Frank Morgan pulled to a smooth stop as the light went red. “There,” he said, in that calm, deep, untroubled voice she’d always loved. “We’re stopped. No need to wear a hole in the floor.”
Diana glanced over at her husband of thirty years. She loved him so much. There were a whole lot of things to worry about in life, but Frank’s love was the one thing Diana never doubted. He belonged to her, absolutely, as she belonged to him, and he’d given her two beautiful, perfect daughters. Abby and Melissa were all grown up now.
The years went by way too fast.
Diana sent her husband another glance. Thirty years together. Amazing. She still loved just looking at him. He was the handsomest man she’d ever met, even at fifty-seven. Nature had been kind to him. He had all his hair and it was only lightly speckled with gray. She smoothed her own shoulder-length bob. No gray there, either. Her hair was still the same auburn shade it had been when she married him. Only in her case, nature didn’t have a thing to do with it.
A man only grew more distinguished over the years. A woman had to work at it.
The light turned green. Frank hit the gas.
Too hard, Diana thought. But she didn’t say a word. She only straightened her teal-blue silk blouse, re-crossed her legs and tried not to make impatient, worried noises. Frank was a wonderful man. But he drove too fast.
Abby and her husband, Greg, were having them over for dinner tonight. They were on their way there now—to Abby’s house. Diana was looking forward to the evening. But she was also dreading it. Something was going on with Abby. A mother knows these things.
And something was bothering Melissa, too. Diana’s younger daughter was still single. She’d been going out with Josh Wright for a year now. It was a serious relationship.
But was there something wrong between Josh and Melissa? Diana had a sense about these things, a sort of radar for emotional disturbances, especially when it came to her daughters. Right now, tonight, Diana had a suspicion that something wasn’t right—both between Melissa and Josh and between Abby and Greg.
“Remember Venice?” Frank gave her a fond glance.
She smiled at him—and then stiffened. “Frank. Eyes on the road.”
“All right, all right.” He patiently faced front again. “Remember that wonderful old hotel on the Grand Canal?”
She made a humphing sound. “It was like the rest of our honeymoon. Nothing went right.”
“I loved every moment of it,” he said softly.
She reminded him, “You know what happened at that hotel in Venice, how they managed to lose our luggage somewhere between the front desk and our room. How hard can it be, to get the suitcases to the right room? And it smelled a bit moldy in the bathroom, didn’t you think?”
“All I remember is you, Diana. Naked in the morning light.” He said it softly. Intimately.
She shivered a little, drew in a shaky breath and confessed, “Oh, yes. That. I remember that, too.” It was one of the best things about a good marriage. The shared memories. Frank had seen her naked in Venice when they were both young. Together, they had heard Abby’s first laugh, watched Melissa as she learned to walk, staggering and falling, but then gamely picking herself right back up and trying again. Together, they had made it through all those years that drew them closer, through the rough times as well as the happy ones… .
A good marriage.
Until very recently, she’d been so sure that Abby and Greg were happy. But were they? Really? And what about Melissa and Josh?
Oh, Lord. Being a mother was the hardest job in the world. They grew up. But they stayed in your heart. And when they were suffering, you ached right along with them.
“All right,” Frank said suddenly in an exasperated tone. “You’d better just tell me, Diana. You’d better just say it, whatever it is.”
Diana sighed. Deeply. “Oh, Frank…”
“Come on,” he coaxed, pulling to another stop at yet another stoplight—at the very last possible second. She didn’t even stomp the floor that time, she was that upset. “Tell me,” he insisted.
Tears pooled in her eyes and clogged her throat. She sniffed them back. “I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t going to interfere. I wasn’t even going to say a word…”
He flipped open the armrest and whipped out a tissue. “Dry your eyes.”
“Oh, Frank…” She took the tissue and dabbed at her lower lid. If she wasn’t careful, her makeup would be a total mess.
