by Cora Brent
“I hear a party.” Anya was standing in the doorway. She was holding onto the door frame but she was smiling.
“Mommy!” Allie shouted and leapt to her feet. She adored her mother.
Jack watched his wife’s face shine as she patted their little girl on the head. Originally she hadn’t wanted to have any children. She was terrified of passing on the disease that was beginning to take over her own body. And when Allison was born they’d agonized over whether to test her, and at what point they would tell her of the results. But there was still some mercy, or some indifference, left in the odds. Allison did not carry the gene. She would not suffer her mother’s fate. It would end with Anya.
It will end.
The thought was chilling and unwelcome. Anya was here now, with him. Jack felt a sudden flash of anger for Robert Malone, Anya’s father. He’d walked out rather than face days of difficulty and despair. And he missed the beautiful things that still remained. How could he not have wanted to hold his wife’s hand every day? How could he have discarded his children and left them to fend for themselves? Those were not things a man did.
“Jack.”
Anya’s voice brought him back. She was looking at him reproachfully. She didn’t know where his mind was but she knew it wasn’t anywhere good.
Then she smiled faintly and held out an empty pink plastic plate. “Allie made some donuts. Have one.”
Jack took a bite of air. “They’re delicious. Thank you, Allison.”
“Welcome,” said Allie as she busily stirred something imaginary in a purple cup.
Anya rested her head on his shoulder and they watched their daughter play. It had taken Anya’s mother over a decade to succumb. But Anya’s doctors were worried. Her onset had been more abrupt and they expected her deterioration to be rapid. There was no cure. The medicine Jack had been arguing for was uncertain and potentially dangerous. Anya wouldn’t change her mind about it.
Jack took her thin hand and brought it briefly to his lips, feeling the hard outline of the ring he’d given her four years ago. He’d been optimistic then. He just knew he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to this beautiful girl who he was madly in love with. If such cruelty existed he would beat it back with both fists.
But Jack Giordano wasn’t that powerful. He wasn’t powerful at all. There was no denying anything anymore.
Easton would have to be told. Claudia would have to be told.
“Daddy?” questioned his youngest daughter. She was frowning at him warily.
“I’m here,” he answered clearly.
And he would be. Even when his heart was shattered in six million pieces, Jack would be there. Until the end. And long after that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CLAUDIA
I started screwing up at work because for the last few days I couldn’t do much besides obsess over Easton. My boss called me in first thing Monday morning to complain about the unfinished state of my client reports. Honestly I just couldn’t force myself to care, although I did bob my head a few times and promise to be more productive. Easton had texted me while I was stuck in there.
Miss You.
I texted back.
More.
We’d spent two hot, incredible nights together before Easton had to travel back with his team. The sex was incomparable, as it always was with Easton. But that wasn’t what had me in a tailspin. At least, that wasn’t the only thing. A shift had occurred in the scheme of things. We weren’t secretly humping in some corner of my father’s house. There were still the undeniable influences of childhood and family but the shadows weren’t as thick out here. The restless confusion that had plagued us before did not exist, not now. When Easton picked me up and carried me to bed there were no doubts. There was only the two of us.
Easton had to travel back to San Diego for a six game home stand. He’d be pitching there tomorrow night and then returning to Phoenix next week for the All Star Game. Since I didn’t know what to call whatever it was we’d started this time around I didn’t call it anything. I was just enjoying the ride.
The rest of the day was kind of a black hole. It wasn’t solely because I kept flashing back to the memory of Easton’s naked body, although that distraction did nothing to help my efficiency. The truth was I hated my job. I had a tough time adequately explaining to people what I did. I sat in a cubicle all day and pored over densely worded insurance policies. That didn’t sound like anyone’s dream occupation. Sometimes I envied Easton for the simple fact that when he woke up in the morning he knew he was going to be doing something he loved. His place, his purpose, was clear. Even the men in my family, with their singular passion for all things automotive, had always been happy enough to drive the mile down to Giordano’s Auto Shop every morning.
What had I wanted to do? What had been my dream?
I had wanted to get away from Long Island. I had wanted to be independent, somehow liberated from my family and my strange upbringing. But now I couldn’t even remember why.
When I got home I cranked the air down, stripped off my skirt in favor of loose shorts and sat on the couch in my small apartment, beer in hand. I hadn’t said a word about Easton to anyone except my friend Brynna and even she wasn’t aware of our history together.
“Professional baseball player?” she’d asked doubtfully.
“Yeah,” I grinned and texted her a link to Easton’s player profile.
She’d whistled, impressed. “Hot damn, Claudia.”
When I heard my phone vibrating I fished it out of my purse, thinking it might be him. It wasn’t.
“Hey, Jack,” I frowned, wondering about the odd timing of the call. It was Monday night, almost ten pm in New York. Jack’s calls, when they happened, almost invariably occurred on random Sunday afternoons. We’d chat for an awkward fifteen minutes or so and when he ran out of things to say he’d pass the phone to my little sister. Such had been the loose pattern ever since Allie learned how to talk. And when was the last time I’d initiated a call? I couldn’t even remember.
