by Bella Andre
Her father was right: Pride had kept her away for too long. If her mother wasn’t ready to see her again, well, that was too bad. Because it was long past time for this nonsense between them to come to an end.
Decision made, Mary quickly moved into the room, holding her mother’s gaze all the while. But before she could take more than a couple of steps, pure joy moved across her mother’s face, and her arms lifted from the covers, wide open for her daughter.
Her emotions bubbled to the surface, and Mary felt incredible release as she ran into the room and put her arms around her mother. Despite her not being well, her mother pulled her even closer. Sitting on the bed together, Mary breathed in the familiar smell of her perfume and felt how strong and warm her arms still were.
Her tears fell then, not just for all the years they’d lost, but because between her and her mother, Jack and her father, the small room was overflowing with love.
Mary and her mother held each other close for a long time, and when they finally drew back, Lucia framed Mary’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you, my beautiful girl.”
There was so much Mary wanted to say to her mother, and she was sure there was at least as much that her mother wanted to say to her, but for now, just being with each other again was enough.
“You’re not a girl anymore.” Mary could read her mother’s regret at losing those years just as clearly as she could see the pride in what she’d grown to become. “You are a woman now.”
Another tear slid down Mary’s cheek. Of all the things she needed to say, two stood out above all the others. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. More than you will ever know.”
Her heart so full she thought it might burst, Mary said, “Jack came home with me, to meet you and Papa. I love him, too.”
Hearing his name, Jack came closer. Mary took his left hand in hers even as he held out his right hand for her mother. “It’s very nice to meet you, Signora Ferrer.”
Mary was amazed to hear him speak Italian, however halting. Was there nothing he wouldn’t do for her?
As her mother studied Jack carefully, Mary could almost read her mind. He wasn’t Italian or one of the men from the village, but he was clearly solid…and handsome enough to make even a happily married woman’s heart beat a little faster.
But instead of taking Jack’s hand, Lucia said, “You need to promise me you will always be a good husband to my little one. That you will never hurt her. And that you will love her even when she makes mistakes.”
Mary flushed as she translated her mother’s demands. All the while, Jack never took his eyes from Lucia, and his gaze remained as serious as hers.
“I love your daughter.” He spoke in English this time and paused so that Mary could translate. “I will always put her and our family first.” Again, he paused while she translated his sweet vow in a voice that grew thicker and thicker with emotion. “And I promise you, I will never, ever hurt her.”
Finally, Lucia smiled. But instead of taking his hand, she opened her arms and hugged him as if he were already her son-in-law.
That was when her mother began to cough, a deep rattling sound that jarred Mary’s heart just as badly. “Mama, you need to rest.”
“No, I need you here with me. I need you to stay.”
It was what her mother had said thirteen years ago, but instead of feeling trapped by the words this time, Mary felt only the sweet warmth of knowing she was loved.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Brushing the hair back from her mother’s forehead, just as her mother used to do when she was sick, Mary said, “Rest now, and when you wake up I’ll have made you pastina in brodo. We’ll eat together.”
“I don’t want soup. I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you.” Her mother coughed again, this attack longer as she was obviously too exhausted to fight it. “I need to tell you everything I was too proud to say before.”
Both men had left the bedroom by then. “I love you, Mama," Mary said again. “I never stopped loving you, not for one single second. How could I?”
Mary pressed a kiss to her mother’s soft cheek. She could see the pill bottles by the side of the bed for antibiotics and cough suppressants, but while she prayed they would do the job of healing the infection inside her mother’s lungs, there was one thing she knew would likely be more powerful than any drug in inspiring her mother’s recovery.
“I need you to be healthy and happy at my wedding.”
“Your wedding!” Her mother smiled then and finally sank back into the pillow to let Mary tuck her in. Lucia’s voice was heavy with drowsiness as she said, “Yes, we’ll give you and your Jack a perfect wedding, on the day before Christmas Eve.” Mary could see the pride sparkle in her mother’s eyes as she declared, “You will be the most beautiful bride in the world.”
* * *
When Jack had seen that Mary and her mother were going to be just fine, he followed Mary’s father, Marco, out into the walled garden. Although it was barely noon, when her father handed him a glass of prosecco, Jack took it with a smile.
Her father lifted his glass. “A amore!”
Jack could easily translate—“To love”—and repeated the sentiment as he raised his glass.
It was amazing how much could be said with so few words. Jack could see, could feel, how much Mary’s father loved his daughter, and Marco could clearly see the same thing in Jack.
Mary found them sitting in a patch of winter sun, sharing a companionable drink. “Of course I should have known you’d fit right in,” she said to Jack as she walked outside and pressed a kiss first to his forehead and then to her father’s. “I’m going to walk into town to pick up a few things to make soup for Mama. I can see how much my father is enjoying having a man around the house. Stay with him, I’ll be back soon.”
