He never appeared in my dreams after that.
Chapter 62
A great relationship doesn’t happen because of the love you had in the beginning, but how well you continue building love until the end.
Anonymous
Saturday dawned warm and sunny. My lakefront run celebrated the end of the most difficult case I ever encountered, not only for its complexity and danger but also for the wedge it almost drove between me and Wukowski just as our long separation came to an end.
Midway, I stopped to breathe and look out over Lake Michigan. How many times I’d watched these waters, from my condo and along this path, and felt its turmoil or its peace roll over me. My relationship with Wukowski is like that, I thought. Up and down, sometimes joyful and often difficult, always changing, but solid and dependable. There.
No more dilly-dallying, I chastised myself. I took a few deep breaths and turned for home.
He sat on the couch, working on his MPD laptop.
I had no time for a shower. No time for clean clothes. No time to wait or to waste. I marched straight to him, took the laptop and set it on the coffee table, and straddled his thighs. With my hands on his shoulders, I leaned in and looked him in the eyes.
“I love you,” I told him. “I don’t want to waste any more time. Will you marry me?”
After a few beats, he put his own hands on my shoulders and, his voice gravelly, said, “I love you too. I never again want to lose a minute of time away from you. Yes, moja kochana. Name the day and time. Name the place. But don’t make it too long from now.”
He leaned in to kiss me and I protested. “I’m all sweaty.”
“Makes no difference to me,” he reassured. “I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
Chapter 63
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
Marcel Proust
It was the typical Sunday afternoon gathering, but it held an intensity I didn’t anticipate. I looked with fresh eyes at every person present: Papa and Aunt Terry, who had loved and guided me my whole life; Wukowski’s mother Lena, who raised the man I loved and who tried so hard to overcome her fears after losing her daughter; my children, Emma and David, whom I in turn had guided and loved with the deepest, tenderest feelings one person can have for another; and their spouses, John and Elaine, who made my babies happy and who gave me the greatest gift of all—grandchildren.
And Wukowski, the most honorable, most difficult, and most tender and loving man I’d ever known. The man who both infuriated me and who taught me to trust and love, after years of holding back because pain might follow if I opened up again. My heart overflowed with more feelings than I could hold.
And then the twins, Patrick and Donald, and my granddaughter Angela, came running toward me with shouts of “Nonna” and arms extended for a hug. As I grasped them to me, I envisioned Spider and Magdalena’s little ones, hiding behind a screen from the “bad guys.” My fierce feelings of protectiveness and love surfaced and ran down my cheeks.
“Nonna, let us go,” protested Donald.
Never, I thought, but I released them and turned away to take a towel from the kitchen counter.
Angela, ever the perceptive one, circled me and, her face full of concern, asked, “What’s wrong, Nonna?”
I squatted down to her eye level and told her, “Sometimes the love just spills out, sweetie.”
“Yuck,” Patrick called out, breaking through the sentimentality.
The adults settled into the normal Sunday routine of stirring the sauce (Papa), putting the salad together (Aunt Terry), and preparing the garlic bread for the oven (Emma), while Elaine popped zabaglione into the fridge.
Aunt Terry guided me into the living room and placed a glass of wine in my hand before seating herself next to me on the couch. “How are you sleeping?”
“Now that Mick’s been exonerated and Artur is facing justice, I’m fine,” I assured her. “No more awful dreams.” Seeing the lines of strain in her face, I asked, “And you?”
“Not much. But wakefulness gives me time to pray and thank God for deliverance.”
I hugged her and said, “Let’s get together this week and talk. It’s too crazy here today.”
***
At the table, after supper, Papa turned to Wukowski and raised an eyebrow. “So?”
So what? I wondered.
Across from me, Aunt Terry lifted her cell phone—a forbidden object at the Sunday meal.
Wukowski, seated at my right, pushed his chair back from the table and reached into his pocket. “I’m honored to tell you that Angie proposed to me and I accepted.”
The table erupted in applause, with Papa and Lena wiping their eyes and Aunt Terry taking video while David snapped pictures.
Wukowski held up a hand. “It’s only fair to add that I was ready to ask her today… with a little prompting from Pat.” From his pocket, he removed a small box and popped it open to reveal a ring nestled in layers of black velvet. “Angie, it’s my turn. Will you take a chance—a permanent chance—on a hidebound cop who loves you very much? Will you marry me?”
“A double proposal! Of course I will.”
As Wukowski slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me, I vaguely heard the boys’ simultaneous exclamations of “ew” in the background.
Elaine bustled in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and flutes for the adults, and another bottle of sparkling grape juice and glasses for the children. Papa let the corks fly, which prompted Daniel and Patrick to attempt to catch them midair.
When all was ready, Papa raised his flute of champagne. “To my beloved daughter and her fiancé. May you have many years of happiness.” After we all had a sip, he reiterated what he told my first husband. “Ted, you should know that there are no divorces in our family. But there are widows.”
“Doesn’t hold much terror, Nonno,” said David. “Dad’s still aboveground.”
“Nonna, may I please see your ring?” asked the always-polite Angela.
I realized that I hadn’t yet taken a look at it. “Oh, how lovely,” I said, admiring the silver band with a central diamond surrounded by the swirling depths of opals.
