by Kathryn Shay
The original title of WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN was THE FATHER FACTOR. The book has been updated, revised and given a new title.
Praise for When A Man Loves A Woman
“New talent Kathryn Shay bursts onto the scene with The Father Factor, an emotionally gripping story with brilliant characterization and sparkling touches of humor.” RT Book Reviews Gold Medal Rating
“Kathryn Shay delivers a stunning novel that addresses some social issues with a powerful yet compassionate touch. Ms. Shay is an incredibly gifted author who pulls no punches.” Affair de Coeur
“Seldom have I read a more gut wrenching, emotionally riveting book. The Father Factor weaves a tale of hopelessness, desperation, humor and salvation around a cast of exceptional characters. Hats off to Kathryn Shay. This is a keeper.” Rendezvous
“This is truly a gem of a book. Brilliant characters and a wonderful love story. I am trying to find her other works, if they're anything like this, she deserves superstardom.” Emily R. Jarrell
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN
Kathryn Shay
Published by Kathryn Shay
Copyright 2011, 2017 Kathryn Shay
Cover art by Rogenna
http://sweettoheat.blogspot.com
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
More from the Author
Excerpt: A Price Worth Paying
CHAPTER ONE
“Hi. You look dead.”
“I am.” Nick DiMarco closed the door to his small apartment and crossed the worn rug to plop down at the table where his sister Beth was working at her laptop. “Tony sent me home early because he said I was too tired to do my job. And because I was grouchy.”
Beth smiled at him. “Can I get you something?”
“No, it’s bad enough you have to waste your nights here. You’re not going to wait on me, too.”
“I wouldn’t call spending the evening with my two favorite people a waste of time.”
Nick gazed fondly at his sister. At thirty-one, Beth was an attractive woman. Three years her senior, he’d been driven nuts as a teenage older brother trying to shelter her from the leering looks of eighteen-year-old boys. But he’d learned to enjoy how men made fools of themselves over her now. Mary Elizabeth DiMarco was more than capable of handling herself.
She added information to her computer as she talked. “Besides, the kids have been in bed for an hour and I’ve been working on the figures for my bookstore. I think I’ll be able to open by next fall.”
“I still don’t like all the sacrifices you make for us.” Nick scanned the cramped quarters—another thing in his life he didn’t like. An exact square, the apartment in a downtown neighborhood of Syracuse, New York had an L-shaped living/dining area, a narrow galley kitchen off to the side and three bedrooms straight ahead. The mismatched furniture needed a good face-lift.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking of all he couldn’t give his family, of all he wanted for them. Wearily he propped up his feet and laid his head back. Still wearing the black-tux-and-white-shirt uniform of all the waiters at Corelli’s Italian Restaurant in Armory Square, he tried to summon the energy to go change into something more suitable for the night of studying that lay ahead.
“How are the plans coming for the layout of the store?” he asked. “Will it be similar to the place you’re at now?”
Discussing her imminent entry into the world of small business usually delighted Beth, so her frown concerned him.
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you about the store later.” His sister stopped typing and stared over at him. “Right now, you have to call Heather’s English teacher. She phoned earlier.”
“Her English teacher? Don’t tell me my perfect child is in trouble. Not that I’d be too upset. It would do her good to act out a little bit.”
“No, not trouble exactly.” Beth seemed thoughtful. “Though she wouldn’t tell me what it was about, the woman’s concerned enough to insist you call her back regardless of what time you get in.”
Nick’s stomach knotted. As he pulled out his cell phone, he tried to quell his uneasiness. “Was Heather okay tonight?” He dialed the number Beth had scrawled on a message pad as he spoke.
“Yeah. We did each other’s hair and she played on the computer. She didn’t eat enough at supper to keep a bird alive, though.”
Beth’s words unnerved him. His thirteen-year-old’s eating habits had been erratic lately and she was already too thin. She’d also been unusually quiet.
The English teacher answered on the second ring. “Ms. Sanders? This is Nick DiMarco. Heather’s father. You wanted to speak to me tonight?”
“Thanks for returning my call. I’ve thought long and hard about contacting you, and once I decided it was the right thing to do, I wanted to talk to you immediately.” The woman’s voice was soft and soothing, and Nick could understand why Heather liked her.
“I’m concerned about what Heather’s been writing in English class these past few weeks. They were written in a journal format that we’ve all agreed would be confidential. But you need to know that they’re very disturbing.”
His hand tightened on the phone. “What kinds of things?”
The teacher sighed and Nick could hear her hesitation across the lines. “I don’t feel I can go into detail. But I’ve shown them to a counselor at school and she’d like to meet with you as soon as possible.”
“Can’t you tell me any more than this?” Nick tried to stifle his irritation, knowing the woman was simply worried about his daughter.
