Sapphire Ice

by Hallee Bridgeman

  She struggled to free herself, but it was no use. "What are you doing?" she sputtered, clawing at his hand. "Let me go!"

  "I'd rather not make a scene," he explained through gritted teeth while he eyed the suddenly still kitchen. He slammed open the back door and pulled her outside. A waiter crouched against a crate, book in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. His expression remained pleasant when he looked up at them. "Take over the bar for this shift, will you, Rob?"

  The man stood up straight. "Sure. Sure, Mr. V."

  Robin sputtered. "No way. Get your hands off me." Tony's stride never broke and he continued to haul her across the parking lot. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Do you hear me?" Nothing. "I'll scream for help."

  He stopped so suddenly that she ran into his back. He turned her until she faced him, and he gripped both of her arms. "Do it."

  She heard the very real threat in his voice. Not wanting to risk it, she clamped her lips together and stiffly shook her head. "Good. Now, get in the car."

  Keeping a grip on one of her arms, he opened the door and waited. "No."

  His voice was dangerously quiet. "Do you want to test whether or not I can bodily put you in there?"

  She tried to stare him down, but eventually lost the battle, and with half a growl, she threw herself into the seat. Seconds later, Tony sat beside her, starting the powerful engine of the little sports car, and tearing out of the parking lot.

  "Where are we going?"

  "I have something to show you."

  "I hope you realize that you just hauled your best bartender out of your bar on the busiest night of the week." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared out the window.

  "Hank's isn't going to collapse because Robin Bartlett isn't manning the bar for one Saturday night. As a matter of fact, it would still be there without a bar." He took a corner fast enough to make her shoulder lean on the door.

  "I'm losing tips."

  "I'll give you a raise."

  "I don't want a raise."

  "But you deserve a raise. You're my best bartender."

  In a rage now, she slapped the dashboard. "You can't just drag someone around like that and force them to do your bidding. I don't care who you are or how much money you … "

  "Robin," he said very quietly, but with enough ice to halt her screaming sentence, "I'm warning you, now, to just clam it."

  She decided to save it until they got to wherever he was taking them. The longer she remained quiet, the more calmly he drove. In the late afternoon light, Robin recognized landmarks and realized they had traveled into a pretty rough section of town. She remembered, all too vividly, living as a child and a young teenager in many of the apartment buildings they passed. Deep into one of the worst neighborhoods she knew of, he casually pulled into the parking lot of a large church. Robin knew the church. It took up two full blocks with all of its buildings and schools. For her, as a little girl, she had always used it as a major landmark.

  "Why are we here?" she asked, trying not to let her apprehension creep into her voice.

  For several moments, Tony didn't speak. Finally, he said, "I apologize, sincerely, for losing my temper." He turned off the car and got out, moving slower than usual as he came around to her side to open her door. As soon as she was out of the car, he took her hand in his. "My feelings for you tend to override a lot of things. Please accept my apology."

  His feelings for her? Reeling over the last several minutes, Robin could do nothing but nod and stammer, "Okay."

  His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Let's walk."

  Robin looked all around her. "Uh, Tony, this isn't really the best neighborhood -"

  Tony clinched his jaw. "Robin, mi amante, not everything in life is a debate. Could you, just once today, stop arguing with me? If it wouldn't be too much trouble?"

  Robin closed her mouth. Whatever retort she had prepared vanished in a heartbeat. She sensed that he intended to share something important with her. She suddenly wanted to know what that important thing might be.

  He led them away from the church. "Let me tell you a story."

  "Really, that isn't – "

  "Once upon a time, there was a young sixteen year old girl who fell in love with a fisherman in Florence, Italy. He was much older than her, and well below her station, but she didn't care. Thumbing her nose at her parents, she married him, anyway. They told her to never come back and disowned her." Tony steered her around the legs of a snoring man who sat against a building, empty bottle gripped in his dirty hands, and continued his story.

  "Well, for about a year, life was bliss. Until the day a storm hit right off the coast and took the fisherman with it. She was young, devastated, alone, and pregnant. Not to mention poor. She tried to go to her parents for help, but they were true to their word and wouldn't even open the door to her. Now, her husband didn't have any family in Italy, but he spoke often of his Aunt Rosa in America. See, that was his dream. To eventually raise enough money to take his family away from the poverty that had trapped him in Italy and bring them to America."

  Robin scooted closer to Tony as they passed a hooker with mean eyes. He squeezed her hand and kept talking. "So, she wrote Rosa, sold everything she could to raise enough money to get here, and came on her way. She had expected the grand American life, and was crushed when she learned that Rosa was actually even more poor than she was, and lived in an apartment that didn't even have a working heater half the time. She was miserable, very pregnant, and sleeping on a sofa in a cold two-room apartment. And Rosa was old. She was actually her husband's great aunt.

  "Neither women spoke English, and she had a hard time finding a job. Now, in this neighborhood, there were several things a woman could do to earn money, few of which are legal, and she went that route, falling victim to a few vices along the way. Her son stayed with Rosa while she went about her life, popping in and out every so often. Then she'd leave and do whatever it was that she did to support her heroin addiction."

