And Lacey probably needed to have another baby. It would help her get over the pain of her devastating miscarriage.
Lacey set the table, having Bobby bring napkins along to help, letting him place them haphazardly on the table and chairs.
Vito tasted the sauce and frowned. “It needs something.”
“I have basil growing outside. At least, I think it’s still alive. Want some?”
“Fresh basil? For sure.”
“Come on, Bobby.” She helped the little boy maneuver across the kitchen and through the back door.
Could Vito be blamed for looking out the window to see where her herbs were planted? After all, he might do more cooking here. He was enjoying it.
And once he looked, and saw her kneeling in the golden late-afternoon sunlight, pointing and talking with Bobby, he found it hard to look away.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Gramps muttered. “Do I have to chaperone everyone around here?”
Vito blinked and went back to his cooking, but the image of Lacey, the curve of her neck, soft hair blowing in the breeze, stayed with him.
Who was he to think romantically about someone so beautiful, so perfect?
Half an hour later, they were about to sit down to a not-bad-looking dinner when Gina tapped on the back door.
“Mama!” Bobby cried and toddled toward the door.
She opened the door, scooped up her son and gave him a big loud kiss.
“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” Lacey asked Gina.
“Oh...no. I would but...I need to get home.” Her cheeks went pink and Vito put it together. She was a new bride, must have just gotten back from a brief honeymoon. She wanted to get home to her new husband.
Envy tugged at Vito’s heart. Would he ever have a wife who was eager to return to him, or would he always remain just the best friend?
Dinner was fun. Nonna insisted they put on some Italian opera music—“the most romantic music on earth!”—and then got into a good-natured argument with Gramps Camden, who insisted that Frank Sinatra sang the best love songs. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as everyone talked and joked and ate. Charlie enjoyed the company, too. Both of them would benefit from being part of a bigger family, Vito realized. He would, as well.
He just didn’t know how to make it happen. But at least for the summer, it was something they could enjoy here at Lacey’s. He would talk to her about having meals together as often as possible, splitting grocery bills and sharing cooking duties.
When he stood to clear the dishes, Lacey put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Vito. You cooked, so I’ll clean up.”
“It’s a lot,” he protested, trying not to notice the delicate feel of her hand.
“I have an excellent helper,” she said, letting go of Vito and patting Charlie’s arm. “Right?”
“Sure,” the boy said with surprising good cheer.
Of course. Lacey had that effect on every male of the species. Her charm wasn’t meant specially for him.
“You can walk me back over to the Towers,” Gramps said unexpectedly to Vito, so after a few minutes of parting conversation, the two of them headed down to the street. The Towers were almost next door to Lacey’s guesthouse, and Gramps seemed plenty strong to get there on his own, but maybe he just wanted the company. Fine with Vito. He needed to get away from pretty Lacey, get some fresh air.
“How you handling those scars?” Gramps asked abruptly.
Vito felt the heat rise up his neck and was glad for the darkness and the cool breeze. “Apart from terrifying women and children, no big deal.”
Gramps chuckled. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts. Any woman worth her salt will know that. The kid over there seems like he gets it, too.”
It was true; the few occasions Charlie still cringed away from Vito had more to do with leftover fears related to his mother’s boyfriends than with Vito’s looks.
They were almost to the front door of the Towers now, and Vito was ready to say goodbye when Gramps stopped and turned toward him. “Just what are your intentions toward Lacey?”
Vito pulled back to stare at the older man. “Intentions?”
“That’s right. Some of us over at the Towers got to talking. Wondered whether you and she had more than a landlord-tenant friendship.”
“Hey, hey now.” Vito held up a hand. “Nobody needs to be gossiping about Lacey. She’s had enough trouble in her life already.”
Gramps propped a hand on the railing beside the door. “Don’t you think we know that? For that matter, you have, too. The both of you have—What is it young folks call it?”
“Baggage,” Vito said. “And we may be young compared to...some people, but we’re not so young we need to be told what to do.”
Gramps snorted. “Think you know everything, do you?”
“No. Not everything. Not much. But I do know my love life’s my business, just as Lacey’s love life is hers.”
“Give it some thought before you mingle them together, that’s all. I’d hate to see either Lacey or that boy hurt.”
“I’d hate to see that, too.” Vito lifted an eyebrow. “We done here?”
“We’re done,” Gramps said, “but have a care how you spend the rest of your evening over there.”
And even though he found the warning annoying, Vito figured it was probably a wise one.
Chapter Five
When Vito walked back into the guesthouse, he heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. Lacey. Like a magnet, she drew him.
And maybe Gramps knew just what he was talking about. Being careful was the goal Vito needed to shoot for. A vulnerable woman and a vulnerable child were both somewhat under his protection, and Gramps didn’t know the half of how any relationship between Lacey and Vito could cause damage to both of them.
He’d expected to see Charlie in the kitchen, but when he got there Lacey was alone, squatting to put away a pan.
“Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her. “Where’s Charlie?”
