The Proposal Box Set 1 / Volumes 1-10

by Lisa Shea

  A knock came at the door.

  Rachel’s heart pounded against her ribs, and she drew in a deep breath. She had set herself on this course. Either she made this work or she ended up like her sister - ostracized, driven away, and perhaps heartbroken.

  She walked across the polished wood floor and glanced at her sister.

  Her sister looked to the floor.

  Rachel pulled open the door.

  Leonardo stood there dressed in dark slacks and a royal blue polo shirt. His dark hair had been neatly combed and his brown eyes shone with warmth. He held a wrapped box in his hands.

  Sarah smiled encouraging at him. “Come on in. We’re just getting ready.” She closed the door behind him and lead him over to her AuntMomma. “AuntMomma, this is my boyfriend, Leonardo. Leonardo, this is my AuntMomma, Henriqueta.”

  Leonardo gave a short bow. “I am happy to finally meet you, Heriqueta. Rachel has told me so many wonderful things about you.” He held out the box to her. “Let me offer a small token of my appreciation for all you have done for her.”

  AuntMomma gave a small sniff, looking him over, but she accepted the box. She put it down on a heavy wood sideboard beneath a massive oil painting of a Portuguese fishing village. She lifted the lid -

  She held still, looking inside.

  Leonardo twined his fingers into Sarah’s. “Our head chef carved it. He’s Portuguese - grew up in Duoro. His family were fishermen and he loves carving the traditional fishing boats. He makes the best paella you’ve ever tasted, too.”

  AuntMomma drew the item up out of the box. The delicately carved mahogany boat was about a foot-and-a-half long. Every detail seemed perfect, from the construction of the cabin on the back to the tiny anchor nestled in the bow. Ram’s horns curled on the prow. Along the back of each side was delicately written in gold letters, “Henriqueta.”

  Her lips pressed together. “It was probably too expensive.”

  Leonardo gave a small shrug. “My uncle runs a boat down by Block Island. Brings in the freshest tuna you’ve ever seen and gives it to the chef at cost. So it’s a fair trade.”

  AuntMomma put the boat onto the sideboard and turned to the kitchen. “Food’s ready. Let’s eat.”

  Rachel and Sarah automatically fell into their seats at either side, and Sarah pointed at the foot of the table for Leonardo. It’d always been empty, all these years. AuntMomma had been stubbornly single before the accident and after that she had never shown even the slightest interest in dating. She had her job as a nurse, her two young charges, and that was that.

  AuntMomma brought in the pomegranate stew and took her seat. “Let us give thanks.”

  They bowed their head in prayer, and Sarah’s had extra strength to it tonight. If only she could show AuntMomma what a wonderful man Leonardo was. If only she could avoid the tumultuous disaster her sister had endured.

  Plates were passed, dishes were filled, and the gentle salt breeze sent the white lace curtains slowly swirling like dancers. Rachel took another bite of her bread and then said, “Leonardo here has sold another painting, AuntMomma. This one to that steakhouse by the courthouse.”

  AuntMomma cut off a piece of porgie with sharp motions. “Artists starve,” she muttered. “At least you have a job doing graphic design. Responsible work.”

  Rachel blushed. “He does well for himself,” she pointed out. “The restaurants love his paintings. Says he brings the food to life.”

  AuntMomma stabbed at her fish. “Works as a waiter in New York City. It’s hours away.”

  “That was just for the summer, AuntMomma. To help out his uncle while he recovered from back surgery. You know that.”

  AuntMomma humphed and the room fell back into quiet.

  Leonardo took a sip of the wine. “This Vinho Verde is quite delicious, Henriqueta. Is it a Quinta de Soalheiro Alvarinho?”

  She glanced up at him. “You know Portuguese wine?”

  He nodded. “They make some of the best in the world. Our restaurant stocks quite a few of them. And ports, too. There’s nothing like a block of stilton cheese with a fine Quinta da Roêda.”

  A hint of a shine came to AuntMomma’s eyes. “I have some of that. Maybe we open that up later. Goes well with the apples and honey.”

  He smiled. “That would be perfect.”