  Robin knew, without a doubt, that the little boy in the story was Antonio Viscolli. Shamed at the way she'd spoken to him, at what she said, she suddenly didn't want to hear the rest of the story. "Tony … "

  The look in his eyes and his single raised finger stilled her. "Wait. I'm almost to the punch line. Anyway, Rosa died when the boy was ten. He was in school, but only in the second grade, because he was having to learn English as he went. His mother showed up to claim the apartment, and having a young son did nothing to hamper her lifestyle. Life was hell for him, but he managed to make it on his own. Of course, rent had to be paid and food had to be bought, so, following the path of his mother, he hit the streets. He wasn't very big and could get in and out of an apartment quickly. He made some pretty good contacts, and could fence a television for a good price. He even hit the business section a few times, got caught by the police twice picking pockets, and was pretty much headed toward becoming a hoodlum."

  She couldn't imagine Tony doing any of that. Looking at him, dressed to the nines in his suit, his shirt perfectly starched and gleaming white, his tie straight, the diamond on his pinkie catching the glow of the afternoon sun – he looked every single bit of the rich business man. No way could she picture him worming his way out of a window carrying a pilfered radio.

  They stopped now, next to a dilapidated old building with boarded up windows. Tony turned to face her. The smooth cultured look vanished in a breath. His eyes had hardened. His mouth pulled into a thin line. Even his voice had changed. It sounded harsher, carried an accent that was a mix of Italian, South Boston, and insolence. "He found his mother dead when he was seventeen. She'd overdosed on her favorite drug. The needle was still sticking out of her arm." He stepped away from her and looked over her shoulder down the street. "The landlord had already taped the eviction notice on the door, so without a backward look, he left.

  "He was just out of juvie, so none of his so-called friends trusted him. Too many came out narks at first, so he had no pl
ace to stay." He came toward her again and put an arm over her shoulder, turning her so that she was facing the building. He pointed toward the doorway. "That was a good place to sleep. It has a deep recess and a stoop. It blocked the wind, which was good, because January is bitter cold."

  Robin's stomach muscles shivered, as if she personally felt that cold. Her voice quivered and her throat ached with unshed tears. "That's enough."

  "No. It isn't." He turned her until they were looking down the street. "There's an Italian restaurant down that way. They make good calzones. The wife used to make all the pasta by hand. And the guy, he'd throw enough food away at night so that anyone hungry enough, right after he went inside, could hit the Dumpster and fight off the cats and rats and get himself something to eat."

  "Stop!" She put a hand over her mouth and stared at him.

  "I laid there in that doorway one night. It couldn't have been more than twenty degrees. I was cold, starving, exhausted, and I swore that I would die before I suffered through one more night. I swore that would be the very last night. And, miracle of miracles, it was." He turned them back the way they came and they headed back toward the tall steeples of the church. "The next night, I went into the church. I decided I'd case the place, see what I could get for what I could get. There was some service going on in there. I walked in right at the end of the singing and right before the preaching.

  "Robin, I cannot put into human words what happened to me when I heard that pastor's message of salvation. It was like a dam burst and a floodgate of love poured into and out of my heart. The message that God loved me, that I wasn't alone, that no matter how cold I got or how hungry I got, He would provide a way for me. I'd been alone my entire life and suddenly, someone loved me. Me. A bad kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of the bay. A low life thief."

  One of his eyebrows raised to emphasize his next words. "A liar." He paused as if to let that sink in; as if lying were worse than stealing or thuggery.

  "And I learned the most important thing of all, that no matter what I did up until that moment, I was forgiven. The almighty, all powerful, all knowing God who created the universe and time knew everything I had ever done, every thought I ever had, and He still loved me and forgave me. As if I had never done any of it, as if I had never thought any of it. He forgave ME and he loved ME."

  He put his hands on her shoulders. "It's hard for those of us who never had any good parenting models to grasp, but we are His children and He loves each one of us so much that He sent His own Son to die for us. And, Robin, He loves you as much as He loves me."

  CHAPTER 9

  ROBIN felt a tingling in the back of her chest, near her stomach. She took a deep breath hoping the cool evening air would still whatever strange sensation flooded her body. It didn't. Hearing that God, a being whom she didn't even know whether she believed existed, loved her made her want to cry and beg, but she didn't know why she should cry or for what she should beg. So, instead, she ignored the intensity of the feeling and refocused on Tony's story. "What happened?"

  Tony saw her fight the battle inside herself, the battle between flesh and spirit, and witnessed her flesh win. He knew Robin didn't win though. Fighting back against the knocking of the Holy Spirit did nothing but place her on the losing side. He fervently prayed while he gently put a hand on her elbow and continued walking.

