False Start

by Barbara Valentin

  After learning what he could about Mattie's condition from the police, Nick's first instinct was to call her sister. Claudia invited him to join her at the hospital. He agreed, but on one condition.

  "Don't tell her I'm coming."

  Claudia agreed and told him to text her when he arrived.

  Hopping into the back of a nearby cab, Nick shot out, "Chicago General."

  Having convinced himself for so long that should Eddie ever re-emerge, Mattie would run to him with open arms, he spent the entire ride to the hospital trying to take in what had just happened.

  Twenty minutes later he stood in the emergency room full of energy, his mind clearer than it had been in months.

  "Hey, Nick."

  As Claudia approached, he saw that her eyes were damp and bloodshot, and she looked like she had a bad case of bed head. He could only imagine what kind of condition Mattie must be in.

  Alarmed, he gave her a quick hug and asked, "Is she all right?"

  Dabbing her nose with a tissue, Claudia declared, "She'll be all right, thank God." Her eyes welling up, she continued with a wobbly voice, "If the police hadn't gotten there when they did, I hate to think what would've happened."

  Nick clenched his jaw. The thought of his brother laying a hand on Mattie made his blood boil. He took a deep breath and said with a tight voice, "Well, thank goodness they did, right?"

  Claudia nodded. "They just gave her a painkiller, and she went out like a light. I can take her home as soon as she wakes up."

  He led her to a couch and sat down next to her. "So what happened?"

  Claudia shared as much as she knew. "I had no idea she was working with the FBI to capture him."

  In a low voice, Nick reasoned, "I'm sure she didn't want to worry you."

  Her eyes welling up, she laughed and said, "Well so much for that plan."

  Nick looked longingly toward the room in which Mattie was sleeping. "Mind if I check on her?"

  Claudia gave him a warm smile. "Not at all. She was calling for you before she fell asleep."

  Standing in the doorway of the dimly lit room, he could see that she was partially turned on her side, facing the door. Her left hand was encased in a soft cast that protruded out from under the thin blanket.

  He went in and sat on the edge of her bed and brushed away the long curls that had fallen across her face. His heart beat wildly in his chest like it knew it had just located its true owner. A lump formed in his throat. He took her unbandaged hand in his and kissed it.

  Mattie's eyes fluttered open. When she whispered his name, a warm wave rushed over him. He cupped her cheek with his hand and said in a rough whisper, "Hey, slugger."

  He felt his own eyes well up as he watched a sleepy smile creep over her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and sighed, "Love you."

  Nick drew in a sharp breath and clutched her hand against his chest.

  After a long minute, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Get some rest, beautiful."

  Stepping into the sterile, brightly lit waiting room, Nick resumed his seat on the couch next to Claudia but turned so he was facing her.

  "Listen, Claudia. Since you're the closest thing Mattie has to a parent, there's something I have to ask."

  It was close to midnight. Mattie's sister yawned and then sat up a little straighter. "Sure. What?"

  He lifted his chin and looked her straight in the eye. "Do I have your permission to marry your sister? If she'll have me, that is."

  Raised by old world, old school parents, Nick wanted to do this right.

  Claudia blinked and let out a laugh. "Really? Oh my gosh, yes. Of course." When tears started down her cheeks again, she sniffed, "I'm sorry. It's been a long night."

  Nick leapt up and grabbed a box of tissues from a table across the room. Once she had calmed down, he filled her in on his plans.

  Much to his relief, she was all in.

  * * *

  Two days later Claudia sat hunched over Mattie's laptop, pecking at the keyboard with her two index fingers.

  "Slow down. You're talking faster than I can type."

  Mattie rested her head on the back of Claudia's couch. "Sorry. Just read me that last bit again."

  "DeRosa, charged with multiple counts of embezzlement, money laundering, home invasion, and sexual assault was taken to the Dirksen Federal Building where he awaits sentencing."

  "OK. That's good. Can you email it to Lester, please? His address is in my contact list."

  "Sure thing."

  "Thanks, Claud. You're the best."

