On Any Given Sundae (22 page)

“Nick, could you please tell Rob not to pick
me up for dinner tonight? I’ll meet him at his mom’s.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll tell the man just
about anything you want once he comes in.”

She looked at her watch. It was one o’clock.
“What do you mean? He was supposed to be there three hours
ago.”

“Yep. But Gretch said he never showed for the
first shift, and he’s still not here. He left a way weird message
on my voicemail, though. Said he’d be ‘back when he was back.’”

Her throat tightened. “Did he sound hurt or
in trouble or anything?”

“Nope. Just kind of pissed.” Nick paused.
“But, hey, if you wanna contact him so bad, why don’t you call his
cell? Speak to him in person or leave a message?”

“Um, that’s okay.”

“Why?”

How about: Because she was scared. Because
she didn’t know if Rob would ever want to talk with her again after
her little tantrum. Because sometimes love just wasn’t enough to
overcome every obstacle.

“B-Because I’m running late,” she said
instead. “So, uh, thanks for your help. Please just tell him what I
said if he comes in.”
And if he doesn’t come in, then what? Will
it be because he’s taken off for good?

“Okey-dokey.”

Then, thinking worst-case scenario thoughts,
Elizabeth drove to the Gabinarri house.

***

Rob meandered back toward Wilmington Bay,
stopping at just about every roadside antique shop or
cheese-n-sausage store in southeastern Wisconsin, and reacquainting
himself with the native experience. Decided it was high time he
bought himself a new “Badger” t-shirt and he’d been fresh out of
salami cheese for probably eight years. He’d forgotten until today
how much he’d liked them both.

As he tossed his Abercrombie and Fitch shirt
in the back seat and pulled on his new Badger one, he wondered
about that. Wondered why people let certain things go, even when
they loved them. Sometimes, maybe most times, it was because they
wanted to move on to other things. Finer, maybe more preferable
things.

But sometimes that wasn’t the case at all.
Every once in a while it was just because they’d gotten caught up
in something that was different, but not necessarily better.
Sometimes the original stuff was still the best.

Feeling unbearably philosophical for someone
who was neither drunk nor wearing a white clerical collar, he sat
on the curb in the gift store’s parking lot, bit off a hunk of
salami cheese and tried to figure out what to do with the rest of
his life.

His cell phone rang.

“Hi, Mama,” he said, swallowing.

“Don’t spoil your appetite, Roberto. We’re
having a nice dinner tonight.”

He looked around his Porsche for a hidden
camera. How did she always know when he was doing something wrong?
Not that eating between meals was a crime but—

“Roberto?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know where you are right now, but I
want you come home early tonight.”

“Um, well…”

“And you need to pick up some wine, too,
capiche?”

He groaned. “Yes, Mama, I understand.”

“Good,” she said, sounding fairly satisfied.
“Red wine, please. And don’t worry about getting Elizabeth.”

Of course not. He could just imagine how
Elizabeth had decided not to come and very politely extricated
herself from anything to do with his family now and forevermore. He
was probably in for the lecture from hell tonight on the subject of
How Men Are Stupid Beings And Don’t Know How To Keep Their Women
Happy. But, he wanted to know what Mama knew—all the better to be
prepared—so he said, “Why?”

Mama gave him a you-must-be-joking huff and
lowered her voice. “Well, because she’s already here.”

Rob jumped up, threw the Porsche into gear
and hightailed it back to Wilmington Bay.

***

He smelled garlic, oregano, basil and
simmering tomato sauce when he walked through the door, but Mama
didn’t rush over to greet him as usual.

He set the wine down on the table and was
about to head into the kitchen when Tony appeared out of nowhere
and snagged his shirt from behind.

“Don’t go in there,” his brother warned.
“We’re not allowed.”

“Why not?”

“Just listen.”

Over the din of Madonna’s early hit
“Borderline,” he heard the distinctive bubble of feminine laughter.
Four voices. Four very different timbres. Mama. Maria-Louisa.
Camilla. And—his heart hurt to hear it—Elizabeth.

He shot Tony a sideways glance. “What’s going
on?”

