A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2

by Mary Campisi

  Pop knew all about the new addition to the Desantro family. Miriam had called him two days before Christmas to tell him Christine had delivered a baby girl that morning. They’d named her Anna Nicolina. He knew why there’d been a hitch in her voice when she spoke. Nobody had to remind Pop who the child was named after because he remembered the baby Miriam delivered that only lived a few hours. Anna Nicolina had been her name. Some said it was the beginning of the end for Miriam and Nick Desantro because when a man chooses a bottle at O’Reilly’s over his dying child, well, that’s pure disaster in a shot glass.

  Six days had passed since Anna Nicolina entered the world and according to Miriam, Nate had learned to change a diaper, burp the baby, and even taken to singing her to sleep in the rocker Harry Blacksworth sent from some fancy-dancy furniture place in Chicago. Times were sure a-changin’. What would Lucy say about a man changing a diaper and doing night duty?

  “Is it time to make the pizzelles?”

  “Hold your horses, Lily girl. What did Pop tell you was the trick to making good pizzelles? Hmm?” He tapped his chin and made a chicken sound.

  “The eggs!” She clapped her hands. “They can’t be cold.”

  “You get an A plus.” Pop set two bowls in front of her. One contained six eggs, the other was empty. “Now crack the egg and put it in this bowl. Be careful you don’t get shells. Nobody likes shells in their pizzelles.”

  Lily lifted the first egg, cracked it against the bowl, and dumped the egg in. “Like that?”

  “Good. Now the next one.” Pop only had to dig out three bits of eggshell, which was a lot better than the first time he showed Anthony the art of pizzelle making. His son had called on Christmas day and sent a package of frozen steaks, chicken, and gourmet hot dogs. There was no mention of Anthony visiting Magdalena, but there were several mentions of Pop returning to California on a permanent basis. Pop pretended he couldn’t hear his son and after a few Must be a bad connection, Pop hung up.

  “I like cooking with you, Pop.” Lily reached for the measuring cups and laid them next to one another, biggest to smallest. “You’re like a grandpa.” She scrunched her nose and studied him. “Does your granddaughter in California miss you?”

  “I expect she does, but she’s older, in college.” His granddaughter had been named after her grandmother—Lucy. She looked like her, too, with her fiery hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. A vision with a temper. Maybe one day she’d visit and spend a little time with him before the Good Lord called him home.

  “I don’t want you to go back there. Last time, you stayed too long and then Mom said you got hurt and couldn’t come home.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going back.” Pop snatched a measuring cup and scooped flour in the cup. “Once was enough for me, that’s for sure. Do you know I didn’t see one basil plant the whole time I was there? Can’t count what you find in them fancy grocery stores either.”

  “Mom said you might have to go live there sometime. ‘When the time comes’ is what she said. How do you know when the time comes?”

  Pop dumped a cup of flour in the mixing bowl and measured another cup. “That means when they think I can’t take care of myself anymore, they want to ship me off to my son’s.” To heck with that. Why did these adult kids get it in their head that they could call the shots when their parent hit a certain age? So what if Pop moved a little slower or ate toasted cheese sandwiches with salsa for lunch almost every day? That was his choice. And what did it matter if he read his newspaper at exactly 4:45 every afternoon? Or talked to his Lucy about everything as if she were sitting right beside him? He liked toasted cheese and salsa, and reading the paper at 4:45 just so happened to be when he was relaxing before dinner. And he was not even getting started about Lucy, because that dear woman, love of his life, did sit beside him—in his heart. Repetition calmed him as much as the garden in his backyard.

  And if Anthony thought Pop was giving up his green space for a bunch of plants in clay pots—and not one of those plants had been basil—well, he could think until his brain fried, because Pop was staying put. He and Lily knew what it meant to find the joy in simple things. A piece of chocolate lava cake, gooey and warm in the middle. A pair of thermal socks, thick and comfortable. The perfect rocker, worn at the arms with a relaxing creak that calms and soothes. The ultimate pizzelle, crisy, sweet, memorable. He and Lily didn’t need more, more, more. They knew how to be content with the ordinary and the simple. There was something to be said for that, and if Anthony could only learn that sort of contentment, maybe he wouldn’t need those deep-breathing exercises, the massages, the therapy, the pills. Maybe if he came home to Magdalena and got a good dose of fresh air and the simple life, he’d be happy.