“Hi, Claud. I hope I’m not bothering you.” His voice sounded weird. Muffled, tired.
“No.” I sat up, setting the beer down on the coffee table. “I’m just sitting here basking in the glory of reliable air conditioning.”
“That’s good,” he said absently.
A vague alarm went off inside my head. “Something wrong? Is Allie okay?”
“Your sister’s fine,” he said immediately. Then it sounded as if he covered up the phone and mumbled to someone else in the room.
“Is that Anya?”
“Yeah, she’s here. She wants to know if you saw Easton when he was in town last week.”
I was grateful that thousands of miles separated us because I was sure my face was flaming red from the crowd of memories featuring all the ways I had seen Easton.
“He called,” I stammered because I wasn’t ready to spill the truth to Jack. “We talked. About, you know, baseball and stuff.”
“Good, that’s good,” Jack answered and something about the vagueness of his voice troubled me. I searched my mind, grasping for things to say to my father. It was difficult, as usual.
“Talked to Roc last week,” I finally said. “He is over the moon to be back with Sheryl.”
“He sure is,” Jack agreed. “Says he’s not going to fuck it up this time. I believe him.”
“I do too. And Gaetano is finally going to have his singing career.”
Jack laughed softly. It sounded forced. “Something like that. Ah, I shouldn’t knock it. He’s happy.”
“Are you?” I blurted.
“Am I what?”
“Happy.”
Jack paused. We didn’t really talk to each other in such frank terms.
“That’s a dumb question,” I hurriedly said. “I know how happy you guys are; staggeringly blissful, nauseatingly content.”
It was a feeble attempt at humor but Jack was silent on the other end and I wondered if he’d ev
en heard me. He ended the conversation shortly after that, mumbling something about how he was sure I needed to get to bed, although he must have realized it was barely seven pm here. I had the uneasy suspicion there’d been a reason for his call. But whatever it was he’d backed away from sharing it.
I hadn’t taken any vacation time since the holidays. Maybe I should see about booking a flight next month, just visiting Long Island for an extended weekend. After all, I had a rapidly growing little sister. I would have liked to spend more time with Allison. And Jack had mellowed into the role of family man. Even Anya was easy to be around. She always seemed genuinely pleased to see me.
The wind was kicking up outside and I could smell the blowing dust. A clap of thunder sounded, signaling the likelihood of a brief but violent summer rain.
I was still nursing the same beer I’d grabbed an hour earlier when the power went out at the same time my phone buzzed. It was Easton. My heart thumped powerfully as I answered.
“Hey beautiful,” he said casually. “Were you thinking about me?”
I smiled. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Power just went out. Which means the air conditioning went with it.”
“You’ll feel better if you take off your clothes.”
“That’s no fun when you’re not here.”
“I am here. I’m right here. Do it, Claudia. It’ll help relieve my stress.”
“I thought you said no sex the night before you pitch because it interferes with your mojo.”
“My mojo is fine. Strip.”
“Only if you do.”
“I was naked even before I picked up the phone.”
I laughed, thinking no matter how old Easton Malone got he would probably always have an incorrigible quality about him. And it was perfect.
We kept up the steamy banter for a while before I changed the subject.
“Jack called tonight.”
“Why are you trying to kill my boner? It doesn’t want to hear all about Jack Giordano.”
“I’m not. It just struck me as being a little odd. He seemed, I don’t know, depressed, and Jack doesn’t get depressed.”
Easton stopped joking about sex and stripteases. He sounded cautious. “Did he say why?”
“No. You think he and Anya are having problems?”
“Problems,” he mumbled. “Yeah, there might be some problems.”
“I don’t get it.”
“But you want it,” he joked.
“Easton, come on. What do you know about Jack and Anya?”
“Nothing,” he sighed. “They tell me nothing.”
I still didn’t understand. I felt like everyone else had the answers to a test I hadn’t even studied for. But Easton had already changed the subject. He said he was standing on his balcony watching the waves break on the shore and that he wished I was there with him.
“Come to San Diego,” he said suddenly. “Six days is too fucking far away.”
He was pitching tomorrow at home and then he’d be travelling back to Phoenix on Sunday to prepare for the All Star Game. And yes, it did seem like an eternity when everything inside of me craved him. But there were other things to consider.
“I can’t just hop in the car and drive to the next state.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll book you a flight.”
“That’s not what I mean. I have a job. I’m already on thin ice there.”
“Your job sucks. And I’ll pay you ten times whatever you’re making.”
I snorted. “That’s some expensive companionship.”
“You could be my life coach,” he continued as if I hadn’t put up an argument, “my personal handler.”
“According to the press, Unruly Malone can’t be handled by anyone.”
“The press hasn’t met Claudia Giordano.”
“Easton, I want to. But I can’t.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll expect you to make it up to me next week.”
“Then I guess I should start figuring out some creative contributions.”
“Yeah you should. Be resourceful, Claudia.” He paused. “I think about you all the fucking time.”
“I think about you too.”
“You’ll be watching the game tomorrow?”
“You know I will.”