  Her sister laughed. "Tell that to your nephews. Hey listen, I'm gonna swing by your place to pick up some more clothes for you and make sure there's nothing rotting in your fridge. You sure you're gonna be OK?"

  After nodding her head up and down, Mattie closed her eyes and let the painkillers do their thing. Claudia kissed her on the head, checked on Tom and the kids, and headed out the door.

  * * *

  The co-conspirators agreed to meet in front of Mattie's apartment. By the time Nick made it to her leafy, well-appointed block, he spotted Claudia sitting on the front porch steps under the shade of a half-green, half-gold sycamore tree.

  "Hey, future brother-in-law," she called out, grinning and waving.

  Nick grimaced. "Don't jinx it. How's she doing?"

  Claudia shrugged. "Pretty sore, but she'll be fine. The doctor said she'll still be able to run the marathon."

  "Thought so. Listen, I've got just about everything in place. You sure she doesn't suspect anything?"

  "Not a clue. She told me she dreamed that you came to visit her in the hospital."

  Nick let out a hearty laugh. "Are you serious? Even after I carried her from the car to your couch and practically tucked her in?"

  Claudia scrunched her face and shook her head. "Pain killers. Gotta love 'em. She didn't wake up until eleven the next morning."

  As they started up the stairs to Mattie's apartment, she couldn't help but turn and squeal, "I can't wait to see the expression on her face. Oh, and here's the ring. They had to cut it from her finger."

  Nick examined it, before shoving it in the front pocket of his jeans. His Uncle Vito knew a guy down on Jeweler's Row who owed him a favor. He just hoped he'd be able to get it back in time.

  Claudia unlocked the door and made a beeline for the kitchen. Peeking into the two bags of groceries Mattie had brought home two nights before for anything perishable, she pulled out a ripe bunch of bananas, a mushy bag of previously frozen broccoli, and a package of room temperature chicken breast.

  "Ewww." Tossing the last two items into the garbage, she turned and opened the refrigerator. "Did you want to take the yogurt and milk? If not, I'm just gonna dump it."

  Nick stood in Mattie's living room, looking around. "Yeah, I'll take it."

  "OK, I'm going to grab some stuff from her bathroom."

  Following her down the hall, he stepped into Mattie's bedroom. His eyes fell on her bed. Covered with a patchwork quilt, she had four pillows stacked in a heap against the brass spindle headboard.

  It looked so Mattie. Comfy and cozy. Rather like how he had come to feel whenever she was around. A pang from deep within tugged at him. It didn't feel right being there without her.

  While Claudia pulled pajamas, underwear, shorts, and tops from Mattie's drawers and put them in an overnight bag, Nick walked over to her nightstand and picked up a framed eight-by-ten photo. He remembered exactly when Charlie took it—at the 5k start line. He stared at it, remembering the feel of her face in his hands.

  "Nick, I think I found it."

  He set the photo down and looked up.

  Claudia had pulled Mattie's red sweater dress with a nickel-size hole on the front of it out of the closet.

  "Yep, that's the one." He found himself smiling at the memory of their fateful collision. "My mom said she can fix that."

  Examining it, Claudia observed, "She might have to take it in for her, too."


  Watching as she continued to rifle through the items hanging from the rod, his eyes landed on large rumpled shopping bag tucked in the corner up on the shelf.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he tugged it down.

  Looking at the lacy, beaded jumble of white satin bunched inside of it, he sighed, "Thought so."

  Claudia looked up at him. "Think your Mom can fix that, too? It's a gorgeous gown."

  "Oh, I remember, but let's leave it here. Really don't want to jinx anything."

  After he shoved it back into place, he said, "I'm good. Let me run the garbage out back, and we can go."

  Like a couple of well-intentioned thieves, they locked up behind them and left with their loot.

  * * *

  A week later, Mattie was back in the office trying to type her last Plate Spinner column with the fingers on her right hand.

  "You sure you wouldn't rather dictate that to someone, sweetie?" Dianne asked.