“Female bonding.” Tony paused. “They’re
cooking…I think. At least that’s what they told me they were doing
when I arrived with the boys, though it’s just as likely that it’s
some kind of spell-conjuring witchcraft. And they’ve been at it for
hours. But—”

“
Hours?”

His brother shrugged. “Oh, yeah. There’s
something weird in the air tonight, bro. My wife’s been edgy with
me since we got here. The few times I was allowed to talk with her,
that is. It’s kind of a goddess thing, I think.”

Rob stared at him for a long minute. “What
the hell does
that
mean?”

“Well, you know. Women getting in touch with
their inner power and all that New Age stuff. I figure they gain
energy in groups or something. Most of the time, when Maria-Louisa
does it, I don’t have to see it. She’s at Hauser’s or out shopping
with her cousins. So by the time we talk the next day, she’s pretty
much back to normal.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Tonight’s
gonna be a different story.”

“Terrific.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. A
high-frequency wave of women’s laughter vibrated through the
swinging kitchen door.

Oh, man.

About a half hour later, young Camilla
emerged as the emissary of the female delegation and announced that
dinner was about to be served. So, everybody had better wash their
hands and sit down quick because the ladies weren’t going to stand
for any “dallying.” Her words.

The kid was serious, self-possessed and every
inch a Mystifying-Woman-In-Training. Rob got a no-nonsense glimpse
of what Camilla would be like as a teenager and it didn’t make him
envy Tony. Not one little bit.

Except…she was absolutely beautiful, even
when spouting off orders. She radiated capability and intelligence
and personal strength. And—despite differences in age, height and
family background—she reminded him very much of Elizabeth.
His
Elizabeth.

Then the woman he was thinking of came out.
She held a platter of hand-rolled ravioli and was followed by
Maria-Louisa bearing an enormous tray of chicken Parmesan. Camilla
disappeared and then returned with a basket of hot garlic rolls and
a large mixed green salad tossed in a spicy vinaigrette dressing.
Mama brought up the rear with a casserole of grilled vegetables and
sirloin cubes covered in a zesty Sicilian sauce.

All the Gabinarri males, young and
not-so-young, stared at this display, and Rob knew they all must be
thinking the same thing: How did we get so lucky?

The ladies served everyone, moving from place
to place as if of one mind. When Elizabeth got to him, she looked
deep into his eyes and his pulse almost stopped.

“H-Hi,” she whispered. “Ravioli?”

“Yes, please.”

She spooned several plump pasta squares on
his plate and ladled the hardy meat sauce over it.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She glanced around the
table, as if to ensure no one was listening, then said, “I’m sorry
about yesterday.”

He forgave her in an instant and wished he
could kiss the worry and sadness off her lovely face, but he also
wondered still about what he’d heard that morning. With Jacques. He
was proud of the fact that he knew enough not to say anything about
it, though. At least not here.

Instead, he just smiled at her and whispered,
“Can we talk after dinner?”

She nodded, although reluctantly, he thought,
before moving on to Sammie’s plate. Tony sure was right. There was
a charge in the air. Something different, and he found himself
watching the interplay between the women very closely. They seemed
to be in agreement on every point, so much so that when the subject
of marriage came up Rob couldn’t have been more surprised by the
commentary.

“I’m not sure marriage is for every man,”
Mama said with an earnestness that made him want to reach out and
feel her forehead for fever.

“Oh, I agree,” the ever-so-calm (except when
drunk) Maria-Louisa added. “Some men are far too self-centered to
handle the obligations that are a part of such a commitment. Not
just the household duties inherent in sharing a life, but also the
emotional responsibilities.” She paused. “Tony, of course, has done
okay with it.”

Rob eyed Tony who, apparently, knew it was
his job to take the half-compliment in silence because his teeth
were firmly clamped onto his bottom lip.

Camilla added solemnly, “Yeah. Daddy’s a
pretty good guy.”

Tony stuffed a forkful of chicken Parmesan
into his mouth and chewed hard.

Mama nibbled on a bread roll. “I think
Elizabeth has got the right idea, waiting before settling down. A
woman can’t be too careful these days.”

Rob almost choked on his ravioli.

“Oh, are you okay?” Elizabeth asked sweetly.
“Do you need some water? Hot tea, perhaps?”

