacated. Looking at the magazines on the coffee table in front of me, I picked up a copy of Seventeen and started flipping through the pages.

Before long I heard, Gabriella Catalano. Gabriella Catalano?

It took a minute to register, then looking up, I saw the nurse, holding a chart in the open doorway, looking my way.

I stood up, holding my purse close to me, the magazine falling to the floor, I bent over to pick it up and put it back on the table with all the other magazines and walked to the nurse.

Here, you’ll be needing this, she said, as I walked by her.

What’s this? I asked.

A cup to pee in. The bathroom is the first door to the right. When you are finished, just leave the cup there. But first let’s weigh you and I’ll need a blood sample.

I stood on the scale. 138. It was a long way from the 115 I used to be. Next at the nurses station, I sat and held my arm out so that blood could be taken.

Okay, now for that urine sample, she said kindly.

Okay, I said, standing and taking the cup. I walked to the door on the right and went inside. Shutting the door and locking it, I looked down at the cup. This should be interesting, I said.

As I sat on the toilet holding the cup under me, I concentrated, hoping to get the warm liquid coming from me into the tiny container and not all over my hand. There may have been some that I missed.

Finished, I washed my hands and left the filled cup in the place that was marked for such and left the bathroom. I looked around the hallway, wondering whether I should go back to the waiting room or just stand there until someone told me differently.

Ah, there you are. Follow me, said the nurse with a bright smile.

I followed her into the room across the hall. It was tiny, with a counter, swivel stool underneath, and an examination table with stirrups at the end, and a white paper sheet that covered the table.

Okay, remove your clothes, the nurse began and seeing my confused look continued, Everything. And put this on.

She handed me a cotton gown with one side open with strings to close it on the back.

I held it up to my body.

Before leaving she said, Is this your first time seeing a gynecologist?

I nodded my head yes.

She nodded and then said, Make sure the opening of the gown goes in front, not the other way. Then sit over there, she said, pointing to the examination table. The doctor will be in shortly." She smiled that bright smile and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I looked around the room. There were no pictures and just a small window slit at the top of the one wall, letting in sunlight and a view of blue sky.

I undressed quickly, not wanting to get caught in the process when the doctor came in. I slid off my flip flops, unzipped my jeans, the zipper getting caught. Struggling to get it unstuck, my hands, already clammy, began to sweat, and I felt my stomach churning. Finally undone, I slipped my jeans off, my shirt next, and then my bra and finally my underwear, hanging them up on the hooks provided. I took the cotton shift and pulled it on, holding the garment closed in front of me. I walked to the examination table and sat at the end of it. It felt cold to my bottom.

By now my legs were shaking, and my body a bundle of nerves, worse than going for a job interview. I thought about my family. I thought about him. And I thought about the one I loved. I looked around the room again.

There were voices outside the door and then a slight knock before it opened and two people walked in. One was the doctor and the other a nurse, a different one.

Good morning, the doctor said with a Spanish accent. How are you feeling today?

Unable to talk, I smiled a half smile.

So, I see you are here to see if you are pregnant, he said, looking at me with kind eyes, or I think they were. Maybe I was hoping.

I nodded my head again.

Okay, I’m going to need you to lay back, please.

I was mortified. I did as I was told, shifting my weight underneath me to do so, trying to keep the shift closed over me as I did so, which didn’t last long. The doctor came up to me, and pushing the shift open, felt my breasts, one at a time. His touch was cold and professional.

Your breasts are enlarged.

I wondered how he knew that. And it hurt when he touched them. My breasts felt so sensitive.

Then he ran his hand on my abdomen. I’d say about three months. My eyes went wide.

And then he went to the end of the table. I’ll need you to put your legs in the stirrups and move as close to the edge as possible.

I did as he instructed.

Good, come a little closer to the edge, please.

I scooted my butt again. I closed my eyes as he sat on the stool and did his exam. My legs spread eagle, I felt him probe my most private parts. A stranger was looking at me there, and now was sticking something inside.

This may pinch a bit and feel cold, he said.

Exam over, he stood and said, Get dressed and meet me in my office.

My eyes open, I watched him as he walked out the door, never turning back to me.

Once you are dressed, I’ll show you to his office. And you can leave the gown right there, the nurse said, motioning to the exam table that I was still laying on.

I sat up and slid slowly off the table, walking over to the hooks where my clothes hung. With shaking hands, I slipped my bra on, hooking it to the back, missing the clasp several times. The words kept ringing back to me. Three months. I put one leg in and then the other as I put on first my underwear and then my jeans.

With shaking hands, I buttoned my top and then slipped on my flip flops. Taking a look in the aluminum mirror of the hand dispenser, I tried fixing my hair.

I opened the door and walked into the hallway.

The nurse standing nearby said, This way please.

I followed her down the hallway, feeling like I was marching to the guillotine.

I walked into the doctor’s personal office. It had wood paneling, lots of plaques displaying all of his medical degrees from different colleges and one lone picture on his desk that I assumed was of his wife and children. Four kids to be exact.

I sat in the chair in front of his desk and waited.

He came in, white coat flapping, walked behind his desk and sat in his big chair. He looked at the papers on his desk and then looked up at me.

