Nicky winced at the mention of her name, but it must have also sounded nice to him—sweet and fresh. “She’s married, or did you forget?”
“I was married once,” Frankie said. “Didn’t take.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Maybe it didn’t take with Angie. Maybe she’s sitting around the house waiting for Nicky the Rat to rescue her. She sure as shit can’t be in love with Marty Ferris.”
They had been walking while they talked and were now back in the food court. Nicky nodded to the escalators. “They your buddies?”
Three Feds were heading toward them. Bugs winked at Nicky and smiled. “See ya, Rat.”
Frankie turned and walked toward Maddox. “You guys find anything?”
Nicky looked at him as they walked away. Guess friendship and honor do last. Sometimes.
CHAPTER 74
OLD MEMORIES
Current Day
I didn’t bother to clean out the safe deposit boxes. New York was as good a place as any to keep them. I did, however, take Bugs’ advice, and packed for a trip. I needed to get away. Think. Figure out what to do with my life. The mountains seemed like a good choice, so I headed into New Jersey on my way to the Poconos. I put the car on cruise control with music blaring.
I thought about what Bugs said—that I should go visit Angela. It kept eating at me. How stupid would that be, though, to show up at her house after all these years? She probably wouldn’t remember me. No, she’d remember, but she might not want to see me. I decided Bugs was crazy and continued driving toward the Poconos.
Five miles later, an oldie came on the radio, a song by the Tavares, “Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel.” It reminded me of Angela. I found myself smiling as I sang along.
Maybe it’s a sign.
But I tried talking myself out of it. She’s probably got half a dozen kids. Hates my guts.
At some point, as I pondered the logical reasons why I shouldn’t go, I got off the interstate and took a turn toward I-95, heading south. Wilmington wasn’t that far. I could say hi and still be out in time to reach the beach by nightfall. Yeah, I’d go to the beach instead of the mountains. To Wildwood. I’d always loved Wildwood. Best boardwalk in the world.
I thought of a million reasons why I shouldn’t do what I was doing in the couple of hours it took to get to Delaware. Despite my internal objections, I kept the course, heading toward my old hometown. Once I got to Wilmington, I looked her up in an online phone book, but found no listing. I checked all the social networking sites and found nothing there. I decided to check at her father’s old house. I made the drive, slowing to a crawl as I drew near. I parked, sat in the car for a minute, then walked up to the door, nervous as hell. Suppose she was here?
An older woman answered. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mr. Catrino,” I said. “Actually I’m looking for his daughter, Angela.”
Her face seemed to go blank. “I’m sorry, young man, but Mr. Catrino moved away years ago.”
“Sorry to have troubled you,” I said, and started down the steps.
“Young man,” she called after me. “Angela lives a few blocks from here. Let me think…1022—”
My step paused, and I turned around. “Clayton Street,” I said, finishing the address for her.
My old house.
“Why, yes. That’s the one. Are you from around here?”
Smiles and tears fought for control. “Yeah. Long time ago.” I extended my hand to say thanks. “I appreciate your help, and sorry again to have bothered you.”
“No trouble at all. Tell Angela I said hello.”
I couldn’t believe it. Was this a good sign or a bad one? Why was Angie living in my old house? Only way to find out was to go there and ask. I pulled up the street by the park, as much to bring back old memories as to stay hidden while I worked up the nerve to see her.
What if her husband answers? What the hell do I do then?
I watched from the car, waiting, but the house seemed empty. After an hour, I felt like a fool. What the hell? Was I a stalker? A bunch of kids passed by. One small girl, a skinny little thing, was rough-housing with a few boys, playing tag and chasing each other. It reminded me of old times. After a while, most of the smaller kids left. Then a few older girls came by and sat on the bench. They seemed to be just talking, probably mulling over the events of the day. That bench had seen a lot over the years. Laughter, joy, tears. Soon, two of the girls left; one remained. She sat staring at the trees and twirling her hair. It reminded me of Angela and the way I used to watch her in class.
A man came up the walk, heading straight for her, yelling. She planted her hands on her hips in a wonderfully defiant posture and yelled back. I smiled. This one was bold. Then he smacked her across the face. Hard.
I sat up straight. Gulped.
The girl reeled from the blow and turned to run. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
That’s it.
I walked briskly toward him. Reason reminded me of the dangers of interfering. Don’t do anything stupid. You have a record. Probably a brat kid who deserves everything she’s getting. Hell, Sister Thomas gave me worse.
She was crying. “No. Let me go.”
My pace increased. I wanted to run, but I didn’t want to draw attention. When he reared back to slap her again, I yelled. “Hey!” I ran.
He turned toward me, a scowl on his face. “This is none of your business.”
The guy was about six-two, maybe more, and well-built. I pegged him at early thirties. “Anytime I see a young girl being hit,” I said, “I make it my business.” I stood in front of him.
“Fuck you.”
I gritted my teeth. Looked around. A few kids were playing, and a few parents sat on other benches, paying no attention to us. No cops I could see. This man was vile, and he’d just broken a cardinal rule. There were rules for everything. Murder. Respect. Women. Children. And one of the worst was you didn’t say that in front of kids. Certainly not in front of young girls. I knew I was antiquated in my thinking, but that was me. It was the way I was, and I wasn’t about to change. “You shouldn’t use that language in front of the girl.”
