“Somewhere in between, I guess.”
“Moved past lusting in the heart but no--”
“Right. It doesn’t matter. Phil and I have agreed to work on things.” Chiara rubbed her throat. Being separated from Phil hadn’t brought the clarity she’d hoped for—then again, they weren’t really apart. “We were going to start counseling again, but our old therapist doesn’t have any openings and we’re going on vacation week after next. I made an appointment for after we get back. I guess it’s just as well you know. Now you won’t ask me to any more parties at the Buffones’.”
“I wish you would’ve told me. Still doesn’t explain why he flirted with me today.”
“I know. I’m not sure why either.”
“I thought he seemed nice, like the rest of his family, but maybe he’s just a dog. You do seem to go for that type.” Isabella grinned.
“Shut up,” Chiara said. She shoved her into the cushions. Isabella laughed. “Thanks for being here.”
“And miss the gossip? I bet he’s a good kisser.”
Chiara smiled, her chin on her folded arms.
“You sure you want to stay with…” Isabella motioned to the bedroom.
Chiara leaned her cheek over to face her sister. “I need to try. For the boys. And for me. I need to know I did everything I could.”
Isabella nodded and leaned over to give her a hug. “How about if I hang around tomorrow? Mom and Dad want to come over.”
“Thanks. ‘Night,” Chiara said as she rose and padded back into the bedroom. Max had stretched out in her spot, so there was no room. She went into the boys’ room and eased into Max’s bed. She grabbed his favorite bear and turned toward the window. The curtain draped open a little, revealing a view of the houses on the other side of the creek, the houses across from Rocco’s. She stared for a few minutes before she forced herself to flip over and shut her eyes. Still, a fleck of light remained, a small twinkle like that in his eyes when he gazed at her before he kissed her.
Chiara woke several times that night. She looked out the window or went and checked on the boys, who slept peacefully all night. She finally fell into a deep sleep, only to be woken before seven when Max pulled on her arm, wanting her to get up and make breakfast. For all Phil did with the boys, he didn’t cook.
He and Danny were still in bed when she shuffled into the bathroom. A pillow covered most of Isabella’s head where she stretched on the couch. Chiara brewed coffee and made pancakes and turkey bacon. Eggs would follow, since Danny and Phil preferred them. Sometimes she felt like a short order cook.
“Are you coming out of the kitchen?” Isabella asked a few hours later. Their mother’s voice chattered on in the living room.
“Do I have to?” Chiara said.
“You know she’ll corner you eventually.”
Chiara rolled her eyes. “I guess I should be grateful everyone else decided not to come over too.”
“I told Santo it would be too much for Max.”
“I knew there was a reason I keep you around.”
Isabella tugged her hair.
“Girls, do you need some help?” Their mom said as she walked in.
“No thanks, everything’s done,” Chiara said.
“Your father and Phil are taking the boys for a walk. Isabella said Max should be fine if he takes it slow. Are you seeing that Rocco soon, Isabella?” Their mom tucked her thick, wavy brown hair behind her ears and circled the counters, running her fingers along the surface.
“No.”
“Oh, why not?” She stopped and faced Isabella, arms crossed, a tiny frown marring her pixie-like features.
“He’s not my type.”
Chiara sauntered into the living room. She bit a hangnail on her thumb. Her mom and Isabella followed.
“Chiara, talk some sense into her, won’t you?”
“What sense would that be?”
“You two.” Her mom dropped to the sofa, sighing. “Phil’s a good father, though I admit it took me awhile to get used to him. But here Isabella has a nice Italian boy interested, from a good family, a decent job, and what does she say?”
Chiara had to smile. Rocco, a boy? Ha. Though he did act childish sometimes. But not when he’d held her, comforted her. Her body actually hurt when she had to leave him, when he wasn’t there to hold her anymore. She’d had to stand on her own.
“Chiara?” her mom said. “Not listening again. I suppose you’re plotting a book?”
“Sorry.”
“Now then, your father and I want the boys to spend the night this Friday. We won’t get to see Danny on his birthday, so we want to do something special. And you and Phil can have a date night.”
Chiara rubbed her cheek and avoided Isabella’s eyes. “I don’t know, Mom…Max just…”
“Max is fine, isn’t he Isabella?” Five feet and two inches of motherly intimidation stared them both down.
“Seems to be, though I wouldn’t send him to camp tomorrow. I’ll come by before dinner and check him out again.”
“See,” her mom said. “And we know you’re leaving Saturday afternoon. It’ll give you time to pack.”
“I guess.”
Her mom shook her head. “That’s all, hum?”
“Thank you, Phil and I appreciate it.”
Her mom smiled her tiny satisfied smile and smoothed her hands on the cushion. “Now if your sister would just…”
“Mom, really,” Isabella said. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to get married and have children.”
“You say that now--”
“I’ve been saying that since I was thirteen. I’m buying a house.”