She stood and turned toward him. “I told him he could watch TV. He was a good helper, but apparently, it’s time for one of his favorite shows.”
“Oh, right.” Vito should go. He should go right upstairs, right now.
But in the soft lamplight, he couldn’t look away from her.
She was looking at him, too, her eyes wide and confused.
He took a step toward her.
Leaning against the counter with one hip, she picked up a framed photo from the counter, studied it for a few seconds, and then placed it carefully on the shelf beside the sink.
“What’s that?” He walked over but stopped a good three feet away from her. A safe distance.
She picked it back up and held it out for him to see. “It was Gerry’s second time home on furlough. I’d missed him so much that when he came off the plane, I broke away from the other wives and ran screaming to hug him. Somebody caught it on film.”
Vito studied the picture of Lacey and his friend, and his heart hurt. They did look happy, thrilled to see each other. “Could’ve been in the newspaper. Good picture.”
“It was in the Plain Dealer,” she said, smiling shyly. “That embarrassed Gerry. Me, too, a little. Everyone kept coming up to us to say they’d seen it.”
“Gerry didn’t like that, huh?” Vito felt sick inside, because he knew why.
Gerry had already been involved with Krystal at that point. Maybe she’d even been pregnant with Charlie. He thought about asking Lacey the year, and then didn’t. He didn’t even want to know.
How awkward for Gerry that his girlfriend might see his loving wife hugging on him.
Gerry had been such a jerk.
“He was everything I ever wanted,” Lacey said dreamily, stu
dying the picture. “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get over him.”
“Right. Look, I’d better go check on Charlie and catch some sleep myself.” He turned and walked out of the room. An abrupt departure might be a little rude, but it was better than staying there, listening to her express her adoration of a man who’d not been worth one ounce of it. Better than blurting out something that would destroy that idealized image she had of Gerry.
Don’t speak ill of the dead. It was a common maxim, and valid.
Was he making a huge mistake to stay here, even though that was what Nonna and Charlie both wanted?
He scrubbed a hand across his face and headed up the stairs. He needed to focus on his professional goals and forget about his personal desire to have a wife and a large family. He needed to make sure that personal desire didn’t settle on Lacey, like Gramps seemed to worry it would.
He and Charlie were living in the home of the one woman he could never, ever be involved with. He’d promised Gerry at the moment of his death, and that meant something. It meant a lot. The sooner he got that straight in his head, the better.
* * *
On Friday, Lacey strolled along the sidewalk with Vito and Charlie and tried to shake the odd feeling that they were a family, doing errands together. It was a strange thought, especially given that her goal was to get her guesthouse up and running so that she could dive into her self-sufficient, single-woman life and make it good.
She just needed to keep in mind the purpose of this trip: to create a cozy room at the guesthouse for any child who came to stay for a night or a weekend.
It was only midafternoon, but with the arrival of summer, a lot of people seemed to be taking off work early on Fridays. A group of women clustered outside of the Chatterbox Café, talking. A young couple pushed their baby in a stroller. Several people she knew vaguely from the Senior Towers were taking their afternoon walk, and outside Chez la Ferme, Rescue River’s only fancy restaurant, Sam Hinton stood with sleeves rolled up, talking to another man in a suit, smiling like he’d just tied up a deal.
“You’re sure you don’t mind focusing on Charlie’s room right now?” Vito asked as Charlie ran ahead to examine a heavily chromed motorcycle in front of the Chatterbox. “It’s not the project you were planning on, I’m sure.”
“It’s not, but it’s a good change of plans. Having a room or two decorated for kids will only add to the guesthouse’s appeal. And that little room off the big one is perfect for that.”
“And you’re being kind. Charlie’s been in a mood, so maybe this will help.” They reached Love’s Hardware, and Vito held the door for her, then called for Charlie to come join them.
The front of the store was crowded with summer merchandise, garden tools and stacked bags of mulch and grass seed. A faint, pungent smell attested to the fertilizer and weed killer in stock. Farther back, bins of nails and screws and bolts occupied one wall while pipes and sinks and bathtubs dominated the other. Overhead, modern light fixtures, price tags hanging, intermixed with old-fashioned signs advertising long-gone brands of household appliances. The soft sound of R & B played in the background.
A string of small bells chimed on the door as it closed behind them, and the store’s owner, Mr. Love, came forward immediately, one weathered brown hand extended, subtly guiding him through the store aisle. His vision wasn’t the best, but he still managed his hardware store almost entirely on his own.
“Hey, Mr. Love, it’s Lacey. And you remember Vito D’Angelo, right?”
“I sure do, sure do. Glad to see you folks on such a fine day.” Mr. Love fumbled for their hands, and then clasped each in a friendly greeting.
“And this is his foster son, Charlie.”
“Say hello,” Vito prompted the boy, urging him forward.
Charlie scowled as if he might refuse. But as he looked up at Mr. Love, he seemed impressed by the man’s age and courtly dignity. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to shake in a surprising display of good manners.
