by Robena Grant
“Me too.” Carlo turned the key in the ignition, and reversed the car.
After a mile or so, he flipped through a few radio stations. “What type of music do you like?”
“Most everything.”
She thought about that. Why not be honest? She’d never been honest enough with Jason in the beginning. She’d let him mold her into someone she didn’t recognize. Not that she and Carlo had a future, but it was good practice.
“Well, to tell the truth, I love hip hop and R&B.”
“Really? Me too.”
Dia’s eyes widened. What the heck? An accountant who liked hip hop? She figured he would be into classical music. Maybe a bit of soul, but…
“Who’s your favorite group?” Carlo asked.
“I really do like a bit of everything. I adore Pharrell, but lately I’ve been enjoying Maroon 5 and Rhianna.”
“How about this station?”
“Perfect.” Dia leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and hummed along.
“So about meeting my parents,” Carlo said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Yes. When do you want to do that?”
She still had so much to do. The rehearsal dinner was Friday night, and it was her job to get Mama there. There were all kinds of beauty treatments, plus the girl’s night out, and the putting of Jordan almonds into little tulle wraps and tying them with ribbon. And whatever else Maria could think of to keep the hands of every female in her life busy.
“Tomorrow night?”
Dia pursed her lips. She supposed so, but it would be cutting things fine. He’d gotten her off the hook with Mama, not to mention all the curious and questioning relatives who would have had a field day if she’d shown up alone, so she did owe him. Besides, this had been part of their bargain. She wouldn’t let him down.
“If it’s later rather than earlier, I can swing it.”
“Good. Would eight be okay?”
“Perfect. Where do your parents live?”
Carlo mentioned the swankiest part of town, and a private golf course. Nervous tension tightened her stomach. The last parents she’d met had been Jason’s, super wealthy, old money. They also lived in that part of town, and she wondered if his family knew Jason’s family. That would be dreadful.
Jason’s parents hadn’t been overly impressed by her romance with their son. Stuck-up country club people who looked disparagingly at her like the outsider she knew she was. Jason had insisted his family wouldn’t come between them. Memories of his mother raising her eyebrows at every outfit she’d worn, while trying desperately to fit in, flashed through her mind. What would she wear tomorrow night?
“Dad is easy going. They didn’t come into money until recently. Dress casual. Jeans are fine. We’ll be lucky if Dad changes out of his crumpled golf shorts and tee-shirt.”
How does he do that? How did he know what she thought about? “Then jeans it is,” she said, and relaxed.
Dia watched the dark shapes of buildings flash by. Jeans she could do well. Thank goodness his parents were not the stuffy kind.
“Is there anything I should know about your parents? Any subject I should avoid?”
“No.” Carlo kept his eyes glued to the road. “Just be yourself.”
He seemed distant. Deep in thought maybe? “Do you want me to meet you there?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
His blunt responses seemed odd and she could swear his whole body had stiffened. Whatever…maybe he worried about not having come out of the closet to his parents.
The drive home seemed way shorter than the drive to the restaurant, and that saddened her. She’d been having a really good time, and she was long overdue for one of those. Minutes later they turned into Mama’s driveway. Cat was sprawled across the rusted roof of the Honda, doing his nightly duty of rat patrol.
“I like that the cat waits up for you,” Carlo said.
“Yeah, he’s the night watchman. I just hope he hasn’t left me one of his treasures on the front porch.”
“Ah, a ratter.”
“The best.”
Dia looked back at the car and the cat. They both reminded her that she didn’t have to drive herself into the posh neighborhood where Carlo’s parents lived. It was good that he intended to pick her up. Even if he’d said his parents were laid back, how laid back would they have to be to embrace her old Honda?
Something he’d said, or hadn’t said, tickled her memory. She couldn’t quite grasp it. About to get out of the car, she remembered he’d only mentioned his father. Not his mother. Not one word about his mother. Anxiety about that had her stomach in knots. All kinds of internal alarms were going off. Tomorrow night might be a disaster.