Jack knew that she needed a little time alone to process everything. Not just making up with her mother and seeing her father again, but coming back to her childhood home. She’d made it over the first hurdle, but Jack knew she wasn’t done yet. Forgiveness had been freely given, thank God, but both Mary and her mother still needed to explain and understand each other’s behavior over the past thirteen years so that old wounds wouldn’t ever accidentally open up.
Taking a moment to think of everyone back in California, Jack realized that the Pocket Planner was now officially on sale. Finally, people would be using the invention that he and his partners had created. And he hoped it would be a gift found under many Christmas trees this year.
From a sunny walled winter garden in Italy, Jack Sullivan silently toasted the hope that sales were going well and that customers were pleased with the value of their new purchase. Then he turned back to Mary’s father to continue their extremely enjoyable conversation—one comprised of simple gestures and laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mary wrapped her winter coat tightly around her as she set out on foot through town. Tomorrow, she’d show Jack all of her favorite childhood haunts, but right now she appreciated the fact that he’d understood she needed to see them again for herself first.
Young children playing by the fountain stopped their game to point at her. The girls chattered excitedly about her boots, her outfit and hairstyle. The boys wondered what the big deal was. When she smiled at the girls and waved at the boys, their cheeks colored and they quickly turned back to their game.
Already she longed for little boys with Jack’s smile and focus, and little girls with her passion and determination. Love had come quickly for her and Jack. She hoped a family would, too.
Mary put a hand over her flat stomach. She and Jack hadn’t yet said their “I do’s,” but Mary had never been one to wait when there was something she wanted.
Her father, she thought with a smile, was likely getting their separate bedrooms ready right now. Well, she’d mastered the art of sneaking out of her bedroom as a girl. Tonight, she decided with a flutter of anticipation, she was going to sneak into the
bedroom on the other side of her parents’ house to seduce her fiancé.
The butcher was her first stop, and she was barely in the door when Antonio exclaimed with delight. Mary had been afraid that people would be wary of her—after all, she’d left without a backward glance thirteen years ago, and it had taken her mother’s illness for her to finally return. But with each stop she made during the next hours, she felt as if the years she’d been gone were slipping away one by one.
From the butcher to the vegetable stand to the florist and then the cheese shop, none of the proprietors would let her pay for what she needed. A half-dozen invitations came for coffee and dinner, and she was thrilled to get to hold her friends’ new babies and admire their beautiful older children, as well. By the time she turned to head back to the house, her heart was as full as the bags of food and flowers she carried.
Jack was playing scopa, a game similar to gin rummy, with her father in the living room when she returned, and her heart hitched in her chest at what a beautiful picture they made, the two men she loved most in the world.
Jack quickly put his cards down to take the bags from her and bring them into the kitchen. Once she’d taken off her coat, he took her hands in his and pulled her close.
“You look happy.”
“I am. And tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to everyone in town. I told them all about my gorgeous, brilliant American fiancé. They can’t wait to meet you.”
His mouth was warm over hers, and when he let her hands go to slip his around her waist, she slid her fingers into his soft, dark hair and pulled him even closer. She’d never kissed a boy in her parents’ kitchen before, and when she heard her father’s footsteps—made purposely louder, she was sure, because he could guess what she and her fiancé were up to—she drew back with a laugh.
“I hope your jet lag isn’t too bad,” she said to Jack in a low voice, “because I don’t know how much sleep you’re going to get tonight.”
His eyes darkened with so much desire—and the love she felt from him in every moment—that she lost her breath as he whispered, “Your room or mine?”
Ah, so she’d been right about her father setting up separate bedrooms for the unmarried couple. “Yours.”
Her father came into the room, and for the next hour Mary cooked and translated the conversation back and forth from Italian to English. Her mother had made this sickbed meal for her several times when she was a child. This was the very first time Mary had ever made it for her mother.
A short while later, when she’d set heaping plates in front of Jack and her father, Mary made up a tray with a full bowl of soup and a warm cup of tea. Her mother stirred as she walked in, as if she’d simply been lying in bed waiting for Mary to come back.
Helping Lucia sit up comfortably with a few thick pillows behind her, at her mother’s protests that she wasn’t hungry, Mary said, “You need to eat a few bites to build your strength up.”
Her mother took a small sip of the soup. “It tastes just like mine. Maybe,” Lucia said as she took another sip from her spoon, “it’s even better.”
It was amazing how such a small compliment could mean so much. “I learned from the best.”
Her mother put down her spoon. “Cara, I have much to apologize for.”
Mary was nearly bursting with the things she wanted to say to her mother and that she wanted to know—but not only had she learned unconditional love from Jack, she’d learned patience, as well.
“I do, too,” Mary said in a soft voice, “but tonight all you should be doing is eating and resting. In the morning, when you’re stronger—”
“I’m strong enough now to tell you how much I’ve missed you. How much your father has missed you. I’m strong enough now to tell you how much we both love you and that if I could rewind the clock back to that day when you were nineteen, I would do it better this time. I would do it right.”
