Voices Carry (12 page)

She leaned forward and slid the cake plate onto
the coffee table and picked up the remote control and began to channel surf.

Maybe he’d finally given up on her and was looking for—or found—someone else.

The thought of John falling in love with someone else rippled through her like a shot. She tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore it.

Well, maybe it would be better for him if he did. After all, we both give so much to our jobs, what do we really have left to give to each other?

Genna squirmed in her seat. Rationalization had never been her strong suit.

She knew exactly what she and John had given to each other. Knew she’d never experienced that depth of emotion with anyone else, and suspected that she might never again do so. Just as she knew she had never stopped missing him. Maybe never stopped loving him.

Genna had never known a man like John Mancini. From the first time she saw him, standing in the front of the classroom at Quantico and her heart had gone thump, there had been no one else in Genna’s thoughts or in her heart or in her bed. John was tall and broad shouldered with dark hair and equally dark eyes, an irreverent sense of humor, and a twinkle in his eye. And up until that moment, Genna had scoffed at the idea of love at first sight. John was smart and his classes were among the most popular, not only for their content—psychological profiling—but for his mesmerizing personality and easy smile. She’d barely opened her mouth in his class, so afraid she’d say something totally stupid or that the words would come out in a chirp and she’d sound more like a high-school girl than a future agent for the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. Somehow Genna had managed to complete John’s course with barely a conversation having passed between them.

Not that John hadn’t made an attempt. At least in the beginning. But she’d given him no encouragement whatsoever and he’d backed off. At least that’s what she had assumed when he’d stopped trying to catch her eye every chance he got. Once the course had been completed, however, he made up for lost time.

On the evening after the last class, John had shown up at the local bar where the future agents had gathered to celebrate the successful completion of yet another round of classes. He’d approached the table where Genna sat between Claire, her roommate, and Dennis, another recruit, and pulled a chair from a nearby table to place himself at Genna’s left elbow. He’d bought a round of beers for the group, and while they were being served, leaned over and quietly asked Genna to have dinner with him the following night. When she recovered from her surprise, she’d said yes. They were together from the night of their first date until the morning of Sheldon Woods’s arrest and John’s breakdown in the aftermath.

There were times when Genna missed John’s presence in her life so badly she’d awaken with tears running down her face, other times when the pain of his abandonment was so fierce she’d wished she’d never met him. But she’d never been able to deny that she had loved him deeply.

And maybe still did, even now.

She wished she could get past it, get on with her life, but that seemed impossible, with John popping back in and out of it every chance he got.

With a quick click of the remote, Genna turned off the TV, then carried her plate and glass into the kitchen.

Maybe I should just go on Sunday. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe John and I can really learn to be friends,
she told herself.

Yes, of course,
her little inner voice taunted her.
And maybe between now and then, you’ll learn to ignore the way your heart flips over when you look at him.

Maybe you’ll learn a way to forget what it was like to kiss him, the feel of his mouth and the strength of his hands. And what it was like to make love with him. To. . .

“Oh, shut up,” she growled aloud as she snapped off the living room light.

There were, she later acknowledged as she climbed into bed and settled onto the pillow, some things she’d never forget, despite her best efforts to do so. The thought came to her, as her eyes closed in sleep, that maybe if she allowed herself to remember, she might find a way to forgive. That maybe in forgiving, they’d find a way to start over.

And maybe that was exactly what she was afraid of.

When Genna’s train pulled into Philadelphia’s Thirtieth Street Station at twelve-ten on Sunday afternoon, John was there on the platform, waiting for her. Even had his height not made him the tallest man in the sparse crowd, the joy in his smile when he saw her would have caught her eye.

“Hi,” he said as he leaned down to kiss the side of her face. “You’re right on time.”

“Yes.” Genna cleared her throat, not for the first time this morning questioning the wisdom of having let him talk her into coming. “The train was running right on schedule. It was nice of you to offer to pick me up. I appreciate it.”

He glanced over his shoulder, looking somewhat amused. “I’d never have heard the end of it from the family. No one arrives for an official Mancini event in a taxi. A limo, maybe, but never a taxi.”

She followed his lead through the crowd that had emerged from the train and headed up the steps to the concourse, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Overhead, the painted ceiling loomed. She had never walked through this station without admiring it.

“You look wonderful, by the way,” he told her. “I
like that color on you. It brings out that greenish tint to your eyes. What are they calling that shade these days?”

“Hazel.”

John laughed.

“I didn’t mean your eyes. I meant the color of your dress.”

“Oh. Turquoise, I guess.”

“Well, whatever, I like it. It looks good with that tan you’re getting.” John held the door open for her.

Genna looked down at her arms. She’d spent a goodly portion of her time at Patsy’s out on the lake in the sun and was secretly pleased that for the first time in the past few years, she’d been outside in the sun long enough to get that bit of summer color. That John had noticed, pleased her even more.

“Of course, next to my sister Tess, we’d have to call that more of a
pale
than a
tan,”
he teased.

“No fair comparing. Tess spends every weekend on a beach in New Jersey.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to join the family down the shore anytime. You’d love it. Can’t you just picture yourself, sitting on the sand, watching the waves crash onto the beach. Ocean breezes in your hair. The smell of the salt air. . .”

“The scent of burning flesh as the summer sun fries all that exposed and oiled skin,” Genna continued wryly. “The grit of sand in your face, kicked up by the tiny feet of the four-year-old on the blanket next to yours.”

“You’ve been spoiled by so many years on that lake of yours, where there’s no one to infringe upon your space. Hell, on the Jersey beaches, infringement is a sacred right and duty.”

