by Mary Campisi
“I’m not going back to school.” She paused, went on, “I mean not my old school. I’ll sign up at the community college.”
There was the faintest hint of defiance in her words, possibly in preparation for battle—with him. Anthony nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t want to fight and tear down; he wanted to rebuild.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “And I’m staying in Magdalena.”
“I know.” One word at a time.
“With Grandpa.”
“With Grandpa,” he repeated. Maybe Pop could teach them both a thing or two about relationships.
“Dad?”
“Huh?” He’d been thinking about Pop and how he owed him an apology.
“His name was Gray, short for Grayson.” Her voice dipped, pinged his heart. “I thought he loved me…but he just…he just…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He pulled her into his arms, stroked her back, and whispered, “It’s okay.”
“I should have known better,” she murmured against his chest. “I did know better, but I listened to him. When I told him I was pregnant, he said it could have been any guy, even though he knew it wasn’t.”
Bastard. Stay calm, stay calm. “So this Grayson won’t be in your life or the baby’s?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” he said. He was beginning to realize that blood didn’t make families; they were made by people who cared, and gave, and loved.
Lucy lifted her head and eased away so she could look at him. “Will you come back when the baby’s born? The doctor thinks it will be the middle of April.”
Anthony smiled at his daughter, the first real smile in months and said, “I’ll be here. You can count on it.”
Chapter 9
The power came on early Christmas morning and the story told for years after said Old Saint Nick had a lot to do with it. How else did a body explain the mountain of presents under the tree in the living room? They’d all slept in that room last night, in awful darn close quarters, and no one had heard a peep, not a single footstep or rustle of paper. But when the lights blinked on and the buzzers and dings startled them awake at 5:52 a.m., there were presents under that tree for every one of them, presents that had not been there when they fell asleep. Not just a pair of socks either, but handpicked-for-the-person gifts. Now that took a lot of thought and there were those like Nate Desantro, his mother, and Ramona Casherdon, who wouldn’t write a Christmas wish list if someone offered them the lottery. And the thing was, the gifts weren’t ones they might ask for, but if you thought about it a bit, they were a perfect fit. A custom blend of specialty meat seasonings for Nate, a pair of handcrafted earrings for Miriam and a matching bracelet designed by an artist in Philly. A royal blue shawl for Ramona, not the dang black she favored like a mourner. Pop couldn’t wait to get home and try out his brand-new pizzelle maker. When Tony opened his gift, Pop thought it might annoy him more than anything else. It was a navy and green scarf, pricey from the looks of it, but intended for snow, no doubt about that, which might be a subtle suggestion to stick around Magdalena or, at least, visit more often. Tony had made no bones about getting out of this place, but the boy didn’t look annoyed, not one bit. He stared at that scarf and then he smiled, like he was actually happy. Well, if that didn’t beat all.
Pop would let the rest of them wonder about those gifts and the giver, but he had an idea who’d been playing Old Saint Nick, yes, indeed he did. The giver had a heart as big as a Christmas turkey and a sense of style, too, and his first name was Harry.
It was early afternoon by the time they all made it out of the Blacksworths’ home, bellies full, hearts content. Tony had a flight out tomorrow, though he hadn’t mentioned a word about Pop or Lucy staying behind. That would come soon enough and if it didn’t, Pop would have to bring it up. The boy had never liked defeat or disappointment, especially when they were attached to family. Maybe that’s why he’d avoided coming home for so many years; didn’t have to look in the mirror and see how far he’d strayed. Who knew what was in Tony’s head? Pop had caught him talking to Lucy this morning, even laughing a time or two, and dang if he didn’t place a hand on his daughter’s belly. Now that said something, but Pop wasn’t sure what or how much. But he’d find out before his son hopped on that plane tomorrow, oh, yes, indeed he would.
“Hey, Dad, got a minute?”
Pop looked up from his new pizzelle maker. He had a hankering to make a batch and he’d see if Lucy wanted to help him. A body never could get too much practice in the art of pizzelle making. But the look on Tony’s face said he had something on his mind and he had to get it off before it burrowed a hole straight through. “Sure. Have a seat.” Tony plunked down in the chair next to Pop, facing the portrait of Lucinda Benito. Nothing came out of his mouth, though, not a whisper and that’s when Pop knew his son needed an intervention. “Just spit it out, Tony. No need to play fancy with me. I’m guessing you’re going to give it one more go and work on convincing me to get on that plane with you tomorrow. Lucy, too. Never mind the cost or the inconvenience, or the plain fact that we don’t want to go—”
“I want you and Lucy to stay here.”
Pop scratched his jaw, leaned toward his son. “Did I hear you right? You want me and Lucy to stay in Magdalena?”
Tony dragged his gaze to Pop’s. “It’s where you belong, I see that now. These people care about you and they care about Lucy, too.” He shrugged, his dark eyes bright. “I can’t compete with that.” His voice dipped, turned sad. “I wouldn’t even know how.”