“I’m afraid not. I don’t want to be mysterious, but I try to respect the kids’ privacy. I told Heather I was going to speak to you and to her counselor, because I was concerned about her writing. She wasn’t pleased, but I feel you need to be aware that she’s been very sad these days and she requires some extra attention.”
Nick closed his eyes. Heather had never been a happy child. “Of course I’ll meet with her counselor. I want to do it as soon as possible.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I took the liberty of scheduling an appointment for you at three-thirty on Monday.”
Right in the middle of my Securities Regulations class. A familiar frustration washed over him. Trying to balance a schedule, jam-packed with law school and two jobs, and be a good father was close to impossible. He ran his free hand over his face. “I’ll be there. Thanks for your concern. Heather’s lucky to have you.”
After he disconnected, he pinched the bridge of his nose and expelled a heavy breath before he recounted the teacher’s comments to Beth.
She shook her head when he finished. “She’s right, Nick. Heather’s an unhappy little girl.”
“Hell, Bethy, I know that. Why wouldn’t she be?” Raking a hand through his hair, Nick sank back into the cushions. “I know I’m not at
home enough for her.”
“That schedule won’t be for much longer,” Beth said. “And it’s not your fault, though it’s too bad you can’t quit one of your jobs while you wrap up your courses.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to make ends meet. Working at Corelli’s and the construction site is the only way I can pay Jason’s doctor bills and keep food on the table.”
Her sympathetic eyes met his tired ones. “I know.”
“I’ll be home more when I finally finish school in May. Maybe that will help.”
Beth went over and hugged him fiercely, then drew back and faced him. “You’re doing what you can and you’ll keep on doing that. Go to Heather’s school on Monday and hear what her guidance counselor has to say. You’ll make the right decision. You always do.”
Edgy, Nick stood. “I’m going to get a beer. Want one?” When Beth shook her head, he walked through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, grabbed a can out of the refrigerator, then went back and sprawled on a chair again.
“Did something else happen tonight to make you so irritated?” Beth asked after a moment.
He started to deny it, but his sister leveled her knowing gaze on him. “Yeah. Some people at the restaurant were insufferable.”
“Rude customers usually don’t bother you.”
“I know.”
“Why tonight?”
He shrugged. “They ordered me around like I was a slave, for one thing.”
“You deal with domineering clientele all the time.”
Nick took a long swig of beer. “I guess it’s because they reminded me of the Sullivans. The older guy had the same silver hair and tan Suzanne’s father did, and the woman looked just as plastic as the condescending Mrs. S.”
Abruptly, Beth’s gaze turned frosty. It always did when they talked about Nick’s ex-wife and her family. Suzanne’s parents had objected strongly to the hurried, youthful marriage of their only child to a construction worker’s son. They’d never considered Nick a suitable match. Thank God the only contact his kids had with their grandparents was occasional mail from Europe, where they’d retired.
“Do you think about them often? About her?” Beth asked.
“Not much. But the younger woman in the restaurant tonight reminded me of her.” Even now, Nick remembered the customer they’d addressed as Amanda. Wheat-colored hair. Wide blue eyes. High sculpted cheekbones. She was probably Suzanne’s age, just shy of thirty, slender and average height.
“I’ll bet she was the most condescending.”
Begrudgingly, Nick remembered the slight blush that had colored the woman’s cheeks and how apologetic her eyes had been. “Actually, she seemed embarrassed.”
“Still got a weakness for that type?”
“Nah. My ardor for rich, spoiled blondes was cooled ten years ago when one of them stuck a crying infant in my arms, left a frightened three-year-old with my mother and walked out because she couldn’t live without diamonds and gold.” The words sounded more vehement, and bitter, than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up, Nick.”
His grin was genuine. “Little sisters are entitled to snoop.”
After Beth left, Nick sank into the chair once more and finished his beer, thinking back to the event that changed his life so many years ago...
Things had been rough right from the beginning, but they took a turn for the worse when Suzanne got pregnant a second time, and his son Jason was born paralyzed from the waist down. It could have resulted from the birthing process when the umbilical cord had wrapped around his stomach, cutting off the supply of blood and damaging nerves irreparably. Or it could have been caused by Suzanne’s irresponsible behavior during the pregnancy. Most likely, it was a combination of things. A multifactorial birth defect, they called it.
Whatever the cause, Suzanne hadn’t been able to handle the boy. Nick came home early one night when Jason was two weeks old because a strange foreboding had plagued him all afternoon. He’d been on a building not far from their apartment and had entered the house tired, hungry and apprehensive.
When he opened the door, he heard Jason squalling. The baby was not just fussing. He was in a fit of crying. Nick strode to the nursery, picked up the child and cuddled him to his chest. “It’s okay, little guy,” he’d crooned as he made his way to the bedroom. The sight of Suzanne, sitting on the bed, her bags packed, a bottle of Scotch in her hand, would forever be etched in his mind. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Nick wasn’t sure if it was from crying or booze.
