A Family Affair: The Weddings: A Novella (Truth in Lies Book 11)

by Mary Campisi

  “I hope the delay wasn’t too painful.” His father set a bowl of wedding soup in front of him. “Did you find a way to pass the time?”

  Anthony cleared his throat, picked up a spoon. “It wasn’t painful and the time flew.” Damn, did it fly! If he didn’t think his father would send out a rescue squad looking for him, he’d have passed on the wedding soup and stayed in Ramona’s bed. He’d asked her to come with him, but she’d refused, said it had been a long time since he’d seen his father and they should spend time together. Well, it had been a long time since he’d been with Ramona, too, and sharing a bed? That had been even longer…

  “When you gonna pop the question?”

  “Question? What do you mean?” Pop was a sly one, prided himself on being three steps ahead of everyone, no matter if the game were chess, checkers, or figuring out people’s actions and motives. Like now. But Anthony might be able to stall him until he figured out what he wanted to say.

  “Tony, I’m not a fool. I been reading between the lines you two been tossing my way these past few months. You call to ask about my blood pressure and end up inquiring about Ramona Casherdon’s new grandson. Or she sees me at Sal’s Market and shows me how big the leaf lettuce is or tells me the garlic is extra fresh, and ends up asking about you.” Pop rubbed his chin, nodded. “Never an out-and-out ask, but one of those that slides in like a baseball player stealing second. It happens before you realize it, and what she’s asking about is when you were a boy, or when you went away to college. Makes no sense.” He eyed him, said in the softest of voices, “Unless she’s trying to piece together the story of the man she loves. Then it makes perfect sense. Is that what she’s trying to do, Tony?”

  Heat burst through Anthony, settled on his cheeks. The only way to stop the inquisition was to deflect the questions. “I doubt she’s doing that. You know Ramona keeps to herself.”

  “She certainly does, unless there’s a reason not to…like when poor Tess had to deal with that woman who came to town claiming she’d had Cash’s son. Oh, you weren’t here for the terrible time that couple went through. The lies that woman told.” Tsk-tsk. “But do you know who came through and helped Tess, and tried to talk sense into Cash?”

  “Ramona?” Why hadn’t he heard about it? They talked on the phone every night and she’d never said a word about her nephew and his wife, or any problems. Why not? Why the hell not?

  “Yup. Picture that.” Pop grinned, folded his arms over his belly. “Ramona Casherdon waist-deep in emotion. Now that is not a familiar occurrence and I’m sure she wasn’t happy to be in the middle of it, but she rose to the occasion. Indeed, she did.” Pause, and then, “So, you didn’t know about it?”

  Anthony shook his head, studied a tiny meatball in his wedding soup. “Nope.”

  “Huh.”

  He’d heard that huh enough times to know it could mean anything from serves you right to you’re in a heap of trouble and maybe even fool. Yeah, maybe all three pertained to him, but especially the fool. Why hadn’t she confided in him? Did she think he only wanted to hear about happy things? Pop, Lucy, the baby? Didn’t she know he wanted to share in her problems, help her with them? Weren’t they a team? A couple? Fool, his brain shouted. Serves you right, his heart added. But it was common sense that finished with You’re in a heap of trouble.

  “Just because Ramona didn’t air her dirty laundry to you doesn’t mean she doesn’t care,” Pop said. “Anybody who’s known her as long as I have, knows she cares about a lot of things but doesn’t show it.”

  “Right.” He wasn’t buying it. You could only make so many excuses for hiding your feelings. She’d told him she loved him, had agreed to marry him, but couldn’t tell him about her nephew’s problems? How twisted was that? “So, tell me what happened.” His father poured out the whole story, starting with the petite woman who came to town with a young boy she claimed belonged to Cash and ending with the lies a private investigator unearthed, including her fake terminal illness and her son’s paternity. “And Ramona didn’t feel inclined to tell me the soap opera that had become Cash’s life?”

  Pop shrugged. “Dunno. She’s kinda private.”

  “Yeah, I’d say.” Hurt and anger festered in his gut, fought their way to his throat and spilled out. “But you should be able to tell somebody close to you, say, a future husband, about your problems, shouldn’t you?”

  “Future husband?” Pop leaned forward, placed both hands on the table, and squinted.