  ***

  Gloria learned of Anna Nicolina’s birth the day after it happened. Lester Conroy had been as diligent in his reporting of Christine’s life in Magdalena as he had been with Charles’s. There was something to be said for a man who reports what he sees and does not judge. He’d informed her of Christine’s pregnancy, the estrangement with her husband, the subsequent reunion, and the birth of their daughter. Knowing she would die soon had done something to Gloria; perhaps it made her more accepting, more forgiving. More human. She knew she’d been responsible for Christine’s estrangement, knew too that Nathan Desantro loved her daughter, and what Gloria had done to them was incomprehensible and unforgiveable.

  The days dragged into winter with blustery winds and dark nights. Gloria remained indoors much of the time, tucked beneath an afghan, with Elissa at her side. The girl had become more than a caretaker and companion to Gloria; she’d become a friend. With Elissa, she no longer felt the need to wield power or position. Now she merely wanted the girl to spend time with her, talk, share moments that were not fraught with judgment or recrimination as Christine’s had been. Life could not be lived backward. There was no undoing the regret, but she could make one last attempt to seek forgiveness. She and Elissa must make the trip soon while Gloria still had the strength because despite the pain pills, there were too many other signs that told her the months were dwindling.

  They arrived in Magdalena on a crisp, bright day in early February with snow packed on the ground and a cloudless sky. Gloria dropped Elissa off at the local diner and made her way to Miriam Desatnro’s home. She’d imagined this encounter for years, the exact moment of recognition, the hatred that would pulse through her, the disgust and fury over having been tossed aside and played for a fool. But when the door opened and the woman stood before her, the half-smile frozen in place, Gloria felt only relief. This was indeed the last step in her journey. “Hello.”

  Miriam Desantro stood before her, grace and elegance in a willowy form. There was never any doubt they would not recognize one another and this proved true when she said, “Hello, Gloria.”

  “May I come in?” Gloria coughed, pulled her scarf closer around her neck, and waited for the woman’s response. After a slight hesitation, Miriam held the door open and ushered her into the place Charles had called home for fourteen years. It was quaint, homey, artistic, and original—everything Charles’s home in Chicago was not. Miriam led her to the living room and offered her a seat. “Thank you.” Gloria removed her coat and took a seat on an old but comfortable-looking chair.

  “Why are you here?”

  The words were cold, protective. Gloria understood this, expected it even, but the knowledge that this woman knew more about Christine’s life now than Gloria ever would still hurt. “I’ve come with one purpose in mind. Whatever happens after that will be up to you. I did a horrible thing against your son and my daughter when I paid the Servetti girl to take pictures and act as though,” she coughed, cleared her throat, and pushed out the rest of the words, “as though there had been inappropriate behavior. I know Christine will never forgive me, but I have to tell her I was behind the plan to set your son up.”

  Miriam Desantro’s pale eyes narrowed. “Why confess now? Why not when it happened
, when it really would have made a difference?”

  Gloria shrugged. “Human nature, I guess. I’m not in the habit of admitting I’m wrong.” The woman said nothing, merely stared. “Do you know how I might get in touch with Christine?”

  “No.”

  She answered a little too quickly, which meant she knew exactly where Christine was and when she’d be returning. “Please. I must tell her how sorry I am for what I’ve done.”

  “You have no idea the pain you caused. You almost destroyed your daughter. You’ve wasted your time coming here and I’d like you to leave.” Miriam stood and moved toward the front door.

  “I’m dying.” Miriam stopped and turned.

  “I have lung cancer,” Gloria said. “No treatment, and no hope past a few more months. I don’t want Christine to know. Please don’t tell her. I’ve spent my whole life making people feel guilty, especially my daughter. I won’t lay that on her now. Not anymore.”

  The woman hesitated, as if caught between two choices. When she spoke, her words held the tiniest bit of empathy. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  That’s how Christine found them forty minutes later, drinking coffee in the living room, not speaking, not acknowledging one another, but oh so aware of the other’s presence. Just like it had always been.

