A Family Affair: The Secret (22 page)

Natalie smiled. “My guy found one of Paula’s sisters who’s willing to testify to the family’s misdeeds and how the whole thing was a setup. Seems the sister hooked up with some guy who got accused of the same thing, and now she’s all about doing the right thing.” Her smile spread. “You know how those reformed sinners are.”

“Thank you, Natalie. You came to me for help and you’re the one who helped me.”

“That’s okay. You know, it feels good to finally be on the right side. And you did help me, more than you know.” She clasped his hand, squeezed. “You were my friend, and I can’t say that about many people. I’ll always owe you, so if there’s ever anything I can do, like talking to Angie…”

“There’s not, but thanks.” He worked up a smile. “Now don’t forget what I told you about your guy. If you want a chance with him, tell the truth as soon as possible.” He wished someone had told Angie that because it might have given them a shot at a future together.

So, Brett Carlisle and Paula Morrisen? How about that? Maybe Roman should let it go, but maybe he deserved a face-to-face with one or both of them. Later that day, he drove to Paula’s house in Renova, pulled up the winding driveway, and parked in front of a big, red brick house with black shutters and a wraparound porch. Very nice. Natalie told him Brett Carlisle had a pregnant wife and a four-year-old daughter back in town. Did they know about Paula and the boy? Doubtful.

He stepped out of the car, made his way up the steps of the colonial, and rang the bell. The boy answered and one glance at him told Roman the truth: Brett Carlisle’s DNA was stamped all over the kid. “Is your mother here?”

The boy hesitated, eyed him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Before he had a chance to respond, a woman’s voice interrupted. “Zachary, who’s there?” She appeared around the corner, an older version of the girl she’d been. When she spotted him, she paused, gasped. “Roman?”

“Hello, Paula. This must be your son.”

The blue eyes widened seconds before she rushed forward, her words spilling in a mix of agitation and nervousness. “Yes, this is my son.” She turned to the boy, said in a low voice, “Will you go check on Laurel? I’ll be up in a minute.”

The boy shot Roman one more look as if considering whether it was safe to leave his mother. “Call me if you need me.”

When he disappeared from earshot, Paula lowered her voice and said, “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not going to invite me in?”

She ignored the question, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed behind her. “What do you want?”

“Now there’s a question. What do you think I’d want?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Take your time. I’ve waited fourteen years for this. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.”

The blue eyes that had once begged him to help her with calculus so she could stay on the cheerleading team clouded, the lips pulled into a thin line. In high school, she’d been a fresh-faced beauty with a childlike voice and a gentle temperament. She’d been a doer: volunteering to head up the annual food drive, copy edit the yearbook, decorate for Homecoming, but nothing excited her more than her spot on the cheerleading squad and when she was in danger of failing, she’d begged Roman to help her out. It had been a gesture of kindness on his part because he felt sorry for her. And months later, she’d taken that kindness and used it against him.

“Roman.” She clasped her hands tight. “I didn’t know what to do…it wasn’t personal…”

“Wasn’t personal?” He stared at her, noticed the knuckles on her hands had turned white. From fear? Nervousness? “You stole my reputation, took away years of my life, brought a wedge between me and my father.” He drew in a sharp breath, spat out his next words. “How do you live with yourself?”

She looked away, bit her bottom lip. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand? You got pregnant by Brett Carlisle.” When she gasped, he said, “Yeah, I know. So what about that pregnant wife of his?”

She flashed him an angry look, snarled. “He doesn’t love her.”

“Right.” Roman leaned toward her, lowered his voice. “He loves
you
, doesn’t he? You and Zachary, you’re his real family.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Keep telling yourself that. You and Carlisle hurt a lot of people and for what? His parents didn’t want your kind marrying their son, and he was too much of a chickenshit to stand up for what was right. And what about
your
parents? I’ll bet they took a nice payoff. How does it make you feel to know you can be bought, that you’re good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to sit at the family dinner table at Thanksgiving, and your parents are okay with that?”