  Her face tightened again. “And then you go home. Back to where you belong.”

  He glanced at Rachel, and then he gently put his hand over Rachel’s. “I love her, Henriqueta. I’ve loved her since those early days at RISD. I will do everything in my power to make her happy. If I have to give up painting, if I have to work full time in a restaurant, then I’ll do it. She won’t go hungry. She won’t go cold. She is my world.”

  Henriqueta’s eyes grew cold. “You aren’t right for her.”

  Rachel spoke up. “But he is right for me, AuntMomma. When I am sick, he makes me fresh chicken soup from scratch. We paint together. We go on long walks by the canal during WaterFire, just gazing at the night sky. He brings me joy. And I want to have a family with him.”

  AuntMomma crossed her arms before her ample chest. “No. It’s not right.”

  Leonardo reached into his pocket. “But I will show you I -”

  She stabbed a large piece of fish and stuffed it in her mouth, turning her head.

  He turned to Rachel, his face a turmoil of emotions.

  She drew in a breath. This was not going as she’d hoped. She had to do something - anything -

  AuntMomma made a growling sound.

  Rachel’s resolve firmed. She loved Leonardo. She had pledged herself to him. They had made countless plans for buying a small house in the Italian quarter, one with a fenced-in back yard and rose bushes. They would raise two children, a boy and a girl. They would be happy, so blissfully happy ...

  AuntMomma gave another breathless cough.

  Rachel raised her eyes in confusion.

  AuntMomma was still turned away, but she was hunched over now, her hand going to her throat.

  Sarah leapt up out of her chair, knocking it backwards. her voice rose high and shrill. “She’s choking! Do something!”

  Leonardo sprang to his feet and was at AuntMomma’s side in seconds. He tried to wrap his arms around her bulk but she was wedged between the heavy table and chair, making it nearly impossible.

  AuntMomma’s face tinged blue.

  Leonardo pulled hard on the chair, toppling it so AuntMomma landed heavily on her hands and knees. Her mouth was open, gasping as if she were a fish on land, desperate for water.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her forward toward her large, stuffed couch in royal blue and tan. He hefted her over the arm so it pressed into her mid-section, with her hands on the cushions. Then he straddled her from behind, wrapped his arms beneath the couch’s arm, and gave a massive pull.

  She shuddered, but no sound came out.

  Her face darkened, and her eyes went glassy.

  Rachel was frozen in place, her heart hammering against her ribs. This couldn’t be happening.

  Leonardo leaned in, reseated his grip, and wrenched.

  A blob of fish launched out of AuntMomma’s mouth and bounced on the cushion. She coughed hard, wheezing for breath, and he stepped back, his own lungs drawing deeply.

  Rachel’s mind spun into motion and she burst over to kneel by AuntMomma. “Are you all right? My God, you could have died!”

  AuntMomma shakily wiped at her eyes. “I saw the tunnel of light. I saw your Mama and Papa there waiting for me. They had smiles on their faces. They said I had done a good job with you girls.”

  Rachel was crying now, and she wrapped her arms around her AuntMomma’s soft, warm bulk. “Of course you have. We love you, AuntMomma. You’re everything to us.”

  AuntMomma slid down to sit with her back against the couch. Rachel nestled in against her side, breathing in that fragrance of lily that her AuntMomma always wore.

  AuntMomma looked up at Leonardo. “You
saved my life, I guess.”

  Leonardo put his hands into his pockets. He gave a wry smile. “Just eat a little slower next time, is all.”

  Her eyes went down to his pocket, and she gave a long nod. “Go on. Take it out.”

  He stilled, glancing at Rachel.

  AuntMomma turned to Rachel. “Your parents said something else, when I was in the light with them. They said you girls were wonderful girls. That I should trust you. Believe in you.” She paused for a moment. “Do you love this man?”

  Rachel couldn’t breathe. She nodded.

  AuntMomma turned to Leonardo. “You’d betta not hurt my Rachel. She deserves everything the world has to give her. You hear me?”

  His eyes held hers with serious focus. “I swear it on everything that is Holy. She will be treasured.”

