The Soldier's Secret Child

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “Not me.” Lacey looked over at the toddlers, another surge of regret piercing her heart. “I’ve always loved the little ones.”

  “I know you have.” Susan’s voice was gentle. “Hey, want to come over and have lunch with us after this? I think Sam’s grilling. You could bring your swimsuit.”

  “You’re sweet.” The thought of lounging by Sam and Susan’s pool was appealing. And Susan was a great friend; she’d stand by Lacey even as she was going through this huge transition of having a child. She wouldn’t abandon Lacey, and that mattered.

  Lacey shook her head with real disappointment. “Can’t. I’m meeting Vito for lunch.”

  “Oh, Vito.” Susan punched her arm, gently. “Is this a date?”

  “It’s not like that. We’re old friends.”

  Susan ignored her words. “You should see where it leads. He seems like a great guy, from what I saw of him at the end of the reception. Good-looking, too. Even with the scars.” Susan’s hand flew to her mouth. “I shouldn’t say things like that, should I?”

  “Probably not.” Lacey rolled her eyes at her friend, pretending exasperation. “But it’s okay. You can’t help but notice his scars. Anyway, we’re just going to talk about this crazy idea his grandma dreamed up.” She explained how Nonna had unexpectedly rented out her own house, and how Vito was newly a foster father. “Apparently, Vito had no idea that was her plan. He was counting on bringing his foster son, Charlie, to live in Nonna’s big house out in the country. I actually got the feeling Nonna had kept it a secret on purpose, to make sure Vito ended up staying at the guesthouse.”

  “But that would be perfect!” Susan clapped her hands. “Vito could be with his nonna, and Charlie could get a sense of family, and they’d be right in town to get, like, reintegrated into the community.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you wanted someone else to room in, right? He’d pay rent, which would help with your expenses. He and Charlie could have separate rooms, or those two connecting ones upstairs.”

  Lacey’s response was cut off by the sound of crashing blocks and a wail, and they got busy playing with the babies. The subject of Vito moving into the guesthouse didn’t come up again, but Lacey couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Susan seemed to think it was a great idea, and Nonna had talked to Lacey over breakfast about how wonderful it would be to have Vito there and to get to know the newest member of the family. Her eyes had sparkled when she said that, and few enough things had brought a sparkle to Nonna’s eyes since the heart attack.

  There were all kinds of reasons to embrace the idea of Vito and Charlie moving in, but Lacey still felt uneasy about it.

  She couldn’t begin to articulate why, even to herself.

  * * *

  At lunchtime, Vito stood outside the Chatterbox Café, looking up at the town’s outdoor clock, which clearly showed it was only eleven forty-five. He was early. Why had he come so early?

  He loosened the itchy collar of his new button-down shirt. He shouldn’t have worn a brand-new shirt today, should have at least washed it first, except that he was living out of a suitcase and he’d been rushing to get Charlie ready to go and there hadn’t been the chance.

  He could have just worn an old, comfortable shirt, but the fact was, he was trying to look good. Which was obviously a losing battle.

  It wasn’t about Lacey. It was about the fact that he’d probably see other people he knew here at the Chatterbox, and he needed to present a professional image. He had good benefits from the VA—they were paying for his online degree—but a man needed to work, and Vito would be looking for a part-time job just as soon as he’d found a place to live and gotten Charlie settled. Maybe something with kids, since he was looking to become a teacher.

  No, it wasn’t about Lacey. He’d had some feelings for her once, but he’d turned those off when she’d married, of course. He’d been over her for years.

  “Vito!” Lacey approached, a summery yellow dress swirling around her legs, the wind blowing her short hair into messiness.

  She looked so beautiful that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

  He crooked his arm for her to take it, an automatic gesture he’d learned at his nonna’s knee. The way a gentleman treated a lady. And then he remembered how she’d stepped away when he’d done the Italian thing and thrown an arm around her yesterday. He put his arm back at his side.

  People are disgusted by your scars, he reminded himself. And she hasn’t seen the half of them.

  As they turned toward the café—Vito carefully not touching her—he caught a whiff of something lemony and wondered if it was her shampoo, or if she’d worn perfume.

  Inside, everything was familiar: the smell of meat loaf and fries, the red vinyl booths and vintage tables trimmed with aluminum, the sight of people he’d known since childhood. Even the counter waitress, Nora Jean, had been here since he was a kid and called a greeting.

  “Sit anywhere, you two. Lindy’ll wait on you, but I’m coming over to say hello just as soon as these guys give me a break.” She waved at her full counter.

  Dion Coleman, the police chief, swiveled in his chair and stood to pound Vito on the back. “I’m glad to see your ugly mug,” he joked. Which didn’t feel awkward, because it was the exact same thing Dion had always said when Vito came home, even before his injuries. “Police business has been slow these past months, but with you home, it’s sure to pick up.”

  Vito shook the man’s hand with genuine pleasure. “I’ll see what I can do about knocking down some mailboxes and shooting up signs, just to give you something to do. You’re getting soft.” He nodded down at Dion’s flat belly and then at the grilled chicken salad on the counter in front of him. “Eating too much. Just like a cop.”