“Stop.” She shook her head and her hair floated about her shoulders, reminding him of the girl she used to be in braids or pigtails, doing cartwheels and roundoffs. Well, she wasn’t that girl anymore. “He loves me,” she said, her voice cracking. “He does.”

The door opened and Zachary stood in front of them, holding a young girl with black hair and green eyes in his arms. Carlisle eyes. “She wouldn’t settle,” he said, his gaze darting from his mother to Roman. Questioning, borderline antagonistic. The boy was protecting his mother, keeping their secret. What a burden for a child.

“I’ll be right in. Give me a minute.” When the door closed, Paula Morrisen turned to him and said, “Good-bye, Roman. Please don’t come here again.”

He thought about the visit on the drive back to Magdalena. Talk about messed up and secretive. Natalie had offered to have her guy dig up more information, said she could get whatever Roman wanted, but how far did he push and for what? Besides, what price did Natalie have to pay for this information? Roman didn’t want to know. Nor did he want to know about Charlotte and her schemes against Natalie. He was done listening to his old girlfriend’s sad tales of regret because she chose the wrong man. Did she feel that way because her husband was cheating on her and she saw Roman as an easy way out? Real love, strong love would have stood beside him fourteen years ago instead of dumping him. Charlotte had issues and he was not going to get drawn into them any longer. As a matter of fact, he was done with women for the foreseeable future, maybe longer than that.

When he pulled into his parents’ driveway, he spotted his father sitting on the front porch, newspaper in his lap, iced tea on the table. The old man’s color had come back and he’d been given the okay to head back to work a few hours a day. No lifting, nothing that would get him worked up…like worrying about his son. Roman knew his father wanted to talk about Angie, but for once, Sal kept his thoughts and his opinions in his head.

“Want a glass of tea? There’s sugar cookies in the kitchen. Still warm.”

Roman bounded up the steps, leaned against the railing. “Not right now, but thanks.”

His father nodded, adjusted his glasses. “Your mother said you’re planning on leaving soon.”

Yeah, he supposed they had to have this conversation. At least, it was better than the one that contained a certain someone’s name he would rather not remember. “Not yet. I’ll make sure everything’s in place before I go.” He zeroed in on his father’s face. “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? I’m not leaving before you’re ready.”

Another nod, a jaw scratch. “I know.” He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and took on an I-wish-I-were-anywhere-but-here expression before he said, “I’m sorry, son.”

Sorry for what? Sorry he and Angie had split up? Sorry he hadn’t believed enough in his son after Paula’s pregnancy accusation? Sorry for the lost years? There was a helluva lot to be sorry for, but it wasn’t all on his father’s head. In fact, if Roman were really honest, he’d admit his own part in this mess he called his life. He shouldn’t have stayed away from his family and Magdalena for so long, shouldn’t have married a woman he desired, maybe even loved, but certainly didn’t like most of the time. Why had he done it? To fit in with the rest of his social crowd, or because he was reaching the age to settle down and choose a mate? And Angie—why had he dived into a relationship with her and risked his heart when there was so much he didn’t know about her?

Stupid. Reckless.

“I never should have pushed you,” his father went on as though he didn’t realize that Roman hadn’t responded. “I got scared after the heart attack, like my life had an expiration date on it and it wasn’t ten years, or five, maybe not even two.” He gripped the arms of the rocker, said in a hoarse voice, “I didn’t want to die without holding my grandbaby and I know it was wrong, but damn, I was desperate and scared. It doesn’t help when Pop’s yakking in my ear about possibilities and plans. That man can make a blind person believe he’ll see again.” His eyes misted. “You and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a long time, and most of that is my fault, too. Your mother says I’m a stubborn old geezer who’d rather cut out his tongue than admit he’s wrong. She’d be right on that one, but then your mother’s right most of the time.”

“It’s all right, Dad. I get it.” And he did.

“It’s not all right, and I wish I hadn’t tried to play matchmaker to you and Angela. Maybe if you hadn’t been forced together, you could have done it on your own time. A cup of coffee, a chit-chat, who knows? Things could have been different; you might have found it in your heart to want a relationship again.” He shook his head, sighed. “That poor girl must be crying a river and a lake right now. I could see the way she looked at you the last time you were together. I’m betting she was an inch away from falling in love with you, or maybe it was already too late.”

