The Secret One

by Cardello, Ruth

  “I’m far from alone. I have you, Cal, Wayne . . .”

  “You know what I mean—someone your age.”

  I raised a hand in protest. “And for your information, I met a perfectly nice man yesterday who seemed quite interested in me and not at all afraid. He was an absolute gentleman. So much so I gave him my number instead of yours.”

  “Really? Have you heard from him?”

  Under my breath, I said, “I told him not to call me.”

  “Excuse me? Not sure I got that right.”

  “I told him to only use my number if his car broke down again. It was overheating on the side of the road, so I pulled over to see if he needed help.”

  “McKenna Decker, look me in the eye and tell me you were not alone when you did that.”

  “He was harmless.”

  Ty let out a long breath. “You didn’t know that. Anything could have happened.”

  His concern was genuine, and for the second time during that conversation, I was disappointed to have burdened Ty with unnecessary stress. In my mind he would always be larger than life—invincible—one of the heroes who’d swooped in to save me when I’d most needed saving. The reality was his hair was peppered with gray now and no one remained invincible forever. My father had taught me that.

  We didn’t speak for a moment. I would have apologized, but I didn’t know where to start or where that conversation would take us. Ty was a proud man. How he felt mattered to me, and I didn’t want to offend him.

  “So does this perfectly nice man have a name?” Ty muttered.

  “Christof.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s as far as we got. Like I said, I stopped because his car had broken down. I helped him pinpoint the cause. A loose hose. Easy fix. I gave him my number in case it broke down again and went to the CamTech event.”

  “Okay, now this morning makes sense.”

  “What?”

  “I was worried you blew off that conference call this morning because you were upset about this Jason creep. It’s the opposite. You met someone.”

  “Oh, shit. I can’t believe I forgot about the call this morning. Sorry.”

  “I handled it. We’re good. You’re allowed to have an off day.”

  No, I’m not. “Thanks for handling it. Anything I need to get on?”

  “Nothing out of the norm. They scheduled some time on the track and asked if we’d look over their cars. They’re 2020 models, but they’d still like to get your feedback anyway. You’re building a solid reputation for yourself. Your dad would be proud of you.”

  I sniffed. “I hope so.” We started to walk back to the garage together. “Do you ever wonder who we’d all be if he hadn’t died? Would I be the same? Would I have gone into racing with him?”

  “Hopefully he would have retired by now.” Ty stopped and turned toward me. “Do you want to race? There’s still time.”

  I gave his question real consideration. “I enjoy speed but not the competition part. No, I love what I do. I just wonder if—I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I feel like there’s something I’m missing.”

  “Or someone?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

  “This isn’t about Christof.”

  “Of course it isn’t. Christof. The way you say his name gives me goose bumps.”

  I looked skyward for help before starting to walk again. “At least I know his name.”

  Ty laughed. We were about to enter the garage again when he said, “McKenna, promise me something.”

  “Sure.”

  “All joking aside, if you decide to meet up with this guy, I want his full name, address, blood type . . . everything.”

  “I probably won’t contact him.”

  “You will. Just do this for me.”

  “You do know that I’m not a child anymore, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t kill him if he hurts you.”

  Hands on hips, I turned toward Ty. “He’s not going to hurt me because I probably won’t even call him.”

  “Are you lying to me or yourself? I haven’t seen you this distracted—ever.”

  Distracted.

  It was a trigger word for me. I smacked Ty’s arm again. “You’re wrong. I couldn’t care less about this guy.” See, I hadn’t even used his name because he didn’t matter.

  Ty laughed. “Whatever. Just get me his info.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHRISTOF

  Sunday dinners were a big thing in my family. Before my youngest brother, Gian, had started at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, they’d happened only at the home of my parents. Yet for Gian, to prove to him that he was as essential to our family as any of us, we flew down to dine with him. At first we’d rented places, but last Christmas Mauricio had bought a home near the school as a gift for my parents. He’d said it was a practical choice so Gian wouldn’t have to live on campus.

  Yes, because an eight-bedroom mansion was exactly what every premed student wanted to wander through alone. Gian already had zero social life. He needed more connections, not fewer.

