Fortune's Hero

by Susan Crosby

  Patiently, she reminded him, “The awful, secret things that are going on with our daughters.”

  He bent in close, kissed her cheek and then brushed his lips across her own. “We are going to dinner at our daughter’s house,” he whispered. “We are going to have a wonderful time. You are not going to snoop around trying to find out if something’s wrong with Abby. You’re not going to worry about Melissa.”

  “I hate you, Frank.”

  “No, you don’t. You love me almost as much as I love you.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “More. I love you more.”

  He kissed her again. “Promise you won’t snoop and you’ll stop jumping to conclusions?”

  “And if I don’t, what? We’ll sit here on the side of the road all night?”

  “Promise.”

  “Fine. All right. I promise.”

  He touched her cheek, a lovely, cherishing touch. “Can we go to Abby’s now?”

  “I’m not the one who stopped the car.”

  He only looked at her reproachfully.

  She couldn’t hold out against him. She never could. “Oh, all right. I’ve promised, already, okay? Now, let’s go.”

  With a wry smile, he retreated back behind the wheel and eased the car forward into the flow of traffic again.

  * * *

  Abby opened the door. “Surprise!” Abby, Greg, Melissa and Josh all shouted at once. They all started clapping.

  Greg announced, “Happy Anniversary!” The rest of them chimed in with “Congratulations!” and “Thirty years!” and “Wahoo!”

  Frank was laughing. “Well, what do you know?”

  Diana said nothing. One look in her older daughter’s big brown eyes and she knew for certain that she wasn’t just imagining things. Something was going on in Abby’s life. Something important.

  They all filed into the dining room, where the walls were decorated with posters of the Grand Canal and the Tuscan countryside, of the Coliseum and the small, beautiful town of Bellagio on Lake Como. The table was set with Abby’s best china and tall candles gave a golden glow.

  Greg said, “We thought, you know, an Italian theme—in honor of your honeymoon.”

  “It’s lovely,” said Diana, going through the motions, hugging first Greg and then Josh.

  “Thank you,” said Frank as he clapped his son-in-law on the back and shook hands with Josh.

  Melissa came close. “Mom.” She put on a smile. But her eyes were as shadowed as Abby’s. “Happy thirtieth anniversary.”

  Diana grabbed her and hugged her. No doubt about it. Melissa looked miserable, too.

  Yes, Diana had promised Frank that she would mind her own business.

  But, well, sometimes a woman just couldn’t keep that kind of promise. Sometimes a woman had to find a way to get to the bottom of a bad situation for the sake of the ones she loved most of all.

  By the end of the evening, no matter what, Diana would find out the secrets her daughters were keeping from her.

  Frank leaned close. “Don’t even think about it.”

  She gave him her sweetest smile. “Happy anniversary, darling.”

  Chapter Three

  by Susan Crosby

  Abby Morgan DeSena and her husband, Greg, had hosted quite a few dinner parties during their three years of marriage, but none as special as this one—a celebration of Abby’s parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary. Abby and her younger sister, Melissa, had spent weeks planning the Italian-themed party as a sweet reminder for their parents of their honeymoon, and now that the main meal was over, Abby could say, well, so far, so good.

  For someone who planned everything down to the last detail, that was high praise. They were on schedule. First, antipasti and wine in the living room, then chicken cacciatore, crusty bread sticks and green salad in the dining room.

  But for all that the timetable had been met and the food praised and devoured, an air of tension hovered over the six people at the table, especially between Melissa and her boyfriend, Josh, who were both acting out of character.

  “We had chicken cacciatore our first night in Bellagio, remember, Diana?” Abby’s father said to her mother as everyone sat back, sated. “And lemon sorbet in prosecco.”

  “The waiter knocked my glass into my lap,” Diana reminded him.

  “Your napkin caught most of it, and he fixed you another one. He even took it off the tab. On our newlywed budget, it made a difference.” He brought his wife’s hand to his lips, his eyes twinkling. “And it was delicious, wasn’t it? Tart and sweet and bubbly.”

  Diana blushed, making Abby wonder if the memory involved more than food. It was inspiring seeing her parents so openly in love after thirty years.

  Under the table, Abby felt her hand being squeezed and looked at her own beloved husband. Greg winked, as if reading her mind.

  “Well, we don’t have sorbet and prosecco,” Abby said, standing and stacking dinner plates. “But we certainly have dessert. Please sit down, Mom. You’re our guest. Melissa and I will take care of everything.”

  It didn’t take long to clear the table.

  “Mom and Dad loved the dinner, didn’t they?” Melissa asked as they entered Abby’s contemporary kitchen.

  “They seemed to,” Abby answered, although unsure whether she believed her own words. Had her parents noticed the same tension Abby had? Her mother’s gaze had flitted from Melissa to Josh to Abby to Greg all evening, as if searching for clues. It’d made Abby more nervous with every passing minute, and on a night she’d been looking forward to, a night of sweet surprises.

  “How about you? Did you enjoy the meal?” Abby asked Melissa, setting dishes in the sink, then started the coffeemaker brewing. “You hardly touched your food.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I snacked on too many bread sticks before dinner.”