Leave it to Isabella to pounce a surprise right at the opportune moment.
“Where? Why am I just hearing about this?” their mom said, leaning forward.
“Here in Fairvale. I’m waiting to hear about a place over on Stanley. I could walk to the office.”
“Both my girls here in town. If only Santo would move back.”
Chiara and Isabella exchanged a glance. Luckily, they knew that would never happen. It was even less likely than Tomaso and his wife moving from San Francisco.
“He’s only fifteen minutes away,” Chiara said. The standard response to her mom’s frequent lament.
“Well, we’ll all see each other when you get back. We’re having a family dinner at home Sunday the eighteenth. I expect you both there.”
“That’s the day we’re coming home. We’ll be tired--”
“You’ll have plenty of time to rest. No excuses. Your nieces barely know you anymore and Santo and Tomaso haven’t seen the boys since my birthday.” She leaned into the cushion and tapped her hand.
“Yes, Mom,” Chiara and Isabella sighed out together.
“There’s the boys,” Chiara said. “Lunch is served.” She opened the front door and led everyone into the dining room.
The house was dark. Chiara lay on the sofa, exhausted. Her parents had overstayed their welcome, making Phil and Danny irritable for the rest of the evening and causing Isabella to leave early. Max, who’d been through the worst, remained cheerful. He’d whispered as he held her neck when she kissed him goodnight that he was glad to be spending the day with her, just the two of them, tomorrow. He was her sweetie and he’d been used to spending time with her alone, at least an hour a day since he started kindergarten. In a few months, that would be no more, as both would attend school on the same schedule. She rubbed her stomach. No more baby boy, no more babies. She turned onto her side and shut her eyes; her breath blew into the couch cushion.
“Claire,” a voice woke her.
“Hum?” The cushions muffled her question.
“It’s seven, I’m leaving.”
“Oh.” She sat up with a start and wiped her mouth with her fingertips. “See you later, have a good day.”
“You too.”
Once Phil shut the front door, she eased up, stiff from her night bunched on the sofa. The boys rustled in their beds
. She got ready for the day.
Max spent some of the morning snuggled on the sofa watching “Melody Time.” Chiara held him for awhile, as long as he would tolerate it before he played with his blocks or danced along to the musical shorts. Mid morning, she was about to turn on her computer when a knock on the door stopped her. She peeped out the window. Rocco stood on the stoop, sideways, his eyes focused on some point across the street. She quickly held the curtain down.
“Who is it, Mommy?” Max asked. Next he would go to the front window to see.
“A friend of the family.” She opened the door. She felt herself hunching to counteract the pit in her stomach so she straightened. No need to look slouchy. “Hi.”
“Is this a bad time?” he said. He held up a gift bag. “Just wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
Max sidled up behind her and peeked at Rocco. “Come in,” she said.
He brushed past her and set the bag on the couch. She rubbed her arms before shutting the door. Rocco squatted to Max’s level. “Hey,” Rocco said. “I’m Rocco, you must be Max.” He held out his hand, which Max shook. “You gave everybody a scare, but you look fine to me.” He winked at Max with a broad grin. Max laughed.
“I wasn’t scared,” Max said. Chiara rolled her eyes. Boys, they started young on the invincibility thing. “I was mad at Danny and Jack always ignoring me.”
“I know what you mean. My older brother did that too. I heard you like baseball?”
Max nodded.
“I brought you this. I used to practice with one. And a book. Moms like books,” he said in a confidential tone. He gave Max a whiffle ball and bat and Casey at the Bat. Max smiled and bounced a bit. Chiara smiled for a moment before her brow creased.
“Thanks,” Max said. “You play baseball?”
“I did, still do with my nephews. The youngest is about your age.”
“I wish I had an uncle who played baseball.”
“Doesn’t your uncle Santo? He did in high school.”
“He did?” Max said, studying Rocco as if he didn’t quite believe him.
“We were on the same team. Then I played in the minor leagues before I started the job I have now.”
Rocco and Max sat on the couch. Chiara fidgeted. She didn’t know what to say or how to act. Here was a man she’d almost had sex with, sitting here sweet as can be with her son. She rubbed her forehead.
“Why did you stop playing baseball?”
“My dad asked me to come work in his construction company.”
“Like building houses and stuff?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow. Can I see sometime?”
Rocco glanced at Chiara. “Sorry, but it’s against the rules, usually.”
“Aww. I never get to do anything fun. And Dad and Danny won’t play ball with me and they won’t build stuff either.”
“Max…” Chiara said in warning. His tone bordered on a whine.
“How about I read you this book?” Rocco said. He and Max settled back.
“I’m sorry,” Chiara said. “Did you want something to drink?”
“No thanks. I can’t stay long.”