  Not that Gian had voiced a protest. He wouldn’t.

  I wished he would.

  Just like I thought we should talk about his biological mother instead of pretending she wasn’t my mother’s sister. The little I knew was that Aunt Rosella had been mentally unstable and had given Gian to our mother to raise. Her name was not uttered in our home.

  Could talking about her lessen how much her desertion affected Gian? I didn’t know.

  He was one of us, regardless of how it had come to be. If I could give him one gift, it would be confidence in that. Sebastian, Mauricio, and I had all been brats at one time or another. We’d all broken the rules, challenged our parents, fought with each other. Gian never felt secure enough to test the boundaries of our parents’ patience. He’d never told any of us to get out of his life, sadly because a part of him thought we might one day do just that.

  What Gian was still too young to understand was that family was more resilient than that. Ours wasn’t perfect. My brothers and I were each very different people and could get on each other’s nerves, but if any of us needed anything, we were right there.

  “Do you feel ready for your exams?” my mother asked Gian as she passed him a basket of fresh garlic bread.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ll do a final review tonight, but I think I’m solid.” He took a piece and placed it on his plate before holding the basket out for our little niece. “Ava?”

  “Yes, please,” she said politely as she reached for one. “Mommy, can I have two?”

  Heather shook her head. “Start with one.”

  Ava’s bottom lip protruded a little. “But I really like bread, and if I have to throw one, I won’t have one.”

  I choked on a laugh.

  “We don’t throw food,” Heather said firmly.

  Five going on fifteen, Ava waved a hand in the air like my father, and in a tone purely Sebastian’s, she asked, “Has she met this family?”

  There was a roar of laughter around the table that brought a grin of satisfaction to Ava’s face. Attempting a stern expression, Sebastian said, “She is your mother and the one who decides your bedtime, so perhaps we should keep our food on our own plates this time.”

  Ava wrinkled her nose but seemed cheerful enough as the basket moved on to the next person, with her only receiving the piece meant for her stomach.

  I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I’ve got your back, Ava. I’ll take two when it comes around to me. One for me and a spare for you if you need it.”

  She and I high-fived across the table.

  “You shouldn’t encourage her,” my mother scolded with a smile. To Ava, she added, “Your uncles spent a lot of time doing extra chores together because they thought they could make their own rules. If I see so much as a crumb fly today, they’ll be doing the dishes—by hand.”

  Ava’s eyes rounded. “All of them? Even my dad?”
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  Sebastian gave a solemn nod. “Even me. So let’s be on our best behavior, or you’ll end up in the kitchen with us.”

  Sitting up straighter, Ava said, “I’d love that.”

  Heather intervened. “You and Dad can do the dishes at our house anytime you want.”

  “Really?” Ava asked in a hopeful tone. “Dad, you hear that? Me and you and mountains of soap.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Sebastian said in an indulgent tone that warmed my heart. He’d wanted a family for so long, and seeing him with one made me wonder what it would be like to have a wife and child of my own.

  I looked around the table. Mauricio and his wife were happily chatting with Gian about his upcoming schedule. Dad leaned over to Mom, whispered something to her that brought a smile to her lips. Sebastian’s hand was intertwined with Heather’s.

  The road to where we were hadn’t been an easy one, and tough times were sure to come again, but this was what was important. Not Romano Superstores’ profit margin. Not our soaring net worth. In this moment it was easy to believe my father’s claim that one store, some wine, and his family were all he needed to be happy.

  Mauricio’s voice brought me back to the moment. “So Mom said you met someone.”

  His wife, Wren, took his hand in hers. “He might not want to talk about it.”

  Grinning ear to ear, he winked at Ava and said, “Has she met this family?”

  Ava burst into giggles.

  Our father smiled in approval. My mother shook her head, but she was smiling as well.

  I sighed. It probably would have been more of a shock if my father had told no one about McKenna. How much he’d told them, I was about to find out. “If by ‘met’ you mean ‘had one brief conversation with,’ yes.”

  “Have you heard from her?” Heather asked.

  “Does she really know how to fix cars?” Ava chimed in with excitement. “I want to do that when I grow up.”

  My head snapped around toward my niece. “How do you know about her?”

