“A girl with manners too. Finally, Brian. Finally, you bring a fine young lady in here. Now fix whatever you broke.”
Brian’s eyes looked sleepy. Relaxed and cool. Nothing seemed to rattle him. He leaned in and whispered, “I have my orders. How should I fix this?”
She shrugged. “There is nothing to fix. I told you, I was just emotional last night. I said too much. Forget I mentioned anything.”
“Carmen.” His voice was firm and his face suddenly stoic. “It’s too late for all that. I said I’m in, and I am. You weren’t being emotional, you were being real. It’s the most real you’ve been since I met you. Don’t shove all that back down and act like things can go back to the way they were. I’m telling you, whatever it is, I’m right there.”
“You’ll want to know more than I want to tell you. Everyone always does. By now you must realize that there’s more to me than I’ve said. And we’ll have to leave it that way.”
“I can live with that for now.”
“I don’t know how to say any of this out loud. It sounds crazy. It is crazy. But it’s also very necessary.”
“Spit it out.”
“Promise me one thing,” she reached across the table and put her hand over his. Everything—his posture, his expression, his whole energy—changed at her touch. “If you decide what I’m doing isn’t for you, or that it’s downright insane, you won’t stop me. You won’t tell everyone so they stop me. I’m okay if you back out, but don’t try to control what I’m doing.”
“I promise.” His large, warm hand covered hers. “Now like I said, spit it out.”
Mario was stomping back toward them, his singsong voice bellowing across the tiny restaurant. “Oh, good. Holding hands. We’re making progress. Eat this bread and you will be kissing before long.”
“No, we won’t,” Carmen said, nervously laughing.
“It’s very good bread,” Mario promised. “It’s been known to make people fall in love.”
Carmen pulled her hand back. “I have been known to fall in love with good bread before.”
“Mario,” Brian cut in. “Carmen lived in Italy for a few years. She loved it.”
“You did?” He placed the basket of bread down with a thud and stepped back as though the news had pushed him. “Where?”
“A small island. Privately owned by my boss. It was beautiful.”
“How did you ever leave to come to Boston?” Mario looked sad for her. Sad for himself too, maybe.
“We all have to move on eventually. You miss Italy too, I’m sure.”
Mario’s gray-blue eyes turned suddenly watery. “My wife was ill and we knew she’d get good care here in Boston. It was the hardest decision of my life. I miss every single thing about home.”
“Do you ever go back?” Carmen asked, leaning toward the old man who looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“Oh, this place,” he waved his hands around the small dining area. “I can’t leave this place. It would all fall apart.”
Brian grabbed a piece of the hot bread and put it on Carmen’s plate before taking one for himself. “Mario, you could take a week off from here. People would understand.”
Mario pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. “I haven’t been back since I moved here with my wife. Forty-six years ago. If I went back home, if I let myself see it all again—”
Carmen felt the anxiety claw up her back. “I know exactly what you mean. If you go home, it might be exactly as beautiful and perfect as you remember. You could regret all the time you spent away. It could break your heart.” Her eyes were wet with tears but she blinked them off her lashes.
“Yes,” Mario proclaimed loudly. “Yes, that’s it exactly. Every day here I tell myself I made the right choice. I don’t want to go back there and find out I didn’t.” He pulled her hand into his and she felt the callouses on his palm. “You get it, girl. You get it.”
Mario kept talking, mostly under his breath, as he walked back to the kitchen. She watched as he still dabbed at the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief.
“You broke him,” Brian replied. His mouth stayed slack as he looked back and forth between Mario and Carmen. “You made Mario cry. I have been coming here for ten years. Back when all I could do was get a glass of water and eat the free bread Mario would toss me. In all that time I have never seen Mario cry. You’ve been here five minutes and you broke him.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” She waved Brian off. “You’ve lived here your whole life. Home is at your fingertips whenever you want it.”
“I’ve spent most of that time wanting to get the hell out of here,” Brian explained. “You saw the house I grew up in. The neighborhood was actually a lot worse when I was a kid. Getting out was this fairy tale we used to believe in.”
Carmen smirked. Brian’s perspective was so different from hers but also so raw and real. “I hear you. But trust me, home is this enigma. When you can’t be there anymore, you romanticize it. You dream up all these roads that might lead you back to it. It’s never more charming than when you’re away from it.”
Brian didn’t press. He nodded and his eyes softened. “You long for home?”
“Of course.” Carmen picked up her slice of bread and nibbled at the crust. “But I closed the door there. I can’t go back. I’ve been at peace with that for a long time now.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I fled for my life,” Carmen admitted before she realized she was about to go too far. “One of those stories I don’t intend to tell. One of those stories you’ll insist on knowing.”
“We all have our secrets, Carmen. You can keep yours. I’m with today’s version of you. I like that Carmen. If you had to go through some shit to become her, I get that. You don’t owe me your story. You don’t owe anyone that.”
