by Debbie Mason
Rubbing her arms against the chill, Sophie moved to the door and closed it. As she did, she scanned the rows of books on the shelves, searching for a binding similar to the one Colleen had held up. But there was no sign of the brown leather-bound book. At the sound of running feet on the tower stairs, she raced to the door to lock it. She was too late. Ava and Dana burst into the room, breathless and flushed.
“Did you find it?” Ava asked, her eyes frantically searching the room.
Sophie opened her mouth to answer at the same time Rosa, Kitty, and Maggie shoved their way inside, sending Ava and Dana stumbling toward the bed. Unlike Sophie, her grandmother, Kitty, and Maggie had no compunction invading Colleen’s space. Neither did the rest of the Widow’s Club, who arrived a few minutes later. Books flew off the shelves, clothes out of the dresser drawers, papers out of the desk. Sophie joined her grandmother to search under the bed.
“Look for loose floorboards,” Rosa directed, cursing when she bumped her head on the bed frame.
“It’s okay, Nonna. This is my problem, not yours. I’ll—”
Her grandmother’s eyes flicked to Sophie, a touch of pink coloring her prominent cheekbones. She went back to trying to pry the floorboards loose as though Sophie hadn’t spoken. It was then that she realized her grandmother didn’t want to find the book to protect Sophie’s secret; Rosa had one of her own. Just like every woman in this room.
Twenty minutes later, she and her grandmother crawled out from beneath the bed. They had nothing but broken fingernails and dust bunnies covering their black dresses to show for their efforts.
A woman with steel-gray curls entered the room holding up a mangled videotape. “We won’t be getting anything off this. It’s fried.”
An hour later, Kitty voiced what everyone else had deduced by that time. “The book isn’t here.”
Chapter Nine
Sophie had managed to find a parking spot across the road from the church. Probably because her grandmother had insisted they arrive thirty minutes before the funeral. If Sophie had gone to work this morning, that would have been a problem, but she’d called in sick. After learning about Colleen’s memoir and being unable to find it, she’d spent half the night tossing and turning and hadn’t been up for an early morning face-to-face with Michael and Maura Gallagher. She’d considered skipping the funeral and reception afterward altogether.
But she’d been thinking more clearly following a hot shower and several cups of coffee and had given herself a mental kick in the pants. She needed the job, and if she had any hope at all of turning Greystone’s fortunes around, she needed Michael and Bethany to choose the manor as the venue for their wedding. They needed the publicity to attract the attention of the numerous wedding and event planners Kitty and Colleen had turned away over the past seven years. Even though Colleen’s infamous memoir could lead to Sophie’s downfall, she wanted to prove that Colleen’s faith in her hadn’t been misplaced.
Before they left for the church, Sophie had called to tell Jasper she was feeling better, and she’d be there to handle the reception. To which she received a snotty “Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at home, Miss DiRossi. At least until you’re fully recovered.”
He had no idea how much she’d like to do just that. The day promised to be as dark and foreboding as the weather. A light drizzle fell from the slate-gray clouds hanging above the spire of the brick church.
“Careful, Mia,” Sophie warned her daughter, gripping her hand a little tighter as they started across the road. The temperature was steadily dropping, and she was worried Mia would slip. One of Rosa’s friends had dug up some of her granddaughter’s old clothes and given them to Mia. Black shoes, tights, a jumper, and a white blouse that she wore beneath a red velvet coat with a Peter Pan collar.
Rosa tilted her black umbrella to give Sophie a smug smile. “She’s excited to go to the funeral, aren’t you, bambina?”
Mia nodded, tugging at Sophie’s hand to hurry her along.
Sophie didn’t understand why her grandmother thought a seven-year-old being excited to attend a funeral was a good thing. It struck Sophie as odd and worrisome. The only reason she could come up with for her daughter’s ebullient mood was that Mia wanted to see Liam. Or maybe thanks to Marco’s choice of movies, and the fire, nothing frightened her, and she’d developed a taste for the macabre.
“You have to be quiet…,” Sophie began then sighed; obviously that wasn’t a problem. “Sit still and be respectful in church, baby.”
Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed when they reached the sidewalk. “You didn’t take her to church in Hollywood?”
Sophie wasn’t up for a lecture and was about to say that of course she did, when Mia shook her head at the same time slanting a glance from under her long lashes at Sophie. She was beginning to think her daughter took pleasure in throwing her under the bus. “There wasn’t a church in our area,” she defended herself.
Rosa pursed her lips. “You will come to church with Nonna from now on, bambina. You’re in second grade, sí? You will have your Reconciliation and First Communion next year. We’ll—”
“First.” Sophie cleared her throat. “She’s in first grade.”
Mia tugged her hand from Sophie and waved two fingers at her and then at her great-grandmother.
“Ah, we may have a problema,” Rosa said with a grimace.
Ya think? Sophie wanted to say, but instead forced a smile for her ticked-off daughter. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.” Only they weren’t going home right away because they were going to the reception at the manor. Of course her grandmother wouldn’t miss that. And her brother, who cooked as well as Rosa, had agreed to help out at the reception. So Sophie had no choice but to bring Mia with her. Which meant her problems were increasing at an alarming rate.
They walked up the steps to the church doors. A priest wearing white vestments greeted her grandmother warmly as they entered the vestibule. Sophie was relieved to see it wasn’t Father Garibaldi. Short and thickset with dark eyes that seemed to see through to your soul, he’d been old school—all fire and brimstone. Sophie spent most of her teenage years convinced she was going to hell.
Rosa introduced them to Father O’Malley. “Welcome to Immaculate Conception,” he said. He looked to be in his midthirties. He was handsome with curly brown hair, and his hazel eyes were kind behind his wire-framed glasses.
“Sophie, she used to go to church here. They’ve just moved back to Harmony Harbor. We’ll be here every Sunday.” Rosa glanced at Sophie. “She’ll be at confession on Saturday—”
“Nonna.” Sophie gave the priest a self-conscious smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Father O’Malley. We should probably take a seat.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners with what looked to be amusement. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Sophie. And you, Mia.”
They walked into the nave. The main part of the church smelled of lilies and furniture polish. “Honestly, Nonna, did you have—” Sophie began.
“What? Confession is good for your soul. Maybe it would be good for you to—”
“Not today, okay?” The day was going to be difficult enough without her grandmother making Sophie feel as though she wore a scarlet S on her forehead. She wasn’t that bad. She didn’t believe God would punish her for having sex before she was married or being an unwed mother. The lies, though…Yes, the lies might be a problem. They kept growing, compounding.
All she was trying to do was protect Mia, and, yes, herself. Sadly, those same lies she’d been telling to protect her daughter were driving them apart. At this point, if Mia found out Michael was her father, she’d probably leave Sophie without a backward glance. Her chest grew tight with panic at the thought. If she lost her daughter, Sophie didn’t know how she’d go on.
Her grandmother shrugged and dipped her fingers in the font, blessing herself with holy water. Sophie did the same. She picked up Mia, dipping her small fingers in the holy water and teaching her to make
the sign of the cross. Mostly because she needed to hold her in her arms. Sophie pressed her face into the soft, silky waves, smelling the lingering scent of baby shampoo. She’d made a mess of everything, and she didn’t have a clue how to make things right.
Her grandmother started down the blue-carpeted aisle toward the front of the church. “Nonna,” Sophie called out to her in a half-whisper. The pews were beginning to fill up. She recognized several local business owners and a couple of people she’d gone to school with, and smiled. Mia wriggled out of her arms. Sophie put her down, grabbing her hand before she took off after Rosa. “Nonna,” she tried again, waving at her grandmother, who’d stopped to chat with several members of the Widow’s Club.
“We’ll sit here,” Sophie told Mia, ushering her daughter to the dark oak pew at the back. She wanted to be as far from the Gallagher family as possible. Surprisingly, Mia didn’t argue and took her place closest to the aisle.
Her grandmother walked toward them, making an eh gesture with her hands. “What are you doing back here? Come, I found us a seat at the front.”
