A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (24 page)

“Nah, snow’s
gonna start any minute. I want to get home and tucked in. These bones don’t take the cold the way they used to. Besides, Nate don’t want me around when he starts blubbering all that love and commitment fiddle-faddle.”

Jack laughed and when Nate spoke, there was humor in his voice. “Thanks, Jack. Appreciate it.”

The old man’s voice cracked with his next words. “Anytime, boy. Anytime at all.” Then he was gone, his truck barreling down the road toward home.

Nate came up behind her, pushed aside a hunk of hair, and kissed the back of her neck.
“Ready for your surprise, Mrs. Desantro?”

“Absolutely.”
She stood and made her way to the other side of the couch.

“This has been a long time coming,” he said as he held out his hand and led her to the closed door of the baby’s room. His dark eyes grew bright, his voice hoarse. “I hope you like it.” He opened the door and she entered. A cradle rested in the center of the room, its rich wood gleaming under the soft light. The spindles were carved with delicate precision, the headboard outlined in a simple scrollwork design, the base, sturdy and dependable.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She ran her fingers along the fine wood. “Just perfect.”

Nate covered her hand with his, met her gaze. “This is what I was doing at Gino
Servetti’s.”

“But…why? You didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

A dull flush crept up his neck, settled on his cheeks. “It was going to be the lead-in to ‘What do you think about a baby?’”

“That day everything fell apart and you told me you had a surprise; this was it?” Tears flooded her voice, made it hard to speak. “This was the surprise?” He nodded, squeezed her hand. “But why did you wait until now? Things have been good between us for a while.”

“I don’t like to think about that time without you. It was one of the worst periods of my life, worse than when my father died and that was pretty bad. I’d actually planned to gift it to one of the guys at work who has a pregnant girlfriend, but Jack talked me out of it. Said you deserved to see what I’d been doing at Gino’s.” His lips inched up. “Plus, he said it was a ‘damn fine piece of craftsmanship’ and I should be proud of it.”

“I’m so glad he convinced you to bring it home.” She paused, stroked her husband’s cheek
. “Where it belongs. I love you, Nate Desantro. Thank you for this beautiful gift. I wish I had one to give you.”

He placed a hand on her belly, bent his head
, and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’ve given me the best gift of all.”

***

“I knew it was going to be a girl. Anna Nicolina Desantro.” Lily grinned at Pop. “I got to hold her. She’s tiny. Seven pounds and something, and her hair is black like mine and Christine’s.”

Pop knew all about the new addition to the
Desantro family. Miriam had called him two days before Christmas to tell him Christine had delivered a baby girl that morning. They’d named her Anna Nicolina. He knew why there’d been a hitch in her voice when she spoke. Nobody had to remind Pop who the child was named after because he remembered the baby Miriam delivered that only lived a few hours. Anna Nicolina had been her name. Some said it was the beginning of the end for Miriam and Nick Desantro because when a man chooses a bottle at O’Reilly’s over his dying child, well, that’s pure disaster in a shot glass.

Six days had passed since Anna
Nicolina entered the world and according to Miriam, Nate had learned to change a diaper, burp the baby, and even taken to singing her to sleep in the rocker Harry Blacksworth sent from some fancy-dancy furniture place in Chicago. Times were sure a-changin’. What would Lucy say about a man changing a diaper and doing night duty?

“Is it time to make the
pizzelles?”

“Hold your horses, Lily girl. What did
Pop tell you was the trick to making good pizzelles? Hmm?” He tapped his chin and made a chicken sound.

“The eggs!”
She clapped her hands. “They can’t be cold.”

“You get an A plus.” Pop set two bowls in front of her. One contained six eggs, the other was empty. “Now crack the egg and put it in this bowl. Be careful you don’t get shells. Nobody likes shells in their
pizzelles.”

Lily lifted the first egg, cracked it against the bowl
, and dumped the egg in. “Like that?”