The tears streamed down her cheeks now, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I’d offer you my hanky like Mario had, but I find them kind of funky and gross.”
Carmen laughed and Brian’s face lit with relief. “I do too. Anything I blow my nose in, I’d prefer to just throw in the trash.” She used the back of her hand to dab her cheeks. “I’m okay now. Sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“All you need is—”
She cut in with a hearty laugh. “Oh, free unsolicited advice about what I need? That’s my favorite.”
“Chicken Parm. Extra cheese and a few slices of bread.” He winked and she blushed. There was no way she believed him when he said her secrets could be her own. At some point, if they kept spending time together, he’d demand more. If she was brave enough to let him in on the plan, he’d feel entitled to meet her demons.
“Extra, extra cheese, because I cried.” She grinned but her heart had a twinge of worry. She liked Brian. She liked the things he said and the way he carried himself. More than that, she liked the way she felt when he was around. Knowing, deep down, it would never work between them made her ache. It was like buying a lottery ticket you already knew had the wrong numbers on it.
Chapter Four
Brian
They didn’t have room for dessert. No matter how much Mario insisted it was on the house, they couldn’t eat another bite. The only thing that would help their over-full stomachs was fresh air and a walk. The park was lit with festive lights from the recent Portuguese fair, but there were very few people strolling around.
“That was delicious,” Carmen said with a long sigh. “Is that who you are in the family?”
“Huh?” He turned to watch her eyes flicker with mischief. The banter was starting again, and he was anxious for it.
“Your sister is the mother hen, making sure you guys behave. Loch is the baby, gets away with the most. Tommy is the family man now. Are you the guy who picks the best places to eat?”
“We never ate out growing up. We were poor as hell. I used to just sneak out and use any kind of money I could scratch up to get a soda or somet
hing. Then people would see how damn pitiful I was and usually toss some food my way. Mario was good to me. But no, that’s not who I am in the family. I think if you asked my siblings, their answers would be different than mine.”
“Well I’m asking you, not them. Everyone has a role right? A big family like yours. What are you, the troublemaker?”
“They would say so, but I’ve never really caused them much trouble. I don’t let my problems follow me back to the family.”
“So then you’re the tenderhearted one?” She knocked her elbow into his ribs playfully.
“I can’t say I’ve given it much thought, but I guess I’m the one who gets through things. You know my parents died?”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Was it an accident? They’d have been so young.”
“They died two years apart. My father worked more than he was home. He had a lot of mouths to feed and never enough in his paycheck to make everything work unless he pulled extra shifts. One day his heart just gave out. I can’t remember him ever going to the doctor or taking any medicine. He used to say it was too expensive to get a checkup. When he wasn’t at work, he was carting us around or going to something we had.”
“He sounds like he was a really great guy.” Carmen looped her arm through his as they walked down the winding path through the park.
“And he couldn’t hold a candle to how amazing my mother was. She was a diabetic. Had been for years. Once my father died, we lost the only health insurance we had. And it wasn’t great to start with. She rationed her insulin. Stopped going to the doctor. Part of me was sure she was just too broken-hearted to go on. All my mother wanted was to be back with my father. They had this epic love story, and she couldn’t really go on without him. She died of complications from her diabetes.”
Carmen’s hand flew up to her heart. “Oh that’s so awful. I can’t imagine how that would have felt for you and your siblings.”
“You asked who I was in this family.” He squeezed her arm a little tighter under his for a moment. “I think everyone has this space inside them for grief and sadness. Like a compartment that holds a certain amount. Mine,” he hesitated on the words, not sure how much he wanted to share. Carmen had asked to keep her secrets to herself. He’d respect that. Usually he preferred to do the same. But there was something about her, something familiar in her pain, that compelled him to keep going. “I’ve got more space for that stuff than most people. Our family suffered a lot. Not just the loss of my parents but the struggles we had before and after that. Life was hard and it only got harder without them.”
“I can’t imagine,” Carmen whispered. “You must have really had to stick together.”
“We did, but everyone handled it differently. Or different than I did anyway. Like I said, I just had a higher capacity for the hard stuff. I could sit with my mom when she was thrashing and swinging at doctors in the hospital. I could hold my father’s hand when they turned off all the machines keeping his heart pumping. I could remember which flowers my mother would want at her funeral. Everyone else was in pieces. Completely bowled over. I’d get up and go to work. Someone had to work. Someone had to keep going.”
“That’s strength. The kind most people don’t have.”
“It doesn’t always look like strength. Sometimes it looks cold and robotic. Sometimes it looks indifferent. I’m none of those things. Losing my parents wrecked me too, but I felt like when everyone else got up off the floor, they’d need to see me. They’d need to see what they should do next. How to keep going. That’s who I am in the family. But it can make me look like I don’t care.”
Carmen rested her head on his shoulder as they slowed to a stop by a large stone fountain. The water made a peaceful chugging noise as the little stone cherubs carved into the side seemed to laugh up at the stars.