  Robin could sense Tony's disappointment, but it confused her. She thought maybe he regretted telling her the story. She had never told anyone, ever, how she had lived, what she had endured. As far as it concerned her, nothing that happened to her before today had anything to do with anyone else. She wanted to rub his arm and tell him that she could forget everything he said and they could go back to the lighthearted fun they'd had all week.

  They reached the church again but instead of taking her back to the car, he steered them onto a tree-lined residential street. The street didn't fit in the neighborhood. The freshly painted houses sported cute little lawns and picket fences. Kids' toys and bicycles sat propped against trees and chalk drawings decorated the sidewalks.

  Rather than tell her what happened next, Tony decided to let her experience a small taste of it. He gestured. "The church owns this street. The staff lives here. Surprisingly, the crime in this neighborhood has never made its way down this row. I think the church does so much that no one wants to hurt the people who help." He winked at her, "Or there's an angel guarding the entrance. It could go either way."

  Dusk settled around them and porch lights carved through the twilight. They walked about halfway down the street and Tony stopped Robin and unlatched a picket gate. How many times over the years had he reached down and lifted that latch? Thousands? When he felt overwhelmed, he came home to this place. When he felt frustrated, he lifted that little latch and walked down the little stone path. When the darts and arrows of the world overcame him, he would find solace and comfort beyond the picket fence. He suddenly realized that never, in all of his years, had he brought a female guest with him. Especially a female for whom he had such strong feelings. He realized that they would see it right away, and he grinned at the thought.

  He led the way down the little path to the front door. Instead of opening it with the key in his pocket, he rang the doorbell and stepped back. The sounds from inside made him smile. Every single thing in his life might change, but everything here would always remain the same.

  As he rang the bell, Robin could hear laughter, loud voices, running feet. A woman opened the door. Tendrils of hair escaped her ponytail and tickled the large freckles scattered across her cheeks, forehead, and nose. She had her long dress covered by an apron and fuzzy pink bunny house slippers on her feet. She looked maybe ten years older than Tony.

  "Buona sera," Tony said.

  "What in the world are you doing ringing the doorbell?" She asked, her eyes skimming over Tony then resting on Robin. "Ah. I see." She put her hands on her hips and smiled at Tony while she tried to act stern. "I don't see you or hear from you all week and you show up when I have on bunny slippers and no makeup!"

  Tony smiled. "You're beautiful, amico."

  She blushed and laughed before opening the door wider. "Please come in."

  He stepped aside and put a hand on the small of Robin's back, steering her in front of him. "This is Robin Bartlett. Robin, allow me to introduce Caroline O'Farrell."

  Caroline held her hand out in a very welcoming manner. Robin couldn't help feeling that she genuinely liked meeting her. "Pleasure to meet you, Robin." She looked wryly over Robin's head toward Tony. "Tony's never brought a girl home before."

  Robin didn't know what to say and tried to resist Tony's pressure on her back to step forward. She lost that momentary battle and finally took her offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled into the house. "It's nice to meet you, Caroline. Sorry to pop in without calling first."

  "Don't be silly. Don't need to announce Tony. He's one of us." They went from the small entryway into a good-sized living room. Books and puzzles spilled out of a bookshelf onto the carpeted floor. Framed pictures of children in various ages and ethnicities and general kiddish cuteness covered the walls. A white teenage boy and a younger black teenage girl sprawled on a sofa in front of a television. A little boy with tawny hair and round glasses carried plates to the table that filled the other half of the room. A little girl of Oriental descent came darting from the open kitchen door screaming, "Uncle Tony! Uncle Tony!"

  He grinned as he bent to pick her up, swinging her around and kissing both cheeks. "Little Angel Dove. How are you?"

  "I have a loose tooth," she said, then promptly bared her teeth and pushed her front tooth forward with her tongue. "I'll get a dollar when it comes out!"

  Tony showed exactly the right amount of interest. "A whole dollar?"

  "Yep!"

  "What will you do with a whole dollar?"

  "Well," she said, rolling her eyes to look at Caroline, "mom says that a whole dime of it has to go to church. But that w
ill leave enough for at least a pack of gum, she said."

  "At least." He kissed her temple before setting her down. "Haven't I taught you the art of negotiation?"

  Caroline laughed. "We started at fifty cents."

  Smiling, Tony patted Angel's head. "That's my girl."

  A tall thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and black framed glasses came out of the kitchen and walked straight toward them with a smile on his face. His white apron sported giant red lips and the words "KISS THE COOK". In one hand he held grilling tongs and the other a bottle of barbeque sauce. He set them both on the table as he passed by it and had his arms out before he even reached them.

  "Tony, my brother!" he said with great enthusiasm.

  "Peter, mi fratello, it's great to see you," Tony said. He stepped forward. With interest, Robin watched the two men embrace and pound each other on the back as they broke contact. The smile on Tony's face removed the last of the traces of harshness the neighborhood had brought earlier. "I'd like you to meet someone," Tony said, turning to bring Robin into their fold. "Robin Bartlett, this is my good friend and brother, Peter O'Farrell. Peter, this is Robin."