by Mary Campisi
“That’s because we all know how much you love Italian food,” Miriam said, humor in her voice. “I’ll bet it’s gone in two days.”
Harry Blacksworth belted out a laugh. “That’s the problem. It will be gone if I’m left alone with it.” He patted his stomach and hefted a sigh. “And that would create ten pounds worth of problems.” He glanced at Anthony and said, “There’s a half tray of lasagna out there. Pop loves that stuff. How about we wrap it up and send it home with you?”
Anthony wasn’t used to people sending him home with doggie bags. Where he lived, the crowd concentrated more on presentation than substance, and the only seconds a person went after were drinks. The offer of food to take home and enjoy later was an unfamiliar gesture, and one that made Anthony uncomfortable. But he didn’t want to offend the man or his hospitality, so he nodded and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Miriam finished her drink and stood. “I think I’ll head back to the dining room. I wanted to try Greta’s antipasto.”
“Better hurry, before Pop polishes it all off.” Harry Blacksworth slid onto the chair Miriam had just vacated and said, “Says he’s developed a new fondness for antipasto prepared German style, whatever that means.”
Miriam laughed and shook her head. “With Pop you never know. I’m off to fight him over the last forkful.”
When she disappeared into the dining room, Harry Blacksworth reached for the bourbon, unscrewed the top, and poured himself a drink. “Refill?”
Anthony shook his head. He’d already created one scene; he wasn’t about to get drunk and create another. “Can I ask you a question?” He might not have another opportunity and who better to ask than the man himself?
“Shoot.” Harry Blacksworth sipped his drink and eyed Anthony.
“How did you end up here? It’s obvious you’re a city guy, so what’s your story?”
The man shrugged. “Not much of a story. My niece lives here with her family and my wife and kids fell in love with the town and the people.”
There was something in the way he hesitated and those blue eyes looked away for a half second that made Anthony wonder about the rest of the story, the parts where the gaps were. “And you don’t miss…Chicago, right?”
“Yup.”
“Chicago,” he repeated, remembering the times he’d visited, the exhilaration of mixing with the crowds and the energy of the place. “I love Chicago. There’s so much happening there, and the people. Sharp dressers.” He scanned Harry Blacksworth’s burgundy sweater and gray slacks. “And talk about great food. I’ve never seen so many premiere restaurants in a two-mile radius.” Just thinking about the place excited him. He’d loved the feel of the city, had wanted to get back there, maybe take Lucy on a shopping trip. His excitement flopped on his head as he pictured his daughter in a maternity shirt. That hadn’t exactly been the type of shopping he’d been thinking about. Anthony ran a hand over his face, pushed thoughts of his daughter’s pregnant belly from his brain, and said in a low voice, “You really don’t miss it?”
The man opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, and blurted out, “Some days I wonder what the hell I’m doing in a place that doesn’t have valet parking or a private country club.” His expression softened, matched his words. “And then I look at my wife and kids and I think about the open space, the trees, the grass, the people. It’s good for them.” He paused. “It’s good for me. Keeps me grounded and doesn’t let me get too full of myself. It’s the little things I look forward to, like the weekly breakfasts with your dad at Lina’s Café, the tormenting I get from my niece’s husband because the only screwdriver I know is a drink, and spending time with my family.”
“Sounds very…suburban.” Who was this guy kidding? He had to miss the city, especially a place like Chicago. Harry Blacksworth looked like a high-rolling playboy, albeit a reformed one, and that kind never completely settled down.
Harry threw back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the countertop. “You mean boring, right?” He eyed Anthony a second too long, forcing him to look away. “I’ve heard it all before. You’re just putting up a front, you’ll show your true colors soon enough, you’ll never stay in that town. You know what the odd thing is? I don’t hear that from people in this town. No, that sort of trash talk comes from my old golf partners and business associates, the ones living their miserable lives with their wives and mistresses. They’re so damn afraid to make a move that might upset their portfolio and standard of living, they’d rather be miserable than take a chance at finding a way to be happy.”
“Happy is a relative term.” He’d thought he was happy for a lot of years, until he realized he wasn’t.
