Angie hesitated.
“Well, Angie? What is it?” Maria Cantinnini already appeared annoyed.
“I’m gay,” Angie blurted out.
There was dead silence at the table. The ticking clock in the living room sounded like claps of thunder.
“You’re what?” her father asked. Confusion played across his face.
“I…” Angie cleared her throat. “I’m a lesbian.”
“You’re a dyke?” Lou asked with a smirk.
“Lou, shut up!” Jan shouted.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. She’s the one who’s the freak,” Lou yelled back at her.
“I swear, Lou, if you don’t shut up.” Jan made a move toward their brother. Angie put her hand on Jan’s leg to keep her from going across the table.
Suddenly, their mother slammed her palm onto the table causing the china and glasses to rattle. “Basta!”
Oh God, she’s lapsed into Italian.
“Angelina, look at me,” her mother said.
She met her mother’s eyes.
“Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“You mean you prefer girls?” her father asked.
“It’s not a preference, Daddy. It’s who I am. I was born this way.”
“Don’t you say that.” Her mother’s voice was a verbal slap. “Don’t you dare say that. God did not make you this way.” She shook her head, and her dark, graying curls bounced violently. “We’ll go to Father Mark tomorrow. He’ll help you with this. He’ll help you fight these urges.”
“They’re not urges. It’s who I am.” Angie pressed her palm over her chest to encompass what she felt. “And no one, not even a priest, will miraculously make this go away.”
“I won’t hear of it.” Maria folded her arms.
“I didn’t say this for your approval. Whatever you think of me from this point on is up to you. I won’t change. I hope you can still accept me—”
“Accept you?” A vein pulsed in Maria’s left temple. “Accept you?”
“Mom, calm down,” Jan said and reached across the table to grab their mother’s hand.
Maria snatched her hand away as if Jan had scalded it with her touch. “Don’t you tell me to calm down, Janice.” She turned to Angie. “Angelina Marie Cantinnini, get out.”
Angie had heard that tone many times over her eighteen years, and it meant there was no room for discussion.
Her father, who’d kept his head lowered during the exchange, spoke up.
“Maria, please, it’s Thanksgiving and—”
“Anthony, quiet!”
Her father’s jaw twitched.
“Out. Now. Go to your bedroom, pack your things, and I mean all your things, and get out.”
“Mom, you can’t mean this,” Jan said. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Maria stood up, tipping over her glass of wine with the motion. “Look. Look at what you’ve made me do.” She blotted the red wine with her napkin, causing the stain to spread farther. “And on my mother’s antique tablecloth.” She threw the napkin down and lurched around the table, grabbed Angie by the shoulders, and yanked her to her feet. She shook her finger inches from Angie’s face. “I mean it, Angelina. Now!” She pointed toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Tears trickled down Angie’s cheeks. She wrenched free from her mother’s biting grip and angrily wiped them away.
Jan jumped to her feet to stand beside Angie. “I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Maria snapped.
“Mother, I’m twenty-three-years old. I’ll do as I goddamn please.”
“Janice!” Maria shouted. “I’ll not have you using the Lord’s name in vain in my house.”
“Which is why I’m leaving with my sister.” Jan turned to their father. “I can’t believe you’re allowing this to happen.”
He looked away from Jan. Angie felt sorry for him, despite the turmoil and tension swirling around them. “I love you, Daddy,” she said softly.
Tears filled his eyes, but he remained silent. That hurt even more than her mother’s rejection and her brother’s spiteful comments. Angie glanced across the table at Lou who still sported his evil grin. She made her way to the bedroom. She felt Jan’s hand on her shoulder as they walked down the hallway.
“I’ll take you to my apartment.” Jan helped Angie gather her things. “But what’ll you do after that? You still have school. How will you manage?”
“I’ll get by.” Angie hoped her voice didn’t give away her fear.
Jan hugged her. “I’ll do anything I can to help you. I love you. You’re still my little sister, and that hasn’t changed.”
Angie squeezed Jan tight. She pulled away when she felt she’d lose her composure. She wouldn’t turn into a blubbering mess in their parents’ home. She picked up some of her belongings and walked to the front door. Jan took their coats and boots out of the closet.
Angie and Jan made several trips to haul her things to Jan’s car. Maria met them at the door as they came inside for one final look to make sure they had everything. The contempt for Angie was frozen on her mother’s face like a grotesque Halloween mask.
“Don’t bother to return until you rid yourself of this sickness.” Her mother spat the words.
“Then I guess this is good-bye forever, because that’ll never happen.”
Angie didn’t see the blow coming. Her mother slapped her across the cheek with such force that Angie staggered back a step. It was a shock, not because it stung, but because her mother had never struck her before.
“Mom!” Jan screamed.
Angie rubbed the side of her face. “It’s okay, Jan. She’s made herself clear.”
Angie tried to hold her head high while opening the door and stepping out into the bitter November cold. Jan trudged beside her in the snow.
“Stay with me for the rest of the break,” Jan said as she got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive you back to Lehigh.”