Sophie nodded at Mia. “If we have to leave, we won’t disturb anyone.” It wasn’t really a lie.
Her grandmother cast one last longing look toward the front of the church before taking her seat between Sophie and Mia. Rosa pulled down the padded kneeler. “Come, you pray with Nonna.”
Watching her grandmother patiently teach her daughter to pray, Sophie was overcome with guilt. She’d forced Rosa, a God-fearing woman, into the untenable position of lying for her. Sophie joined them on the kneeler. She needed a way out of this mess. They’d just sat back on the bench when Ava arrived. Her cousin had exchanged her gray sweater of last night for a black trench coat that looked like it could wrap around her twice. Her grandmother clicked her tongue. “There’s nothing left of that girl.” When Ava joined them, Rosa asked, “Where’s Gino?”
Rosa had been married to Gino’s older brother, Antonio. Gino had been a commercial fisherman; his legs had been crushed in an accident on the boat six months after Ava had divorced Griffin. Gino was confined to a wheelchair, and Ava had been taking care of him ever since. Rosa, never one to keep her opinion to herself, blamed Gino for working Ava to the bone.
Her cousin took a seat beside Sophie. “He’s not feeling well. The damp weather is hard on him.”
“Weather.” Rosa made a disparaging sound in her throat. “He drinks too much.”
Sophie nudged her grandmother.
“What? It’s true. Look at you, cara,” Rosa said to Ava. “You are skin and bones. You want me to talk to him? I’ll talk to him. Give him a piece of my mind, I tell you.”
“I’m good, Auntie Rosa. I’m coming down with something, that’s all.”
Rosa snorted. “Just like Sophie. The two of you never should have gotten involved with a Gallagher. I warned you about that family, but do either of you listen? Oh no, you both—”
“Nonna, keep your voice down.” Sophie practically had to sit on her hands to keep from covering her grandmother’s mouth. In Italian, she reminded Rosa about little ears. Sophie didn’t know why she’d ever shared her secret with her grandmother. The stress must have caused her to lose her mind.
“What Gallagher is she talking about?” Ava whispered to Sophie.
She glanced at her grandmother, who’d taken a child’s prayer book from her purse to give to Mia. If Michael and Bethany ended up having their wedding at Greystone, Sophie would need an ally. “I’ll tell you later. Did Griffin arrive with his wife last night?” Sophie had left the manor not long after their futile search of Colleen’s rooms. The funeral home’s staff had managed the wake.
“I was finishing up their room when they got there.” She made an embarrassed sound in her throat. “I don’t think he knew who I was. His wife asked me for more towels.”
Sophie briefly closed her eyes. She could only imagine how Griffin and his wife’s interaction with Ava had made her feel. The same way Sophie had felt the day she’d overheard Michael and his mother in the study—like she was nothing. Sophie didn’t know Griffin’s wife, but she did know him. Unlike Michael’s parents, Griffin’s were down-to-earth and had brought up their children to be respectful and kind. But her cousin had been the one to ask Griffin for a divorce, and twenty years as a Navy SEAL might have changed the man Sophie remembered.
She closed her hand over her cousin’s and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m sorry. They won’t be here for long. I overheard Kitty tell Jasper they’re leaving tomorrow. Don’t help out at the reception. Go home and get some rest.”
Sophie had asked Ava to help prepare the food for the reception the day after Colleen had died. She’d had an ulterior motive for the request. She’d approached Helga, who’d run the manor’s kitchen for the last five decades, with some ideas to freshen up the outdated menu, as well as suggesting what should be served at the reception following the funeral. Helga had shut her down and basically thrown her out of her kitchen. If that was all it was, Sophie could probably find a way to work with the older woman.
But outdated menus and a temperamental chef weren’t her only problems. Sophie had been fielding complaints from guests about the food for the past two days. They were sending their meals back to the kitchen uneaten. The waste was out of control and costly. Which is why Sophie had been playing with the idea of leasing out the space to an independent restaurateur. It was the perfect way to cut costs while guaranteeing their guests a pleasant dining experience. And she had the perfect candidate in mind—her cousin.
