Fools Rush In (17 page)
“Hang on a second.” I reached down and lifted the boot, looking for the name of the manufacturer on the bottom. Lanciotti. The boots were made in Italy? Another coincidence? I promised myself I’d look up the name on the Internet when things slowed down.
Laz glanced at his watch and gasped. “Ten thirty? Jenna’s probably wondering where I am. Gotta go.” He gave me a half smile, snatched his package from Brother Pockets, and headed toward the door. At the last minute, he turned back. With tears in his eyes, he whispered, “Keep praying for Sal, Bella.
Finché c’è vita c’è speranza.
”
I looked at him with the sting of tears in my eyes and echoed, “As long as there is life, there is hope.” Somehow just speaking the words put everything in perspective. This wasn’t about Brother Pockets or a parrot. This was about Uncle Laz and his good friend. This was about moving Sal toward the same life-changing encounter with God my uncle had experienced. Minus the bus, of course.
Laz gave me a wink, then headed home, anointing oil in hand. I had a feeling I’d be hearing more about Guido later, and I also felt sure the whole Rossi house would reek of cheap perfume before day’s end.
I could fault Uncle Laz on a number of things, but one thing was for sure—he certainly understood what it meant to be an authentic Christian. His boots—albeit stolen from the front hallway—were made for walkin’. He’d made that plain. In fact, I imagined he’d be willing to walk all the way to Atlantic City if he thought it would help Salvadore Lucci find the Lord.
I felt ashamed when I realized I’d questioned my uncle’s actions. On the other hand, could he really rehabilitate a cantankerous parrot and turn him into an evangelist? Only time would tell.
In the meantime, I had a few projects of my own to tend to. Determined to “walk the walk,” I turned back to the wedding plans.
On Tuesday afternoon, as the south Texas temperature climbed into the upper nineties, the air conditioner at the wedding facility went on the fritz. I tried to reach Mama, who was up at the Opera House, putting together programs for an upcoming performance. Nothing new there. She’d been caught up in the world of opera ever since I could remember.
When Mama didn’t answer, I tried Rosa. Her voice sounded strained as she whispered, “Hello?”
“Aunt Rosa, it’s Bella. I—”
“Bella, I can’t talk right now. I’m at St. Patrick’s. We’re in the middle of a Bible study on the epistle of James.”
“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to—” I never got to finish. She hung up on me.
I groaned, then snapped my phone shut while I tried to figure out what to do. And though I hesitated to do it, I eventually telephoned my father, interrupting his fishing trip with Deany-boy and Frankie.
“Pop, I hate to interrupt, but—”
“Bella, hang on! I’ve got a live one on the line. Give me a minute to reel her in!” His voice faded, then I heard him holler out something to the boys about fetching a net. He returned to the phone moments later, breathless but happy. “It’s a redfish, Bella! She’s a beauty! Looks like we’re having fish for dinner.”
“That’s great, but—”
“What do you think, boys?” I could tell he’d turned his attention back to Deany-boy and Frankie. “Grilled or blackened?”
Their excited voices rose and fell as the signal on the phone cut in and out. I groaned. At this rate, we’d never get the AC fixed. “Pop, I need you.” After a long pause, I hollered, “Pop!”
He finally came back on the line. “What is it, Bella Bambina? What does my girl need?”
I explained the air conditioning dilemma, and he agreed to call a repairman and get back with me. Half an hour later, he called back to let me know the repairman—a guy named Pete—couldn’t come until tomorrow.
I didn’t mind. Not really. But I had to get out of the building before the heat fried my few remaining brain cells. Because I had a few wedding-related items to pick up at Walmart on the seawall, I headed off for some time alone.
The traffic on Broadway was more troublesome than usual. Tourist season was at its peak, after all. And when I reached the seawall, the situation did not improve. Not that I really minded. No, with the windows down and the salty breeze in my face, I felt at home, traffic or no traffic.
A thousand things rolled through my brain as I headed west toward Walmart. I found myself thanking God, not just for my quirky family and my new love interest, but for Galveston Island, my home. Well, my home since New Jersey.
Though I rarely talked about it, I loved just about everything to do with living on the island. In spite of her many storms, she was a survivor. I could relate to her tenacity, her unwavering spirit. And the people! Seemed no matter how many times they faced the ravages of the sea, they returned to rebuild. Talk about backbone!