“I can take a bus like I did to get home.”
“You’re not taking a bus. Leave your extra things with me until they allow you guys to get an apartment in a couple of years. I can store it for you.” She gently touched Angie’s left cheek.
Angie flinched. “Let’s just go.”
Angie stared out at the snow-shrouded scenery. She felt as cold as the winter view that drifted past her window on the drive to her sister’s place. They stopped in front of Jan’s apartment and sat, unspeaking, in the frigid car. Angie could see her breath. Still, she couldn’t move.
Jan rubbed Angie’s shoulder. “Grab your duffel bag, and we’ll worry about the rest of this in the morning. I’ll make us some coffee.”
She followed Jan inside and dropped her bag by the door. Jan tugged off her coat and took Angie’s.
“Pull those boots off. My slippers should still fit you unless your feet have grown this past semester.”
Angie sat down in the overstuffed chair by the door. She leaned over to unlace her boots. A sob rose in her throat. Through her tears, she didn’t see Jan approach, but felt her sister’s arms slip around her.
“Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Jan dropped to her knees in front of the chair. She held Angie and rocked her.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. Jesus. After what you’ve just gone through?”
Angie pulled out of the embrace.
Jan’s eyes shimmered in the lamplight. She wiped away another stray tear from Angie’s cheek. “Let me make that coffee and then maybe we can talk.”
“Okay.”
Jan left for the kitchen. Angie pulled off her boots. She rested her head on the recliner and closed her eyes. In a few minutes, the strong aroma of coffee wafted to her, and she opened her eyes. Jan stood in front of her with two mugs and offered her one.
“Thanks.” Angie took a cautious taste of the steaming brew.
Jan sat down in the chair a
cross from her, sipped her coffee, and peered at Angie over her mug.
“I guess you’re wondering when this all started.” Angie set her cup down on the table by the chair and placed her hands in her lap, intertwining her fingers. She didn’t notice she was twiddling her thumbs until Jan’s gaze dropped to her hands.
“You don’t have to be nervous. Remember, I love you no matter what.”
“It was in high school. On the basketball team, there was—”
“Tiffany Schottheim.”
Angie jerked. “You knew?”
“I don’t think I was the only one who suspected there was something there. I noticed Mom’s reaction whenever you brought her around.”
“Do you think Mom knew then?”
It was Jan’s turn to set her cup down. She blew out a breath, causing her dark bangs to fly up off her forehead. “Who knows what she thought? She wasn’t very approving of anyone we brought home. Can you remember her liking any of my dates?”
“No, now that you mention it.” A rugged face came to Angie’s mind. “God, I think even I was in love with that Chad guy you dated.”
Jan laughed. “But do you know what Mom thought of him?”
“I wasn’t around when she talked to you.”
“She said, ‘He’s not Catholic, Janice. You need to forget about him.’ When I informed her that he was Catholic, she hopped on the fact he wasn’t Italian.”
“Do you think we can ever please her?” Angie stopped herself. “I’ll never be who she wants me to be. I don’t even know why I asked that.”
Jan crossed the room and knelt in front of her again. She held Angie’s face in her hands. “You be who you are, Angie. Love who you want to love. Like I told you, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, and that includes sending you money when I have it. You still have your full scholarship to Lehigh. Keep up your grades, and go on and live your life. Screw what Mom and Lou think.”
“And Dad?”
Jan smiled sadly and brushed her fingers through Angie’s hair. “Let me work on Dad. Give him some time. He’ll come around.”
“I can’t see Mom letting that happen.” Angie began crying again.
Jan hugged her. “You never know.” She rose to her feet. “Come on. Why don’t you take a hot shower, slip on your flannels, and I’ll order us a pizza.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
“Sure. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that Mario’s is open on Thanksgiving Day.”
The phone rang, but Jan made no move to get it.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Angie asked.
“Nope.”
It clicked over to the answering machine after the fifth ring. “Janice, I know you’re there,” their mother said. “Don’t ignore me. Call back immediately.” The dial tone echoed in the apartment.
Jan pointed at the answering machine. “And that’s why.” She stood up and pulled Angie to her feet, then smacked her on her butt. “Come on, little sis. Shower, and I’ll order the pizza. My bunny slippers are in the bedroom. We’ll stay up late watching some of my old movies.”
Angie made it a few feet down the hall, but then stopped. “Jan?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
“Go on before I start Casablanca without you.”
Chapter 4
New York City, Present Day
Meryl McClain stood at her office window on the forty-second floor, gazing down at the Manhattan traffic. The swirling snow made it difficult to see, but she could still make out the colorful yellow and orange taxis inching along Eighth Avenue. The forecasters predicted ten inches. One TV channel called it a late winter clipper, while another called it an early spring storm. By either definition, the snow was snarling traffic and causing delays and cancellations at the airports.
She hugged her body when a chill ran through her, even though her office thermostat was set at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. It was late and dark enough that she could make out her reflection in the glass. As always, her blonde hair was immaculate, but she wasn’t quite used to her new, shorter style. The chill had been prompted by the haunted expression that stared back at her.