She grabbed her purse. “I had a lovely time tonight, Carlo.” She opened the door. “Don’t get out. Thanks so much for inviting me, and for the special treat of such a gorgeous restaurant.”
“My pleasure.”
“See you tomorrow night. Thanks again.” She closed the door and hurried up the path.
Carlo hadn’t mentioned his mother. Not once. Was he getting a ton of flak from her? Did she maybe suspect he was gay? Well, whatever, Dia would put on a great performance. She’d be whatever Carlo expected her to be. Gay or not, she really liked him. He hadn’t commented negatively about her car, and he liked Cat—definitely two things in his favor.
She pulled the straps of her purse tighter. “Come on, babe, din-din.” Cat stood, stretched, and lithely dropped to the ground, and then took a short cut through the flowerbeds.
Jason hadn’t cared for either the Honda, or the one-eyed cat, and he’d planned on a new car as her wedding gift. And Cat? Well, that black and white ball of fur had turned up nightly when she was sixteen, half-starved, skittish, but had taken to her like crazy.
Dia opened the front door. Cat scooted inside. She realized Carlo hadn’t left. She waved, and his car pulled away. She’d wanted to kiss him. But this man from the fancy side of town had to be Jason, all over again, except for being Italian, and gay. He even had a rich mother he didn’t talk about. Sweet as he was, she reminded herself that she had a role to play. This wasn’t a real date. This wasn’t about her.
If there was one thing she’d learned from being jilted, it was how not to fool herself.
Chapter Four
Carlo stood in the shade of a large eucalyptus tree at the edge of Miramar National Cemetery. He’d driven over this morning like he did every July. Susan and Angie would meet him in a little while. He needed ten minutes alone.
Wind whipped his hair, and dark clouds billowed over the Pacific Ocean. He got his bearings, and then he pulled his hooded sweatshirt tight. It was supposed to be summer. A sea of green grass dotted with markers, some of which had small American flags or fresh cut flowers in front of them, spread out as far as he could see. He made his way through the maze, pissed off at the weather. How could he be angry over a small cold front when David was dead?
He found the standard issue, white marble marker, for Sergeant David Ingalia, his brother-in-law, best friend, and one of the nicest human beings he’d ever known. He stared hard at the etched Christian cross above the simple words—David’s name, branch of service, date of birth, date of death—and pulled in a deep breath. It never got any easier. David had been killed in action in Afghanistan four years ago, at age twenty-seven. He’d never gotten to meet his daughter.
“David, it’s me, Carlo,” he said softly, and traced David’s name with his finger.
Then he kneeled on the damp ground, and pulled at a few straggly weeds. David had forced him to listen to his request of where he would want to be buried, just in case. He’d said, “I want to be as close to my men as possible. But Susan comes first.” Carlo swallowed at the lump in his throat, dusting away the debris and the flowers that were equally as dead as David, and he made a small pile to be dropped into the trash bin on the way out.
“Miss you, buddy,” he whispered, and righted himself. �
��I met someone. I’m confused.” He smiled at that. David would understand. He always had, and they’d both been men of few words. He ran a hand over the top of the cool marble. And then he felt a thump against his leg and looked down at his niece who clung to his jean-clad leg like a vice.
“Hi, Uncle Carlo.”
“Hi, Angie. How are you, sweetheart?” He bent and kissed her on top of her windblown hair. She wore a puffy down-filled jacket and looked like a pink marshmallow.
“We come to talk to Daddy.”
“Me too.” He looked at Susan. Curly red hair blew every which way, and it seemed bright against the pallor of her skin.
She gave him a quizzical look. “Who did you meet?”
“Oh, you heard me?” Carlo pulled her into a hug. She was too thin.
She stepped backward and put a fist to one hip. “Who did you meet?”
He hadn’t intended telling her about Dia, yet. But Susan suffered every time she came to the cemetery, so it might give her something else to concentrate on. Plus, she’d removed her sunglasses, and he could see the strain around her eyes. She’d meet Dia at the wedding, so might as well explain. Angie ran off, playing a game of peek-a-boo around the headstones.