  “Mother?” Christine stood in the doorway, looking flushed and beautiful. Gloria had been so obsessed with molding her daughter into what she thought she should be, she’d never really looked at her. But what she saw now was grace and confidence, a woman at peace with herself. A woman in love.

  Gloria set her coffee cup on the table and stood. “Hello, Christine.”

  “What…what are you doing here?”

  Before she could answer, the back door banged open and laughter filtered to the living room.

  “Hey, where is everybody?” Nathan Desantro’s deep voice reached her, squeezed the breath from her. “What’s going…” He stood next to his wife, their baby cradled in his large arms, but his gaze was honed in on Gloria. A predator’s gaze, and she was the weakened prey. “Did you come to cause more destruction?”

  “Nathan, enough.” His mother cast him a reproving look.

  “I’ve come to apologize,” Gloria said. “For all the hurt and incredible pain I’ve caused you. I’ll never be able to make it up to you, but I deeply regret my actions.” She met her daughter’s gaze. “Your husband was never unfaithful to you. I was behind all of it.”

  “What’s going on? Who’s that?” A young girl inched around Nathan Desantro and entered the room. She studied Gloria with keen interest. “Hello.”

  “Hello.” This was the girl. Lily. Charles’s daughter. Gloria’s sipped in air, fought the pain stabbing her chest. It was one thing to suspect, another to know, but to actually see the betrayal in real life, flesh and blood?

  “I’m Lily.” She smiled and pointed to the baby in Nathan’s arms. “And I’m an aunt. Her name is Anna Nicolina.”

  “What a beautiful name.” She has the Blacksworth eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m…” Gloria darted a look at Christine, then Nathan, but they remained silent.

  It was Miriam who came to her rescue and offered an answer. “Lily, this is Christine’s mother.”

  “Oh!” The child’s eyes grew wide, her face flushed with excitement. “Christine’s mom.” She held out her hand and waited for Gloria to take it. “Come with me.” Lily led her to Nathan and the baby. “Anna Nicolina, this is your other grandma. She’s sparkly, isn’t she?” The girl took in Gloria’s necklace and rings,and bracelets. “Yup, very sparkly.” She looked up at her brother and said, “Nate, aren’t you going to let Grandma hold Anna Nicolina?” Nathan’s eyes narrowed on Gloria and his jaw tensed. He’d just as soon kick her out of the house than let her hold his child. Could she blame him?

  “That’s okay, Lily. Really.” Gloria had said what she’d come to say and now it was time to leave.

  “It’s rude, Nate.” Lily frowned and crossed her small arms over her middle. “Not good manners.”

  He turned to his little sister and said in a firm voice, “Lily, that’s enough.” Miriam stood and made her way across the room. She touched her son’s arm, looked him in the eyes, and nodded. “Sit in a chair,” he said, “and I’ll hand her to you.”

  Gloria did as he asked, and he placed the baby in her arms. Lily rushed over to them and knelt beside the baby. “You make a nice Grandma,” Lily said. “See, we’re one big happy family. That’s us.”

  ***

  “Harry? Harry, wake up. I think it’s time.”

  “Huh? What?”

  Greta shook his shoulder. “My water broke. It’s time to go to the hospital.”

  “Shit!” Harry tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. “Okay, okay. I’ll get your bag. Do you need help getting in the car?” What the hell had the instructor said in the childbirth classes? Calm, remain calm. Right.

  “No, but we have to call Belinda.”

  “Why?” What did his secretary have to do with getting to the hospital?

  Greta waddled toward him, her nightgown stretching over her belly. “She’s going to watch A.J. and Lizzie while we go to the hospital. Remember?”

  Her speech was slow and deliberate, as though she were waiting for his brain to process the words. Yes, now he remembered that Belinda was on call to watch the kids when Greta went into labor. She’d turned out to be a real gem, as important to him in his personal life as she was in his professional one. And with the wicked witch Helene out of the babysitting picture, life was a lot more relaxed in the Blacksworth household.