“Fu—”
I grabbed his throat and squeezed until he gasped. He reached for my hand, trying to tear it off. I kidney-punched him. Dropped him to his knees. His gaping eyes begged for mercy as he fought to get free. His breaths came in short, quick gasps. He was struggling to stay alive. I locked onto his eyes. “Don’t ever touch that girl again.”
The guy was holding his throat, as if that would help him get his breath. I pushed him aside, then turned to the girl. “Are you all right?”
Tears were in her eyes. “Yes,” she managed through sobs.
I saw a scar above her left eye and wondered if he gave it to her. “Is that your father?”
“Stepfather.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I sensed a presence behind me; I turned quickly to see him standing there.
“She’s coming with me.”
I glared at him, ready to do something—anything.
“I lost my temper,” he said. “It won’t happen again.” He held out his hand to the girl. “Come on, Rosa. I’m sorry.”
Rosa! Her name is Rosa?
The guy reached for her. She pushed him away. “I’m not going with you,” she said. “Not ever again.”
“You’d better leave,” I told him.
He walked away without another word. I turned and looked at the girl.
She spoke before I could. “Thank you. I’ll be all right now.” She walked away, heading down the street the way her friends had gone.
I walked back to the car, slid into the seat, leaned back and closed my eyes. Suddenly I sat up straight, opened my eyes and looked for the girl. He called her Rosa. I jumped out and yelled, “Rosa.” but she was long gone.
What an idiot I am? Her name is Rosa. She twirls her hair. That’s Angie’s girl.
“Oh
, that fuck.” I thought of what I’d do if I saw that guy again.
I stared down the street at my old house. How many times had I raced to get home and change, then run up the street to see Angie? I pictured her with her green-and-white apron, cooking with Mamma Rosa and laughing. Always laughing. After almost another hour, I worked up the nerve to go to the door. What could she do but throw me out, curse me, and tell me she hated my guts?
My life was ruined either way. I got out and walked down the street and up the sidewalk. I tapped lightly on the door, then, realizing no human could have heard it, I knocked harder. I worried; I wasn’t a kid anymore. Probably looked like shit.
When the door opened, my heart stopped. Or it seemed like it did. She wore the apron—green and white as always, stained with red sauce. I smelled meatballs cooking, and the sweet aroma of red sauce and garlic. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Hi, Angela.”
She stared, squinted against the sun, then stepped back. Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. “Nicky! Nicky Fusco.” She threw her arms around me, squeezed. “Oh my God, come inside. Please.”
I stepped into the living room, tentative. I had lived in this house, yet it seemed like today was the first time I’d ever been here. And it didn’t feel right. “Angela, I—”
She was crying, but trying not to. She shook her head back and forth. “Don’t say anything.” She cried more.
Finally I couldn’t take it. I wrapped my arms around her. “Angie, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”
She stepped back. “Sorry? Where have you been? I heard you got out. Why didn’t you come?”
How could I explain? “I…”
Tears came again. “I thought you didn’t care. I thought you hated me.”
“How could I ever hate you?”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I didn’t think it was right…you being married and all.”
She stared at me, tears still in her eyes. “Nicky, I haven’t been married for a long time. After we got divorced, I bought your old house.”
I wanted to grab her, rip her clothes off and carry her to the bedroom. This was better than I dreamed of. But there were still issues to deal with, and I had no idea how she felt about them. I didn’t know how I felt about them, and I’d had years to think about it.
“What about your child?”
“You know about her?”
“You were pregnant at the funeral.”
She got that angry look in her eyes. “And that’s what kept you away—the thought that I’d been with someone else?”
I wanted to turn and run, but I’d done enough of that. “Angie, I loved you so much that I couldn’t take it. I figured you left me for someone else. I…”
She smacked me across the face. Hard. Then she smacked me again and broke into tears. “All of this time we could have been together…” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, Nicky. How could you do this?”
“If it’s any comfort to you, I—never mind. I’m stupid. A goddamn idiot. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I just thought…” I headed for the door before I embarrassed myself more than I already had.
“Niccolo Fusco. Get your ass back here.”
I turned, but the tears were in my own eyes now. “I’m leaving. Pretend I never showed up.”
“What? Going to walk out on me?”
In all of the emotion I had forgotten about the baby. Hell, not a baby anymore. “Your daughter. Is she…is her name Rosa?”
She got a surprised look on her face. “How did you know?”
“I met her at the park today.”
She nodded. “I should have known it was you. Rosa told me about a mysterious stranger who protected her from her stepfather.” Angie smiled. “She called you handsome.”
“Her father is an asshole.”
“Yes, he is,” she said. “And I already called the police. He’s been warned before, so I’m sure they’ll do something this time.”
I didn’t say anything, but I knew I could convince him to leave her alone.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Nicky. No sense in delaying. First, it’s her stepfather, not father. Actually he’s not even her stepfather anymore. And yes, he is an asshole, which is why I divorced him years ago.” She came closer. “And no, Nicky, there is no one else. There has never been anyone else. I kept praying you’d come back.”