  "No, not for this one. It's personal," Mattie winked. "Thanks, though."

  "Suit yourself. I absolutely love the pictures you're running with it. Wherever did you get the one of you and Nick when you were kids?"

  Mattie pulled up the picture on her screen. "My aunt had it. I don't remember her taking it at all."

  Dianne laughed, "Well, no wonder. You don't look at all pleased to be standing next to him. You probably blocked it out of your memory."

  Her mother had taken the picture on the night of their parish's fifth grade Christmas pageant. While Mattie, dressed in a white flannel angel costume, posed for the camera, Nick had snuck into the shot, put his arm around her, and plastered a big devilish grin on his face.

  "Adorable," Dianne assessed. "Absolutely adorable."

  * * *

  Two days before the marathon, John was sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Park Community Center reading the Gazette, when Nick walked up and asked, "Hey, shouldn't you be at work?"

  John stood and shook his hand. "Just got off. How you doin'? Ready for the big day?"

  "Absolutely. You sure everything's in place?"

  "Are you kidding me? We'll be like a well-oiled machine. Besides, how many runners will there be with casts on their left hands?"

  Nick pursed his lips together. "You do realize there will be over thirty-five thousand runners on the course?"

  "Between our guys and your Knollwood team, we'll have eyes everywhere. You've got nothing to worry about. Especially after this." He held up the paper.

  Nick took it from him. "What?"

  "Read it for yourself."

  Dear Plate Spinners, With the Chicago Marathon fast approaching, I wanted to take this opportunity to congratulate all of you who have trained with me, cheered me on, and provided me with immeasurable inspiration. I'm truly touched. I'm so proud of each and every one of you who were courageous enough to follow along, smart enough to know that you have to love yourself before you can love anybody else, and loyal enough to stick with me even when I faltered. We've radically changed our lifestyles, pushed ourselves to the limit, and found out that we're made of stronger stuff than we realized. I know when I stand at the marathon starting gate, I'll be thinking about how far I've come, what I lost, and what I found. But most of all, I'll find strength in knowing that I didn't have to travel this road alone. To that end, I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to my coach, Nick DeRosa. Believe it or not, I used to blame him for ruining my life. Now, however, I know that he actually saved it, in more ways than one, and I will be forever grateful.

  Right next to the column were two pictures of Nick with Mattie. The first was the one in which he photo-bombed her in the fifth grade. The second was of one Charlie had taken of the two of them before the half marathon.

  As he stared at them, John said, "If that's not proof that you two belong together, I don't know what is."

  Nick took a deep breath, handed the paper back to him and asked, "Mind if we run through the plan one more time?"

  * * *

  Late for dinner with the Plate Spinner's Carb-Loading Recipe Contest winner, Mattie played her broken fingers card to hail a cab during rush hour on a Friday night on Michigan Avenue. Within seconds, one zipped to the curb in front of her.

  "Delaware and Rush, please."

  Between prepping for the marathon and pondering her post-marathon career plans, she didn't check to see who had won the contest. She only knew that Dianne had made the reservation under "The Plate Spinner."

  "Can you please step on it? I've got to get there by six."

  "Doin' the best I can, lady," the cab driver droned.

  Pulling a small notebook out of her purse, she called the assistant food editor.

  "Nancy? What can you tell me about the contest winners?"

  The cab driver looked at her in his rear view mirror when she raised her voice and said, "I know. I've been a little busy. Can you tell me who won and what their recipes were, please?"

  Holding her phone in the crux of her neck, she started scribbling with her right hand while repeating everything Nancy told her.

  "Third place. John L., a single dad from Sycamore for his bowtie pasta with prosciutto dish named, 'Hipster Ham.' Seriously? OK, who's next? Second place. Kelly F. from Evanston for 'Pesto Poultry.' Nice. And who am I having dinner with? From Chicago…"

  The connection went dead.

  "Nancy?"

  Mattie growled at her phone and was in the middle of dialing her back when the cab driver announced. "We're here, lady."

  Right on time.