He shook his head, coughed a bit more and
downed half his glass of red wine.

“Yes,” Mama said. “It’s not worth it to be
stuck with a man who can’t handle commitment. Your father—” she
looked pointedly at him and Tony, “was a remarkable man, bless his
soul. But, he had his faults, too. It probably would’ve been better
for him if he’d been given another few years to grow up before we
got married.”

“R-Really?” Rob managed to say. Tony kicked
him under the table but he didn’t retract the question. This was
the first time he’d ever heard his mother suggest that getting
married wasn’t the end-all, be-all relationship experience. And
that his own father had lost points in Mama’s eyes for not doing it
exactly right. What the hell was the world coming to?

“Oh, yes,” Mama stated, as though she weren’t
completely contradicting everything she’d ever said to him in the
past ten years. “I loved your father, but every day I wished I
didn’t have to be the one to teach him all the basics. When to give
me some space. How to express his own feelings. When to do a
household chore. How to really listen.” She shrugged. “That was
kind of exhausting.”

To his surprise, he saw both Elizabeth and
his sister-in-law nodding as if these complaints about men were
common knowledge. Tony kicked him again and, this time, he held his
tongue.

Just before Mama brought out the biggest and
most delectable tiramisu ever, Elizabeth said to Maria-Louisa, “So,
are we still on for tomorrow night?”

“Yep. Hauser’s Grill and Ale. Seven o’clock
sharp. Be there or be a tee-totaler.”

The ladies laughed. Rob, remembering
Elizabeth’s last margarita night, felt uncharacteristically queasy.
He shot a panicked look at Tony.

His brother mimed pressing his lips together
and shook his head in warning. Though Rob hated to admit it, he
suspected his kid brother was pretty wise. He wondered if his other
married siblings had amassed this level of perception. Maybe he
ought to give the rest of them a call. Collect some serious
advice.

As Mama dished up the dessert, she said, “I’m
so pleased Elizabeth came up with this idea of us women cooking
together. So much better than just bringing different dishes to
pass.” She nodded at the ladies. “Although, next time, it’ll be the
men’s turn of course.”

At this, even Tony had to really fight to
keep from commenting aloud. “Think pizza,” he whispered in Rob’s
ear when he passed him a bowl of tiramisu.

Rob nodded. Yeah, everything good required
some kind of work in return, didn’t it?

When dinner finally ended, he walked
Elizabeth to her car.

“I’ll be done with my shift at ten-thirty as
usual,” he told her. “Can I come and see you afterward?”

She gazed at his mother’s house for a moment
before turning those green eyes back on him. “I have some work I
should finish,” she said. “I spent a lot of time here today, and it
was great, but I didn’t get any writing done and my deadline’s in
two weeks.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, feeling a pang of
disappointment in his gut, but what could he say? “Got any time
tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Rob, but I
really don’t. Your mom already knows I can’t come to dinner
tomorrow night, since I’m meeting Maria-Louisa and the gang at
seven, and before that I’m revising and then helping Gretchen make
one of her trickier truffle parfaits.”

Dammit. She was avoiding him. It must be
because of someone else, namely the wily, torte-making Frenchman.
Man, he was going to pulverize that guy tomorrow.

“Are you and Jacques…involved?” he asked her
directly, applauding himself on his immeasurably cool demeanor.

But she looked at him as if he were demented.
“What?
No! What kind of a—I mean, where on earth would you—”
Then she was utterly speechless for a minute. “Jacques and Gretchen
are in love, Rob. They’re sorting that out tonight and I—well, I’m
really sorry I jumped to c-conclusions about you and Gretchen
yesterday. I misinterpreted what I saw, and I guess I g-got
jealous, and it was all very foolish of me.” She stopped and
regarded him with another of her regretful looks.

He had to repeat one sentence, though, just
to clarify. “Jacques and Gretchen are
in love?”

She nodded and the relief he felt was
palpable. Thank God for small miracles, like other people’s
irrational emotions.

She glanced at her watch. “I know you’ve got
to go, so I won’t keep you. Maybe we can meet up again in a few
days, grab a cup of coffee or something.”