“Right. And unhappy is the result of lying to yourself. At some point, we all have to look in the mirror and it can be an ugly face looking back.” He blew out a breath and continued, “That’s when choice comes in. Change what you see, or pretend you don’t see it.” Harry pointed at Anthony and said, “It’s the pretending that will take you down faster than a bottle of bourbon, and then you’ve got nothing, maybe not even your life.”
What was he talking about? A piece of Anthony knew exactly what Harry Blacksworth meant because he’d felt this same way once or twice in his life and it had scared the hell out of him. He pushed the feelings away with the same force and denial he had before. “So, I shouldn’t pretend to like this town or want to be here a second longer than necessary?” See what the playboy turned philosopher had to say to that. What he had to say was…nothing. Anthony cleared his throat, waited for a response that didn’t come, and decided on another angle. “Well? No comment?”
Harry shrugged, eyed his empty glass, then shifted his gaze to Anthony. Damn, but the knowing look in those eyes said more than a dictionary could. “You sound a lot like I used to back in the day, when I was running after every skirt and running from myself. It’s a miserable existence. Here you are with loads of money, suits, cars, vacations, women, all those things that you think you need to find real peace and satisfaction. Only, guess what? The more you take, the more you fall into hell until you don’t know how to climb out.” He poured another drink, refilled Anthony’s. “So, you drink more, screw more, lie more…one big, vicious, friggin’ cycle. And then something or maybe someone comes along and forces you to think about the messed-up existence you call living. For me, it was my niece, and later, my wife. For you, I’m going to say it’s your pregnant daughter.”
Anthony gulped his drink, coughed, and sputtered. Harry Blacksworth had a lot of practice with his liquor because he’d taken an even bigger drink and acted like it was water. The man laughed, set his glass down, and pointed to it. “Takes practice.”
“I am not going to look at my pregnant daughter like she’s my salvation. There’s not a damn thing wrong with me; it’s everybody else, starting with my father’s refusal to admit he’s old and needs help.”
The laugh that followed that statement was belly deep and turned Blacksworth’s face redder than the spaghetti sauce they’d eaten earlier. “Your old man is sharper than that whole room out there.” He paused, added, “With the exception of Lily, who sees things the rest of us don’t.”
“Lily? The girl with—”
“Hey, hey, don’t you dare label her, or I’m going to have to land my best right hook.”
The man was serious. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure she’s a nice girl, it’s just that...” Why did he have to explain it? Couldn’t Blacksworth see for himself that the girl had Down syndrome?
“Just what?”
So he wanted him to say it? And then what, land a punch that sent Anthony sprawling? There was more than one way to say something without actually saying it. “She’s not like everybody else.” Read between the lines.
Harry Blacksworth’s eyes narrowed, his mouth flattened. “No, she’s not. She’s a helluva lot better. Lily brings out the best in all of us, makes us see ordinary things in a different way. She makes u
s want to be better because she thinks we’re better than we are.” The left side of his jaw twitched and he clenched a fist so hard, Anthony wondered if the man planned to lunge at him. “And there’s too many damn fools out there who can’t see past a face or a label.”
Okay, Anthony did not want to get into a discussion about a child and her abilities or disabilities. He wanted to talk about his father. “I didn’t mean to offend anybody; I’m just taking a look from the outside and telling you what I see.”
“Right, and I’m telling you what you’re seeing isn’t there.”
Anthony sipped his bourbon, considered his next tactic. “This isn’t about Lily Desantro; it’s about my father. He thinks he can still live on his own, eat those damnable pizzelles for dinner, take off for walks without anybody knowing—” his breath came in quick forced gasps “—do whatever he wants to do like he’s thirty-five, not seventy-five.”
“And that’s a problem? Other than the pizzelles for dinner…”
“Hell, yes, it’s a problem. He’s seventy-five!”
Harry Blacksworth shook his head. “Tony, Tony, why so rigid? Pop might have been walking this earth for over seventy years, but he’s younger in heart and spirit than either of us.”
That was not the point. “He’s going to start failing and who’s going to help him? What if he falls again? Or really does get confused? Someone needs to keep an eye on him. And do you know he talks to my mother every day? She died almost three years ago.”