They stepped outside into the shadow of the portico where John had left the car double-parked, but even the relative cool there, shielded from the sun, could not belie the fact that they were already well into one hot summer day and that the humidity swirled around them in a near-tangible mass. Genna’s legs stuck to the front seat of John’s older model Mercedes sedan as she eased onto the well-heated leather. John opened the windows just long enough to let out the steamy air and turned on the air conditioning as he pulled from the parking lot, then headed across the bridge that spanned the Schuylkill River and led into the heart of the city.

“How’s the new case progressing?” Genna asked, smoothing her skirt, deliberately chosen as not too short for a church yet not so unfashionably long as to appear dowdy.

“It’s done,” he told her without looking over at her. “We got a lead on Wednesday afternoon that turned out to be right on the money.”

“Wow. That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Not that quickly, anyway. Cases like this can drag on for years, but sometimes all you really need is that one witness who is willing to come forward. You just don’t usually get it as fast as you need it. This time, we did.”

“Congratulations on the early wrap-up.”

John shook his head.

“I had nothing to do with this one. The kid—that would be Kurt Fraser, old man Sharpe’s son-in-law—is not quite the dolt Sharpe seems to think he is. Once he got things organized, he really did a fine job. He personally screened the leads that came in. Picked up on something that one of the callers had said. Found
our man. Led us, literally, right to the front door. Fraser has good instincts and he knows his community. Sharpe can be proud of him.”

“Did you tell Sharpe that?”

“Of course. Now, whether he thinks I was just telling him what I thought he might want to hear. . .” John gave a quick wave of his hand.

They were on Market Street now, the massive City Hall building straight ahead, its statue of William Penn at the very top presiding over all. A surprising number of people filled the streets of center city on this Sunday morning, a few on bicycles, a few on roller blades while the older, more professional crowd took their time strolling to their destination. Several young couples pushed strollers, some with toddlers lagging behind. Genna had always liked Philadelphia, had always felt surprisingly at home here.

“We’ll be going directly to the church,” John was saying as he made his way around a yellow taxi that had stopped, for no apparent reason, in the middle of the street. “Did you remember to eat anything today? It’ll be a while before we’ll be getting back to the house.”

“Yes, I had breakfast, but I ate light. I haven’t forgotten the last Mancini family event I attended. I couldn’t zip my jeans for a week.”

“Ah, yes. Tess’s birthday party.” He chuckled at the memory. “My mother went to Mass every morning for two weeks before that party, lighting candles and praying that Tess would announce her engagement to Nate.”

“I don’t recall that that happened.”

“It didn’t. But my mother is not one to give up easily.
Every family gathering is a stage set for a big announcement, as far as she’s concerned. I heard her telling my Aunt Rose last night that maybe today would be the day.” John grinned. “You know, in some ways, all the women in my family are exactly alike. My mother, my aunts, my grandmothers, they even sound alike. I think it’s something in the water in South Philly. Even my sister Angie sounds like them.”

“But not Tess.”

“Tess has always been different. A divorced mother with no interest in remarrying, who owns her own business and does her own thing? Definitely out of the mold.”

“Funny then, that she stayed here,” Genna observed.

“She did have an apartment in Queens Village for a while, after she separated from her husband, but right around that time, our dad got sick and Tess started filling in for him at work. You know, my dad started that insurance agency almost forty years ago, built it up himself. Serviced all his clients himself. After he started his treatments for the cancer, he had less and less energy to give to the business. Tess started coming down at night after she finished work to handle the day-to-day paperwork that Dad couldn’t get to. When it became apparent that the business would go under without someone at the helm full-time, Tess quit her job and started working with Dad those few hours each day that he could get himself into the office. He taught her everything he could in the time that he had left. The week before he died he had his lawyer draw up papers turning the business over to her. Tess moved herself and Jeff back
to the old neighborhood. That was three years ago, and she’s given no sign of leaving anytime soon.”

“Well, it’s not such a bad thing to walk into a business that’s already established, especially since there must be such strong emotional ties there. And I’d guess that many of your dad’s clients stayed on after he passed away.”

“Most of them didn’t have a choice.” John’s mouth eased into a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“My dad sold insurance to a lot of people who were. . . how do I put this delicately?. . . bad risks.”

“What kind of bad risks?”

“Guys whose cars have a high probability of being shot up. Guys whose life expectancies might be considerably lower than the national average.”

“Guys who. . . oh. You mean, like. . . like,
GoodFellas?”
Genna turned to face him. “I thought all that Philly mob stuff was just in the movies.”

“Things have quieted down a lot over the past few years, but when my dad first started that agency back in the early sixties, there was a lot of stuff still going on.”

“So people’s cars would get shot up and they’d call your father and he’d have to call the insurance company and report that as an accident claim?”

“Most times they didn’t bother to report that sort of ‘accident.’”

“Then why did they buy the insurance in the first place?”

“Because that was the respectable thing to do. Besides, they bought auto insurance more for the liability coverage, in case they hit someone else. And because they bought their homeowners insurance
and their life insurance and their business insurance from him as well.”

“Their business insurance?”

“Sure. Most of his clients owned legitimate businesses.”

“How did your dad get to be the insurance agent for all of these. . . clients?”

“Some came over with his father.”

John slowed down as he turned the corner, then slowed even more as he scanned the line of cars parked along the street in front of the church.

“Do you see anything that even barely resembles a parking place?”

“There’s a car leaving.” Genna touched his arm as the black Buick emerged from a spot about five cars up the street. John pulled in as the Buick pulled out.

“This is a beautiful church,” Genna said as she got out of the car and stared up at the magnificent stained glass window that arched over the wide front doors.

“My mother’s family’s church since the turn of the century. And surprise, surprise, there’s my Aunt Josephine waiting at the top of the steps. I’ll bet you five bucks that my mother sent her out here to watch for us, and the first words out of her mouth will be, ‘Johnny, you’re late. . .’”