Chiara walked into the kitchen anyway, unable to watch the cozy scene in front of her. She drank a glass of water while she listened to Rocco’s expressive, deep voice read to Max about the fateful day in Mudville. After she set the glass on the counter, she moved to the doorway. Look at him, so kind and handsome and…maybe she wouldn’t be alone if she and Phil divorced. Maybe she should stop being afraid and leave Phil. She leaned against the door. Yes, she’d been afraid, that was it. She still was.
“’But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.’” Rocco finished and looked up at her. She stood tall and clasped her hands.
“But then he makes his own team of his daughters and they win,” Max said.
“I hadn’t heard that,” Rocco said.
“Sure, it’s in the video I just watched. Wanna see?”
Rocco stared at her. She tingled and fought off the image of him pressed against her, his hands…she crossed her arms over her chest. He rose. “I better go,” he said. “Maybe, I mean, you take care.” He shook Max’s hand.
“Can I play outside?” Max asked.
Chiara nodded. Her throat tightened dangerously. She opened the door for Rocco and Max, who bounded out into the front yard. He ran around the side, opened the gate, and ran into the back yard. Chiara knew he would probably play there in the fenced yard for a bit.
“Nice boy,” Rocco said.
“So’s yours,” she said. “He…”
“Yeah.” He faced her but his eyes focused on her shoulder. “Obviously this all was a mistake.”
She shifted her feet. She wasn’t sure what he meant. “If I…” She wanted to ask what he would do if she left Phil, but the words choked in her throat. She coughed.
“Enjoy your life,” he said, still not looking her in the eyes. “The one you’ve got.”
“You too,” she said almost in a whisper. That told her what she needed to know. She had a lot of other questions, but none of them mattered much when he was blowing her off. She didn’t even allow herself to watch him walk away, but his truck’s powerful engine gunned sending a jolt through her. Tilting her head, she walked into the back yard, shutting the gate behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Dammit!” Rocco shouted as the pain seared through his finger. It had only been a few hours since he left Chiara’s house and he hadn’t been able to concentrate. Of course, his lack of sleep the last couple nights might have something to do with it.
“Hey, you all right?” Juan asked with a raised eyebrow. Rocco had never done anything so stupid and careless as to miss his mark with the hammer.
“Yeah, fine,” he said. He waved his hand and continued his work. His finger throbbed but he ignored it. At least it centered his pain somewhere other than his head or his chest, which had both tightened without relief since Saturday. Thankfully, he’d just seen the family so he wouldn’t have to see them again for awhile. He’d rather be alone right now.
He lay in bed again that night, staring at the ceiling. He’d been a little more restless the last six months or so, but nothing like this. Was Chiara in bed with her husband? Were they having sex? He sat up and clutched his head as a shock of pain jolted. He rose, went into his bathroom, and shook a couple Advil into his hand. He swallowed them down and walked into the living room. Flipping on the TV, he slumped into the couch and stared at the flashing images. Maybe this would work again, though he was getting too old to sleep on the couch, especially when he didn’t need to. His eyes flicked around the room, a mistake since all he saw was Chiara and how beautiful she was when they kissed, how eager she’d been to touch him. Shutting his eyes, he hoped for sleep, though even that didn’t guarantee Chiara-free hours.
Two evenings later, he started from his slumped position on the couch when the phone rang. He let the machine pick up, not even bothering to answer hearing it was Shawn. No doubt his son only wanted to know if he’d gone to the AA meeting, which he hadn’t. Rocco didn’t need to sit in a stuffy room listening to people’s sob stories and drama. He’d managed fine these last two years without it. And if he wanted a beer every once in a while, was that really a big deal? So he’d had two beers with his chicken burrito, it was worth it to get some sleep, to finally relax a little. He almost hadn’t realized how tense he’d been these last weeks until he got that tiny buzz. He had discipline--he could make that six pack of Coronas last through the weekend.
And by Friday night he did still have a couple beers in the fridge. So what if the reason for that was an acquaintance of his, a very pretty one in fact, invited him out for a drink. Usually he made some excuse about why he wasn’t drinking, but he figured a couple beers in the bar was better than drinking alone. Besides, obviously he was doing something right since she invited him back to her place.
As he drove to her apartment a few minut
es from the bar, he tapped the steering wheel. Probably all this craziness with Chiara was because he hadn’t had sex in a month now. Yes, he should have thought of that before. Now he would be able to get over her.
Tina didn’t have any hesitation, either. She moved right in for a kiss as soon as the front door shut. He squeezed her ass, not bad, but not as rounded as Chiara’s. And her taste, like cigarettes and beer, not sweet and fruity and savory like Chiara. His brow creased as he tried to focus on Tina. Her tongue squelched into his mouth where Chiara’s had teased and darted. Fingering her perky breasts, he was only reminded how full and responsive Chiara’s were, where Tina’s stayed smooth under his touch. He grunted, almost disgusted with his thoughts, with his inability to maintain. She pushed back and he breathed deeply.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 10
