Hope's Angel

by Fifield, Rosemary

  Greg pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face against the rough wool of his coat.

  “I take it that was Paul’s sister,” he said into her hair.

  Connie nodded and kept her face pressed into the shelter of his shoulder.

  “She was pretty pissed,” he said.

  Connie waited until she felt under control, then stepped back and drew in a deep breath, her eyes focused on the dark fabric of his coat. Paul’s image—the look on his face—kept crowding into her mind. “They’re a close family.”

  “Aren’t you all.”

  Connie met his eyes; they weren’t smiling.

  “She said something nasty about Gianna,” he said, watching her.

  “She called her a slut.”

  His eyes softened as he reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be in a minute.”

  Greg stood silently waiting, his gaze never leaving her face. Finally he said, “What did Paul give up for you? Going into the marines with his friends?”

  Connie drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. She needed to tell him the truth, to get it off her chest and out in the open. She forced herself to not look away as she said, “He took the blame for something we did together. He lied for me.”

  Greg’s eyebrows knit in a look of confusion. “Something illegal?”

  “No. Something…” Connie struggled to say the word. “…immoral.”

  His face paled. “You slept with him?”

  A profound sadness overwhelmed her; she was about to hurt him and possibly drive him away. “No. But close.”

  “Closer than anything we’ve done?”

  Connie avoided his eyes as she nodded, miserable with the knowledge that he would figure it out.

  “How did he take the blame? He said he forced you?”

  Connie stared past him at the naked grape arbor standing gray and skeletal in the snow.“He said it was somebody else. The person who saw us couldn’t tell that it was me. So he named someone else. But then that made everybody see him as the bad guy who cheated on me when he really didn’t.”

  “And that’s why you’re still hung up on him.”

  Connie’s heart was heavy as she turned to look up at his face. “I’m not hung up on him, Greg.”

  His wan smile did not hide the pain in his eyes. “You should have seen your face just now, when you were telling me what he did. And damn if he didn’t just do it again—defend you against his family.”

  Connie’s voice broke as desperation overtook her. She reached up to rest her palm on his cheek and turn his face toward hers. “That doesn’t mean I love him, Greg! Not like I love you! He’s special, yeah. So is Nino, the guy who’s in Vietnam now. But he’s not you. Neither one of them is.”

  Laughing voices interrupted them as two young couples came around the corner of the house. They balanced armloads of boxes wrapped in mixed patterns of Christmas paper—her cousins from Pittsburgh. The women’s faces lit up with delight when they saw Connie, but they quickly realized that they had intruded on a bad moment. Connie forced herself to perk up, giving them a wide smile as she took Greg’s arm and turned him toward the house.

  “Merry Christmas! Greg, these are my cousins Marianne and Lucy and their husbands, Bob and Ron. This is Greg. It’s great to see you guys! We were just heading in!” Before Greg could protest, she pulled him toward the house, relying on him not to embarrass her. He held the back door open for her cousins as they entered, then silently followed Connie inside. She tried not to let herself dwell on the vacant look in his eyes as she led him down the stairs to the basement kitchen and the family waiting within.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Wednesday, December 25

  Connie crawled on her hands and knees to reach for the bits of wrapping paper that lay beneath the lowest branches of the Christmas tree. Behind her, Gianna stuffed discarded paper, ribbon, and bows into a large brown grocery bag. Even though it was almost noon, both still wore the red flannel pajamas and matching slippers they had received as gifts from their parents.

  Connie handed the retrieved scraps of paper to Gianna and sat back on her heels to survey the room for more. The family had opened their gifts to each other around four a.m., then crawled into bed, leaving the mess for later.

  “Thanks for taking Greg home,” Connie said, looking up at her sister.

  “We had to. He was in no shape to drive.”

  Connie nodded as she pushed herself to her feet. “It’s a good thing he ate as much pizza as he did. That old bottle of wine Tony found was practically grappa.”

  Gianna pulled a ribbon from beneath the couch and added it to her bag. “I hope he’s okay to come get you for dinner. We left his car keys on his dresser.”

  Connie smiled at the thought that her sister had been in Greg’s bedroom before she had.

  “He should be here soon,” Gianna continued. “Maybe you should get dressed.”

  Connie nodded and immediately grimaced as a sharp pain glanced through the top of her head. “I wish Teresa hadn’t brought that bottle of Galliano.” Her mind went back to the night’s activities, and she suddenly had a revelation. “David didn’t drink any alcohol, did he?”

  “Nope.”

  “And neither did you.” Connie sighed. “You guys do everything right.”

  Gianna kept her back to Connie as she moved to the end of the couch. “Hardly.”

  “Yes, you do. My life is so messy. Yours is so neat and precise. You meet a guy, you fall in love, you get engaged. You don’t drink. You take care of other people who do drink. You take care of everybody. So does he. You’re the perfect couple.”

  Gianna crossed the room to search for discarded wrap around Papa’s recliner. “I thought maybe Greg would pop the question.”

  “I’m not ready yet. He knows that.”