Roman did not want to hear about relationships or love, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to speculation that Angie Sorrento might have been in love with him. What was he supposed to do with
that
? An ache pinged his heart, pulled until he had to suck in a breath. It was better to let his father believe he couldn’t commit and that had been the reason for the breakup. “Life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, Dad, and we have to learn to accept that.” He’d wanted Angie to be different from other women, more honest, more genuine, but she hadn’t been. She’d been worse, so much worse.

Miriam stirred the marinara sauce and added a pinch of salt and five basil leaves. Christine, Nate, and Anna were joining them for dinner tonight and she still had the salad and garlic bread to prepare. She would have been on schedule if Lily hadn’t gotten it in her head to make a photo album for the new baby. Not that the baby was here yet, because
she
wasn’t due for a few more weeks, but Lily said Joy Elizabeth should know her family, including her grandpas. Interesting that Lily knew the sex of the baby when no one else did, and that she’d already given the child a name, when Christine and Nate hadn’t decided on one yet. Miriam had tried to ignore Lily’s request to make an album containing the grandpas, but her daughter had a persistent streak that was stronger than her brother’s and in the end, Miriam gave in and dragged out the old albums in the spare bedroom that had once been Nate’s. Some albums contained pictures of Nate and his father; others were of Lily and Charlie. Miriam hadn’t looked at photos of her husband in years, didn’t look forward to it now. It was a separate life, one filled with more heartache than good, with the best part being Nate.

Lily didn’t notice her mother’s hesitance when Miriam handed her the oldest albums, ones that contained memories of a bittersweet past that had known more sorrow than joy. Pain and dreams that never happened lived between the pages and she didn’t want to witness the hope on her younger face, or the subsequent disappointment that replaced it. She didn’t want to see any of it right now, so she left an excited Lily on the floor in the living room, flipping through pages of an album, sticky notes at her side to mark photographs to copy for her soon-to-be-niece’s album.

When Miriam heard the doorbell, she called out, “Can you get that, Lily?”

“Okay.” A scramble, rustle, and a loud, “Coming!”

Pop had mentioned something about stopping by with a bag of pizzelles for Lily since he hadn’t seen her much these past few weeks. Sal Ventori had taken over big blocks of time at Pop’s and at first Miriam thought it had more to do with the man’s heart attack and less to do with his son. Then the whole matchmaking of Roman and Angie Sorrento happened and that smelled of Sal and Pop’s intrusion. But the couple broke up a week or so ago and that only escalated Sal’s visits, which made Miriam suspicious that something else had drawn the man to the Benito residence. Then it hit her—Lucy Benito’s baby! Sal Ventori hadn’t tried to hide his desire to be a grandfather, had, in fact, been very open about it. Was he visiting Pop because of the baby? Did he think—

“Mom?” Lily stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

A woman Lily didn’t know?
Miriam gripped the counter, sucked in a breath.
Lily knew just about everybody in this town, especially the women
. “I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Lily took a step closer, said in a loud whisper. “She looks like a gypsy.”

Miriam didn’t need her daughter to announce the arrival of Sasha Rishkov. Her sister. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, made her way to the living room where Sasha stood next to the photo albums while Lily pointed out a younger picture of her mother.

“Lily!”

“What?” Her daughter swung around, mouth open, confusion etching her face. Lily was so good and pure and incapable of expecting duplicity from anyone.

“I need to have a private conversation,” Miriam said, giving her daughter a no-nonsense look. “I’d like you to go in the other room.” She paused, raised a brow. “Not in the kitchen either, but in your bedroom.”

Thin walls and curious children made for misunderstandings and unnecessary explanations. “But I wanted to show the lady a picture of me when I was a baby.” Lily’s bottom lip quivered and her brows pinched together.

“Not now.”

Sasha smiled at Lily, rested her hands on the bronze circle belt she wore, and said in a gentle voice, “Maybe another time.”

Lily nodded, scrambled to her feet, taking two albums with her. “Yeah, maybe another time.” She paused, stared at Sasha’s hands, and said, “Hey, you have fingers like my mom.”