Her voice was sweet and quiet as she offered him her thoughts. “I think you’re probably right. People interpret that skill in all the wrong ways. Being able to hold yourself together when things are falling down all around you is what keeps the world turning. There isn’t one way to grieve or feel. I’m a lot like you actually. I can keep going when it doesn’t seem like I should be able to anymore. I think you’re right that everyone has a space in them for this stuff; some people just have more room.”
“Or they go through enough things that they realize they don’t have a choice. They just keep going because someone has to. The problem with that, or at least what I’ve found, is the anger. I think it might be what grief turns into when you don’t deal with it the same way as everyone else.”
“I know that anger,” Carmen agreed, releasing his arm and taking a few steps closer to the beautifully lit fountain.
“With my mother, no one else could see it. No one else seemed to notice that she’d stopped trying. There was no fight left. There was more she could have done, longer she could have lived, but she didn’t want to. Everyone had tears in their eyes and the best memories on their tongues when the time came. As for me, the one talking to the doctors and ushering in all the people who wanted to visit her, I just felt angry. I know my mother missed my father. She never stopped saying it after he died. I know her heart was broken. But we were all heartbroken. I never understood why we, her kids, the hope of grandkids and a future, why any of that wasn’t enough to keep her around. Why wasn’t I enough for her? The anger was bigger than any of the sadness.”
“And no one else felt it?”
“If they did, they certainly never said it. My mother was a saint. She didn’t deserve anyone to be angry at her. I’m not saying I was right. I’m just saying, it’s how it was for me.”
“And how did you deal with it?” She turned and sat on the edge of the fountain, the light casting up behind her like a halo. The rush of water, the innocent faces of sculpted angels. It all seemed to be teeming with life suddenly. As if her touch had given it breath and movement.
“Who says I have?”
She hummed her understanding through a smile.
With a sudden rush of remorse, he felt compelled to put all this in context. “I don’t usually sit around and gush my feelings like this.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes.
“So why did you?”
She tucked her golden, beautifully-lit hair behind her ears and waited for his answer.
“I wanted you to know, whatever you have going on, I have room for it.” He put his hand to his chest as though there was really a compartment inside for grief and pain to be stored. “I’m one of those people who can handle it. No matter what it is.”
“I can see that.” She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze down to her shoes. “Walk me home? I’m about eight blocks from here. I can explain on the way. I still think you’ll tell me I’m crazy, and you’ll never want to help.”
“We’ll find out.” He reached his finger down to her chin and tipped her head up. “Or maybe we’ll find out we’re the same exact kind of crazy.”
Chapter Five
Carmen
“You’re not talking yet,” Brian said, clearly noticing they were already more than halfway to her place.
“I feel like trapping you in my apartment might make it easier to keep you from running away.”
“I’m not a runner,” he joked. “I stick around. But I’m fine going back to your place. That I’m good at too.”
“Not that kind of ‘coming back to my place.’ Don’t get any ideas.” The ease of his smile and everything else about Brian kept her from worrying. He really wasn’t that kind of guy; she’d learned enough over the years to be able to tell.
“Just a cup of coffee,” he said, tossing his arms up. “That’s all I’ll ask for.”
When they got to the front steps of her apartment he whistled an impressed kind of noise at her. “Nice digs. They don’t mess around when they put you up in an apartment, do they?”
“Gloria was a very wealthy woman. This place is nothing compared to a
nything she ever lived in. I’m grateful for it though. She didn’t have to do anything for me.”
“Were you two close?”
“She was like family to me. She saved—” Carmen bit at her lip. “She gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. And she’s still doing that. Even after she died.” She punched the seven-digit code into the keypad and the doors slid open. “I’m on the sixth floor.”
The usual night doorman was at his post, his mouth half full of Chinese noodles as he jumped to his feet.
“Don’t get up,” Carmen said, waving her hand at him. “Eat your dinner. We can push the elevator button on our own.”
He gulped his food down. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Carmen insisted. “Have a good night.”
When they were in the elevator and the doors had closed, Brian snickered. “That poor bastard has to jump up and hit the button for everyone who comes in? People can’t do that for themselves?”
“I didn’t pick this place. It’s just very safe. I think that’s why Gloria picked it.”
“You need to be kept safe?” Brian asked, cocking up his brow. “I’m starting to think you’re an international spy or something.”
“Nothing that exciting.”
They reached her apartment door, and she scanned a key card and then her fingerprint. She could feel his eyes on her.
“Biometrics?”
“Safety first,” she sputtered out awkwardly. Slinging her bag to the floor she moved to the kitchen. It was a small apartment with an open floor plan so no walls would cut off their conversation.
“This is a nice place. You’re right though, it’s a little impersonal. Nothing in here screams you.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what would scream me.”
“You look like you’d have a collection of those creepy porcelain dolls that wear frilly dresses. You know, the ones that come to life and try to murder you while you sleep.”
Perfect Homecoming (Barrington Billionaires Book 10) Page 3