  “We’re getting married,” Anthony spat out. “We’re going for the license tomorrow.” The joy he’d felt since she’d accepted his proposal shriveled beneath what she’d kept from him.

  “Well.” Those bushy eyebrows pinched together like an owl’s. “Glad to hear it. Does she know yet?”

  “Of course she knows.” Anthony scowled, shoved away his half-eaten bowl of wedding soup. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A dang serious one.”

  His father spoke with a gentleness that reminded Anthony of when he was a little boy and didn’t understand why his family couldn’t go on fancy vacations like his other friends. The answer was big and glaring but he couldn’t see it, didn’t even know where to look. Had he totally misread a situation again? Did Ramona not want to marry him? “Look, just say what you’re thinking and be done with it, okay?”

  “Ramona Casherdon is a prickly one, but not for the reason most people think.” He shook his head, his eyes bright. “She doesn’t want to get hurt, but worse, she’s afraid to trust in happiness or a man, no matter how bad she wants it.”

  “I love her, Pop. I would never hurt her.” Why couldn’t she believe that? How could she not know that he only wanted to make her happy?

  “I know you do, son, but it’s a big leap of faith to ask a woman who’s been alone and on her own so many years to let another person in, especially one who has so much power over her.” He rubbed his jaw, nodded. “That would not sit well, and I’m sure she’s having a time of it.”

  “If she’s so skittish, why would she accept my proposal? Why wouldn’t she just say ‘no thank you’ and be done with it?”

  “I’m guessing the proposal came over the phone?” When Anthony nodded, his father sighed. “It’s a mite easier to say yes or no when you’re talking through a phone line. But when that other person is standing eyeball to eyeball and you can hear them breathing, that’s another story. Makes it all real, and I’m guessing she’s got what’s known as cold feet.”

  Anthony swore under his breath. “Great. Just great.” He reached into his pants pocket, dug out a velvet box, and tossed it on the kitchen table. “So, this probably isn’t going to change her mind either.”

  Pop reached for the velvet box, opened it. Blinked. “Good Lord, this isn’t a ring, it’s a boulder.”

  Anthony shrugged. “I thought it would look good on her.” That was part of the truth. The other part was that he wanted the love of his life to have a ring as nice as his first wife’s, the one who’d been more interested in “things” than him. “And I thought she deserved it.”

  His father closed the box, slid it toward him. “That’s between you and Ramona.”

  What did that mean? “You think it’s too showy?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think, but one thing’s for certain. You and Ramona need to settle a few things before you say ‘I do.’”

  His father was right, as usual. But the next morning when Anthony picked up Ramona and they headed to the courthouse for their marriage application, he forgot about what needed to be settled, forgot the doubts and the questions. All he saw was his future wife’s dark eyes and mysterious smile that promised a lifetime together, and he was not letting go of that hope. After all, had he not waited a lifetime for a chance to be with her? When they walked up the steps of the courthouse hand in hand, he fought back the eagerness surging through him, tried to stay calm, but it was almost impossible. That eagerness dulled what was happening around him, the quietn
ess of his future wife, the body language that said she wished she were thousands of miles away. He noticed none of this because this moment was about him and Ramona and the future he believed they had together.

  The eagerness continued, eclipsed only by the delirious joy that made him want to touch her, share dreams and plans, talk of what they wanted to do, where they would go…He had left her bed late that afternoon, the engagement ring on her finger, not realizing he’d been the one doing most of the talking and probably all of the dreaming. That realization would not come until later. For now, he was simply a man in love with a world of happiness awaiting him.

  He arrived home to the smell of pot roast cooking in the crockpot. How many years had it been since he’d eaten pot roast? Or anything from a crockpot? But today it sounded perfect. Today, anything sounded perfect. Anthony grabbed a glass of Teresina’s apple juice, made his way to the living room, and sank into a chair with the newspaper Pop had left folded on the end table. For the next forty minutes, he read the paper, sipped his juice, and knew true contentment. Finally, after so many years adrift, he was at peace—with the world, his family, himself. Ramona was a big part of helping him find that peace, and in a few days, when she became Ramona Benito, she would be a big part of helping him find joy, too.