  Gianna glanced at her. “I think he did, and you said no.”

  Connie scowled at the thought that Greg had been so indiscrete. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. But I guessed. He wasn’t himself last night.”

  Connie fussed with the antimacassar on the back of the couch.“I told you, my life isn’t neat like yours.”

  Gianna turned to face her. Her eyes were solemn and her voice accusatory. “That whole thing about Paul being with Tina DeMarco was a cover-up, wasn’t it? Tony saw you the night you came to tell me about it.”

  Connie looked away, the pain in her head compounded by an aching tightness in her chest. Paul’s face as he confronted his sister the night before wouldn’t leave her mind. He had known Connie was thirty feet away, holding onto Greg, and he had never looked at her. But she had seen his underlying expression, and it wasn’t anger; it was a deep sadness.

  “Who said it was Tina—Tony or Paul?” Gianna asked.

  Connie avoided her eyes. “Paul. He didn’t think it would go beyond his nonna.”

  “And now you’d consider going back to him?”

  Connie held back an urge to cry. “I don’t know. I just can’t stop thinking about him. About how much I’ve hurt him for all the wrong reasons.”

  Gianna’s voice was stern. “How many people do you think he’s hurt?”

  Her judgmental statement jarred Connie out of her malaise. “What are you talking about—a bunch of superficial relationships when he was a teenager? It’s part of the deal. Yeah, he was a heartbreaker, but that was more about him being super cute and a bunch of girls falling all over him! Any guy would take advantage of that!”

  Gianna held her course. “If you really believe that, why were you so quick to believe he was cheating on you? You never even questioned it.”

  Connie had no answer. Would she react the same way if someone told her Greg was sleeping with someone else? Or would she give him the benefit of the doubt, disbelieving until she knew differently?

  “I’d better get dressed,” she said, turning toward the doorway to the kitchen.

  “I never told you wh
at David said about how he knows the LaCroixs,” Gianna said.

  Connie stopped partway to the door and looked back at Gianna. Her sister’s expression was grave, and Connie held her breath. “What did he say?”

  “He knows Ethan from Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  Connie let out a sigh of relief. “So, David’s a counselor or something?”

  “He’s a recovering alcoholic.”

  Connie stared at her. David? “Did you know that before?”

  “No.”

  “He never told you?”

  “He was planning to, but I asked him about the LaCroixs first.”

  Connie wondered how that felt. “Does that bother you?”

  “That he hadn’t told me? Or that he‘s an alcoholic?”

  “Both.”

  Gianna drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “He was going to tell me before he asked me to marry him. And yeah, it scares me a little, but… I believe in him.”

  “Okay. So that means Mr. LaCroix’s an alcoholic, too.” Connie pondered that for a moment. “And David was his mentor, or whatever they call it?”

  “Sponsor.” Gianna bit her lip, her face troubled. “And, no. Ethan is his.”

  Connie was taken by surprise once more, her preconceived ideas being torn away one by one. “Since when?”

  “About two years ago. Ethan’s the one who got him the job at the museum. He knew people there because he brought them skins from animals that he trapped.”

  “And Mr. LaCroix told him about Angie?”

  “No. One day they realized they both knew Father Ianelli, and when David found out where Father was, he made the trip down here to see him. Father was the one who told him the story about Angie and the LaCroixs and us.”

  Connie feared the worst as she asked, “Is that why he introduced you to each other?”

  “Sort of.” Gianna splayed out her left hand and smiled down at the diamond on her finger. “I was walking to choir practice one day last summer, and they were sitting outside on the patio at the rectory, and Father pointed to me and said that I was from the family that took Angie in. And then he told him I was single and asked David if he was interested in meeting me.”

  “That’s cool,” Connie grinned.

  “Actually, it wasn’t. He said no. But Father talked him into it anyway.”

  “Seriously?”

  Gianna looked up at her. “Can you blame him? I was this awkward, super-conservative white girl. And then, when he took a chance and asked me to come see the museum, I did exactly what he expected and said no.” She gave Connie a warm smile. “You’re the one who brought us together.” But her smile quickly waned. “ Now you need to do something for yourself. You need to come face to face with Paul once more and figure out once and for all which way you want to go.”

  Connie grimaced. Facing Paul was the last thing she wanted to do. Gianna stepped closer and looked straight into Connie’s face. “You talk about hurting Paul. Well, you know what? Greg loves you, and you can’t keep hurting him the way you are.”

  ***

  Greg was noticeably subdued when he came to take her to his parents’ house. Connie’s entire family was up by then, bustling about the kitchen and living room, and he gave them strained smiles as he endured their ribbing about his wine consumption the night before.

  “How’s your head?” Connie asked when they were finally outside, heading down the stairs.

  “Pounding.”

  “That wine was thirty years old, something Tony’s father made. It was closer to brandy.”

  Greg didn’t answer. Connie paused at the foot of the stairs and waited for him to step down onto the sidewalk beside her. Five o’clock shadow darkened his cheeks; he hadn’t shaved since the day before.

