Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book)

by Juliano, Celia

  “I gotta go, my cell’s ringing,” he said. He let Sabrina get out a “bye” before he hung up.

  Lies. He didn’t want to be a liar anymore. So many women he’d lied to. Had Chiara lied to him? Or had he been so deep in his own feelings he misinterpreted hers? He knew now what had happened with so many of those women, who assumed he loved them or wanted a relationship after a hot night together. He’d never understood before, dismissed them as overly emotional.

  Chiara was different. He would need sex, but the thought of it with anyone but Chiara was distasteful. Like biting into an apple and finding it mealy. Chiara wasn’t even an apple. Apples could be good, crunchy and mellow, sometimes the blemished ones the best tasting. But oranges were his favorite. A really good one was hard to find. Once he’d had the perfect orange, smooth-skinned and fragrant and, peeling it, the surprise of a red, jeweled interior--juicy, sweet but sharp. He’d never found one quite as good again. But he kept trying.

  By the next afternoon, he was done. He’d checked on the two jobsites, did some paperwork for his parents, got a few things at OSH, his body aching and tired. All he wanted was a hot bath--he really needed to install a whirlpool tub--and a nice bottle of scotch. One last hurrah and then he’d stop.

  He lasted about five minutes in the bath. All he could think of was Chiara. He took a quick shower instead before he settled on the couch with the bottle and a glass on the coffee table. He flipped on the TV, though the Giants game wouldn’t start for a few more hours. It was just noise anyway, something to cut the silence.

  He downed the first glass. Pouring another, he stopped. The glass stayed on the table. He leaned back and shut his eyes. When he’d kissed Chiara last night, she returned his exploration, the pressure of his lips, until she must have tasted the alcohol on him. If he hadn’t had those drinks last night, maybe she would be with him right now. He could taste her. What kind of man needed a couple drinks to find the courage to get his woman, his love? No man, but a coward. Shit.

  Lifting the bottle and glass, he strode into the kitchen. Glass in the sink, now for the scotch, down the drain. His hand trembled a bit. He set the bottle down. A knock echoed from the front door. Brushing his hands on his shorts, he hurried to answer it.

  “Hi Dad,” Sabrina and Shawn said. “Happy Birthday!”

  He didn’t say anything, afraid they’d smell the liquor. But they walked in and there would be no hiding it now. “Thanks,” he said. “I was just fixing something in the kitchen.”

  “We’ll help,” Shawn said, walking ahead of him. Rocco tried to get there, but Sabrina took his arm. “What’s this? Dammit.”

  Sabrina dropped his arm. “Daddy?” she asked, sounding seven again, disappointed because he missed her ballet recital, out drinking.

  Rocco pulled himself tall and ground his teeth together. “It’s not…I was just pouring it out, I swear to God.”

  “And we should believe you?” Shawn said. He poured the amber liquid down the drain, the bottle thudded into the recycle bin. His kids stood together, arms crossed, waiting.

  “I don’t want to do this again. I’m different now.” He wasn’t sure, but he would try.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Sabrina said. She dropped her arms with a sigh and hugged him. “You need someone. I could move in here, go to Las Positas for a couple years like Shawn did.”

  “No, absolutely not. You and Maddy are going to have a great time together--”

  “But I’m thinking of transferring in a couple years anyway…”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Shawn studied him. “Hey, what if, look, you know Mom and John are planning on getting married?” Rocco nodded. “How about if Sabrina and I move in for the rest of summer? We could help you with this place, spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa, our stuff’s mostly packed anyway. Huh, Sabrina?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect! That’s what we’ll do.”

  “But your Mom,” Rocco said.

  “She and John are busy and you know she’s got her job and all,” Sabrina said.

  “I don’t have the bedrooms furnished, and the bathroom, it’s unusable.”

  “No problem,” Sabrina said. “You and Shawn can do the bathroom and I’ll get furniture.”

  “What about your friends?”

  “Maddy and I will be in San Diego together.”

  “I didn’t make any close friends at Las Positas. This will be good. I’ll call Mom.”

  “You can’t go furniture shopping by yourself,” Rocco said. The weight, the tiredness, began to lift, knowing they wouldn’t let him stop them now.

  “I know. Oh! Grandma said Chiara lives around the corner. I’ll ask her,” Sabrina said.

  Rocco rubbed his forehead. How the hell did she jump to Chiara? “What about your grandma?”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. “She has to work, remember? The secretary quit to have a baby. Everyone works, but not Chiara.” He didn’t care that her tone told him she thought he was an idiot. Was that a playful twinkle in his daughter’s eye? Hum.

  “She has her boys.”

  “They can come too. In fact, if they like me, maybe she’ll hire me to babysit sometimes. I could use a bit more in my savings.”

  Rocco chuckled. “You have more saved than I do,” he said. Maybe not strictly true, but pretty close. Saving was one lesson from his parents that stuck and his kids got it too.

  “Can’t have too much saved,” she said.