  After paying the cab driver, she walked through the door a valet held open for her. Dark and intimate with candles on the red-linen topped tables, the interior had a classy, Old World feel to it. Dean Martin crooned in the background.

  "Can I help you?" A dark-haired hostess-slash-supermodel asked.

  "I have a reservation," Mattie announced.

  "The name?"

  "The Plate Spinner."

  "Oh," she smiled. "Your guest has already arrived. Right this way."

  She guided Mattie toward the back of the bustling dining area. As they approached the table, she spotted a petite, fully accessorized woman at a table for two. She had her head bent down as she glanced at a menu, but Mattie could see that her hair was short and dark, peppered with lots of trendy highlights. She wore a tasteful black and gold print blouse and looked to be in her late fifties, early sixties.

  Oh, dear God.

  Mattie stopped when she reached the table.

  Through a forced smile, she managed, "Mrs. DeRosa. How nice to see you again. Congratulations on winning the contest."

  Not sure what else to do, she held out her right hand.

  The woman accepted it and replied, "Have a seat."

  Before Mattie had a chance to drop into a chair, a waiter appeared at her side.

  "I am Aldo," he announced with a thick accent and a great deal of flourish. "Would you like a cocktail?"

  She looked at Lucy. "What would you like?"

  "Already ordered."

  Acutely aware of the delicate nature of their imminent exchange, Mattie responded, "I'll have whatever she's having."

  After holding her seat out for her and trapping her snuggly under the table, Aldo dashed off and left her alone with her guest.

  This is going to be one long night.

  Pressing her lips together, Mattie tried smiling and said, "Talk about a small world."

  Lucy pulled her attention away from the menu in front of her and looked at her over her reading glasses.

  "How's your hand?"

  Mattie looked at her cast. "Oh, it's healing."

  "No permanent damage?"

  "No. I'll probably have some stiffness for a while, but"

  Lucy cut her off. "Glad to hear it."

  Mattie narrowed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, trying to discern if the woman sitting across the table loathed her or loved her. She suspected the former.

  "Here we are ladies."

  Aldo swooped to
the table with two ridiculously large wine glasses filled only a fraction of the way.

  Mattie breathed a sigh of relief. Wine, she could handle. Hard liquor, not so much.

  Lucy took one look at hers and said, "I'll take mine in a Manhattan glass."

  He looked at Mattie.

  "Ditto?"

  Hesitating, Aldo did a quick bow and said, "Yes, of course."

  Again, they were alone.

  Mattie took a deep breath and made another attempt to break the ice.

  "So, tell me about your recipe. Is it an old family favorite?"

  Lucy closed her menu and leaned forward with her hands clenched on the table before her.

  "So, tell me—are you in love with my son or not?"

  Ice broken.

  "Excuse me?"

  Lucy cocked an eyebrow at her. "You heard me."

  Mattie nodded. "Nick. I'm in love with Nick."

  She felt her eyes water, but it felt good to say it out loud. It had a liberating affect, even though she had no idea what his mother's reaction would be.

  She braced herself, but there was no need.

  Aldo returned to their table and deposited two Manhattan glasses filled with chilled Pinot Grigio.

  Lucy pulled on his arm before he could get away and, into his frightened face, demanded, "Bring us a bottle."

  Addressing Mattie, she said, "So, you want to know about my recipe?"

  Mattie nodded.

  "Well, technically, it's not mine. It's my mother-in-law's. She gave it to me as a wedding present when Lorenzo and I got married, but the recipe itself is very old, passed down from generation to generation."

  What followed was an encapsulated version of the DeRosa family history, dating all the way back to the seventeenth century, complete with territorial land grabs and at least two other instances of sibling rivalry involving love triangles and criminal convictions.

  She listened, mesmerized, hoping Lucy didn't ask her about her own broken home and tiny family whose history, as far as Mattie knew, only went as far back as the 1950s when her mother was born.

  Two hours later, over espressos and a shared hunk of decadent tiramisu, Mattie was finally able to get a word in edgewise.