  “Are you okay?” she asked as she slipped her arm into his. “You seem crabby.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Connie sighed and shook her head. She was about to go to dinner with his less than amiable family, and she couldn’t even count on him to be agreeable, much less supportive. Her own headache had gone into remission after she took aspirin, but it was still there, lurking in the background, and enough tension could easily bring it forward.

  He left her to open her own car door, circling his Mustang to get in on the other side, and maintained his silence as he drove them away from her house. She had never seen him like this, and Gianna’s words about hurting him echoed in her head. She glanced at his profile; his lightly whiskered cheek was close enough to kiss. “I’m sorry about the wine.”

  He declined to look at her. “You didn’t make me drink it.”

  “No, but I made you stay when you probably didn’t want to. So you drank.”

  “Is that so?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “And why were you drinking?”

  “Because I like Harvey Wallbangers. And since they’re made with orange juice, you think nothing’s happening so it’s easy to drink too much.”

  Greg drove silently for a while, then said, “I had a good time, actually. Your family knows how to have fun. What was that game with the dice in the cigar box?”

  “Liar’s Dice.” Connie thought about him sitting at the big table with her extended family, joining in on the game-playing, eating and drinking, conversing with her cousins and with David, interacting with everyone but her.

  “Garrett and Emily won’t be there today,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “They were at her parents’ house in Hartford yesterday and got snowed in.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Greg didn’t respond.

  “Is this how it’s going to be all day?” she asked with another sigh.

  “How’s that?”

  “You treating me like dirt.”

  He spoke without inflection. “I didn’t know I was treating you like dirt.”

  His behavior was more than she wanted to deal with.“Well, that’s how it feels,” she said, letting her anger show. “And I’ll put up with it for now, because I said I’d come to your parents’ house for dinner, and I’m not backing out. But if you keep it up, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t need this.”

  Greg continued to keep his profile to her. “Sorry. I feel lousy, and I’m in a lousy mood. But you’re right. I don’t need to take it out on you.”

  “Except—say it—I’m the reason you feel lousy!”

  His jaw tensed. “I guess that’s my problem, not yours.”

  His words stung. “Wow. Now I’ve gone from dirt to feeling like shit.”

  Greg swung the car abruptly to the right and cut the motor in front of a house she didn’t recognize. She looked out the side window in confusion. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was harsh. “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

  Connie turned to find him glowering at her, his irate face inches from her own in the confines of the small car. Panic flooded her. They had had disagreements in the past, but his irritation with her had never been so intense. “Greg, what do you want from me? I was honest about Paul so we could get it out in the open and then move on. At least I told you! You’ve never told me anything about your past!”

  “You think I still care about Candy?” He practically spit out the question as he glared at her.

  “No— “ She faltered. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I don’t. I never did. She was convenient and cute, and she put out.” His eyes flashed with anger. “I wasn’t looking for anything more than that, and I didn’t care about her. She’s nothing to me.” He narrowed his eyes, his fury unabated. “I wasn’t looking for anything from you, either, until you wore that damn mini-skirt, and all I could think about was getting under it. But then you turned out to be a whole lot more than I expected, and suddenly I wanted to protect what was under it!”

  Connie didn’t know what to say. She had begun to wonder why he never attempted to touch her below the waist when they were making out, even when she rested
her hand on the erection evident beneath his pants.

  She had let Paul violate what Greg struggled to protect.

  His right hand was a fist resting on his thigh, and she picked it up and brought it to her lips. “I’m sorry, Greg. I’m so sorry.” She kissed his knuckles, then pressed his fist to her breasts as she looked into his eyes. “I love you. I really do. And I realize now how much you love me. And I’m sorry I hurt you. It won’t happen again.”

  “You realize now how much I love you? You didn’t realize before?” His voice remained strained with anger. “I didn’t tell you enough times? I didn’t tell you I wanted to marry you?”

  Connie held tightly to his hand with both of hers, pressing it to her heart. “And now you’re rethinking that?”

  “I don’t need to. You already said no.”

  Despair replaced his rage, and her heart ached “I said I wasn’t ready—that I needed time to get used to the idea.”

  His eyes searched her face for a moment, then he leaned forward to cover her mouth with his own. The bristles on his chin abraded her skin, as he leaned against her, pressing her to the seatback. His left hand came down to rest on the loose dress material covering the top of her thighs, then he shoved his fingers down between her legs and slid them toward her crotch. She shivered as a jolt of electricity shot through her groin.

  His aggression infuriated her. She twisted away from him, raising her left leg to dislodge his hand. “Stop it! Your parents are waiting for us.”

  Greg pulled back and started the car without another word, then looked over his left shoulder and pulled out into the street.

  Connie gawked at him. “What were you doing? You said you wanted to protect me, not take advantage of me.”

  “Maybe I’ve been taking the wrong approach.” He kept his gaze on the traffic, his jaw tense. “You say you didn’t realize how much I love you. Well, I can show you, if that’s what you want.”