I felt as if I could fly. I sat on the sofa, and just stared. “I’m the stupidest man alive.”
She wiped her tears with the corner of her apron. “I’ll agree with you on that.”
I jumped up, charged with new energy. “I’m going to find a place to stay and freshen up. Then I’ll be back.”
She grabbed hold of me, pulled me to her. “Wait. There’s something I need to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”
That stopped me dead. “I don’t already. What?”
“You aren’t her father.”
My heart sank to new lows. “Go on.”
“Remember that day I came to see you in prison, the last time?”
I nodded, dreading what I was hearing. “I remember.”
She started crying. “Tony drove me, and when he picked me up, he was high—really high. On the way home, he…” She lost all control then and the tears flowed. “He…” Between fits of sobbing she managed to get out, “Rosa is his child, Nicky.”
I fought for control. I wanted to hit something, to kill someone, but Tony was already dead. Now I wished he wasn’t, so I could do him right.
“I didn’t let him, Nicky. I fought him, but he was too strong.” She cried more. “That’s why I stopped coming to see you in prison. If you had seen me pregnant, it would have destroyed you.”
I started walking out, thinking of all the reasons why I should leave—Rosa wasn’t my kid, not my problem. But my hand stuck to the knob, unable to turn it. Something from deep in my mind screamed at me—it wasn’t her fault, Angie needs me, Rosa needs me…
I blocked out the noise in my head, twisted the knob and opened the door, but I couldn’t leave. If I tossed everything aside, I was left with the undeniable truth—I loved her. I loved her more than my pride, or my hurt. Even more than my hate. I pushed the door closed and went back to her.
What I wanted to tell her was bullshit. That every excuse she offered for not coming back was shit, but I knew she was right. If I had found out, I would have done anything to get to Tony. I looked at her. I hoped love was still in my eyes. I said the only thing I could think of that might comfort her, not trusting myself to be loving yet.
“Tony’s dead, Angie. You can be thankful for that.”
She sat up straight. “Dead? How?”
“I shot him.”
Her eyes went wide. “What? Why? Did you know about it?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t know anything about it, or I’d have made it worse. But he betrayed me, and now I know why. He was afraid I’d find out.”
She gave me a hug. I recognized it immediately as an Angie hug, the kind she always gave when she knew I needed it. Here she was in all of her grief, and worried about me.
Good old Angie.
I made up my mind right then that we had to be together. If I had issues, I’d have to find a way around them. I pushed her back a little, just far enough to look into her eyes. “You must have lived with hell. I’m so sorry for not being here to help you.”
She held me tight, wouldn’t let go. “It’s okay. I’ll never forget it, but I’m over it. I was over it long ago. Kids do that to you.”
We hugged in silence for a few seconds, then she said, “Sometimes, though, she does something that reminds me of Tony. And then when she does…” Angie tensed, clenching her fists. “Then I want to scream.”
I pulled her back to me. “If it ever happens again, pretend it’s Mamma Rosa instead.” I kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “I’ll be here to help you through it.”
And I knew it was true. My mind was made up. I was finally going to get the life I’d dreamed of. I thought about Gina and having to tell Angie about her. “There’s obviously a lot we need to talk about. More than most people would have in a lifetime, but before that, I need to know if you want to be with me. Because if you do, if you meant what you said in that letter all those years ago, then nothing else matters.”
“Before I answer, I need to tell you that Rosa thinks you are her father. That’s what I’ve always told her.”
“Why?”
“That was the only way I could make it—pretend she was yours. At first it was the only way I could love her. After that, it was easy.”
I hugged her again. “Don’t worry. We have a lot of time to figure out things like that.”
“Do we, Nicky? What about Rosa?”
“What about her?”
“I don’t expect you to love her, but—”
I put my finger to her lips, then kissed her. “She’s half you and part Mamma Rosa. How could I not love her?” And when I said those words, I knew I meant them. I couldn’t laugh right then, and probably wouldn’t for a while, but I felt good. It was only a matter of time before Angie, Rosa and I began enjoying life the way it was meant to be. As Mamma Rosa used to say, all the ingredients were there for happiness. Who knew better than Mamma Rosa?
Angie wiped a stray tear and hugged me again. “Nicky Fusco, I want to be with you forever. And even if you want to leave, you’re not going anywhere. I’ve waited all this time. You’re not leaving me now. Besides, you still have a cute ass, and I like looking at it.”
“And you still have no tits. But I like that.”
We both laughed, and when we did, we fell into each other’s arms, hugging. For the longest time, I held her. I cried a few silent tears, but mostly I thanked God for the chance to start over. I figured He must be the good God that Sister Thomas taught us about if He’d allow a man like me to be happy after what I’d done. I decided then and there that I’d go to confession that weekend. First thing. Finish what I started in Cleveland.
When we broke the embrace, I kissed her softly, savored the kiss. I closed my eyes and smelled her, tasted her. Remembered her. Oh my God.
1 Murder Takes Time Page 34