Miriam flinched. Sasha buried her hands in the folds of her billowy skirt and said in a voice that sounded believable, “We have artist’s hands.”

“Right.” She eyed Miriam and Sasha, scratched her head, and said, “But the pinky’s longer than a regular pinky, and the thumb’s shorter.” Lily smiled at her mother, then at Sasha. “Put your hands out and see.” Neither woman wanted to do it, but how could they refuse the child when she stood looking at them like that? Miriam held out her hand, splayed her fingers to expose all five of them. Lily was correct; the pinky was noticeably longer, the thumb shorter. Sasha dragged her hands from the folds of her skirt. “ See?” Lily pointed to each woman’s hand. “Long pinky, short thumb.” She giggled, her laughter swirling about the room, landing on the women. The laughter fizzled as Lily stared at the woman’s face. “You have my mom’s eyebrows, too.” She turned to Miriam. “Look, Mom. Same eyebrows.” Her blue eyes sparkled behind the thick glasses, and her voice grew soft when she said, “You know why? The angels brought you together and from now and forever and ever, you’re angel sisters.” Her smile spread, burst into a thousand pieces of pure joy as her laughter pulled them in, made Miriam wonder once again if Lily weren’t the real angel.

Minutes later, Lily waved at Sasha and scampered into her room carrying two albums. When Miriam knew her daughter was out of earshot, she said, “That’s Lily.”

Candace nodded, her silver eyes bright. “Yes, I see that.”

Miriam kept her voice low. “She has some interesting ideas. I’m not sure how many of them are conjecture or wishful thinking.”

“I thought she was charming,” Candace whispered. “Such innocence. A true delight.”

“That’s Lily.”

Candace turned to her. “I’ve come to say good-bye and I wanted you to know I’ll never divulge your secret.” Pause. “Nor will I give up mine. A wise person told me that if you really and truly love someone, you do what you have to do, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness.” She shrugged and continued. “I love Angela and I wish I could say that if I had another chance to keep her, I would, but the truth is, I don’t know what I’d do. But I’m not a teenager anymore and I
can
control my actions now, which is why I have to let her go.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t stand in her way or risk destroying her by upending everything she believes. It would be horribly cruel and unfair, and for what? Because I’m lonely? Because my husband has a younger woman and a new baby, and the son and daughter who led a life of privilege don’t deserve it? I won’t do that to her.” She paused, touched Miriam’s arm. “I won’t do that to you.”

“Oh, Candace, I wish things could have been different.” Miriam swiped at her eyes, pulled her sister into her arms. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” Candace’s small frame trembled as the tears came, great sobs of pain and grief pouring through her. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Her sister sniffed, eased back, and whispered, “I hated you for too many years, but now I understand why you left, why you made a home here.” Another sniff. “These people are real; this town cares. And Lily?” Her silver eyes glistened with admiration. “
She’s
the angel.”

“Yes, she is,” Miriam said, her heart swelling with love for her daughter.

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

Miriam didn’t miss the ache in her sister’s voice. She wanted to ease it, but she had to be honest. “I don’t know. There’s a lot to consider.”

Candace sighed. “I know. I won’t risk exposing you or Angela. I’m heading out of town as soon as I speak with Roman Ventori. I owe it to my daughter to try and make things right between them. If I gave her nothing else, perhaps I can give her this.”

***

Candace found Roman Ventori in the cramped back office at Sal’s Market. It was obvious the man was accustomed to high-end living, and yet he appeared comfortable in the 8x10 room, surrounded by cheap furniture, filing cabinets, and room deodorizers. That’s what intrigued her as much as it impressed her, and that was one of the many reasons she knew he and Angela belonged together. She’d heard the way her daughter talked about him before the heartache and after, seen the peace and joy on her face when she said his name, the glitter in her eyes. She’d felt their connection, and when Angela confessed what she’d done to destroy the relationship, Candace had ached for her. True love knew forgiveness, didn’t it? True love didn’t have room for judgment or condemnation. True love gave second chances, and she would not leave Magdalena before she made sure Roman Ventori knew what he and Angela shared was rare and precious; what they shared was true love.