“Now,” Frank said, reaching across to pat her knee. “Tell me about it. Whatever it is, you know you’ll feel better once we’ve talked it over.”
The light changed. “Go,” she said on a sob.
He drove on. “I’m waiting.”
She sniffed again. “I think something’s wrong between Abby and Greg. And not only that, there’s something going on with Melissa, too. I think Melissa’s got…a secret, you know? A secret that is worrying her terribly.”
“Why do you think something’s going on between Abby and Greg?”
“I sensed it. You know how sensitive I am— Oh, God. Do you think Abby and Greg are breaking up? Do you think he might be seeing someone else?”
“Whoa. Diana. Slow down.”
“Well, I am worried. I am so worried. And Melissa. She is suffering. I can hear it in her voice when I talk to her.”
“But you haven’t told me why you think there might be something wrong—with Melissa, or between Abby and Greg. Did Abby say something to you?”
“Of course not. She wants to protect me.”
“What about Melissa?”
“What do you mean, what about Melissa?”
“Well, did you ask her if something is bothering her?”
Another sob caught in Diana’s throat. She swallowed it. “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to butt in.”
Frank eased the car to the shoulder and stopped. “Diana,” he said. That was all. Just her name.
It was more than enough. “Don’t you look at me like that, Frank Morgan.”
“Diana, I hate to say this—”
“Then don’t. Just don’t. And why are we stopped? We’ll be late. Even with family, you know I always like to be on time.”
“Diana…”
She waved her soggy tissue at him. “Drive, Frank. Just drive.”
He leaned closer across the console. “Sweetheart…”
She sagged in her seat. “Oh, fine. What?”
“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” He said it gently. But still. She knew exactly what he was getting at and she didn’t like it one bit.
She sighed and dropped the wadded tissue in the little wastepaper bag she always carried in the car. “Well, I know you’re bound to tell me, now don’t I?”
He took her hand, kissed the back of it.
“Don’t try to butter me up,” she muttered.
“You’re jumping to conclusions again,” he said tenderly.
“Am not.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve got nothin’. Zip. Admit it. No solid reason why you think Melissa has a secret or why you think Abby and Greg are suddenly on the rocks.”
“I don’t need a solid reason. I can feel it.” She laid her hand over her heart. “Here.”
“You know it’s very possible that what’s really going on is a surprise anniversary party for us, don’t you?”
Diana smoothed her hair. “What? You mean tonight?”
“That’s right. Tonight.”
“Oh, I suppose. It could be.” She pictured their dear faces. She loved them so much. “They are the sweetest girls, aren’t they?”
“The best. I’m the luckiest dad in the world—not to mention the happiest husband.”
Diana leaned toward him and kissed him. “You are a very special man.” She sank back against her seat—and remembered how worried she was. “But Frank, if this is a party, it’s still not it.”
“It?” He looked bewildered. Men could be so thickheaded sometimes.
; Patiently, she reminded him, “The awful, secret things that are going on with our daughters.”
He bent in close, kissed her cheek and then brushed his lips across her own. “We are going to dinner at our daughter’s house,” he whispered. “We are going to have a wonderful time. You are not going to snoop around trying to find out if something’s wrong with Abby. You’re not going to worry about Melissa.”
“I hate you, Frank.”
“No, you don’t. You love me almost as much as I love you.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “More. I love you more.”
He kissed her again. “Promise you won’t snoop and you’ll stop jumping to conclusions?”
“And if I don’t, what? We’ll sit here on the side of the road all night?”
“Promise.”
“Fine. All right. I promise.”
He touched her cheek, a lovely, cherishing touch. “Can we go to Abby’s now?”
“I’m not the one who stopped the car.”
He only looked at her reproachfully.
She couldn’t hold out against him. She never could. “Oh, all right. I’ve promised, already, okay? Now, let’s go.”
With a wry smile, he retreated back behind the wheel and eased the car forward into the flow of traffic again.