I gazed out across the waters, taken in by the waves. How calm they seemed now, but how quickly they could be riled up. On a peaceful day like today, I could almost envision moonlit strolls on the beach. The misty breeze off the gulf in the morning. The seagulls, white with gray wings, as they dove into the water for bits of food. The sound of tourists’ voices as they chased the shallow waves along the shoreline. The majestic colors of the sun setting over the water.
More than anything, I loved the pull of the waves. They did their usual back-and-forth thing, day in and day out. Sometimes I felt the pull of the sea more than I admitted. I knew what it felt like to be tugged back and forth, and there were times I wanted to just release myself to the unknown, to allow something new and exciting to pull me to an unknown place. That’s why running the wedding facility got under my skin so much. Organizing weddings . . . well, that was my “unknown place,” and I loved it.
I passed the condominiums at 61st and the seawall where D.J. lived and tried to imagine what his place looked like. Had he chosen country-western decor? Was it a typical bachelor pad with black leather sofas and empty walls? At the rate things were going—both of us so busy—I’d never find out. Since our meeting on Saturday with Armando, we’d only had snatches of conversations by phone. Was it possible to miss someone I’d known only a week?
As if to remind myself he was more than just a figment of my overactive imagination, I reflected on his kiss that night at the steak house. Oh, what sweetness! I’d never known such a fireworks moment . . . until Tony had walked in on us. Then we’d experienced fireworks of a completely different kind.
Not that it mattered. I could handle Tony’s glares and snide remarks. With D.J.’s arms wrapped around me, I’d felt safe, secure. I’d also felt completely comfortable—a fact that still surprised me, in light of the fact that we barely knew each other. I wanted to relish that comfort and yet step out into the vast unknown of this new relationship all at the same time.
As I drove, I glanced to my left. The mighty Gulf of Mexico beckoned. Tourists—the bread and butter of Galveston Island—lined the beaches, and their colorful umbrellas dotted the beige sand. How long had it been since I’d been out in the water? Seemed strange to live on an island surrounded by water on every side and never venture out into it. People drove all the way from north Texas and beyond to visit my hometown. Why couldn’t I take a few minutes and let the waves toss me to and fro?
Oh yeah. Because I was too busy running a wedding facility. And planning for a country-western themed wedding. And boot shopping. And falling in love.
Ah, love! I chewed on that idea as I pulled my SUV into the parking lot of Walmart. Leaning my head back against the seat, I closed my eyes and thanked God for the cowboy he’d dropped into my life. What an unexpected but wonderful surprise.
My cell phone rang, startling me. My mother spoke with such emotion, I hardly recognized her voice. “Bella, the neighbors are at it again.”
“What?” I sat up straight. “The Burtons?”
“Yes.”
“What’ve they done?”
“When I arrived home a few minutes ago, I found a letter typed on legal stationary taped to our front door.”
“What?”
“Yes, and it was a very firm letter, demanding the return of the skateboard. It’s really specific about what will happen if we don’t. They’re going to file a lawsuit.”
“A lawsuit? What kind? That’s ludicrous!”
“I don’t know, but the letter threatened to sue us for every penny we’re worth. We could end up in court, Bella. We could lose our home, the wedding facility—everything.”
She shared her thoughts on what this could ultimately mean for our family, and I trembled with anger. “They don’t stand a chance, Mama. The kid was on our property, plain and simple.” After a few seconds, I added, “But don’t you think Rosa’s had enough now, anyway? Maybe she can just take the skateboard back across the street and they’ll come to their senses. Give back Pop’s basketball.”
“I wish.” Mama shared Rosa’s thoughts—that the Burtons were just bluffing. I hoped she was right.
As I hung up the phone, anticipation hovered over me like the morning fog. I hated to see my mom so worked up, especially now, just before the big day. I headed into Walmart and made my purchases, pondering the Burtons and their threats. What could I do, if anything, to hold them at bay until after the wedding?
At 3:45 I wrapped up my business on the west end of the island and headed to Parma John’s. Laz had purchased the briskets for the wedding and wanted me to have a look-see. I also needed to chat with Jenna about several other things related to the menu—the appetizers and the side dishes, to be precise. I wanted to make sure she had a handle on everything. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that something might go wrong. Was I capable of pulling off an event-free event? Probably not. But with the Lord on my side, I would give it my best shot.