“Pop says your mother lives in his heart. Can’t argue with a man who tells you that.”
“But he talks to her like she’s sitting next to him.”
“Yup. Ever try it?” Harry Blacksworth cocked his head to the side, studied Anthony a second too long. “You should. Very peaceful, kind of gives you that ‘other world’ feel.”
“This whole town is nuts,” Anthony muttered. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“You might be waiting a little longer than planned.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pinned him with a blue-eyed stare. “There’s a storm coming and it’s a big one.”
Chapter 5
Snow and wind swept over the mountains into Magdalena, blanketing the hills in white, creating three-foot drifts that made it difficult to navigate roads leading in or out of town without a four-wheel drive. Even then, if a person were unfamiliar with the area, he’d do better to stay home and stay warm lest he risk ending up in a ditch on the side of the road.
Nate had grown up in this town and had barreled his way down more than one snow-packed road. If he waited for the snow to melt or settle, he might be waiting until spring, and he was not a patient man. He was, however, a man who trusted his own abilities, and driving in inclement conditions such as snow was an area where he excelled. This was why he’d been delegated to pick up Ben and Gina Reed and drive them to Cash and Tess’s with Christine, where they’d enjoy a batch of Cash’s signature chili along with Jeremy Dean’s homemade sourdough bread and finish up with Nate’s double fudge brownies. Of course, this was supposed to be a working dinner, as in planning the upcoming Christmas gift deliveries to the needy on behalf of The Bleeding Hearts Society and an anonymous donor, who they all guessed was Harry Blacksworth. When Nate learned of the very generous gift donations ranging from electronics to clothes, to toys, bedding, bicycles, housewares, even pet supplies, he pegged the donor as Harry.
People confronted Harry, some in a bold manner, others with sly comments and insinuations, but no matter the person, the method, or the number of inquiries, they got nothing from Harry Blacksworth other than a shrug and an “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Nate, Cash, and Ben planned to deliver the gifts to the names on Mimi Pendergrass’s list, beginning three days before Christmas. The Bleeding Hearts Society had begun the wrapping process, but there were so many extra gifts with the anonymous giver’s donation that Christine, Tess, and Gina decided to help out and organize their own wrapping party at Tess’s house. And that’s where they were now, eating chili, sampling Jeremy Dean’s sourdough bread, and already thinking about Nate’s double fudge brownies.
“So, what’s the deal on Pop’s son?” Cash tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it in his chili. “He sounds like a jerk.”
“Or a real city boy,” Ben said, sliding a glance at Nate. “You know the kind: pain in the ass, know-it-all, arrogant.”
Nate eyed him from across the table, lifted his beer bottle, and took a swig. “Yeah, he’s got a name, too.” He paused, his lips working into a faint smile. “Ben Reed.”
Cash slapped his knee and laughed. “Oh, that’s classic.”
Gina smiled at her husband, who pretended irritation. “He does have a point, Ben.” She gentled her voice in a way Nate wouldn’t have thought possible six months ago. “You did have a bit of an air about you.”
“Yeah, hot air,” Cash added, breaking into another round of laughter.
Tess and Christine hid their smiles and Nate shook his head. Who would have thought he’d end up actually liking Ben Reed enough to call him a friend? Not Nate, that was for damn sure, but once the guy admitted he loved Gina, everything changed. He became a real human being with a sense of humor, and Nate wouldn’t forget how he helped Jeremy Ross Dean get out of police work or the way he confided in Mimi Pendergrass like she was a relative. Mimi needed that, and Ben had needed it, too. Christine said one of the biggest miracles was the transformation of Gina Servetti into Gina Reed, a woman of confidence, beauty, compassion, and the ability to forgive her parents for doing her wrong. That didn’t mean she invited them for Sunday dinner, but the forgiveness part was a start. Nate heard all of this from Christine, who heard bits and pieces of it from Gina, Tess, even Bree, though Bree Kinkaid hadn’t been around much because she’d been too busy learning her father’s business. That was another story and another hornet’s nest just waiting for a swat.