* * *
Abby opened the door. “Surprise!” Abby, Greg, Melissa and Josh all shouted at once. They all started clapping.
Greg announced, “Happy Anniversary!” The rest of them chimed in with “Congratulations!” and “Thirty years!” and “Wahoo!”
Frank was laughing. “Well, what do you know?”
Diana said nothing. One look in her older daughter’s big brown eyes and she knew for certain that she wasn’t just imagining things. Something was going on in Abby’s life. Something important.
They all filed into the dining room, where the walls were decorated with posters of the Grand Canal and the Tuscan countryside, of the Coliseum and the small, beautiful town of Bellagio on Lake Como. The table was set with Abby’s best china and tall candles gave a golden glow.
Greg said, “We thought, you know, an Italian theme—in honor of your honeymoon.”
“It’s lovely,” said Diana, going through the motions, hugging first Greg and then Josh.
“Thank you,” said Frank as he clapped his son-in-law on the back and shook hands with Josh.
Melissa came close. “Mom.” She put on a smile. But her eyes were as shadowed as Abby’s. “Happy thirtieth anniversary.”
Diana grabbed her and hugged her. No doubt about it. Melissa looked miserable, too.
Yes, Diana had promised Frank that she would mind her own business.
But, well, sometimes a woman just couldn’t keep that kind of promise. Sometimes a woman had to find a way to get to the bottom of a bad situation for the sake of the ones she loved most of all.
By the end of the evening, no matter what, Diana would find out the secrets her daughters were keeping from her.
Frank leaned close. “Don’t even think about it.”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “Happy anniversary, darling.”
Chapter Three
by Susan Crosby
Abby Morgan DeSena and her husband, Greg, had hosted quite a few dinner parties during their three years of marriage, but none as special as this one—a celebration of Abby’s parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary. Abby and her younger sister, Melissa, had spent weeks planning the Italian-themed party as a sweet reminder for their parents of their honeymoon, and now that the main meal was over, Abby could say, well, so far, so good.
For someone who planned everything down to the last detail, that was high praise. They were on schedule. First, antipasti and wine in the living room, then chicken cacciatore, crusty bread sticks and green salad in the dining room.
But for all that the timetable had been met and the food praised and devoured, an air of tension hovered over the six people at the table, especially between Melissa and her boyfriend, Josh, who were both acting out of character.
“We had chicken cacciatore our first night in Bellagio, remember, Diana?” Abby’s father said to her mother as everyone sat back, sated. “And lemon sorbet in prosecco.”
“The waiter knocked my glass into my lap,” Diana reminded him.
“Your napkin caught most of it, and he fixed you another one. He even took it off the tab. On our newlywed budget, it made a difference.” He brought his wife’s hand to his lips, his eyes twinkling. “And it was delicious, wasn’t it? Tart and sweet and bubbly.”
Diana blushed, making Abby wonder if the memory involved more than food. It was inspiring seeing her parents so openly in love after thirty years.
Under the table, Abby felt her hand being squeezed and looked at her own beloved husband. Greg winked, as if reading her mind.
“Well, we don’t have sorbet and prosecco,” Abby said, standing and stacking dinner plates. “But we certainly have dessert. Please sit down, Mom. You’re our guest. Melissa and I will take care of everything.”
It didn’t take long to clear the table.
“Mom and Dad loved the dinner, didn’t they?” Melissa asked as they entered Abby’s contemporary kitchen.
“They seemed to,” Abby answered, although unsure whether she believed her own words. Had her parents noticed the same tension Abby had? Her mother’s gaze had flitted from Melissa to Josh to Abby to Greg all evening, as if searching for clues. It’d made Abby more nervous with every passing minute, and on a night she’d been looking forward to, a night of sweet surprises.
“How about you? Did you enjoy the meal?” Abby asked Melissa, setting dishes in the sink, then started the coffeemaker brewing. “You hardly touched your food.”