She’d stared at him helplessly. “I can’t do it anymore, Nicky. I’m not strong enough. I have to have more. These children,” she said, holding up her free hand as if discussing some alien species, “they demand too much. And he needs constant care, so many doctors’ appointments, and he’ll never be right. I’m...not capable of doing this. I don’t want my life to be like this.”
Nick remembered the picture she’d created. Suzanne was a stunning woman with long silky blond hair and come-hither blue eyes that blazed with sensuality. She had a knockout body that she’d resented having spoiled by childbearing. But he’d never despised anyone more than at that moment when he realized what his wife was going to do. She was turning her back on him and two innocent children. Without a word, he’d returned to the nursery. Heather had been staying with his mother in an attempt to give Suzanne some time to get used to the new baby, so he was alone with his child.
“Shh,” he told his imperfect son, rocking the infant back and forth, long after Suzanne had gone. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you. I promise…”
His hand clenched reflexively on the beer can, and the crushing sound brought him back to the present. Exhaling, Nick set it down with a plunk. “Damn, where have these memories come from?” he muttered, knowing exactly the source. Table number four. And the beautiful Amanda.
He rose and went into Jason’s room. The bedspread was uneven, the drawers half-open and action figures spread in some kind of square-off on the desk. Though the boy tried, he simply couldn’t keep his room straight. Small wonder, since he was in a wheelchair. Nick walked over to the sleeping child, brushed the light blond hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead. Ironically, he looked perfect lying there. His skin was porcelain clear, his nose turned up in a mischievous pug. “Good night, buddy.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the slip of yellow paper Tony Corelli had sent home to Jason. Small and stocky, with a heart as big as his bank account, the swarthy restaurant owner had no children of his own, and had practically adopted Jason as a surrogate grandchild.
Nick unfolded the note and chuckled as he read: Why did the football team go to the bank? To get their quarter back. Jason would love it. Given the fact that the child had never and would never walk, his sunny disposition and delight in corny puns like this one was a blessing and a miracle.
He placed the note on Jason’s pillow and left his son to peaceful slumber.
When he entered his daughter’s room, not a thing was out of place. An army sergeant would be proud of its orderliness. Nick winced. He, himself, was a stickler for neatness. But he tried not to be obsessive with the children. Apparently, on that score, he hadn’t been too successful with Heather.
Squatting by the edge of her bed, he tucked the covers closer around her. She was as angelic looking in sleep as she was awake. Her almost waist-length blond hair fanned across the pillow. It was a shade darker than Jason’s but she had the same translucent skin.
He spoke into the darkness. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s going on with you?”
But there were no answers, and after a few moments he left the room, feeling a sudden streak of despair. He crossed to a rickety bookshelf in the living room, picked up his Securities text and dropped onto the worn sofa. The words blurred as he began reading, and he tried to sit up straighter to keep awake. Knocking himself out to take care of his family and become the best tax attorney in upstate New York carried a high price—on
e he was willing to pay. But ten minutes later, when his eyes began to close, he gave in to the fatigue and slumped down against the cushions. At least oblivion didn’t hurt.
o0o
“Hey, Nick, how are you doing?”
Nick smiled at the short, gray-haired chemistry teacher he met in the hall as he walked through Eastside Junior/Senior High the following Monday and reached out to shake hands. “I’m fine, Mr. Damon. How about you?”
“Ready to retire,” the teacher said, his brown eyes twinkling. It was the same line he’d used fifteen years ago when Nick had been a student at Eastside.
Although many people criticized and feared inner-city schools, Nick had had a positive experience here and hoped Heather would, too. Not that he had a choice, he thought ruefully. He couldn’t afford to send the kids to a private institution. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when Jason got older, Nick would be able to fork out the money for a school that had special programs for the physically challenged. It was one of the things he was working so hard for.
“Your daughter’s here, isn’t she? I’ll probably see you at open house,” Damon said, interrupting Nick’s thoughts.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Nick liked going to school events. Many of his former instructors still taught here and hadn’t forgotten him.
He’d been so different then, so cocky, so sure the world held only great things for him. Blessed with a high IQ, he’d worked fairly hard to maintain excellent grades and was captain of the football and baseball teams. Life had looked good then, he thought as he made his way to the guidance office.
Walking down the hall, he recalled the conversation he’d had with his daughter at breakfast. He’d purposely waited until the weekend was over…
“Heather, your English teacher called Friday night.”
She’d tensed instantly, dropping the slice of toast she’d been nibbling. “What did Ms. Sanders want, Dad?”
Touching her arm gently, he smiled. “She’d like me to see your counselor today. Do you know why?”