Her mother began to cough, and Mary handed her the mug of tea. “Mama, I can’t tell you how much it means to hear you say these things, but I promise you, I know how much you love me, because I love you just as much. I don’t want you to wear yourself out. We have time to talk about all of this later, once you’re well.”
“We’ve wasted enough time,” Lucia insisted, and Mary had to smile at the stubborn expression so similar to her own. “I will talk, and you will listen.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Before I met your father, I had dreams like yours—to travel and to have people applauding for me as I sang and danced on the stage.”
Of all the things Mary had thought her mother would tell her tonight, learning that they’d shared similar dreams had not been anywhere on the list of possibilities. Lucia had always hummed as she worked in the kitchen and the garden, and Mary had found her parents waltzing together in the moonlit garden more than once as a child, but she’d never realized that performing had been her mother’s dream. Yet again, they were more alike than she’d ever realized.
“What happened? Why didn’t you follow your dreams?”
Her mother lifted her hand to Mary’s cheek. “I found a new dream. Your father was so handsome, so much more exciting than any stage had ever been, that he swept me off my feet. And then you came, exactly nine months to the day after we were married. My greatest achievement. My biggest joy. I saw those same dreams in you, watched them grow bigger with every year. Your beauty was so stunning that the other mothers would make jealous comments sometimes. Did you know, strangers passing through town would often stop on the street to take your picture?”
Mary shook her head. “No. I didn’t know.”
“You were too beautiful for the nice boys in town to have the nerve to approach you, but I saw the way the dangerous ones watched you. I was terrified that you would be swept off your feet, but not by a good man like your father. He often told me you had a good head on your shoulders, but he didn’t know what it was like to be a young girl, especially one who wanted so much, who longed for everything life could give her. All I wanted was for you to find true love and have a family that would give you as much joy as you and your father gave me. But when you came home that day to tell us you had been discovered by an agent and that he wanted you to go to New York City with him—”
“All of your fears came true.”
“With every awful word I hurled at you, it was as if I was watching myself from a distance, knowing the tighter I tried to hold on to you, the further you were going to slip away.”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said, “so sorry we both hurt each other so badly.”
Lucia gently wiped away the tears falling down Mary’s cheeks. “Go to the closet and bring me the red box on the top shelf.” The box was the size of a large hat and was quite heavy. “Look inside.”
Inside the box was a photo album her mother had put together of photos from Mary’s childhood. She smiled as she looked at the photo on the cover—herself as a chubby-cheeked baby. Her first thought was that Jack would love to see it.
“You and your Jack will have beautiful children. Smart, lively, passionate girls and boys that will fill your arms and hearts with endless joy.”
As they went through the pictures one by one, Mary watched herself grow from baby, to toddler, to school-age girl with skinned knees, to lanky teenager, to young woman. The last few pages of the photo album were empty, and her heart clenched yet again as she closed the leather-bound book.
“I never stopped collecting pictures of my baby,” her mother said as she lifted a thick divider from inside the box and revealed hundreds of glossy magazine covers and photo spreads.
Mary was beyond amazed to find a print from her very first photo shoot. “Where did you get these?”
“Your agent, Randy, mailed these to us. At first, I think it was to reassure us that you had come to no harm with him. But when your father wrote to tell him how much we appreciated it, he mailed us a new package every week.”
“I can’t believe he never told me.” Then again, if
he had, wasn’t it possible that she might have insisted he stop, simply because she’d nursed her anger and hurts for so long that she couldn’t see beyond them?
“I should have come back long before now, Mama.” Just as Jack had told her, family was what was important. Both she and her mother had done what they felt they had to do, and both of them had made the mistake of being stubborn or holding a grudge about decisions they’d made while simply being true to themselves. “I never meant to stay away this long.”
Again, her mother wiped away Mary’s tears, even though she was crying, too. “You’re home now.” Lucia suddenly smiled through her tears, as happy as Mary could ever remember seeing her. “I’ve been thinking about your wedding,” she began, and this time Mary knew better than to try to get her mother to save her breath and rest.
Lucia Ferrer had been waiting for more than a decade for this wedding, and Mary knew her excitement and joy over the celebration would heal her illness faster than any pills or hours of bed rest possibly could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The moon had fully risen in the winter sky by the time everyone in the house settled down to sleep. Mary had waited impatiently for her father to finally tire and join her mother in the master bedroom.
It had been less than a month since she’d met Jack in downtown San Francisco, but there was no question in Mary’s mind that she was utterly, completely addicted to him. She’d enjoyed her solo walk through town and the time she’d spent reconnecting with her mother, but though it had only been a matter of hours since Jack had been holding her close on the airplane and in the taxi, it felt like forever. And if she wasn’t mistaken, from the way he’d been looking at her in the living room when her father had insisted on one more round of cards, he was just as addicted to being with her.
That evening, she’d told him and her father about her conversation with her mother, about seeing the pictures her parents had collected of her over the years. Her father had teared up with the same tears of joy she’d been crying herself all day. Jack’s eyes, and his hand over hers, had been full of so much love for her that she could still hardly think what she could have done right in her life to find him.