The man spreading the information like fertilizer on his tomato plants was Pop Benito, Godfather and Matchmaker of Magdalena as well as Grand Gossiper of the town. He knew more than anybody and what he didn’t know, he surmised, or made up his mind to find out. But now Pop was the one who needed help and it was up to the town to see he got it.
Even if it meant finding a way to boot his only son out of town.
“I think Anthony’s in a difficult situation.” Christine glanced around the table and shrugged. “Coming here and knowing nothing about Lucy. I can’t imagine the shock.”
“And then demanding Pop and Lucy go back to California with him.” Gina shook her head and sighed. “I’ll bet that conversation went from bad to worse before he finished his sentence.”
“If the guy cares so much, why is this the first time he’s been back—” Cash paused, rubbed his jaw “—in how long?”
“A long time,” Nate said. He was the only one who really knew the timeline of Anthony Benito’s coming and goings to and from Magdalena. Christine and Ben weren’t from here, Gina had been at school, and Tess and Cash…well, they’d suffered their own brand of misery that took them from town.
“I feel kind of sorry for him,” Tess said, her voice soft, low. “He’s obviously unhappy and his family situation is messed up with a divorce and a pregnant daughter, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care and isn’t worried about Lucy and Pop.”
“Maybe.” Cash slathered butter onto a piece of Jeremy Dean’s sourdough bread and said, “But that doesn’t mean he has the right to make demands. It’s like charging into battle when you don’t know where the battle is or who’s on your side.”
“So what’s the plan?” Ben asked. “Or should I say, is there a plan?”
“I think that depends on Pop and Lucy.” Christine cleared her throat and said, “If Pop wants to stay, there are enough of us in this town to keep an eye on him. Uncle Harry has even volunteered to check on him every day.” She paused, added, “If he needs help.”
“And we’ve got Lucy covered, too,�
�� Tess said. “I’ll take her to her doctor visits and maybe when the time comes, even be her coach in the labor room.”
“Tess.” Cash clasped her hand, his expression fierce. “I don’t think the labor room is a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked in a too-bright voice. “She’s going to need someone.”
He shook his head, touched her cheek. “We’ll talk about it, okay?”
Nate looked away, not wanting to witness the sadness on their faces: Tess because she couldn’t get pregnant, and Cash because he couldn’t protect her from that pain. They were good people, they’d make great parents, and yet they hadn’t been able to get pregnant. How long did they wait before they tried adoption or fostering? It wasn’t a conversation men had with their buddies. That’s what women did: talked about temperature charts and periods and pregnancies. Why did Tess torment herself by volunteering to take Lucy for her prenatal visits? And the part about becoming a labor room coach? What the hell had prompted that? It would be disastrous on so many levels; Cash must have seen it and that’s why he’d intervened. What a damn sad place this world could be.
Christine touched his shirtsleeve and when he met her gaze, she moved her head the slightest bit. He knew what that meant. They’d talked about telling everyone the news tonight, but Nate didn’t need a degree in psychology or his wife’s head shake to know this wasn’t the time to add one more pregnancy revelation to Cash and Tess’s sadness. There would be time enough when things settled down with Pop and Lucy. He squeezed his wife’s hand, let her know he understood. Somewhere between the first time he saw Christine, when his heart had been so filled with hatred and resentment, to now, when they were pregnant with their second child, he’d become more human and aware of other people’s feelings. That’s what loving Christine had done for him and he thanked God for that.
***
Ramona Casherdon was on a mission and in order to accomplish it, she had to get Lucy Benito out of earshot and eyeball range of Miriam Desantro. What Ramona had to say was private and required a one-on-one conversation with no outside interruptions. That would never happen if Miriam Desantro were on the other side of Harry Blacksworth’s kitchen counter, dissecting gestures, tone of voice, and other nuances that might help her interpret the conversation. Ramona couldn’t label her a nosy woman because she wasn’t. Strong-minded? Champion of the underdog? Willing to take up a fight for what she believed was right? Yes to all of the aforementioned, and Ramona could not afford an intrusion when she had important matters to discuss with Lucy Benito, so important as to offer the girl a private pumpkin roll making lesson at her house.