“Good.
Now the next one.” Pop only had to dig out three bits of eggshell, which was a lot better than the first time he showed Anthony the art of pizzelle making. His son had called on Christmas day and sent a package of frozen steaks, chicken, and gourmet hot dogs. There was no mention of Anthony visiting Magdalena, but there were several mentions of Pop returning to California on a permanent basis. Pop pretended he couldn’t hear his son and after a few
Must be a bad connection
,
Pop hung up.

“I like cooking with you, Pop.” Lily reached for the measuring cups and laid them next to one another, biggest to smallest. “You’re like a grandpa.” She scrunched her nose and studied him. “Does your granddaughter in California miss you?”

“I expect she does, but she’s older, in college.” His granddaughter had been named after her grandmother—Lucy. She looked like her, too, with her fiery hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. A vision with a temper. Maybe one day she’d visit and spend a little time with him before the Good Lord called him home.

“I don’t want you to go back there. Last time, you stayed too long and then Mom said you got hurt and couldn’t come home.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going back.” Pop snatched a measuring cup and scooped flour in the cup. “Once was enough for me, that’s for sure. Do you know I didn’t see one basil plant the whole time I was there? Can’t count what you find in them fancy grocery stores either.”

“Mom said you might have to go live there sometime. ‘When the time comes’ is what she said. How do you know when the time comes?”

Pop dumped a cup of flour in the mixing bowl and measured another cup. “That means when they think I can’t take care of myself anymore, they want to ship me off to my son’s.” To heck with that. Why did these adult kids get it in their head that they could call the shots when their parent hit a certain age? So what if Pop moved a little slower or ate toasted cheese sandwiches with salsa for lunch almost every day? That was his choice. And what did it matter if he read his newspaper at exactly 4:45 every afternoon? Or talked to his Lucy about everything as if she were sitting right beside him? He liked toasted cheese and salsa, and reading the paper at 4:45 just so happened to be when he was relaxing before dinner. And he was not even getting started about Lucy, because that dear woman, love of his life,
did
sit beside him—in his heart. Repetition calmed him as much as the garden in his backyard.

And if Anthony thought Pop was giving up his green space for a bunch of plants in clay pots—and not one of those plants had been basil—well
, he could think until his brain fried, because Pop was staying put. He and Lily knew what it meant to find the joy in simple things. A piece of chocolate lava cake, gooey and warm in the middle. A pair of thermal socks, thick and comfortable. The perfect rocker, worn at the arms with a relaxing creak that calms and soothes. The ultimate pizzelle, crisy, sweet, memorable. He and Lily didn’t need more, more, more. They knew how to be content with the ordinary and the simple. There was something to be said for that, and if Anthony could only learn that sort of contentment, maybe he wouldn’t need those deep-breathing exercises, the massages, the therapy, the pills. Maybe if he came home to Magdalena and got a good dose of fresh air and the simple life, he’d be happy.

***

Gloria learned of Anna Nicolina’s birth the day after it happened. Lester Conroy had been as diligent in his reporting of Christine’s life in Magdalena as he had been with Charles’s. There was something to be said for a man who reports what he sees and does not judge. He’d informed her of Christine’s pregnancy, the estrangement with her husband, the subsequent reunion, and the birth of their daughter. Knowing she would die soon had done something to Gloria; perhaps it made her more accepting, more forgiving. More human. She knew she’d been responsible for Christine’s estrangement, knew too that Nathan Desantro loved her daughter, and what Gloria had done to them was incomprehensible and unforgiveable.

The days dragged into winter with blustery winds and dark nights. Gloria remained indoors much of the time, tucked beneath an afghan, with Elissa at her side. The girl had become more than a caretaker and companion to Gloria; she’d become a friend. With Elissa, she no longer felt the need to wield power or position
. Now she merely wanted the girl to spend time with her, talk, share moments that were not fraught with judgment or recrimination as Christine’s had been. Life could not be lived backward. There was no undoing the regret, but she could make one last attempt to seek forgiveness. She and Elissa must make the trip soon while Gloria still had the strength because despite the pain pills, there were too many other signs that told her the months were dwindling.

