by Mary Campisi
Tom Finnegan, ND’s computer man and Jack’s nephew. “Sure.”
“Okay then.” He made it to the door but couldn’t quite get to the other side without one more word.
“You know, years ago, Dolly and I had a bout of difficulties. Mostly from my stupidity. We’d just had Jenny and I was feeling trapped, unappreciated, and steamrolled by a pack of kids who needed this and that, and a wife who didn’t want nothin’ to do with me. I came within a hair of making the biggest mistake of my life.” He sighed and shook his head. “Thank God I woke up before it was too late. Don’t wait until the hurt’s gone on too long that you can’t go back. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” He turned the knob and disappeared down the hall.
It didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out the biggest mistake Jack almost made had to do with a woman. Didn’t it always? Maybe he’d had a Natalie Servetti type in his past, too. Maybe Nate should have confided in him. After all, Jack had been around a long time and, other than Miriam, knew the pieces of Nate’s life better than anyone. There’d been the death of his father, the presence of Charles Blacksworth, the divorce from Patrice. All twisted and torn with anger, grief, sometimes despair, and Jack had been there to guide him and make sense of it all with his backwoods philosophizing. But this thing with Christine was different. Nate needed to make this work because if he lost her…he would not even consider it. He wasn’t going to lose her. Christine was his wife, his partner, until they drew their last breaths.
He was well into the spreadsheet again, caught between steel bars and steel plates, when there was loud chatter in the hallway and seconds later, Lily burst into his office, a grin on her face, a lunchbox in her hand. “Hi, Nate. Hungry?”
Truth? He hadn’t been hungry since the afternoon Christine packed up her suitcase and moved to his mother’s. But he couldn’t tell Lily that, so he forced a smile and said, “Sure, what’s in there? Liver and onions? Cow tongue and cabbage?”
His sister giggled and hefted the nylon lunch box onto his desk. “No, silly. Me and Mom made them.” She unzipped the top and lifted out two sandwiches covered in an excess of plastic wrap, an apple, a plastic baggie filled with chips, and two chocolate chip cookies. “A peanut butter and banana for you.” She placed a sandwich in front of him. “And a peanut butter and jelly for you.” She leaned over and whispered, “It’s Mom’s peach jelly, the one I’m not allowed to eat.”
Peach bourbon jelly. He knew it well and, yes, it was his favorite. “Mom makes you strawberry and cherry, so don’t be complaining. And it’s not like you share those with me.” He unwrapped the peanut butter and peach bourbon jelly sandwich and bit into it.
“I’m not complaining and I do share.” Her lips twitched. “Just not with you.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. I’ll remember that the next time you want me to take you fishing or beg me to play the piano so you can dance.”
“Just teasing. I shared the cherry jelly with Christine this morning.” She reached in the bag and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie. “I wanted to give her something to make her smile.”
Oh? “She’s not smiling?” Is she as miserable as I am?
Lily shook her head and bit into the cookie. “Uh-uh.” She chomped on the cookie and said, “Mom said she needs to eat more, but Christine says she’s not hungry.” Lily paused, looked at her half-eaten cookie. “Why is she not hungry, Nate? Do you think she’s sick?”
“No, honey, I don’t think she’s sick.” He reached across the desk, clasped her small hand and squeezed. “Maybe she’s just got a lot on her mind and isn’t thinking about food right now.”
She peered at him through thick glasses and he could almost see that brain working. “But Mom says food feeds our souls. Doesn’t Christine’s soul need to get fed?”
Miriam and her sage words. Let her explain that one to Lily. “Yes, but some people need more time than others.” Learning his wife might be as miserable as he was created mixed feelings. On one hand, he never wanted her to know a second of pain, but on the other, well, if she had trouble sleeping and wandered about with a hole in her stomach, maybe that would make her more eager to get this whole mess resolved.
“You know what?” Lily stuffed the rest of her cookie in her mouth and held up a hand while she chomped away. Nate smiled and popped a chip in his mouth. She always lifted his mood and made him realize there was still good in this often screwed-up world. “You know what?” she repeated, now that her cookie was gone.