  “You never change.” Dion was laughing as he sat back down. “Give me a call, you hear? We have some catching up to do.”

  Lacey had headed toward one of the few empty booths at the back of the café, and as he followed her it seemed to Vito that conversation stopped, then rose again when he’d passed. He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the uneven ridges of his scars.

  As soon as they sat down, they were mobbed. The young waitress could barely squeeze in to take their order. Everyone, friend or acquaintance, stopped by to say hello. They wanted to know where he was staying, how long he’d be in town, where he was stationed. Explaining that he wasn’t in the army anymore felt embarrassing, since he’d always intended it to be his life’s work. More embarrassing were the sympathetic nods and arm pats. People felt sorry for him.

  But he kept it upbeat and answered questions patiently. Once people knew his story, they’d settle down some. And maybe someone would think of him when a job opening came up, so he made sure to let everyone know he was looking.

  After people had drifted back to their tables and they’d managed to eat some of their lunch, Lacey wiped her mouth and smiled at him. “That got a little crazy. Are you wishing we’d gone somewhere else?”

  He swallowed his massive bite of cheeseburger and shook his head. “Best to get it over fast. Let people get a good look.”

  She took a sip of soda. “You think they all came over to look at your scars?”

  “That, and find out the latest news. But mostly to see how bad the damage is, up close and personal.” His support group at the VA had warned him about people’s reactions, how they might not be able to see anything but his scars at first.

  “They’re not looking at your scars in a bad way,” Lacey said, frowning. “They’re grateful for your service.”

  Of course, that was what most of the people who’d greeted them had said. And they weren’t lying. It was just that initial cringe that got to him. He wasn’t used to scaring people just by the way he looked.

  His friend with severe facial burns had told Vito
that you never really got used to it. “Older people do better, but young people like pretty,” he’d said. “Makes it a challenge to get a date.”

  The waitress refilled his coffee cup and headed to a booth across the way. Vito gestured toward her. “You can’t tell me someone like that, someone who doesn’t know me, isn’t disgusted when she first sees me.”

  Lacey looked at him for a long moment, her brown eyes steady. “Look over there,” she said, pointing to a twenty-something man in an up-to-date wheelchair, sitting at a table with an older woman. “That’s our waitress’s brother,” she said. “He served, too.”

  Vito blinked and looked more closely, seeing how the man’s head lolled to one side, held up by a special support. He wore a hoodie and sweats, and as Vito watched, the older woman put a bite of something into his mouth.

  “Wounded in service?”

  Lacey nodded. “I think he was a Marine.”

  “Is a Marine,” Vito corrected. “And I’m sorry. You’re right. I need to get out of my own head. I’m more fortunate than a lot of guys.” He met her eyes. “Gerry included, and I’m a jerk to focus on myself.”

  She shrugged. “We all do that sometimes.”

  Had Lacey always had this steady maturity? He couldn’t help but remember her as a younger girl, pestering him and her brother when they’d wanted to go out and do something fun. And he remembered how flightily she’d fallen for Gerry, swept away by love and unable to listen to anyone’s warnings.

  Now though, there was real thoughtfulness to her. She was quieter than she’d been, and more assertive.

  He liked that. Liked a woman who’d call him on his dumb mistakes.

  And he didn’t need to be thinking about how much he liked the new Lacey. Best to get to the real reason for their lunch. “So, I was looking into options for Charlie and me,” he said. “I talked to the family Nonna rented her house to.”

  “And? Did you ask if they’d let her out of the contract?”

  “I couldn’t even bring it up.” He lifted his hands, shrugging. “They’re thrilled with the house and the price Nonna gave them, and they need the space. And she’s pregnant out to here.” He held a hand in front of his stomach.

  “Well, look who’s back in town!” Old Mr. Love from the hardware store, who had to be in his eighties, stopped by their table and patted his shoulder. “I’d recognize that voice anywhere!”

  Vito stood and greeted the man, and then looked at the gray-haired woman with him. “Miss Minnie Falcon? Is that you?”

  “That’s right, young man. You’d better not forget your old Sunday school teacher.”

  “I couldn’t ever forget.” He took her hand, gently. Unlike some of the other kids in Sunday school, he’d actually appreciated Miss Minnie’s knowledge of the Old and New Testament, and the way she brought the stories to life, infusing them with a sense of biblical history.

  Mr. Love was leaning toward Lacey. “I was hoping you’d find romance.” His voice, meant to be low, carried clearly to Vito and Miss Minnie. “Now that Buck’s out of your hair, it’s your turn, young lady.” He nodded toward Vito, raising an eyebrow.

  “Harold!” Miss Minnie scolded. “Don’t make assumptions. Come on. Let’s get that corner table before someone else takes it.” She patted Vito’s arm. “It was nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger. We like visitors over at the Senior Towers.” She turned and headed across the restaurant at a brisk pace, pushing her wheeled walker.

  “When a lady talks, you listen.” Mr. Love gave Vito an apologetic shrug as he turned and followed Miss Minnie, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  After they were out of earshot, Vito lifted an eyebrow at Lacey. “They’re a couple?”