They arrived in Magdalena on a crisp, bright day in early February with snow packed on the ground and a cloudless sky. Gloria dropped Elissa off at the local diner and made her way to Miriam Desatnro’s home. She’d imagined this encounter for years, the exact moment of recognition, the hatred that would pulse through her, the disgust and fury over having been tossed aside and played for a fool. But when the door opened and the woman stood before her, the half-smile frozen in place, Gloria felt only relief. This was indeed the last step in her journey. “Hello.”

Miriam Desantro stood before her, grace and elegance in a willowy form. There was never any doubt they would not recognize one another and this proved true when she said, “Hello, Gloria.”

“May I come in?” Gloria coughed, pulled her scarf closer around her neck
, and waited for the woman’s response. After a slight hesitation, Miriam held the door open and ushered her into the place Charles had called home for fourteen years. It was quaint, homey, artistic, and original—everything Charles’s home in Chicago was not. Miriam led her to the living room and offered her a seat. “Thank you.” Gloria removed her coat and took a seat on an old but comfortable-looking chair.

“Why are you here?”

The words were cold, protective. Gloria understood this, expected it even, but the knowledge that this woman knew more about Christine’s life now than Gloria ever would still hurt. “I’ve come with one purpose in mind. Whatever happens after that will be up to you. I did a horrible thing against your son and my daughter when I paid the Servetti girl to take pictures and act as though,” she coughed, cleared her throat, and pushed out the rest of the words, “as though there had been inappropriate behavior. I know Christine will never forgive me, but I have to tell her I was behind the plan to set your son up.”

Miriam Desantro’s pale eyes narrowed. “Why confess now? Why not when it happened, when it really would have made a difference?”

Gloria shrugged. “Human nature, I guess. I’m not in the habit of admitting I’m wrong.” The woman said nothing, merely stared. “Do you know how I might get in touch with Christine?”

“No.”

She answered a little too quickly, which meant she knew exactly where Christine was and when she’d be returning. “Please. I must tell her how sorry I am for what I’ve done.”

“You have no idea the pain you caused. You almost destroyed your daughter. You’ve wasted your time coming here and I’d like you to leave.” Miriam stood and moved toward the front door.

“I’m dying.” Miriam stopped and turned.

“I have lung cancer,” Gloria said. “No
treatment, and no hope past a few more months. I don’t want Christine to know. Please don’t tell her. I’ve spent my whole life making people feel guilty, especially my daughter. I won’t lay that on her now. Not anymore.”

The woman hesitated, as if caught between two choices. When she spoke, her words held the tiniest bit of empathy. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

That’s how Christine found them forty minutes later, drinking coffee in the living room, not speaking, not acknowledging one another, but oh so aware of the other’s presence. Just like it had always been.

“Mother?”
Christine stood in the doorway, looking flushed and beautiful. Gloria had been so obsessed with molding her daughter into what she thought she should be, she’d never really looked at her. But what she saw now was grace and confidence, a woman at peace with herself. A woman in love.

Gloria set her coffee cup on the table and stood. “Hello, Christine.”

“What…what are you doing here?”

Before she could answer, the back door banged open and laughter filtered to the living room.

“Hey, where is everybody?” Nathan Desantro’s deep voice reached her, squeezed the breath from her. “What’s going…” He stood next to his wife, their baby cradled in his large arms, but his gaze was honed in on Gloria. A predator’s gaze, and she was the weakened prey. “Did you come to cause more destruction?”

“Nathan, enough.”
His mother cast him a reproving look.

“I’ve come to apologize,” Gloria said. “For all the hurt and incredible pain I’ve caused you. I’ll never be able to make it up to you, but I deeply regret my actions.” She met her daughter’s gaze. “Your husband was never unfaithful to you. I was behind all of it.”