“No, what?”
She brushed her hands together to get rid of cookie crumbs and leaned toward him. “I think I know why Christine’s not eating, but don’t tell Mom, okay?”
“Sure. What is it?”
Lily cast a quick glance toward the door and, satisfied no one was around, turned back to him and whispered. “I heard her crying the other night after we went to bed. I think she’s sad.” Her eyes grew bright, and her voice cracked. “She misses you, Nate. You’re supposed to be with her. Every night. Sleep in the same bed.”
“Lily.”
The tears started, slipping down her cheeks to her chin. She swiped at them from behind her glasses, but still they fell. “How long do you have to work on that stupid floor?”
Nate pushed back his chair and made his way to her. He knelt down and clasped his sister’s hand. “It’ll be okay, Lily. Don’t cry.”
“You better come for dinner tonight.” She sniffed. “And you better sleep in the same bed.”
Chapter10
Christine slouched against the wall in the tiny bathroom at Miriam’s and wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. She’d thought the term morning sickness meant sickness in the morning, but the doctor she met with three days ago had not only clarified that misunderstanding, he’d provided her with several pamphlets for the “expectant parent” that she’d hidden in her oversized handbag. When he’d asked where the father was, she’d stumbled around and grabbed the first tidbit that landed in her brain. Traveling. Hopefully, he’ll make the next meeting. Dr. Elliot Conrad, middle-aged, quiet spoken, and clearly versed on every manner of excuse regarding absent significant others, had merely nodded. At least she’d chosen a town twenty minutes away, one that was not Magdalena and would not contain well-wishers ready to spread the word about the upcoming addition to the Desantro family.
Dr. Conrad said the baby was due in December and talked about the importance of taking prenatal vitamins, getting plenty of rest, and reducing stress. How much more stress could a woman be under when she wasn’t living with the baby’s father, and there was no resolution in sight? And healthy eating? If her stomach didn’t calm down soon, Miriam would figure out that the situation with Nate wasn’t the only thing making Christine heave her dinner. Thankfully, Nate’s mother was too preoccupied with her son and daughter-in-law’s predicament to see what was right before her: Christine was pregnant with her grandchild.
It was a good thing Uncle Harry wasn’t around because he might not know a thing about babies, but he knew Christine, knew her moods, knew when she was holding back, and when something bothered her. One look and he’d issue a command in that gruff voice sprinkled with a curse word or three, and she’d tell him everything. But Uncle Harry wasn’t here. As a matter-of-fact, his phone calls lately had been sporadic, and when they did speak, he sounded like he was in a rush, or preoccupied, not in a bad way, but still, not totally present. Was it Greta? Maybe something was finally happening between them and, if so, Christine was not going to ruin his happiness with her misery.
What a mess. Before Nate, she hadn’t really thought about children other than as add-ons to an already full and busy life that would get busier and fuller with children but would certainly not be consumed by them. But from the second she’d taken the home pregnancy test, she’d imagined Nate holding their baby, Lily and Miriam’s excitement over the new addition, even Uncle Harry, uncertain but proud as a grand-uncle. There would be Christmases filled with pine trees, popcorn garlands, an
d homemade ornaments, and birthdays with handmade cards, cake, and balloons. Their house would flow with love and tradition and when the next child came along, and even the next, that love and tradition would swell and grow, filling their hearts, their lives.
But now? Christine squeezed her eyes shut and sipped in air. Now there was too much uncertainty to see the future, and even less to understand it. She had to tell Nate about the baby, and soon. He had a right to know and she wouldn’t keep this from him, but neither did she want a child to force them back together. Too many of her parents’ friends had done this and she’d witnessed the fallout from patched-up marriages “for the sake of the child”. Kids weren’t stupid; they sensed when the love wasn’t real, when respect turned to animosity no matter how nicely it was presented. She wouldn’t do that to their child, or Nate, or herself. There’d been no sign of Natalie Servetti or her family, according to Miriam, who found this odd since the Servettis were a clannish sort who never ventured past a two-hundred-mile radius and were now supposedly vacationing in Disney World. Even a less suspicious mind would find this bizarre and out of character. Had Nate been set-up, drugged as he claimed? If so, by whom?