  5

  The doorbell jerked Anthony awake. Who was it this time? Miriam Desantro with a batch of chocolate chip cookies or Mimi Pendergrass with a pot of chicken soup? Pop’s house was a steady stream of visits, phone calls, special deliveries of homemade meals and sweets. Anthony made his way to the front door, half-hoping for chocolate chip cookies, but the young man standing on the doorstep was empty-handed. Jeremy Ross Dean. Lucy’s friend. Not a bad-looking kid, all arms and legs and a flattop. This was the guy Pop said hung around Lucy. She’d told him a few months ago that she and this Jeremy were “together.” Whatever that meant. How was a person over thirty-five supposed to understand young people’s dating and relationship definitions? You could sleep with a person but you weren’t dating, or you might be dating but you weren’t “in a relationship”? Was that what she’d told him? And he wasn’t supposed to use the term hook up as in “We’ll hook up later and go to the ball game” because that meant sex. He thought. Hell, he didn’t know what it meant.

  “Hi, Mr. Benito, I’m Jeremy Ross Dean.” He thrust out a hand. “I don’t know if you remember me or not, but we met last Christmas.”

  Anthony shook the boy’s hand and stepped aside to let him in. “I remember you. You’re Lucy’s friend.”

  Jeremy turned three shades of red and stammered, “Yes, sir.”

  Nervous kid. “Lucy’s not here right now.”

  “Yes, sir. I know. She and Pop took Teresina to get pictures with Santa.”

  “I see.”

  The red shifted to maroon as Jeremy Ross Dean licked his lips, cleared his throat, and sputtered, “Teresina was very excited about it. She wore her candy cane dress.”

  “Huh.” Anthony narrowed his gaze on him, intrigued that the kid could be so nervous around a man who’d never intimidated anyone. “Come on in, take off your jacket, and for the love of God, stop with the sir business.”

  “Yes, sir.” More sputtering, more blushing. “I mean, yes.”

  “You can call me Anthony.” He led the boy into the living room, pointed to one of chairs near the portrait of his mother. “Sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? A beer?”

  “No, thank you, sir…Anthony.” Jeremy tried for a smile but it flopped. “I’m fine.”

  Anthony sank into his father’s chair, settled his hands on the armrest. It was kind of nice to be in the power seat and have others visit with requests for favors or help settling problems. The old man had organized and orchestrated the goings-on of the town from this very chair for years. What would it feel like to be honored and revered? Depended upon…your counsel sought? Your blessing requested? His chest swelled with what felt an awful lot like hope. Anthony turned to Jeremy Ross Dean and said, “What can I do for you?”

  “Lucy said I should talk to you.” He clasped his hands on his knees, knuckles white. “She said it was the right thing to do.”

  “Okay.” Anthony waited, rubbed his jaw. For someone who talked for a living like he did, this was painful to watch. Maybe he should prod him along, offer a few tips and suggestions on how to engage in the art of getting your point across while not seeming pushy or self-serving. Or maybe he should just hand the kid a book on public speaking…or speaking, period.

  “So…do you think…what would you say…”

  It was Anthony’s turn to fidget and because he’d never been much on patience, he blurted out, “Just spit it out.” The boy froze, opened his mouth to speak, closed it. “Relax, okay? You’re trying to figure out a way to ask my approval to propose to Lucy, aren’t you?” He met the boy’s startled gaze, laughed. “Thought I didn’t know, huh? It was pretty obvious when you sat down.” His father wasn’t the only one who could hand out advice and blessings. “Tell you what? My daughter has a good head on her shoulders and I applaud any man willing to raise another man’s baby. That’s a big sign of maturity.” His smile spread, his voice dipped. “How about I get us a glass of wine to celebrate? I can’t guarantee what’s in the cupboard, but who cares? What matters is there’s going to be a wedding.” Anthony stood, held out a hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  Jeremy shook his hand, stumbled to his feet. “Sir, I mean, Anthony—”

  “Yes, son?” Son. He’d always wondered what it would be like to have a boy and now, in a roundabout way, he was getting one. Life was good. He and Ramona were getting married and now his baby girl was getting engaged. Life was damn good. Wait until he saw Lucy. Did she think he wouldn’t figure it out? Did she think—

  “I didn’t come to ask for Lucy’s hand.” The buzz in the room died, landed flat on top of Anthony’s chest with Jeremy’s next words. “Lucy said I should ask you to name the new pasta dish I created at Harry’s Folly. That’s why I’m here.”