I entered Parma John’s to the sound of “Pennies from Heaven.” I knew the song well. Laz had come up with the Tuesday meatball pizza special, stating that meatballs had always been his pennies from heaven. They were, after all, round in shape and had served to fill his pockets with real coins.
Locating Laz and Jenna proved more difficult than I’d expected. I found my uncle in the freezer, his teeth chattering as he took inventory of his meat supply. Jenna, it turned out, had called in sick. I’d have to check on her later. In the meantime, Uncle Laz agreed to visit with me about the wedding details, even Jenna’s part.
Over the next hour or so, he and I put together a detailed plan of how the wedding reception would go. Bubba would bring his smoker from Splendora and start cooking the briskets on the morning of the wedding. He and Laz would create an authentic outdoor fire pit, hanging the big pot of beans over it to cook. Bubba had assured me his mama’s recipe for southwestern beans would knock my socks off. Jenna had agreed to put together the potato salad as well as a host of barbecue-themed appetizers. Rosa would bake and decorate the wedding cake, and everyone would meet at the wedding facility midafternoon, in plenty of time to set up before the 7:00 event.
Funny, sitting next to Uncle Laz, listening to the calm in his voice, I almost felt we might actually pull this thing off.
Almost.
By the time we wrapped up our conversation, I found myself hungrier than ever. Thankfully, Laz picked up on my hints for food and ordered up a meatball pizza on the spot.
I’d just shoveled the first piece into my mouth when a familiar voice rang out behind me. I turned—pizza sauce smearing across my left cheek—to see D.J. standing beside me.
“Here. Let me get that for you.” My handsome cowboy reached for a napkin and wiped my cheek, his eyes sparkling all the while.
I swallowed the mouthful of pizza and stared at him, overcome with joy. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Same here. I just stopped by to pass on some information from Bubba about the barbecue. Sure didn’t know you’d be here. I would’ve stopped off at my place and showered first.”
“Why?” Sure, the boy had sawdust in his hair and reeked after too much time in the sun, but how could I argue with perfection?
Just then, Laz’s booming voice rang out in a forced twang. “Well, hello, cowboy. What brings you down here to our neck of the woods?” Somehow the twang-twang just didn’t work coming from an elderly Italian man. Still, I had to give my uncle credit for trying.
D.J. stuck out his hand. “I’m here to talk to a man about a barbecue. Do you have a few minutes?”
“For you? Anytime!” Uncle Laz gestured for D.J. to sit at a nearby table, then started to join him, but not before he lifted the hem of his pants and showed off his new boots. “What do you think of these, cowboy? Not bad, eh?”
D.J. let out a whistle. “Man. Where in the world did you get those?” His eyes widened. “I’ve seen ’em in pictures, sure, but never in person. Can’t believe you’re wearing them to work.”
Laz’s bushy eyebrows nearly joined in the center. “Wearing them to work? Why shouldn’t I?”
I tried to play it cool, but my insides started to sweat. “You’ve seen boots like that before?”
“Have I!” D.J. laughed. “You’re funny, Bella. Everyone has seen Lanciottis. They’re the most expensive boots on the market. A new pair costs upward of eight thousand dollars.” He turned to my uncle again. “And with the detailing on yours, I’d say even more than that. Not that I’m trying to be nosy.”
“W-what?” I managed. This had to be some sort of joke. Either that, or the boots on Uncle Laz’s feet were knock-offs. Surely.
D.J. scrutinized my uncle’s feet. “Yep. These are crocodile. I’ve only seen a few in my life, but none like these. Leastways, not in person. At the rodeo we sometimes catch a glimpse of a Lanciotti, but not in this price range.”
I’d seen my uncle shaken before, but nothing like this. With the help of his cane, he staggered to the chair opposite D.J. and took a seat. The boots came off immediately.
“What are you doing?” my stunned hunk-of-a-deejay asked.
“Getting rid of the evidence.” Uncle Laz shoved the boots my way. “The Lord isn’t going to answer my prayers if I’m wearing stolen boots. Take them back, Bella. I don’t want ’em.”
I couldn’t help pondering the fact that he’d been willing to wear twenty-dollar stolen boots. Just not expensive ones? Still, there I stood in Parma John’s, holding eight thousand dollar boots in my hand. Boots I’d purchased for a song on eBay. I quickly explained how and where I’d acquired them to D.J., and he let out a whistle.