If she’d never seen the pictures, it would be easier to believe him and move on. But she had to know who was behind this, if someone was, and why. Then she could believe him, then she could tell him about the baby. She pressed a hand across her belly. And it had better be soon, because one way or the other, this baby would be here by Christmas.
When she was fairly certain her stomach would cooperate, Christine dragged herself off the floor, brushed her teeth, and pinched her cheeks. Miriam would wonder what had happened to her, and Christine couldn’t afford her mother-in-law’s assessment skills to kick in just now. She found her in the kitchen, of course, rolling biscuits for dinner. “Hello, dear. I hope you’re hungry. I’m making those buttermilk biscuits you love so much.”
“Oh.” Christine eyed the biscuits, swallowed. “Of course.” And then, because she’d sounded like a sick bird, she corrected, “Thank you. I do love those.”
Miriam nodded, grabbed a small glass, floured the top, and pressed it into the dough. She continued this process and then gently lifted each biscuit with a spatula and placed it on a baking sheet. “Next time, I’ll let you make these.” Her voice dipped. “Nate loves them.”
What to say to that?
“Lily called a few minutes ago.” Miriam glanced up, held her gaze. “She invited Nate to dinner. He called when she was in the bathroom and said he couldn’t get out of it. She was pretty forceful. And Christine? Lily told him he needs to stay with you tonight—in your bed.”
***
Who would have thought Nate would dread sleeping with a beautiful woman, a woman who happened to be his wife? From the second Lily demanded he share a bed with Christine, his gut had twisted and churned so hard he could barely get a buttermilk biscuit down his throat, let alone the chicken and gravy. And the apple crisp? Wasn’t happening. He’d excused himself and headed for the garage with a lame excuse about checking the lawn mower.
Lily had a bead on them, like she was an investigator and he and Christine were under suspicion for lack of affection to one another and not sharing a bed. How the hell did his sister even know about this stuff? Maybe it was more intuitive. Lily sensed there was a hole in their usual closeness. Gone were the random kisses on the neck, the slow smiles, the laughter. Oh, they faked it pretty well, but apparently Lily had begun to notice, and once she did the expectations to return to “normal” came along with it. Hence, the demand that he and Christine sleep in the same bed, which would have been more than fine if they’d actually had a conversation in the last several days. But they hadn’t, and now, here they were, him in his T-shirt and athletic shorts—no nakedness tonight—and her in the oversized Beauty and the Beast T-shirt Lily had given her for her birthday. She’s Beauty, Lily had told him when Christine pulled the T-shirt from the gift bag. And you’re The Beast. Yeah, that’s pretty much what everyone thought right about now.
“So,” he eased onto his side of the bed, careful not to trespass on the imaginary line separating his half from hers, “this is awkward.”
Her lips twitched and for a millisecond, he spotted the old Christine, the one he missed so much his chest hurt. But then those lips flattened and she looked away. “It is, but we can’t hurt Lily.”
“But we’re going to, eventually.” He folded his pillow in half and rested his head on it, so he could study her reaction. “Aren’t we?”
“I hope not.” She slid into bed beside him, and when she met his gaze, there was pain in those eyes and a mountain of sadness. “I’m so tired of this. I know if we’re going to get past what happened, I have to trust you. Common sense tells me that. You can’t explain those photos other than to say you were drugged. It’s your word against hers. I get that, believe me, I do. But now she’s disappeared with her whole family.” Those blue eyes grew bright. “And I’m trying to deal with it, but I can’t get those photos out of my head.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “I see her on top of you, picture her moving over you, your shirt open… your…your jeans…” She sucked in a breath and finished. “I see it all and I think it all, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.”
Nate wanted to pull her into his arms and take away the pain, but all he could do was stay on his damn side of the bed and talk. “Trust never comes lightly. I know that.”