Pop patted his son’s hand. “This ain’t no competition, Tony. You’re my son, my number one, and don’t forget that. I don’t want to go to California because this is my home; it’s where I’ve lived most of my life, and it’s where I want to take my last breath. Doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make it wrong. Lucy will find that out soon enough. She’s got a baby on the way, no husband, no education, and no job. So, for now, we’ll try to guide her along as best we can, make her feel safe, and help her out, but she’s got to grow up. She’ll learn that fast once the baby comes.”
“I wish I’d been a better parent.”
“We all wish we’d been better parents, but we do the best we can and when we make a mistake, we own up to it, and try again.”
Tony’s expression relaxed. “I talked to Lucy last night. It felt good.”
Pop smiled and nodded. “That’s a start.”
“You don’t think it’s too late for us?” The worry crept back into his voice, slithered across his words.
“It’s only too late when you close your eyes for the last time. The girl loves you, Tony.” He paused, zeroed in on his son’s face, and said, “I love you, too.”
Tony cleared his throat twice and said, “I love you, too, Dad. I’m coming back when the baby’s born, and maybe one time before that.”
“So, you’re gonna take the grandpa duties seriously, huh?”
“I think I better work on the father duties first. Maybe you could give me a crash course?”
Pop slid a quick glance at the portrait of his wife and could have sworn her eyes twinkled. He’s finally come back to us, Lucy. All these years and our boy has come home to his roots. “If you’re ready to learn, I’m ready to teach. Lesson number one is what I call ‘The art of making the perfect pizzelle.’ Master this and you’ll have mastered patience, charity, perseverance, and above all, love.”
***
Anthony pulled out of his father’s driveway the next morning, the small box of pizzelles they’d made yesterday resting on the front seat. He’d dreaded coming to Magdalena and now that it was time to leave, he wasn’t ready, not after he’d just begun a relationship with the two most important people in his world—his father and his daughter. When he mentioned he wouldn’t mind staying on a few more weeks, Pop told him to get on that plane back to California and think about what he wanted, and then figure out how to get it. His father even gave him the ta
lk about how the really valuable gifts in life couldn’t be bought, and this time, Anthony understood. He did have a lot to think about and right now he had no idea what direction to take, but with enough time and what Pop called “searching his gut and his soul,” he might just figure it out.
Fresh snow had fallen last night, prompting Anthony to allow extra time for the airport trip. But the snow wasn’t the only reason for his early departure. He had one last stop to make before he left town. Twenty-eight years was a long time to hold something inside, but he owed Ramona that much. When she opened the door, he was twenty-five again, taken in by the beauty and mystery of the woman.
“Hello, Tony.”
The huskiness in her voice pulled him in, made him stumble over his words. “I…do you have a minute?” She opened the door and he brushed past her, the faint smell of powdered sugar filling him. “I’m on my way to the airport but I wanted to stop here first.”
Her dark eyes narrowed on him. “Another good-bye?”
“Yes.” He shook his head. “No. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”
A spark of emotion flickered across her face, then disappeared. “And what does that have to do with me?” She crossed her arms over her middle like a shield.
“Nothing.” Pause. “Unless you want it to. I have totally screwed up my life. Married the wrong person, spent years chasing the wrong things, attached value to nothing.” He cleared his throat, continued. “I don’t want to be that person anymore. I haven’t liked him in a long time. I’ve got a lot to fix, and I’m working on making things better with my dad and my daughter.” He moved toward her, clasped her shoulders. “I have never loved anyone the way I loved you.” His voice shifted, grew hoarse. “The way I still love you.” There. He’d said it.
She didn’t look impressed or moved to make a similar confession. Instead, her dark brows pinched together and her lips pulled into a straight line. What had he expected from her? A profession of love and forgiveness? Anthony pushed past his disappointment and continued. “I am so very sorry for the pain I caused you, and I will spend the rest of my life regretting my actions and my foolishness.” Ramona stared at him, eyes bright, mouth clamped shut, and Anthony saw the truth. It was too late; it had been too late the second he gave up on them twenty-eight years ago. He released her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Ramona. Be well.”
He made it to the front door.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Tony.”
He turned to see the pain and anguish on her face, maybe even a bit of fear. His heart swelled with equal amounts of sadness and hope. “Only what you can give, but not until I’ve earned it.” He stayed near the door, his hand on the knob. “I’ve got a long way to go to earn your trust, I know that.”
She swiped at her face, impatience coating her next words. “But why, Tony? I’m not that same woman I was all those years ago. I’m old and frayed at the edges, and I’m surprised you can’t see that.”
“I don’t see that, not at all.” He moved toward her, stopped when he was a foot away, and touched the gold hoop in her left ear. “I see the woman I love, the one I’m hoping will give me a second chance.”
“But Tony—”
He placed a finger against her lips. “Let me show you, not with fancy words like I once did, but with actions that speak of commitment and love. I’ve got some things to sort out, but I’m coming back to Magdalena, maybe to stay or just visit.” He traced her jaw. “Or maybe I’ll keep a place here and travel, and maybe you’ll come with me.”
The brilliance of her smile pulled him in, held him, and then she said, “Maybe I will.”
The End
Many thanks for choosing to spend your time reading A Family Affair: Christmas. I’m truly grateful. If you enjoyed it, please consider writing a review on the site where you purchased it. (Short ones are fine and equally welcome.)