  Abby took out a raspberry tiramisu from the refrigerator while studying her sister, noting how stiffly Melissa held herself, how shaky her hands were as she rinsed the dinner plates. She seemed fragile. It wasn’t a word Abby usually applied to her sister. The conversation they’d had earlier in the evening obviously hadn’t set Melissa’s mind at ease, but Abby didn’t know what else to say to her tightly wrung sister. Only time—and Josh—could relieve Melissa’s anxiety.

  Abby set the fancy dessert on the counter next to six etched-crystal parfait glasses.

  Melissa approached, drying her hands, then picked up one of the glasses. “Grandma gave these to you, didn’t she?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Three years ago as a wedding present. I know it’s a cliché, but it seems like yesterday.” Abby smiled at her sister, remembering the wedding, revisiting her wonderful marriage. She couldn’t ask for a better husband, friend and partner than Greg. “Grandma plans to give you the other six glasses at your wedding. When we both have big family dinners, we can share them. It’ll be our tradition.”

  Melissa’s face paled. Her eyes welled. Horrified, Abby dropped the spoon and reached for her.

  “I—I’ll grab the gift basket from your office,” Melissa said, taking a couple steps back then rushing out.

  Frustrated, Abby pressed her face into her hands. If she were the screaming type, she would’ve screamed. If she were a throw-the-pots-around type, she would’ve done that, too, as noisily as possible. It would’ve felt good.

  “I thought Melissa was in here with you,” said a male voice from behind her.

  Abby spun around and glared at Josh Wright, the source of Melissa’s problems—and subsequently Abby’s—as he peeked into the kitchen. He could be the solution, too, if only he’d act instead of sitting on his hands.

  “She’s getting the anniversary gift from my office,” Abby said through gritted teeth, digging deep
for the composure she’d inherited from her father.

  Josh came all the way into the room. He looked as strained as Melissa. “Need some help?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets instead of going in search of Melissa.

  “Coward.” Abby began dishing up six portions of tiramisu.

  “Guilty,” Josh said, coming up beside her. “Give me a job. I can’t sit still.”

  “You can pour the decaf into that carafe next to the coffeemaker.”

  Full of nervous energy, his hands shaking as much as Melissa’s had earlier, he got right to the task, fumbling at every step, slopping coffee onto the counter.

  “Relax, would you, Josh?” Abby said, exasperated. “You’re making everyone jumpy, but especially Melissa. My sister is her mother’s daughter, you know. They both have a flair for the dramatic, but this time Melissa is honestly thrown by your behavior. She’s on the edge, and it’s not of her own making.”

  “But it’ll all come out okay in the end?”

  The way he turned the sentence into a question had Abby staring at him. He and her kid sister were a study in contrasts, Melissa with her black hair and green eyes, Josh all blond and blue-eyed. They’d been dating for a year, were head over heels in love with each other, seeming to validate the theory that opposites attract. It was rare that they weren’t touching or staring into each other’s eyes, communicating silently.

  Tonight was different, however, and Abby knew why. She just didn’t know if they would all survive the suspense.

  “Whether or not it all turns out okay in the end depends on how long you take to pop the question,” Abby said, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  “You know I’m planning the perfect proposal,” he whispered back. “Your husband gave me advice, but if you’d like to add yours, I’m listening.”

  She couldn’t tell him that Melissa thought he was about to break up with her—that was hers to say. But Abby could offer some perspective.

  “Here’s my advice, Josh, and it has nothing to do with how to set a romantic scene that she’ll remember the rest of her life. My advice is simple—do it sooner rather than later.” She spoke in a normal tone again, figuring even if someone came into the room, they wouldn’t suspect what she and Josh were talking about. “When Greg and I were in college, I misunderstood something he said. Instead of asking him to clarify it, I stewed. And stewed some more. I blew it all out of proportion.”

  She dug deep into memories she’d long ago put aside. “Here’s what happens to a couple at times like that. He asks what’s wrong, and she says it’s nothing. He asks again. She insists it’s nothing. A gulf widens that can’t be crossed because there’s no longer a bridge between them, one you used to travel easily. It doesn’t even matter how much love you share. Once trust is gone, once the ability to talk to each other openly and freely goes away, the relationship begins to unravel. Sometimes it takes weeks, sometimes months, even years, but it happens and there’s no fixing it.”

  “But you fixed it.”

  They almost hadn’t, Abby remembered. They came so close to breaking up. “At times like that, it can go either way. Even strong partners struggle sometimes in a marriage.”

  “How do you get through those times?”

  “You put on a smile for everyone, then you try to work it out alone together so that no one else gets involved.”

  “Don’t you talk to your mom? She’s had a long, successful marriage. She’d give good advice, wouldn’t she?”

  Abby smiled as she pictured her sweet, sometimes overwrought mother. “Mom’s the last one I’d ask for advice,” she said.

  * * *

  “I’m going to see what’s taking so long,” Diana said to her husband, laying her napkin on the table.

  “Diana.” Implied in his tone of voice were the words he didn’t speak aloud—Don’t borrow trouble.