Well Miss Catalano, the tests and the exam all show that you are indeed pregnant. And by my exam I would say that you are about three months along, which would put your due date in early December.

Are you sure? I squeaked out.

He looked at me. And this time I was sure it was with kind eyes, more like a father or friend versus the cold and calculating eyes of a professional.

It says on your chart that you are single, he began. I nodded my head. You know that you do have options.

I looked up to him from where I’d been staring at my folded hands in my lap.

If you decide to have your baby there is always adoption. If you decide not to, I can help you there too. In the meantime, you need to take these prenatal vitamins, read these pamphlets, and think about what you are you going to do.

Thank you. I was able to get out.

Do you have any questions for me?

I shook my head no.

Chapter 2

Present Day

Gabbie

I pulled up to the beach house off old Florida Drive. I loved this place, but it surprised me every time that I came here, to see it still standing. On either side of this beach cottage stood huge high rises, the last lone house on this old forgotten beach in South Flo rida.

The house, or as Gram liked to call it, her beach bungalow, wasn’t too big but it did have two small bedrooms and a master, a living room and dining area and a cute little kitchen. The main draw to this house was that everything was open to the beach beyond, with big wide windows and French doors that on a good day, stood wide open, allowing for the ocean breezes to come right in. Upstairs were the three bedrooms. What was once the master bedroom, my grandmother had turned into her art studio, taking one of the smaller bedrooms as hers. The master bedroom, now studio, was a place where she set up her canvas on an easel and painted to her heart’s content while looking at her beloved beach and ocean.

Parking my blue Jeep in her sandy drive behind her red and white Triumph with a blue license plate declaring it an antique, I got out and stood admiring her home. Aqua siding, with pink shutters, lime green door, and hibiscus shrubs on either side of the sidewalk said, ‘yes, an artist lives here.’ A dolphin painted teal stood at the end of the sidewalk on the street, acting as the official mailbox. At the overhead of the porch, there was a big welcome sign painted in yellow with aqua trim, and with a huge crab painted bright orange which held the sign over the door. I couldn’t help but smile every time I saw it.

The lime door was open, with the screen door in place in front of it.

Peeping in the screen door, I called out, Gram? Are you here?

Gabbie? Come on in. I’m out back.

I opened the screen door and walked into the entrance hallway where a surfboard was propped leaning against the brightly painted coral wall. On that wall was a huge abstract painting that my grandmother had painted. It was beautiful, with such vivid colors bringing up emotions of a time that still touched my heart. To the left were the stairs to the second floor. On the right was a small study. A little further in was the guest bathroom. Then the kitchen and the small dining area which opened to the living area where a big couch with big cushions and pillows in white graced the pine floors. A fireplace at the corner end wall had tons of family pictures intermixed with seashells and driftwood on the mantel. A big painting of a beach house with the ocean in the background hung just above the mantel. One lone rocker sat near the fireplace. Books were stacked by the wall and in a white painted bookcase.

I walked through the living area, to the back French doors that were open. I walked out on the back patio and stopped to look at the view in front of me. Just past the small yard, lay sandy beaches with the wide teal and navy colors of the Atlantic going as far as the eye could see, its waves rolling as they rounded, crashed, and came onto shore. Sea gulls gathered at shore as pelicans flew overhead. Palm tree branches swayed in tune to the music of the breeze that blew westerly.

Gram? I called out.

Over here, she said.

I looked and sure enough my forever young grandmother was sitting on the grass playing with her new puppy, a golden retriever. The puppy was in her lap, licking her face and then running for the toy that she threw across the yard.

I smiled and went over to sit on the grass with her.

Hi, I said, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Hi, yourself. How’s my favorite granddaughter doing today?

I laughed. Grandma, I’m your only granddaughter, I said.

She smiled a knowing smile and then said, Well, if I did have another granddaughter, you’d still be my favorite. So, what brings you by today? Not that you need an excuse, but isn’t it a school day?

Classes got out early, so I thought I’d come by and see my favorite grandmother, I said.

She laughed. Don’t let your Nana hear that, she won’t like that, nope, not one bit.

Ha! No worries, I have it on strict confidence from inside sources that our secret is safe with me. The beach is beautiful today.

It is every day. Want to walk?

Yes.

Come on puppy, let’s walk, Grandma said, taking the bundle of joy in her arms and then standing. Honey, can you hand me that leash over there on the table?

Yes, I said, walking over to the round glass table and picking up the leash and then walking to my grandmother, who attached the leash to the puppy before setting him back down on the grass. Gram, what are you going to call him?

I think Strong, she said.

I looked at her with surprise.

Is something wrong, Sweetheart? she asked.

No, just surprised, I said, wondering if that was related to ST on the letters and whether or not it this was a good time to bring up the letters or not. Could her saying it be a sign to do just that?

I slipped my flip flops off and followed my grandmother who was already barefoot, through the gated fence out onto the sandy beach. It was summertime but thankfully the rain that morning had kept the temperatures down, so no burning feet as we walked towards the water.

No, Strong, don’t drink the water, Gram said, tugging on his leash to keep him from lapping up the ocean water.

He’s so cute, I said.

I know. And a handful. Not sure what I was thinking, she said with a big smile. Her hands were the only thing on her that gave away her age - the years of