  “It’s anybody’s guess. They both say they’re just friends, but tongues are wagging. It is Rescue River.”

  “Gossip central,” he agreed, sipping coffee.

  “And speaking of wagging tongues,” she said, “imagine what people will assume about us if you come and live in the guesthouse. Just like Mr. Love assumed when he saw us together here. They’ll think we’re a couple. And I’m not comfortable with that.”

  “I understand.” He looked down at his hands, traced a scar that peeked out from his shirt cuff. “I’m not exactly a blue-ribbon bronco.”

  “Vito!” She sounded exasperated. “You haven’t changed a bit since you had to try on six different shirts for the homecoming dance.”

  The memory made him chuckle. He’d gotten her to sit on the porch and judge while he tried on shirt after shirt, running back to his room to change each time she’d nixed his selection.

  Little did she know that Buck had begged him to keep her busy while he tried to steal a few kisses from cheerleader Tiffany Townsend, ostensibly at their house for help with homework.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said now. “And the truth is, I have changed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re still good-looking, okay? Women don’t mind scars.” Then she pressed her lips together as her cheeks grew pink.

  His heart rate accelerated, just a little. Why was she blushing? Did she think he was good-looking?

  But of course, she hadn’t seen the worst of his scars.

  And even if there was a little spark between them, it couldn’t go anywhere. Because he was living with a secret he couldn’t let her discover.

  “Look,” she said, and then took a big gulp of soda. “Getting back to the idea of you and Charlie staying at the guesthouse. I’d be willing to consider it, for Nonna’s sake, but...I’m trying to build a rich, full life as a single person, see, and I don’t want everyone asking me questions or trying to match us up. I’m just getting over being Lacey, the pitiful widow. And now, if I have this good-looking man living in my guesthouse...” A flush crept up her cheeks again and she dropped her head, propping her forehead on her hand. “I’m just digging myself in deeper here, huh?”

  She did think he was good-looking. All of a sudden, other people’s curious stares didn’t bother him half as much.

  “Can I get you anything else?” The perky waitress was back, looking at Lacey with curiosity. “You okay, Lacey?”

  “I need something chocolate,” she said, looking up at the waitress but avoiding Vito’s eyes.

  “Right away! I totally understand!”

  Vito didn’t get women’s obsession with chocolate, but he respected it. He waited until the server had brought Lacey a big slice of chocolate cream pie before blundering forward with their meeting’s purpose. “I have an appointment tonight to talk to a woman who might want to rent me a couple of rooms in her farmhouse, out past the dog rescue. And there’s the top floor of a house available over in Eastley.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” She toyed with the whipped cream on her pie. “But Nonna won’t like having you so far away. And Charlie could make more friends in town, right?”

  “He really took a shine to the place and to you, it’s true.”

  “And Nonna wants you to live there. She pulled out all the stops at breakfast, trying to talk me into it again.”

  “She phoned me, too.”

  Lacey was absently fingering the chain around her neck, and when he looked more closely, he saw what hung on it.

  A man’s wedding ring. Undoubtedly Gerry’s.

  He wasn’t worth it, Lace.

  A shapely blonde in a tight-fitting dress approached their table. Tiffany Townsend. “Well, Vito D’Angelo. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  He snorted. “No.” And then he thought about what Lacey had said: Women don’t mind scars. And nobody, even a less-than-favorite classmate like Tiffany, deserved a rude response. He pasted on a smile. “Hey, Tiffany. It’s been a long time.”

  “Where are you hiding yourself these days?” She bent over the table, and Vito leaned back in t
he booth, trying to look anywhere but down her low-cut dress. “We should get together sometime!” she gushed, putting a hand on his arm.

  This was where a suave man would smile and flirt and make a date. But Vito had never been suave. He’d always been the one to console the girls whose boyfriends got caught on Tiffany’s well-baited line. Always the friend, happy to take them out for coffee or a milk shake and to listen to them.

  Unfortunately for his love life, it hadn’t usually gone further than that.

  Tiffany was looking at him expectantly. “Where did you say you’re staying?”

  “I’m not really...” He broke off. Did he really want to get into his personal business with Tiffany?

  Lacey cleared her throat, grasped Vito’s scarred hand and smiled up at Tiffany. “He’s staying at my guesthouse,” she said sweetly. “With me.”

  “Oh.” There was a world of meaning in that word, backed up by Tiffany’s raised eyebrows. “Well, then. It was good to see you.” She spun on her high heels and walked over to the counter, where she leaned toward Nora Jean and started talking fast and hard.

  Vito turned his hand over, palm to palm with Lacey. “Thanks,” he said, “but you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Tiffany hasn’t changed a bit since high school,” Lacey said. “She’d break your heart.”

  “It’s not in the market.”

  “Mine, either.”

  They looked at each other and some electrical-like current materialized between them, running from their locked eyes to their intertwined hands.

  No, Vito’s heart wasn’t in the market. He had enough to do to rebuild a life and raise a boy and keep a secret.

  But if it had been in the market, it would run more toward someone like Lacey than toward someone like Tiffany.

  Lacey glanced toward the counter. “Don’t look now,” she said, “but Tiffany and Nora Jean are staring at us.”