“It’s more peaceful at the manor. I’m helping out in the kitchen. It’s not like I’ll run into him.” Ava bowed her head and picked at a loose button on her trench coat. “You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard to see him after all this time,” she murmured.
If her cousin wasn’t stuck in a rut, if she actually started living again, it wouldn’t be so hard. As a little girl, Sophie remembered Ava cooking in her grandmother’s kitchen, laughing and dancing, filled with passion and life. She wanted to see that girl again. Other than Rosa, no one could cook like Ava. Besides Marco, Ava was the only one Rosa allowed in her kitchen.
As the organist began to play “Be Not Afraid,” the staff from the manor filed into the church, taking up three pews in the middle section to their right. Mia leaned over the benches’ armrest to get a better view. Sophie reached past her grandmother to tug on Mia’s coat. “Sit down, baby.”
Then Marco, looking handsome in his dress uniform, walked in with a large contingent of firefighters. He lifted his chin in greeting before following his coworkers. They took up the pews in front of the manor’s staff, just behind where the Gallagher family would be seated. Sophie stiffened at the sound of voices coming from the vestibule as the organist transitioned to “Here I Am, Lord.”
The Gallagher family had arrived.
She glanced at Ava. If possible, she was paler than when she’d joined them in the pew. Sophie imagined she looked the same as she prepared to see Michael for the first time. The congregation came to their feet as Colleen’s six grandsons wheeled the casket into the aisle.
Michael stood on the left, staring straight ahead, as tall, dark, and handsome as she remembered. Griffin was on his right, the tallest and broadest of Colleen’s great-grandsons. Fairer than his brothers and cousins, he took after his mother. Liam was in the middle across from his brother Aidan. Michael’s brothers brought up the rear.
Father O’Malley, with an altar boy and girl behind him, placed the white baptismal cloth on the casket and said the blessing. Liam stood so close to their pew that his black coat brushed against it. Before Sophie could stop her, Mia tugged on his coat. Liam looked down at her daughter and winked; then he glanced at Sophie. Her eyes got caught up in his warm Gallagher-blue gaze, and her mouth went dry. Despite that telling reaction, it would have been safer if she kept looking into his eyes. But it seemed, when it came to Liam, self-preservation was no longer her number one priority. She let her gaze d
rift to his full, sensuous lips, remembering how they’d felt on hers. His mouth tipped up at the corner, and she dropped her gaze to her feet, almost positive he knew what she’d been thinking.
She should have kept them there because, as they began wheeling the casket down the aisle, Kitty, with Colin and Jasper on either side of her, led the Gallagher family procession past them. They were followed by Michael’s parents, Maura and Sean. The former governor, who was as handsome as his sons, nodded at several people he obviously knew. Maura, her chin-length hair the color of her mink coat, stared straight ahead with her nose in the air. Her features were sharp and untouched by age. She looked the same as she had the day Sophie overheard her talking to her son in the study.
As the three women walking behind Maura and Sean came into view, Ava stiffened beside Sophie. They were all beautiful, their hair various shades of blond. Sophie assumed they were Griffin’s and Aidan’s ex-wives and Michael’s fiancée. The woman with streaky blond hair and a long side bang glanced at Ava. Dark, judgmental eyebrows rose above her assessing brown eyes. Sophie took her cousin’s hand and stared back at the woman who was obviously Griffin’s ex-wife.
“You don’t have to help out today, Ava,” she whispered to her cousin when the last of the family members took their seats, and they took theirs.
Rosa lightly pinched Sophie’s thigh. “No. She is a DiRossi. She has nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Oh, but I do,” Sophie thought she heard Ava say.
She didn’t get the chance to question her cousin as the funeral mass began. Throughout the service, she kept a vigilant eye on Mia, relieved and a little surprised by how well her daughter was behaving. Though she supposed she shouldn’t be. Mia had always been well behaved. Though these days Sophie never knew what to expect from her. Fifteen minutes later, her daughter proved her right.