  There’s a moment in every dad’s life when he realizes he’s screwed up big time with his kid and no matter how much he meant to help, he’d done nothing but create a tsunami. Anthony had a solid hour to contemplate it but he experienced that moment when his daughter burst into the house, face flushed, eyes wild. “Dad! I can’t believe what you did. How could you?”

  Anthony looked at his daughter and wished he hadn’t. Disbelief, disappointment, and disgust stared back at him from those blue eyes. He didn’t need to hear details to know what she meant. All he’d meant to do was prod Jeremy along, help him find the words for the emotions he couldn’t get out. Except the words and emotions weren’t about a marriage proposal. Hell no, they were about food. Damn food. How had he not seen it? Had he been so desperate to bestow wisdom like his father that he’d misread the signals? “I’m sorry, Lucy. This is all on me.” Anthony dragged a hand over his face, let out a long sigh. “I’ll make it right; you have my word.”

  She swiped at a tear. “You can’t fix this, Dad.”

  “I can,” he said. “I will.” The boy’s face had turned to paste when Anthony mentioned the word wedding and within two minutes he’d spit out five different excuses why he had to leave, including shoveling the driveway for his father, helping his mother finish decorating the tree, and getting a haircut. Total bull, all of them, Anthony would lay a hunk of his retirement money on it.

  “No.” Lucy shook her head so fast her red curls bounced along her back. “You aren’t talking to him again.” She sniffed, muttered, “He’s avoiding me anyway. Said he needs time to think.”

  “Think?” Anthony stared at his daughter, waited for her to say more. When she bit her bottom lip and remained silent, he said, “What does he need to think about, Lucy?”

  She shrugged. “Stuff.”

  “Hmm.” This didn’t sound good. “Stuff, huh? Like what?” He might not be in touch with young people’s lingo but he’d bet it had to do w
ith Teresina. A lot of men didn’t want to raise someone else’s kid, and when it came time to commit to it, they backed out. Damn that kid, how could he hurt Lucy like this? And what about Teresina? Hadn’t Pop told him Jeremy Ross Dean loved the little girl? Well, Lucy wasn’t getting off with a comment like “stuff.” Anthony wanted clarification and he’d get it, one way or the other. “Lucy, what kind of stuff?”

  “Dad, can we not talk about this right now?” She stared at her hands, picked at a nail.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s a time to be a man and own up to what’s going on. If he doesn’t want a long-term relationship with you, then maybe you should reconsider whether or not you want one with him.” Nobody was going to feed his daughter a line of sweet nothings and then decide he needed time to think. Think? About what? “The only thing that boy should be thinking about is whether you want a solitaire engagement ring or a marquis.”

  “Dad!”

  “What?” He might have to make a stop at Jeremy Ross Dean’s home, have a little chat with him. Sure, that’s exactly what he’d do…

  “I turned Jeremy down.” Lucy’s words burst through the air, snuffed the oxygen from the room. “I’m the one who doesn’t want to get married, not him.” She swiped both hands over her cheeks. “He’s everything a girl could want.” Her bottom lip quivered. “He’s kind and generous, loves me and Teresina.” She paused, rubbed her eyes. “And he’s a great cook…who wouldn’t want gourmet meals every night?”

  “You?” he ventured because he had no idea what else to say.

  She shrugged. “I guess. I love him, I do, but marriage is such a huge commitment and what if we screw up? What if we end up like…” she paused, looked away.

  “Like your mother and me?” The nod was so slight he almost missed it. He and Rosalyn had given their daughter everything money and power could buy, but they’d neglected what she’d needed most: consistency and leading by example. When had they ever shown Lucy they were a family built on love and trust, one that would stand side by side in the day-to-day living that was about more than vacations and “things”? Oh, they were all excited and happy when there was a trip to plan or a new gadget in the house, but what about when there wasn’t? What about when there was nothing exhilarating from day to day—not the meals, the events, or even the conversation? That’s when you knew if you were a real family in for the long haul. The extras were nice, but what mattered were the people, even if they were doing nothing more than reading the newspaper. Anthony had never known that, had run from it most of his adult life, calling it boring and second-class. How wrong he’d been.