  “Harry?” Greta touched his arm. “We have to move. I’ll call Belinda, you get the bag, and then get changed. Okay?”

  Damn, he would have run out of here in his pajamas. Harry Blacksworth, making a fashion screw-up? Now he knew he was in trouble. He looked at his wife, so beautiful and giving, and knew a moment of sheer panic. What if something happened to her? Or the baby? What if she started bleeding? And there were complications? What if—

  “It will be fine.” Her smile calmed him, settled his heart to a normal rhythm, and made him believe everything would indeed be fine.

  Harry clasped his wife’s hands between his own, kissed her lips, and said, “Let’s go have a baby.”

  Four hours later, Harry sent the following text message to Christine. Jackson Henry Blacksworth arrived at 6:22 a.m. 6.2 pounds, 19 ¼ inches. Mother and baby fine. Father resuscitated with a double scotch.

  Epilogue

  Pop rifled through the mail and pulled out two brochures. They were similar to the ones he’d been receiving for the past two months; glossy, lots of green lawn, bougainvillea running up the walls. And lots and lots of smiling senior citizens. One caption read Retire in Ease, the other, Living on your own does not mean alone. Dang-blasted retirement homes. What were the odds that every last brochure was from San Diego, the very same city Anthony lived in? Did his son think he’d been born in a bed of escarole?

  “Lucy, that boy of yours is behind this and don’t think I don’t know it.” Pop tossed the flyers in the trashcan and shook his head. “He ain’t getting me out of this town, not while I’m still breathing.” He poured a glass of milk and grabbed two pizzelles. Lily had done a good job making them, and other than a few crispy ones, which he happened to prefer, she’d got the twenty-second timing down just right. Next Saturday, he promised they would make chocolate ones.

  “Besides we got bigger problems right now and this town’s gonna need all the help it can get to keep things calm.” He sank into his chair and homed in on her portrait. “Daniel Casherdon is coming back to town. He ain’t walking on his own two legs either. I was talking to Ramona the other day after the meeting and she said he’ll be here next month. I didn’t ask what all happened but I think he might have been shot. Wonder where?” He scratched his jaw, considered the possibilities, and none of them were good. “Ramona teared up an
d couldn’t talk about it, so I told her if she needed help, I’d sit with the boy. I know you always liked him, and we thought the town gave him a raw deal. Shoo, wonder what Olivia Carrick’s going to say when she finds out. Guess you don’t send a box of cookies when the person’s killed your son unless you intend on sprinkling it with something deadly to return the favor.” He nibbled his second pizzelle, considered all the commotion that would start soon enough.

  “You always said Tess and Cash belonged together, but don’t look like they’ll get a second chance like Nate and Christine did. Oh, you’d like this Desantro baby, Anna Nicolina. Lots of black hair and the bluest eyes you ever seen, Blacksworth eyes, Lucy, that’s what everybody calls them. Like her mama and Lily.” He sighed. “Don’t you worry now, I’ll let you know every little detail about Cash. As a matter of fact, I might pay Olivia Carrick a visit, see if she’s heard from Tess, and maybe I’ll politely inquire if her daughter has plans to visit Magdalena anytime soon.” His lips turned up in a faint smile. “And maybe if she does, I’ll see about arranging a ‘chance’ meeting between Tess and Cash.” His voice faded as the blueness of his wife’s eyes looked back at him from the portrait, pulled him in, held him. In that instant, a wonderful, magical idea burst in his heart. “I won’t disappoint you, Lucy. You’ll see.” The smile spread. “You certainly will see.”

  The End

  Go to MaryCampisi.com and sign up for Mary’s Mailing List to receive an email for new releases. If you want to read more about the residents of Magdalena, be sure to check out A Family Affair: Summer, Book Three in the Truth in Lies Series, coming 2014.

  A Glimpse of A Family Affair: Summer

  If she knew her life were about to shatter into a million bits of unrecognizable tragedy, Tess Carrick would have kissed Daniel “Cash” Cashderon with greater urgency that afternoon, savored the taste of his naked flesh, dug her nails into his back. She would have ignored Magdalena’s raised brows and clung to him with the desperateness of one taking a last breath.