  AuntMomma nodded. “Then go ahead.”

  He lowered himself to one knee.

  Rachel leaned into AuntMomma’s warmth, unable to believe this was really happening.

  He took out a black velvet box and lifted the lid. Within was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. it was a pair of diamonds, each nestled in a dainty flower. She knew that artist. His exhibit in Providence four years ago had made international news. To think that Leonardo had gotten this ring ...

  His gaze held hers. “My dearest Rachel, will you marry me?”

  She nodded, tears blurring her vision. She held out her hand. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He gently slid the ring on her finger. Then he drew her up into his arms, wrapping her in an embrace she knew would never end.

  A thought came to her, and her glowing smile grew. If this result was the work of the Native American charm, then she would have to give it to Sarah later, when the evening was complete. With all Sarah had been through in life, she deserved a chance at love.

  Behind her, AuntMomma pushed up to her feet. “Maybe after our port and stilton we can all go down to the harbor. Throw bread into the water and say prayers. It’s a tradition, you know. For Rosh Hashanah. To release the old and welcome the new.”

  He smiled, pressing a fond kiss on Rachel’s head. “I know. I have several friends who are Jewish.”

  AuntMomma’s voice rumbled with hesitant but growing warmth.

  “Well, now you have family.”

  Book 3 – Boston

  Sarah glanced distractedly at her smartphone as she moved with the heavy foot traffic along Boston Common toward the crosswalk. Rush hour was always bad enough for congestion in Boston, and now that fall was approaching it would get even worse with gawking visitors lollygagging along the Freedom Trail. She remembered how she used to adore the autumn foliage here when she first moved up, with its crimsons and deep oranges against the stately façades of the brownstones. But now that Tony had left her for that blonde chicklet of a secretary, and Rachel had found the love of her life, Sarah’s mood was veined with deep shadows.

  She stuffed a hand in her pocket to hold the Native American charm Rachel had given her. She snorted. Wedding charm indeed. The only reason Rachel was with Leonardo was that AuntMomma had stuffed her face too quickly with fish and nearly died. Death could do that to a person. Make them see sense for a moment. Maybe Sarah should have jammed AuntMomma with food back when she met Tony. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to run north with Tony against her AuntMomma’s explicit veto. Maybe then her relationship with Tony wouldn’t have deteriorated to the point that he was sleeping around with every barely-legal waitress he met in a bar.

  She jammed her phone back into her purse, sighing. She hated Tony. He was a jerk. He was selfish and immature. So why, in the deepest hours of night, did she still wish she wasn’t so lonely?

  She reached the crosswalk. She looked up -

  Gideon.

  It couldn’t be him. Gideon’s family had taken him away from her when she was seventeen. They had gone off to Israel, to stand by his grandparents’ side against a group of Palestinians who were driving them out of their home. He had gone, gone, gone, and she’d never heard from him again –

  He turned and glanced around.

  It was him.

  He was in the far distance, across the road and down a street churning with walkers, but she would know that face anywhere. He had looked up for a moment, as if getting his bearings, and now he was striding away from her, dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt. He’d bulked out, and with that short, crisp haircut he almost looked like a SEAL. He was tanned now, not the slim pale boy she’d pledged her heart to. But it was him.

  She flung a hand in the air, wildly waving. “Gideon! Gideon!”

  Her desperate cry was lost in the honking of horns and babbling of thousands of people with smartphones glued to their ears.

  She couldn’t lose him. Not now, not when her heart was an open wound in need of salve. Determination fired her. She would catch up with him.

  She launched into motion -

  A firm grasp yanked her back by the arm, and a black van whooshed in front of her face, only inches away. A man’s voice growled in shock, “What are you, crazy?”

  She looked up in surprise. The light had changed while she was staring after Gideon. Now streams of heavy traffic shook the ground between them, turning him into a vintage film where he flickered in and out of existence.

  She was going to lose him.