  “I’m sure they’ll be right out,” Greg said, standing, suddenly looking frantic. Her cool, calm son-in-law never panicked.

  It upped her determination to see what was wrong. Because something definitely was.

  “I’m going.” Diana headed toward the kitchen. She could hear Abby speaking quietly.

  “I adore my mother, but she makes mountains out of molehills. Greg and I are a team. We keep our problems to ourselves. And you know she would take my side, as any parent would, and that isn’t fair to Greg. She might hold on to her partiality long after I’ve forgotten the argument. So you see, Josh, sometimes the best way to handle personal problems is to keep other people in the dark. Got it?”

  “Clear as a bell.”

  Diana slapped a hand over her mouth and slid a few feet along the wall outside the kitchen before she let out an audible gasp. Her first born was keeping her in the dark about something, just as Diana had suspected. And Frank had pooh-poohed the whole thing.

  Men just didn’t get it. It wasn’t called women’s intuition for nothing—and she wasn’t just a woman but a mother. Mothers saw every emotion on their children’s faces, knew every body movement.

  She’d known something was wrong with Abby. Now it’d been verified, not by rumor but by the person in question, no less. Abby and Greg were on the verge of separating. Her daughter had hidden their problems, not seeking advice from the one who loved her most in the world. Diana could’ve helped, too, she was sure of it.

  Keep other people in the dark. The words stung. She wasn’t “other people.” She was Abby’s mother.

  And what about Melissa? What was her problem—because she definitely had one, something big, too. Had she confided in Abby?

  Diana moved out of range, not wanting to hear more distressing words, not on the anniversary of the most wonderful day of her life. But she had to tell Frank what she’d learned, had to share the awful news with her own partner so that she could make it through the rest of the evening.

  At least she could count on Frank to understand.

  She hoped.

  Chapter Four

  by Christyne Butler

  Don’t think, don’t feel.

  Just keep breathing and you’ll get through this night unscathed.

  Unscathed, but with a broken heart.

  Melissa squared her shoulders, brushed the wetness from her cheeks and heaved a shuddering breath that shook her all the way to her toes.

  There. Don’t you feel calmer?

  No, she didn’t, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own.

  She’d fallen in love with Josh on their very first date and after tonight, she’d probably never see him again.

  The past two weeks had been crazy at her job. Trying to make it through what had been ten hours without her usual caffeine fix, having decided that two cups of coffee and three diet sodas a day weren’t the best thing for her, had taken its toll. She’d been moody and pissy and okay, she was big to admit it, a bit dramatic.

  Hey, she was her mother’s daughter.

  But none of that explained why the man of her dreams was going to break her heart.

  Another deep breath did little to help, but it would have to do. Between helping her sister plan tonight’s party and Josh’s strange behavior, Melissa knew she was holding herself together with the thinnest of threads.

  The scent of fresh coffee drifted through the house and Melissa groaned. Oh, how she ached for a hot cup, swimming in cream and lots of sugar.

  Pushing the thought from her head, she picked up the gift basket that held everything her parents would need for a perfect second honeymoon in Italy. There was a small alcove right next to the dining room, a perfect place to stash it until just the right moment.

  Turning, she headed for the door of her sister’s office when the matching antique photo frames on a nearby bookshelf caught her eye.

&nb
sp; The one on the right, taken just a few short years ago, was of Abby and Greg standing at the altar just after being presented to their friends and family as Mr. and Mrs. Gregory DeSena. Despite the elaborate setting, and the huge bridal party standing on either side of them, Melissa right there next to her sister, Abby and Greg only had eyes for each other. In fact, the photographer had captured the picture just as Greg had gently wiped a tear from her sister’s cheek.

  The other photograph, a bit more formal in monochrome colors of black and white, showed her mother and father on their wedding day. Her mother looked so young, so beautiful, so thin. Daddy was as handsome as ever in his tuxedo, his arm around his bride, his hand easily spanning her waist. The bridal bouquet was larger and over-the-top, typical for the early 80’s, but her mother’s dress…

  Melissa squeezed tighter to the basket, the cellophane crinkling loudly in the silent room.

  Abby had planned her wedding with the precision of an army general, right down to her chiffon, A-line silhouette gown with just enough crystal bling along the shoulder straps to give a special sparkle. Their mother looked the opposite, but just as beautiful wearing her own mother’s gown, a vintage 1960 beauty of satin, lace and tulle with a circular skirt that cried out for layers of crinoline, a square-neck bodice and sleeves that hugged her arms.

  A dress that Melissa had always seen herself wearing one day.

  The day she married Josh.

  Of course, she’d change into something short and sexy and perfect for dancing the night away after the ceremony, but—

  “Oh, what does it matter!” Melissa said aloud. “It’s not going to happen! It’s never going to happen. Josh doesn’t want to date you anymore, much less even think about getting down on one knee.”

  She exited the room and hurried down the long hall, tucking the basket just out of sight. They would have dessert, present the gift and then she would find a way to get Josh to take her home as soon as possible.

  For the last time.

  * * *

  This was all Greg’s fault.