Her mother’s phone call had shaken her. She’d shut her door when she saw the number on the caller ID.
“Meryl?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I thought you’d like to know your father’s condition.”
Meryl didn’t respond.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, and I made it clear to you I have no interest in his well-being.”
“He’s your father.” The desperation was clear in her mother’s voice. “Despite anything that’s happened in the past, you can’t ignore that.”
“I can’t forgive him.”
“He knows he was wrong to push you into that marriage. I thought the two of you worked through all of that. At least come to the hospital to see him.”
Meryl slammed her eyes shut when a throbbing pain shot through her temples. “Please quit asking me to do this.”
“He’s dying, Meryl.” Her mother’s voice broke.
“I can’t deal with this, Mother. I’m hanging up now.”
She’d ended the call over an hour ago and hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since. Another chill coursed down her spine.
Her father was dying, and she didn’t care.
What did that say about her? She’d heard once that the opposite of love was indifference. She didn’t love her father, and she didn’t care if he died. Her therapist would probably tell her she was healing. Then why did she feel so horrible?
The ringing phone startled her. She checked the caller ID, relieved to see her best friend’s number pop up.
“Rhonda, I’m so glad it’s you.” Meryl sat down in her leather chair and swiveled to face the window.
“Missed your best friend that much?”
Rhonda’s husky voice warmed her.
“Yes, I have.”
“Let me guess. Your mother?”
“You’re too astute, my friend.”
“Isn’t that why you keep me around?” There was a pause. “She’s still on you to reconcile with your father?”
“Yes. I’m sure I seem like a cold-hearted bitch.”
“You’ll never get any criticism from me when it comes to him. Remember, I’ve seen him in action. To me, that’s your decision to make.”
Meryl felt a sudden need to see her friend. She stood and grabbed her briefcase. She flung it onto her desk and gathered her paperwork for home. “This might sound crazy with the weather, but do you want to meet tonight for a couple of drinks?”
“Oh, what the hell. How about O’Malley’s? We can both walk there without getting ourselves killed in the process. Did you bring your trusty boots today?”
“You’re talking to a Pittsburgh gal. Do you even need to ask?”
“And you’re talking to a Tampa gal who wouldn’t know a boot if it bit her in the butt.”
“I’ll see you there in about an hour.”
“I’ll meet you at our booth in the back.”
Meryl reached behind her for the chair and eased into it. Her audible gasp surprised her.
“Meryl? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little dizzy there for a minute.”
“Are you sure you want to get together? Maybe your mom’s phone call shook you up more than you’re admitting. Why don’t you—”
“No, I’m fine. It passed. I’ll see you in about a half an hour.”
Meryl replaced the receiver. She held her head in her hands and stared at the phone before thrusting the rest of her paperwork into her leather briefcase. She switched her high heels for her boots and made her way to the elevators. The soft sound of her boots pushing into the plush carpet barely broke the silence of the hallway that lined the now-darkened New York Banner offices.
The red digits in the elevator registered her rapid descent to the lobby. The doors hissed open, and she stepped out.
Her boots clacked on the tiled floor on her way to the entrance. She waved at the security guard and heard the buzz to open the secure door that led outside.
“Good night, Ms. McClain, and be safe. It’s really nasty out there.”
“Good night, Don. Thank you. You be careful when you head home, too.”
* * *
It took Meryl thirty minutes to traverse the eight blocks to O’Malley’s. She fought the harsh wind and biting snow every step of the way. Some might question her sanity in suggesting drinks on a night like this, but the walk invigorated her. She stomped the snow off her boots as she entered the bar. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the contrast between the dim bar and the blinding white outside. A hand waving in the rear of the room caught her attention.
Meryl approached the booth and returned Rhonda’s bright smile. Rhonda was wearing her typical power suit. The soft cream shell under her navy suit jacket contrasted with her beautiful mocha-colored skin. She was about a head shorter than Meryl’s five-ten height, but usually compensated by wearing Prada shoes with killer heels. Meryl often teased her about it. Rhonda would retort that the heels came in handy for self defense.
She stood to give Meryl a hug. “You look fantastic.”
“You’re so full of it. I saw my reflection in my office window before I left. I look like crap. You’re the one who looks fantastic.”
They slid in across from each other in the booth.
“Okay, you do appear a bit haggard.”
“You’re supposed to argue with me a little on that one.”
“You told me once you loved my honesty. If I recall, it was the third day in our investigative reporting class in grad school at Columbia. I think I said something about you needing to get to the bare bones in your writing, that it was too flowery.”
“You must’ve missed my dirty look when I thanked you for your constructive criticism.”
The waiter arrived at their table.
“A dry martini,” Rhonda said. “Shaken, not stirred. I’d give you my best James Bond imitation, but I’m too damn tired.”
“And for you, ma’am?” the waiter asked Meryl.
“Chivas on the rocks.”
The waiter hustled away.
“How are you really?” Rhonda asked.
Come Back to Me Page 2