  She still remembered with the power of an ice pick through her chest the night he had called her. It’d been late, past nine, and AuntMomma had nearly not allowed her to take the call. His voice was tight with a combination of nervousness and pride. “We’re going,” he’d told her. “Back home. Our grandparents need us. We’re gonna live with them. Keep them safe. I’ll call you, I promise. And in a year or two I’ll come back to you. Wait for me.”

  “Of course,” she’d said, wishing she could just see him one last time. Providence had been calm, peaceful, with its brick sidewalks and its quiet harbor. He was going a world away, into danger, into harm’s way, and she wished - she wished -

  The light changed.

  She burst into a near-run, craning to see where Gideon had gone to. He was at the far end of the street, turning right, and her heart hammered against her chest. She had to find him. Had to find out why he had never called. She’d waited by the phone for months, refusing to go out except for school and temple. She knew without doubt that the moment she was away from the phone that he’d call to explain everything. She’d begged, pleaded, and pushed AuntMomma to buy her a smartphone of her own, and AuntMomma had finally given in, although the woman wearily pointed out that Gideon wouldn’t know how to call the new number anyway. It didn’t matter to Sarah. Having that phone on her meant, if he did call when she wasn’t there, at least Rachel or AuntMomma could give him the number and he could instantly reach her, wherever she was. She even thought about changing their answering machine message to state the cell number, in case he called when nobody was home. But AuntMomma had drawn the line there.

  She skidded to a stop by the elegant jewelry store on the corner. Flashes of gold and silver tried to catch her attention, but it was the street before her that became a live game of Where’s Waldo. Why were there so many people? Ancient spinsters with their canes, a pair of young toddlers in pink holding their parents’ hands. But no Gideon, no Gideon -

  There. He was heading into the T station at Park.

  Her heart wrenched, and she put on speed. Park was the intersection of the green line and red line. He could be going in one of four different directions. She only had a 25% chance of catching up with him!

  A distant corner of her mind pointed out that it might not even be him. She’d seen him across a dense crowd at a great distance. She hadn’t been with him in, what, nine years or so? He would have changed quite a lot in those years. Heck, she had. She’d graduated from Brown with a degree in marketing. She did PR work for a financial firm here in Boston. She’d given up on Gideon ever coming back and given in to Tony, that jerk Tony, that insufferable ...

  Tea
rs welled in her eyes and she angrily wiped them away, pushing hard through the crowds. Not now. Not when Gideon was nearly within reach. She could ask him why he never called. Why he never came back to her. Had he found another woman? Had he courted her? Had they married? Did they have kids?

  The thought speared daggers through her chest and she tumbled from the bright warmth of the lowering sun into the dark shadows of the T station. She grabbed at her T pass and swiped it as she went through the stanchion. Then her head swiveled like a hound dog seeking a scent as she looked, looked -

  There. Heading at a fast stride toward the southbound green line tracks.

  Desperation clawed at her. Not the green line south. If it’d been red line north or green line north it’d have been easy. One destination, one ending point. Alewife and Lechmere. Even red line south wasn’t too bad. You either headed toward Mattapan or Braintree.

  But green line south was a nightmare of choices. B, C, D, or E. Boston College, Cleveland Circle, Riverside, or Heath. And there wasn’t even an A line! It had gotten phased out back in the sixties, but its absence was still present, a hole in the system, one which would always be visible and aching.

  Like Gideon, Gideon, Gideon -

  She dove into the masses, pushing hard. What letter would he choose? Once again she had only a 25% chance of finding him. If he stepped on a train before she reached the platform he could be gone, ripped from her, just like when he last abandoned her.

  Fire flared in her heart. Why hadn’t he called her? The jerk! He was just as bad as Tony. Maybe he’d run off with a floozy in Israel. Probably not a pixie-cut blonde who looked like she had barely graduated from high school. Probably some exotic Israeli with lush curves and a pouty mouth. That’s what Gideon would have gone for. He wouldn’t have thought twice about the Portuguese girl he’d left behind, the one he’d pledged his love to, the one he’d vowed -

  There!

  She threw both hands in the air, crying out, “Gideon!”

  The noise of the crowd echoed in the concrete tunnel of a station. A train rattled in along the tracks, its brakes screeching on top of the cacophony.