“Angie, stay close,” Susan called. “And be respectful. Who is this mysterious woman?”
Carlo kept an eye on Angie. “Dia Romani. You’d like her. Well, you know her brother, Marco.” He shrugged, not quite sure how well she knew Marco. He hadn’t seen much of him in the last few years, not since he’d relocated to Los Angeles. Of course she knew Maria, Marco’s fiancée. They both did. “I’m escorting Dia to the wedding.”
“Really?” Susan squinted as the clouds parted and a beam of sunlight burst through. She slipped her sunglasses down from where she’d perched them on her head. “I’ve heard Maria mention her. She was a few years younger than us in elementary school. How did you meet?”
“Tony Cupertino. She’s living temporarily with her mother in Little Italy.”
Susan cocked her head. “Oh?”
He knew there’d be a ton more questions. Mainly: how is Mother going to react to that? “I’ll leave you two here for a bit. Meet you back in the parking lot.” He bent and scooped up the dead plants, putting them into a plastic grocery bag he’d fished out of his pocket.
Susan turned and watched him. “I didn’t think she’d be your type. I mean not that I know her or anything, but…”
“Well, she is.” He did an exaggerated shrug, still feeling so damn guilty for his original reason for asking Tony to find him a date. “Who knew?”
Angie ran back to them and Susan caught her and held her tight. Then she kneeled in front of the marker and asked for a story about her Daddy.
Carlo’s eyes misted, thinking of David’s loss, and of all of the things that he took for granted. Four years! He blinked hard and hurried away, unable to believe his eyes were watering. He never cried. He brushed at his face with the backs of his hands. “See you, buddy,” he muttered, and stumbled up the path.
What the hell had happened? One date with an interesting woman and all of a sudden he’d turned into an emotional wreck? He sat in the car and crossed his arms over the steering wheel, pressed his forehead to them, and allowed the tears to come. He’d held them back for so long, always trying to put on a brave front for his sister and niece. He’d even stood stone-faced at David’s memorial service, and silently vowed that he’d never get married, because he’d never risk putting someone he loved through what Susan had suffered.
After a short while he wiped his eyes again with the backs of his hands and groped in his pocket until he found a handkerchief. He dried his face, honked into the handkerchief a couple of times, wadded it, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. He should have done that a long time ago, had a good cry. Feeling oddly relieved, he sat, deep in thought. David had said it was a blessing that he, Carlo, was colorblind and couldn’t join the military. He’d have died over there. He was a loner, a deskman, a risk taker, but only when it came to being his own stockbroker. David had joked that the only color he ever saw was green. He startled himself when he laughed out loud. It was good to remember.
He stared out the car window. So much had changed in four years. The world had fast become a different place since the big economic crash. Now his risks were calculated, especially when he dealt with other people’s funds. He didn’t often do that, but sometimes his friends pleaded. He’d run high and wild and free with his own investments, and had made a small fortune. But he’d also known what he could afford to lose.
He looked back at the cemetery. Not that money meant anything. He’d give it all away if it meant Susan had David back, and that Angelina could grow up to know her father.
What about Dia? Is she only a safe date?
Carlo shuddered. The voice in his head had sounded like David’s voice. He mulled over that question. She’d been what he considered a safe date. But then he’d actually gotten to know her and she’d turned his world upside down. What an idiot that Jason is. What guy in his right mind would walk away from Dia Sophia?
“Nope, not safe at all,” he muttered, and sat up tall.
They had more in common than he’d ever imagined. Somehow she felt like the piece that had been missing from his life for so long. But she was a friend’s little sister, and she’d been recently hurt. Last night she’d seemed jittery at the beach, and then again when they arrived back at her mother’s home. He’d have to take things slow. He slipped his sunglasses on when Susan and Angie walked hand in hand up the path.
He turned the key in the ignition, and put the window down. “Want to have brunch?”
Susan shook her head. “Not today. I need to go home.”
“You okay?”