“The diamond is from a pendant that my husband gave me when our son was born,” Lena said, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“And the opals are from your mother,” Papa added. “She would be very happy today.”
Tears threatened to spill over yet again, but I blinked them back and said, “Thank you, Lena, and you, Papa. I will cherish this even more for knowing it comes from both families.” Then I extended my left hand for all to admire.
***
Later that day, as Wukowski walked his mother to her car, I hugged Aunt Terry and Papa and said to them, “It seems as if Mama has been a forbidden topic of conversation all these years. I’m sorry if it causes you grief, but I want to know more about her and that side of my family.”
Papa’s face took on the dour look I associated with his disapproval, and Aunt Terry intervened before he could answer. “Let’s look to the future and not the past, Angelina.”
Well, I thought, if they won’t help, I’ll have to do some investigation on my own.
THE END
Exciting news! This isn't really the end.
The next book in the series will tell the story of Angie's mother. Guess where Angie's investigative talents came from?
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NOTES
Navigating a mystery writer’s mind is a lot like trying to make it out of a Halloween maze of dead ends. But every once in a while, an idea succeeds and the writer emerges from the twisted paths that lead now
here. Such was the birth of Blood Kills.
It began in 2018, with the arrest of Joseph James DeAngelo, dubbed the Golden State Killer during his thirteen-year rape, assault, and murder spree in California. The news was full of the way that DNA and public databases were used to bring him to justice. And at the end of one of those stories, there was a link to an article entitled “DNA At the Fringes: Twins, Chimerism, and Synthetic DNA.” (1) That was too intriguing to ignore, so down the rabbit hole I went.
In The Iliad, Homer described the mythical Chimera as "a thing of immortal make, not human, lion-fronted and snake behind, a goat in the middle.” Turns out, there are human chimeras, too—people with more than one DNA profile.
Artur’s case is founded on the story of a man accused of sexual assault in Alaska based on blood found at the scene of the crime. But he couldn’t possibly be the perpetrator, because he was in prison at the time. However, as a child he had been a bone marrow donor for his brother, whose blood DNA was a perfect match for the crime scene evidence. The brother was a chimera. (2)
There are other ways for the body to hold more than one DNA profile. A person can absorb their unborn twin’s DNA while in the womb. (In My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Andrea Martin played Aunt Voula, who casually explains to uptight parents of the groom about the removal of a lump on her neck that contained teeth and a spinal cord from her unsuspected twin. I always thought it was fictional license, but no, it can really happen.) In fact, one mother almost lost custody of her children because doctors could find no evidence of her DNA profile matching theirs. (3)
There is even a condition called microchimerism, in which the recipient of a blood transfusion contains some of the donor’s blood DNA alongside their own for a time. (4)
Truth really is stranger than fiction at times… until a writer weaves it into her fictional universe.
______________________
1 Murphy, Erin E. “DNA At the Fringes: Twins, Chimerism, and Synthetic DNA.” The Daily Beast. The Daily Beast Company, October 7, 2015. Last modified October 7, 2015. Accessed January 21, 2021, https://www.thedailybeast.com/dna-at-the-fringes-twins-chimerism-and-synthetic-dna.
2 Ibid.
3 “She’s Her Own Twin,” ABC News, August 16, 2006, accessed January 21, 2021, https://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/shes-twin/story?id=2315693.
4 Rachael Rettner, “ Human Chimeras That Already Exist,” Scientific American (Scientific American, August 8, 2016), last modified August 8, 2016, accessed January 21, 2021, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/3-human-chimeras-that-already-exist/.
MORE ANGIE
She's dealt with cheaters and liars, not just on the job but also in her personal life. So PI Angelina Bonaparte knows first-hand what deception feels like. No matter what the danger, she won't stop until she gets to the truth.
Visit my website at https://nancirathbun.com, where you can read or listen to chapter one of each book.
Truth Kills – Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries #1
A murdered mistress. An accused mob boss. Can Angie and Wukowski put their differences aside to find the real killer?
Cash Kills – Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries #2
A double murder. A mysterious inheritance. Angie is about to follow the money all the way into a den of thieves.
Honor Kills – Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries #3
A missing husband. A suspicious obituary. Angie isn’t the only one tracking a dead man’s footsteps.
Blood Kills – Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries #4
A murdered metal sculptor. A Russian mobster on the hunt. Can Angie outsmart a vindictive killer who has her in his crosshairs?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I am a lifelong reader of mysteries – historical, contemporary, futuristic, paranormal, hard-boiled, cozy … you can find them all on my bookshelves and in my e-readers. I bring logic and planning to my writing from my first career as an IT project manager, and attention to characters and dialog from my second career as a Congregationalist minister. (My books are not Christian fiction, but they contain no explicit violence or sexual scenes, nor bad language beyond an occasional mild curse word.)
I grew up an Army brat, and have lived in Germany, France and Korea, as well as several states in the U.S. After my dad retired from the service, our family settled in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I raised my daughter and son there, while working at AT&T. I never expected to move after taking early retirement, but when my second grandchild was on the way, I wanted to be closer. One of my greatest joys is hearing my three granddaughters shout ‘Nana’ and run to me when I come in their front door in Fort Collins, Colorado.
My Maltipoo, Teeny, and I now live in Wellington, Colorado USA. No matter where I make my home, I will always be a Green Bay Packers fan.
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