She shrugged. “I guess I snacked on too many bread sticks before dinner.”
Abby took out a raspberry tiramisu from the refrigerator while studying her sister, noting how stiffly Melissa held herself, how shaky her hands were as she rinsed the dinner plates. She seemed fragile. It wasn’t a word Abby usually applied to her sister. The conversation they’d had earlier in the evening obviously hadn’t set Melissa’s mind at ease, but Abby didn’t know what else to say to her tightly wrung sister. Only time—and Josh—could relieve Melissa’s anxiety.
Abby set the fancy dessert on the counter next to six etched-crystal parfait glasses.
Melissa approached, drying her hands, then picked up one of the glasses. “Grandma gave these to you, didn’t she?”
“Mmm-hmm. Three years ago as a wedding present. I know it’s a cliché, but it seems like yesterday.” Abby smiled at her sister, remembering the wedding, revisiting her wonderful marriage. She couldn’t ask for a better husband, friend and partner than Greg. “Grandma plans to give you the other six glasses at your wedding. When we both have big family dinners, we can share them. It’ll be our tradition.”
Melissa’s face paled. Her eyes welled. Horrified, Abby dropped the spoon and reached for her.
“I—I’ll grab the gift basket from your office,” Melissa said, taking a couple steps back then rushing out.
Frustrated, Abby pressed her face into her hands. If she were the screaming type, she would’ve screamed. If she were a throw-the-pots-around type, she would’ve done that, too, as noisily as possible. It would’ve felt good.
“I thought Melissa was in here with you,” said a male voice from behind her.
Abby spun around and glared at Josh Wright, the source of Melissa’s problems—and subsequently Abby’s—as he peeked into the kitchen. He could be the solution, too, if only he’d act instead of sitting on his hands.
“She’s getting the anniversary gift from my office,” Abby said through gritted teeth, digging deep for the composure she’d inherited from her father.
Josh came all the way into the room. He looked as strained as Melissa. “Need some help?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets instead of going in search of Melissa.
“Coward.” Abby began dish
ing up six portions of tiramisu.
“Guilty,” Josh said, coming up beside her. “Give me a job. I can’t sit still.”
“You can pour the decaf into that carafe next to the coffeemaker.”
Full of nervous energy, his hands shaking as much as Melissa’s had earlier, he got right to the task, fumbling at every step, slopping coffee onto the counter.
“Relax, would you, Josh?” Abby said, exasperated. “You’re making everyone jumpy, but especially Melissa. My sister is her mother’s daughter, you know. They both have a flair for the dramatic, but this time Melissa is honestly thrown by your behavior. She’s on the edge, and it’s not of her own making.”
“But it’ll all come out okay in the end?”
The way he turned the sentence into a question had Abby staring at him. He and her kid sister were a study in contrasts, Melissa with her black hair and green eyes, Josh all blond and blue-eyed. They’d been dating for a year, were head over heels in love with each other, seeming to validate the theory that opposites attract. It was rare that they weren’t touching or staring into each other’s eyes, communicating silently.
Tonight was different, however, and Abby knew why. She just didn’t know if they would all survive the suspense.
“Whether or not it all turns out okay in the end depends on how long you take to pop the question,” Abby said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“You know I’m planning the perfect proposal,” he whispered back. “Your husband gave me advice, but if you’d like to add yours, I’m listening.”
She couldn’t tell him that Melissa thought he was about to break up with her—that was hers to say. But Abby could offer some perspective.
“Here’s my advice, Josh, and it has nothing to do with how to set a romantic scene that she’ll remember the rest of her life. My advice is simple—do it sooner rather than later.” She spoke in a normal tone again, figuring even if someone came into the room, they wouldn’t suspect what she and Josh were talking about. “When Greg and I were in college, I misunderstood something he said. Instead of asking him to clarify it, I stewed. And stewed some more. I blew it all out of proportion.”
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