She swiped a hand across her face. “I don’t want to end up like my mother and father, living a lie for a lifetime and ignoring the truth.”
“Neither do I.” He willed her to see inside his heart to the love he had only for her. “On Lily’s life, I did not betray you. I swear to God I didn’t and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to find Natalie and she’s going to tell me why she tried to ruin my marriage.”
The tears started then, falling onto her cheeks, to her chin, along her jaw line. She tried to brush them away, but they kept coming. Nate waited, hoping she would let him comfort her. It was a small step, but he’d take it. Hell, he’d take anything she had to offer right now.
“Nate.” She spoke his name seconds before she threw herself at him with a muffled sob. He pulled her close, whispered her name, and held her against his heart—where she belonged.
***
“I’m so pleased you could join me for lunch.” Gloria offered a hand to Connor Pendleton. The last time they’d met at The Presidio, she’d convinced him to propose to Christine. Sadly, that had not worked out. Yet.
Connor flashed a bright smile and slid into the seat next to her “You know I always have time for you, Gloria.” The smile slipped a bit as his expression turned serious. “But I was a little confused about your message. You said it had to do with Christine. Is she all right?”
All right? That was a relative term, dictated by time and emotion. At the moment she suffered a minor heartache that Connor would certainly cure once Christine saw the futility of staying married to that Desantro man. A quiet divorce should not be so difficult to obtain. What judge in his right mind would think Christine and that mountain man belonged together? That union had been wrong on so many levels, beginning and ending with the Desantro name. “Let’s say my daughter has come to her senses.” Gloria smiled and sipped her champagne. Nothing like a nice bottle of Dom Pérignon for a celebration, and the beginning of the end of Christine’s short marriage was indeed call for a celebration.
Connor tilted his blond head and once again, Gloria pictured the children he and Christine would have: fair skinned, light-colored eyes. Civilized, not some backwoods offspring with dark eyes and insolent manners. “You’re going to have to elaborate a bit on that. I don’t even want to try and guess.”
Gloria laughed and nodded. “Yes, Christine’s behavior has been a bit erratic this past year, hasn’t it?”
“I’m sure it had to do with Charles’s death. I can’t imagine losing someone you love so suddenly.” He frowned, toyed with
his champagne glass. “A person can lose his mind for a bit.” He glanced up and met her gaze, his handsome face a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. “You think that’s what happened to her?”
“I’m certain of it.” She leaned in, clasped his hand. “It was devastating to all of us. So tragic. But we all handle misfortune in different ways. Christine chose to run from it, and when the man she married turned out to be less than honorable, well,” she shrugged, “you can’t get away from your breeding, now can you?” She’d vowed to make Nathan Desantro pay for his disrespect, and she’d done it on a grand scale. He was on the verge of losing Christine and it had only taken a few reports from Lester so she could develop a strategy, plus twenty-five thousand dollars to that Servetti girl to drug her ex-lover. Lester had taken some charming shots. Ha! Let that Desantro man try to weasel out of that. He couldn’t prove a thing, and that was the beauty of it.
“Is Christine planning to come back to Chicago?”
Oh, she had his interest now. Connor didn’t like to lose and it had been a blow when Christine dumped him for that mountain man. If he saw an opportunity to steal her back, Gloria would bet her Mercedes he’d latch onto it with the same aggressiveness he went after a deal.
“I see no reason why she’d stay in that godforsaken backwoods town once her marriage is over.” She sipped her champagne, paused long enough for him to assimilate the possibility of Christine returning with winning her over.
“If you’re still interested in a union, I think I might be able to facilitate that.” Once her daughter realized she had no place in that town, she’d head back to Chicago, and Gloria would be waiting for her, arms wide, sympathies flowing. She would not even bring up that ugly bit of past that created such a rift between them or this past year. They would put it all behind them as though it had never happened and start fresh.
“I’d like that,” Connor said, his eyes bright. “Christine could be a valuable asset to me.”