  Shawn spoke on his phone in the living room. Rocco’s shoulders eased down as his son clicked shut his phone. “Mom said that would be great. Better show me that bathroom, see what we need to do.”

  Rocco put an arm over his son’s shoulders. They were okay. He glanced at Sabrina. Her wheels turned, he could tell by her sideways grin and far-off look. Maybe if Chiara saw kids could turn out okay after a divorce, it would help her. Leave it to Sabrina.

  He patted Shawn’s back as they surveyed the spare bathroom. It was okay to need people. It was good to love.

  “We can fix this,” Shawn said.

  “Anything can be repaired,” Rocco said. He smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chiara’s stomach knotted. This was worse than morning sickness. No end in sight and no sweet baby to show for the suffering, either. Only the promise of no Phil. But at the price of a possibly nasty divorce and custody battle.

  Soon he’d be home. He and Danny wouldn’t talk to her except to ask for something. Even Max was quiet, for him. She began to wonder how things could ever get better. Guilty, she’d taken the boys to the park and out to lunch at The Ice Creamery. Prepared a dinner the boys and Phil liked: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn sauté, and biscuits. She couldn’t worry too much about nutrition just then.

  The phone rang, and while she dreaded it might be Isabella or her mom calling to upbraid or grill her again, she answered, needing to hear another person’s voice.

  A girl’s cheerful voice responded to her hello. “It’s Sabrina,” she said. Chiara’s stomach jumped. “How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Chiara said. She leaned against the counter to support her wobbly self.

  “I have a favor to ask. Shawn and I are moving in with Dad for the rest of summer and I’m in charge of furniture and stuff. Dad doesn’t have much. Everyone’s working and I hoped you and your boys might be able to come shopping with me sometime? I’d really appreciate it.”

  Sabrina might not have gone on so long had Chiara been able to talk. She tightened her grip on the phone and tried to take a deep breath, but failed. “I, umm…” Chiara’s mind threw words out, but none made any sense to her. Images of their afternoon together scrolled. Rocco, some connection to him…

  “Dad just doesn’t have time, but I do and I love decorating. I’d really like to make his house nice, you know? No fun visiting a bachelor pad,” Sabrina said. She spoke quickly, as if she thought Chiara might hang up on her. Maybe she should, but she could never do that. Sabrina was sweet and she was
Rocco’s daughter. So innocent, it would all be blameless.

  “Okay, sure. Maybe Ikea first? The boys like to go there for the play area and the food.” This could be good, Chiara needed to see how much things cost, since she’d need to furnish rooms for the boys when she moved out. Though how she’d afford an apartment with no job…

  “Great,” Sabrina said. “I’m making Dad a birthday dinner, so I better go.”

  Chiara squeezed her waist with her free arm, in an effort to stop the queasy longing. “Wish him a happy birthday from me,” she said softly.

  “Sure. Oh, let me give you the number here so you can call when you’re free.”

  Chiara scrambled for a pen and paper and scribbled the number before saying goodbye. She pushed the phone back on its cradle without looking and shut herself in the laundry room. Taking some deep breaths, she studied her hands. They trembled. Rocco may have been wrong in how he went about it, but all he wanted was to take her home, he wanted her there with him on his birthday. Birthdays were special to Chiara, the day you could do what you wanted, even eat cake for breakfast.

  She kicked the dryer. A hollow thump echoed in the white space. Phil never let her paint any of the rooms. She’d have blues, pinks, greens, a little red, a galaxy of stars on her bedroom ceiling so she could pretend to gaze at the heavens as evening approached, or to wake up to in the morning. The night sky held so much mystery and promise, a luminescence and sparkle impossible in daylight. Something clattered onto the floor in the kitchen. She ran out.

  “Danny!” she shrieked. A bowl laid upturned, biscuits scattered on the floor of the kitchen. “Never go near the stove unless I’m here!”

  “Why aren’t you here?” Phil asked as he appeared in the doorway. “Don’t yell.”

  Danny ran to him and hugged him while Max sucked his finger as he cowered behind Phil. Max didn’t even suck his thumb as a baby. Chiara hugged her arms but kept a steady gaze on the trio.

  “I was only in the laundry room for a moment,” she said.

  “On the phone with your friend?” he said. He knew, all this time, he knew. The corners of her mouth tightened.

  “No,” she said.

  “Danny, was Mommy on the phone?”

  “Yes,” Danny whispered.

  “It was just Isabella,” she said.

  Phil went to the phone, the boys trailing him. His shoulder pushed Chiara’s as he dialed, only three digits. After a silent few seconds, he hung up. “Didn’t sound like your sister.”

  Chiara shut her eyes.

  “Max,” Phil said, bending down to his level. “When that man was here, the one who was at Grandma and Grandpa’s last night, did he and Mommy leave you alone?”

  How did he even know Rocco had been here? Max glanced at her, as if afraid to say the wrong thing. “Tell Daddy the truth,” she said.

  “No, he read me a book and talked to me, that’s all,” Max said.

  Chiara narrowed her eyes at Phil.

  “Dinner ready?” he said.