“Sure. I’ve got a heavy workload, and Mom is coming over to pick up Angie. I’ll see you at the wedding.”
“Going to Ganma’s!” Angie jumped into the back seat of their car.
“Have fun!” Carlo grinned, wondering what it would be like to be a father. He adored Angie. Susan strapped the little girl into her car seat. His niece blew him kisses. “I’ll follow you out.”
Susan nodded and waved. He’d do anything to protect them, and to keep that promise to David. So why did his thoughts return to Dia, commitment, and fatherhood?
****
“I don’t know about you, Mama, but I’m exhausted,” Dia said, parking in the garage and reaching for the shopping bags on the back seat of Mama’s Cadillac.
“Who knew getting beautiful could be such hard work?” Mama climbed out of the car, looking weary. She walked to open the door that led into the kitchen.
The day had already turned to dusk. Dia reminded herself to switch on the front porch light for Carlo. Thinking about him walking up to their modest home and ringing the doorbell made her heart skip a beat. He was so sweet, he didn’t seem to notice or judge them on their simple lifestyle. That more than anything else endeared him to her. She followed Mama inside. “I need a ten minute nap. Carlo will be here in half an hour.”
“First, a cup of tea.” Mama already had the kettle in her hand and was filling it with water.
“Sure. Okay.”
Mama smiled. “Thank you for taking me today. So much fuss. I don’t think there is anywhere left on my body with even one hair that shouldn’t be there.”
“I know. I’ve been waxed and buffed to a shine.” Dia yawned noisily. “I need a nap.” She kicked off her shoes, put Mama’s packages on a kitchen chair and turned on a few lights. She put her purse, and the flowers she’d bought for the Antonellis on the hall table.
Back in the kitchen, she plopped into a chair. Mama had opened the box that contained her evening shoes. Pieces of tissue paper were all over the place. “Mama, you shouldn’t wear those shoes now. Your feet are sore and swollen from all the walking today.”
“This is the best time…a pinch today, more comfortable on Saturday. Drink some tea.”
Dia pressed her lips tig
ht and shook her head.
Mama tottered over in her high heels and pushed a cup of steaming amber liquid across the table. “Maybe we eat something when you get back.”
Dia nodded and took a drink. The hot liquid felt good. Mama put some of her famous amaretto cookies on a plate, and some into a small box. She tied the box with the same burgundy ribbon that had been around the chocolates that Carlo had given her last night. Last night? It seemed so long ago. It felt like she’d known him for weeks. Heat rose in her cheeks at the thought.
“For Carlo.” Mama slid the box across the table.
Dia got up and put the box next to the flowers. It was all so old-world-Italian. So big-family, that she had the tiniest glimmer of panic. She couldn’t deny her romantic interest in Carlo. It had happened too fast. Good thing he was gay, and she was going away next week, or who knew what craziness might happen. She hurried back to the safety of the kitchen.
“You sick?” Mama asked.
“No, no. Tired.” Dia sat. She took several sips of tea, and nibbled a cookie. “I’ll take a two minute shower. That will perk me up.”
“Did you tell Carlo you’re going away?”
Dia jerked her head up. “No. Not yet.” She reached for another cookie. He wouldn’t care anyway. “These are fabulous.”
“Better tell him.” Mama raised her teacup, and nodded sagely. “Tell him soon.”
****
It had been a cold and awkward ten minutes. Carlo had warned his parents about not making a big production out of Dia’s visit, and yet they’d been ushered into the formal living room rather than the den. He sat awkwardly on the stiff, peach-colored, silk upholstered couch. Surrounded by staged opulence he almost winced, but instead reached for the comfort of Dia’s hand.
His parents had called Susan. And now he was grateful for his sister and his niece’s appearance. Angie ran squealing through the house, encouraged by his father. His mother, fashionably attired with not a single hair out of place, fussed around, reminding him of a tall, elegant bird—a crane or a heron, perhaps. Susan was flustered, and Carlo guessed she’d have rather flopped in the den. She finally got Angie to sit and gave her a couple of books.