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Bonus Material:
I love creating secondary characters—they can be so complicated and yet so very intriguing. I’ve often wondered how they’d react if they were given the opportunity for their own story.
Well, the opportunity has arrived!
I plan to introduce people from That Second Chance Series to A Family Affair’s Magdalena, New York, starting with Simple Riches’ “Bad Boy,” Michael Androvich and “Good Girl,” Elise Pentani. They’ll both appear in A Family Affair: Winter, which is not going to make them one bit happy, seeing as they’d rather live in different universes than spend another minute in the same town. I guess that’s what happens when a person gets left at the altar... (Not saying which one, but it’s going to be brutal and humiliating.) I can’t wait for the residents of Magdalena to meet these two and see if they can help heal two broken hearts. With Lily’s curiosity and Pop’s matchmaking endeavors, it will be quite interesting...
Note: The following characters from That Second Chance Series will appear in future A Family Affair books, though not necessarily in the order listed:
Grant Richot (Pulling Home, That Second Chance Series, Book One)
Angie Sorrento (The Way They Were, That Second Chance Series, Book Two)
Adam Brandon (Paradise Found, That Second Chance Series Book Four)
See you in Magdalena!
It’s all about that second chance...
Simple Riches is Book Three of That Second Chance Series. (These are stand-alone books tied together by a common theme—belief in the beauty of that second chance.)
Alexandra “Alex” Chamberlain is a big city girl who knows nothing about close-knit families, sibling rivalry, or receiving an unsolicited opinion in the name of family. She’s been raised by an aunt and uncle who’ve provided her with a wealthy lifestyle and a fancy education, but have withheld what she craved most—love and acceptance. Her uncle has taught her to disregard everything but the bottom line on a balance sheet and she’ll do anything to earn his approval. She prides herself on excelling at her job which is selecting small towns to buy, flatten, and replace with luxury resorts. When Alex decides to investigate Restalline, Pennsylvania, as a potential site for the next resort, she enters the town under the guise of a researcher gathering information for a documentary. Her uncle wants this project badly, and she’s not going to disappointment him.
This town should be like all the others. Only it isn’t. This town has the Androviches, a family who values hard work, honesty, and doing the right thing. And this town has Nick Androvich, the town doctor with a battered heart who doesn’t quite trust her, but can’t deny the mutual attraction.
Oh, but it’s going to get messy when the truth about Alex’s real purpose for being in Restalline sneaks out...and the truth always does. But fear not, the town is not going to sit by quietly and watch this meant-to-be-together couple lose their happily ever after…
That Second Chance Series
Book One: Pulling Home
Book Two: The Way They Were
Book Three: Simple Riches
Book Four: Paradise Found
Book Five: Not Your Everyday Housewife
Book Six: The Butterfly Garden
Simple Riches
Prologue
She stared out the window, waiting. They would be back soon, wet and dripping from the water, and then it would be time for breakfast. Oatmeal with yellow raisins, two sprinkles of brown sugar. Her stomach grumbled. She leaned forward, pressed her nose against the glass. The water was dark today, the waves loud and mean-looking, roaring when they hit the rocks and burst apart. She wished she could run outside right now, in her nightgown, fast, all the way down to the beach, with the sand between her toes, the salt stinging her face as she flung herself into the water. But she’d promised them she wouldn’t. Next year, Daddy told her. Next year, you can come with us and I’ll show you what heaven looks like.
She couldn’t wait until she was nine; then she could
go with them, see what they saw, see Daddy’s heaven. Just the three of them. It had always been that way, unless she counted Chessie next door. She guessed she was as close to a relative as she had. Chessie was like an aunt, kind of big, with a soft voice and a shiny black braid. She’d miss her when they left next week, but Chessie said she’d save all the best seashells for when they came back next summer.
Her stomach growled again. She squinted out the window. Maybe she should go to Chessie’s, bring over the oatmeal and raisins, see if she’d fix them, maybe give her an extra sprinkle of brown sugar. Maybe… no, she would wait.
She picked up the mirror Mommy and Daddy had given her yesterday. It was blue and green with a long handle and the most beautiful jewels all around: red, green, blue, yellow—sparkly and bright. She turned it from side to side, stared into it, blew her breath onto it. The true jewel is in the mirror, her father had said. Look into it, Alexandra, look into it and see the jewel. Where? Where was it? Where?
The red numbers on the clock moved forward, one click at a time… 8:24…8:32…8:51. She put the mirror down, got up and went into the kitchen, grabbed a graham cracker from the cupboard…9:11…9:15. Nibble, nibble, nibble…9:38…9:59…10:00. She brushed her hands against each other, watched the sugary crumbs fall in her lap.
Maybe she should go down to the beach, dig for sand crabs, look for her parents. Maybe… no, she would wait.
10:05…10:07…10:13. She pressed her nose against the glass again, harder this time. Her eyes were starting to burn like they did when she got suntan lotion in them. Mommy knew how to take care of that…she put drops in and told her to blink, blink, blink. Daddy told her to cry and it would wash everything away. She swiped a hand across her nose. I’m crying now, Daddy. See? I’m crying now and it still hurts.