  Chiara nodded and he and the boys washed their hands while she cleaned up the mess and set the food on the table. A quiet dinner followed, as was the rest of the night. Chiara wanted to blast Phil, but she knew it was safer to hold her tongue.

  A few days later, Chiara felt as spun back as one of the boys’ toy cars, and just as ready to speed out of control if released. Her patience with the boys stretched to its limit with Danny’s disobedience, even at the park, where she’d taken them every day. It was only ten in the morning and already she’d sent them to their room for back-talking her. The phone rang--it was Sabrina. Chiara bit her lip. One more thing to feel guilty about: she’d never called her when she said she would.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Sabrina said.

  “You’re not,” Chiara said. “I meant to call, but…”

  “I really need to get something. Shawn and I are moving our stuff in this weekend. He and Dad have been working hard on the bathroom. I did some checking online, and I think we’d have better luck over at the Southland Mall, at Sears or JC Penney. Would you still go?”

  “Sure, we can go today, if you want.”

  “Great, should I walk over?”

  Chiara agreed and gave her the address. She wasn’t so sure it would be great if Danny and Max didn’t behave.

  Chiara had forgotten the appeal a pretty, cheerful young woman had with her little boys. They beamed at her, glancing at their mother in surprise that she would know such a person. Sabrina charmed them from the first hello and they followed her around the mall, eager to please. The four of them got more done in that morning than Chiara usually managed in a few days of errands with them on her own. They ate lunch at McDonalds, a rare treat for the boys, before shopping for bedding and accessories to go with the bed frames they’d bought. Sabrina said her dad would take her to get mattresses tomorrow. Somehow, they squeezed their purchases into Chiara’s little SUV, though she couldn’t see out the back.

  Pulling into Rocco’s driveway, Chiara scolded herself for the contented warmth which made her feel she was home. Being there was a mistake. But Sabrina chatted happily, promising Max he could help Shawn work on the bathroom, or maybe assemble one of the beds, before she listened attentively to Danny expound on his vast knowledge of gardening as they walked into the house. Shawn ambled out and greeted them, no hint of knowing her secret. They all unloaded the car, Chiara taking time to notice the swaying birch trees in the front yard, the neatly trimmed grass and well maintained wood fence. Some flowers would be a nice touch of color, she mused before shaking her head at herself.

  But Sabrina took her through the house, eliciting all such opinions from Chiara, from what kind of table should go in the dining room, with its built in hutches, to what colors to paint the bedrooms. At least they didn’t go into Rocco’s room. The boys began to grumble about being bored, so Sabrina took Danny outside to get his advice about the back yard while Shawn led Max into the bathroom, where he let Max help him install some towel hooks. Chiara walked into the kitchen, smoothing her hand along the walls as she went. She found a tray on one of the many counters, set glasses on it, and poured them some juice and sparkling waters. The phone rang. No one answered, until the machine picked up. Rocco’s deep voice filled the space.

  “Shawn, pick up,” he said. “Come on.” Chiara’s body tightened. He sounded urgent. What if something had happened to him? Panic burned through her. A frustrated breath punctuated the silence.

  “Rocco,” she said as she picked up the phone. “It’s Chiara. Are you okay?”

  He paused. “Yeah. Did I call the wrong number?” he said, his voice bordering on laughter.

  “We went furniture shopping with Sabrina. She’s outside with Danny and Max is helping Shawn.”

  “Oh, thanks. Can you put Shawn on,” he asked. “I needed a measurement.”

  “Sure,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as disappointed and low as she felt. She walked down the hall, the drill whirring from behind the bathroom door. She knocked.

  “Chiara,” Rocco said in a low voice. “Are you okay?” He stressed the you. He knew she wasn’t.

  “Here he is,” she said when Shawn appeared. She handed him the phone. “It’s your dad,” she whispered. He nodded and took the phone.

  She gripped her throat as she walked into the living room. An urge to scream and hit or curl into a fetal position froze her. She should absolutely not be here. Phil would find out and then it would be one more thing he could turn into something dirty, something to add to his growing list of how she was an unfit mother. She knew she wasn’t, she knew it took a lot more than she did to have the court decide that, but those facts didn’t change the nagging loop in her head that she was guilty, that, somehow, Phil was right.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Seven weeks. Rocco glanced at his iPhone calendar. Seven weeks to the day since he and Chiara made love. He leaned his head back and breathed in the metallic tinged air of his truck. And he hadn’t
seen her since the night at her parents’, other than a few lucky glimpses as she got in or out of her car in her driveway.

  He shrugged his shoulder. The too-familiar bleakness began to creep in on him. Sabrina was gone, left for San Diego last week with her mom. Shawn drove away this morning for a weekend with an old high school friend at his family cabin near Jamestown. It would be Rocco’s first weekend alone in a while. He hoped his redecorated house would help ease the ache, but as he wandered around it this morning, it only reminded him of Chiara and her absence from his life. He slapped his thigh and jumped out of his truck before sliding his phone into his pocket.