He didn’t see it that way.

The second Candace spoke Angela’s name and stated her reason for visiting him, the smile vanished, the expression darkened. And the voice, oh, but that was an unhappy and unforgiving voice, and it was aimed straight at her.

“You claim to be a wanderer, traipsing from one place to another in that dilapidated van and your satchel of art supplies.” The dark gaze homed in on her as if he could separate the truth from the lies. Of course, that was impossible, because most of the time she couldn’t tell the difference. What was the point of acknowledging truths that were too painful to admit? Why not let truth and lies blend into a perfect union of deniability, where one ran into the other?

“I
am
a wanderer,” she said, toying with the red glass pendant dangling from her neck. “And that
is
my van.” He needn’t know her “wandering” had taken her to Rome, Paris, Prague…

“You’ve lost your accent a time or two,” he said, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, I doubt anyone else realized. I’m sure they were too caught up in your storytelling to notice. But when it happened, there was a culture in your voice that did not belong to a bohemian artist in a purple minivan.”

Candace kept her expression bland, offering no sign that he’d hit his target. She’d played this game so many years, she was an expert at hiding her feelings. Still, the man deserved credit for his accurate assessment. When she spoke, the accent was gone, replaced with her real voice—one that did indeed ooze culture. “You’re very intuitive, Roman, and perhaps given other circumstances, we might have had a lovely chat in that regard. However, I’m not here to discuss my social status or my ancestry.” Pause, a pointed look. “I’m here to discuss Angela.”

That he had not expected; she could tell by the way he flinched when she said her name. “She’s not open for discussion.”

“But she must be,” Candace said with as much force and determination as she dared. The man was already suspicious of her; she could not give him ammunition that would escalate the suspicions. “Angela loves you and despite what she’s done, you love her.”

Roman Ventori’s jaw clenched. Three times. He did not want to hear this. He pushed back his chair and stood, the expression on his face dark, fierce. “It’s time for you to leave, Sasha, or whatever your name is.” He rounded the desk, made his way to the door. “I suggest you pack up and get out of town before I call my investigator friend to run a background check on you.” Those eyes glittered, held hers. “How much do you want to bet Sasha Rishkov doesn’t exist?”

Fear swirled in her gut, shot to her chest, but she beat it down. She had to help Angela. It was the least she could do for the daughter she’d cast aside. “Think what you may, but I care about Angela and I know what it’s like to throw away a chance for love because you’re too scared, or hurt, or it doesn’t fit into your plans. You think you have a lifetime to find happiness, find another person to love, but what if you don’t? What if that person who’s hurt you or come at the worst time in your life will be the best thing to ever happen to you? What if you throw it away? What will you do then?”

“Who
are
you?”

The truth slipped out, a mix of pain and misery that threatened to steal her breath, knock her to the floor. “A person with too many regrets.” She moved toward him, clasped his arm, and said, “Please, don’t be like me. Go to her.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “Be happy.”

***

Roman left Magdalena ten days later with a promise to visit his parents at Christmas. Sal and Lorraine Ventori didn’t mention Angie Sorrento or comment on their son’s somber disposition. What was the point when the boy refused to admit Angie might be the only one to make him smile again. Chicago was filled with enough people that their son could get lost among them, and probably would—just when they believed he was finding his way to what was truly important in life: love, hope, second chances, and family, the ones you inherited and the ones you chose.

But they would never give up on their son, would pray each night for him to find his way to happiness. There was goodness in Roman, more than most people knew. He didn’t tell them about the meeting he had at the police station with Ben Reed and Charlotte Simmons, or what it was all about. They had to hear it from Phyllis at Lina’s Café, who overheard Wanda Cummings talking about it. Something to do with lace panties…imagine that. Natalie Servetti called the other day, offered to trim Sal’s hair, and when she arrived, she didn’t look like she walked off the shoot for one of those “skin” magazines. No sense denying she had the body for one, but the shirt and jeans she wore were not painted on or exposing extra skin. She said Roman had given her a few pointers from a man’s perspective, had bought her the outfit, too.