After Lacey had explained their mission, Mr. Love led them over to the paint section, where Charlie’s momentary sweetness vanished. “I want this blue,” he said, selecting a bold cobalt paint chip and holding it out as if the decision was made.
Lacey bit her lip. She’d told Charlie he could help pick out the color, but she and her future guests were the ones who’d have to live with it. “How about something a little lighter, Charlie? It’s an old-fashioned house, and this is a pretty modern color.” She offered up a sample card featuring various shades of blue. “I was thinking of something in this range.”
“That’s boring. I want this one.”
“It’s Lacey’s decision, buddy,” Vito said, putting a firm hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’re guests in her house, and she’s nice to let you choose the color blue.”
Charlie’s lower lip stuck out a mile.
“Let’s look at the cobalt in shades,” Lacey suggested. “We could have that color, just a little lighter. Do you like this one?” She pointed at a shade halfway down the sample card.
“That one’s okay.” Charlie pointed at one toward the end, almost as bright as his original pick.
“Charlie. Lacey has the last word.”
Lacey bent to see Charlie’s downcast face. “I promise I’ll take your ideas into consideration.”
“Fine.” Charlie gave Lacey a dirty look.
“Come on, let’s go see the power tools,” Vito suggested. “Guy stuff,” he added, winking at Lacey.
Immediately, her distress about Charlie’s attitude faded as her heart gave a funny little twist.
“I have to let my granddaughter mix the paint or she gets mad at me,” Mr. Love said to Lacey. In a lower voice, he added, “I can’t see the colors too well, but if you’d like, I can ask her to add in a little more white to whatever shade the boy picked.”
“That would be fantastic,” Lacey said gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Don’t you worry about young Charlie,” Mr. Love said, patting her arm. “Kids usually come around.”
That was true, and besides, Charlie wasn’t her problem to worry about. But there was no point in explaining that to Mr. Love, so she let it go.
On the way home, they walked by a group of slightly older boys playing basketball in the park, and Charlie wanted to join in.
“No, buddy,” Vito said. “We’re painting today.”
“I don’t wanna paint! I wanna play outside!”
That made sense to Lacey, but Vito shook his head. “You can run ahead and play basketball outside the guesthouse for a while.”
“That’s no fun, playing by myself.” But Charlie took off ahead of them, staying in sight, but kicking stones in an obvious display of bad temper.
Vito blew out a sigh. “Sure wish there was a manual on how to parent,” he said.
“I think you’re doing great,” she said, reassuring him. “What’s Charlie’s background, anyway? Was it difficult?”
Vito looked away, then back at her. “Yeah. His mom’s an addict. She loves him, but not as much as she loves to get high.”
Poor Charlie. “What about his dad?”
Vito looked away again and didn’t answer.
A sudden, surprising thought came into Lacey’s head: was Charlie Vito’s biological son?
But no. If Vito had fathered a child, he wouldn’t deny it and pretend to just be the foster dad.
“His dad’s passed,” Vito said finally. “And Mom keeps getting involved with men who rough her up. It happened to Charlie a few times, too, which is why he originally went into foster care. His mom wasn’t able to make a change, so Charlie’s free for adoption. I hope we’ll have that finalized within a few months.”
“That’s great, Vito.” Even as she said it, she wondered how
and why he’d gotten involved in foster care. It was so good of him, but not something most single men in their early thirties would consider. “Why did—”
“Charlie learned a rough style of play in some of his old neighborhoods,” Vito interrupted quickly, almost as if he wanted to avoid her questions. “And he doesn’t have the best social skills. If he’s going to play basketball in the park, I need to be there to supervise.”
“You could stay with him now. You don’t have to help me paint his room.”
“Thanks, but no. It’s only right that we help. And besides,” he said, flashing her a smile, “it’s what I want to do.”
So they spent the afternoon painting as a team. Sun poured through the open windows, and birds sang outside. Stroking the brush, and then the roller, across the walls, soothed Lacey’s heart. Again, more strongly this time, she got that weird feeling of being a family with Vito.
He was good around the house. He could fix things, he could paint, he could cook. And he liked to do those things with her.
Unlike Gerry, who’d always begged off family chores.
Charlie burst into the room, planted his feet wide and crossed his arms. He looked around the half-painted room, his lip curling. “That’s not the color I wanted.”
Something about his stance and his expression looked oddly familiar to Lacey, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
“The second coat’ll make it brighter, buddy,” Vito said. “Why don’t you stay in here and I’ll teach you to paint with the roller?”
“No way. That’s boring.” Charlie turned to stomp out and landed a foot directly in the tray of paint. When he saw what he’d done, he ran out of the room, tracking paint the whole way.
Vito leaped up and hurried after him, while Lacey raced to wipe up the paint before it dried on the hardwood floors, chuckling a little to herself. With Vito and Charlie around, there would never be a dull moment.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Vito said as he returned to see her scrubbing at a last footprint. “Charlie’s in time-out in the kitchen, since I can’t exactly send him to his room, and he’ll be back up in a few minutes to help. Neatly. To make up for this mess.”
The Soldier's Secret Child Page 6