“Then I’ll dedicate the win to you,” he said confidently. Then his voice softened. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Easton.”
The game was awful. It wasn’t televised locally so I had to listen online. I curled up on the couch, wincing as it got progressively worse. Easton’s pitches were wild as he struggled to locate the strike zone. He also hit two batters and gave up eleven hits by the fourth inning before Benji Carter pulled him off the mound. The announcer lamented the baffling performance and speculated whether Easton was hurt, especially when he was glimpsed in the dugout, flexing his elbow with a grimace.
I thought that after that disastrous outing Easton was probably feeling pretty bad and didn’t want to talk to anyone. I figured I shouldn’t expect to hear from him for the rest of the night.
I was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ANYA
Jack kept an arm around her waist as they walked along the boardwalk. It was just the two of them this quiet evening. Allie had been left in the care of her doting Uncle Rocco so Jack and Anya could enjoy a few hours alone. Sheryl, Rocco’s girlfriend, had arrived at the house with him to help with Allie. Her dark eyes had focused on Anya with obvious concern and Anya wondered how much Sheryl knew about her disease. She’d known Sheryl in high school. They had not been friends.
Anya wanted to go to the beach. Jack began to argue that it would be crowded, even this far into the evening, but he cut off his own words and smiled at her.
“I’ll take you anywhere, baby,” he said and started the engine of the old Chevelle.
Anya had opened the windows and inhaled the sweet summer air. But her eyes stayed on Jack’s face. His profile was striking, as always. There was nothing delicate about his features. He was all raw muscle and virile power. Jack was, and always would be, the most physically beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. She hated causing him pain.
During the twenty minutes it took to drive to the beach Anya thought about her wedding day, their wedding day. At the time she thought it was a fairy tale. She still thought so. When Anya was a child she’d owned an enormously thick antique book of childhood fairy tales in their original forms, not the sanitized versions that had been remade into pop culture. The book had belonged to her mother. Anya remembered being shocked by the graphic complexities contained in some of these legendary stories. People bled, they suffered. Death often played a pivotal role.
Anya Malone Giordano had found her prince. The problem was the story didn’t end there. She’d known that from the beginning, that ‘ever after’ would be short, although now it seemed like it would be shorter than even she expected. Maybe she was never supposed to be the end of the story, but simply a piece of it. Maybe there could still be a happy ending somewhere.
“See?” she told Jack as they pulled into a half empty lot. “It’s not so crowded.”
And so they walked. Slowly, because that was all Anya could manage. Soon she would need a wheelchair. Anya hadn’t questioned Jack’s reluctance to talk to his family about her condition. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it either. She always figured there would be plenty of time for that when it was unavoidable.
It was now unavoidable.
Jack was trying. He’d picked up the phone the other night to call Claudia. She’d sat in the room and watched the anguish take over his face as he fought for the words to tell his daughter that his wife was going to die. Anya used to be hopeful, especially after Allison’s birth, that Claudia would become a closer part of the family. And Claudia dutifully visited for the holidays, talked to her father once a month or so. Yet she remained carefully out of their orbit the rest of the time.
<
br /> In the end Jack merely sighed and ended the call without saying the things that needed to be said. He would try again. He promised. Anya worried that Claudia might be angry when she finally learned the truth. What kind of family kept fatal illness from one another? But she could hardly fault Jack for this, not when she’d done her desperate best to keep Easton from finding out how bad she was getting.
They stopped on an otherwise empty section of the boardwalk. The moon was bright and full. Somewhere in the mystifying depths of the Atlantic Ocean a battle raged as the waves broke loudly and angrily against the yielding sand.
“Maybe I should wait,” Anya said as she leaned against Jack’s shoulder. She heard the way her own words ran together slightly, as they had done for her mother before the power of speech disappeared. It happened mostly when she was tired and lately she was always tired. “He’ll be feeling pretty awful about last night’s brutal outing and he has the All Star Game next week.”
“Anya,” Jack said softly and she nodded.
He was right. There would always be a reason to put this off. There was never a good time to tell your brother you were dying.
Jack dialed for her and handed her the phone. Anya might have fallen down without his strong arm around her.
“Hi Easton.”
“Anya.” He sounded defeated and that hurt to hear. He probably figured she was calling to give him some words of support because of Tuesday night’s terrible game. She always watched his games. She always reminded him that he was brilliant. His voice grew affectionate. “It’s nice to hear a friendly voice.”
“I meant to call yesterday.”
“Better you didn’t. I was in kind of a shitty mood. You can guess why. I’m glad you called now though.”
“I’m sorry, East. I can’t wait to see you up there on the mound at the All Star Game. It’s a dream come true. If Mom were here she’d be so proud.”
He was silent.
“Easton?” she prodded gently. She remembered the first time he’d lost a game. He’d been eleven, in Little League. He’d left the field with his head angrily up, staring straight ahead. It wasn’t until he was in the passenger seat of her car and they had driven beyond the sight of the athletic field that he had started to cry. Anya only had two dollars in her purse but she used them to buy him an ice cream cone. And she told him the same thing that she told him now. “One game is just one game. It doesn’t change anything.”