  “Children know everything,” Ava said, parroting back a phrase she’d likely heard the adults around her say. She stage-whispered, “Sometimes I pretend I’m asleep. I can hear even with my eyes closed.”

  “Good to know,” I said, then raised my eyebrows in the direction of her parents. Heather made a pained, apologetic face. Sebastian shrugged but added a side nod that I interpreted as saying he’d move forward with more care now that he was aware of her stealthy ways.

  Propping her head on both hands, her eyes wide, Ava asked, “Did she really touch your soul?”

  “Dad,” I said in protest. “You know I’m not even positive it’s the same woman.”

  “It seemed relevant to the story,” my father said in defense.

  “How did she do it?” Ava persisted. “How did she touch it?”

  I didn’t want to tread on anything her parents were teaching her, so I kept my explanation vague. I pointed to my chest. “What that means is she said something so beautiful I will keep it here with me forever.”

  “What did she say?” Ava asked slowly.

  Heather put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Ava, why don’t you tell everyone about what you brought to school for show-and-tell last week?”

  Ava pursed her lips and held my gaze. She’d also joined our family in an unconventional way. First Heather had adopted her, and then, after they’d married, Sebastian had as well. None of that prevented me from seeing a lot of Romano in her.

  “I don’t mind,” I said. My family hadn’t remained as close as we were by staying out of each other’s business. One day, when Ava brought her first boyfriend home and I grilled him mercilessly, this would come full circle. Slowly, parts of the conversation I’d had with Mack were coming back to me. Not enough to know for sure if she was the same woman I’d met the day before, but enough to remember how easily we’d connected. “It was about her father. He died, but the way she keeps him alive in her heart is by keeping his car running.”

  “Like Wolfie.” Ava picked up the stuffed animal that she had laid on the floor by her feet like a sleeping dog. “He keeps my first mom with me.”

  Heather put her arm around her daughter.

  Sebastian bent and kissed Ava’s head.

  “Exactly like that,” I said.

  My mother cleared her throat. “I finally understand Mack. You could have said something.”

  I met my father’s gaze. It seemed that he’d left off the part where I’d been too drunk to remember it. I could have hugged him for it.

  Mauricio cut in. “I can’t believe you don’t know if this McKenna is the same woman. There’s something you’re not telling us. If someone affected me that much, I’d remember what they looked like.”

  Wren wagged a finger at her husband. “Not necessarily. It’s been, what, seven years? I think it’s romantic.”

  “And she didn’t recognize you?” Mauricio asked.

  “Not that she said,” I confirmed.

  Mauricio reached for the basket of bread. “It’s not the same woman.”

  My father picked up a plate of antipasto and held it while my mother chose from it. “I believe it is. Have I ever told you the story of how I bought your mother with a cow?”

  The slice of bread that bounced off his head was thrown by the only person none of us would chastise. Not even Ava.

  Mom winked and said, “Christof, would you mind passing the basket around again?”

  With humor and flair, my father moved his piece of bread to her plate. “No need. What’s mine is yours, my love. Even if you choose to use it as a projectile.”

  “Papa,” Ava asked, “did you really buy Nona with a cow?”

  My father opened his mouth to say something while my mother’s eyebrows rose in expectation.

  “I’ll take this one,” Sebastian said. “Nona’s family had a farm in Italy. Their cow was old and wasn’t giving milk anymore. Papa wanted to do something for Nona’s family that would help them, so he bought them a cow as a present. He likes to tease Nona and say it was a trade, but it was just a gift. Like when I give Mom flowers.”

  While Ava was digesting his explanation, my phone buzzed with a message. Normally I would have ignored it. Phones didn’t belong at the Sunday dinner table. I couldn’t resist, though, so off to the side I sneaked a look at my message.

  Hoping you made it home safely. It was from McKenna. I nearly dropped my phone and, while righting myself, knocked my knee against the table loudly enough to call everyone’s attention to me.

  “So is it her?” Mauricio asked.

  “It is,” I answered, bringing the phone above the table.

  Wren chimed in. “The first text from her since you met again? This is so exciting.”

  Mauricio smiled. “If you need any advice, I’m gifted with an above-average ability to understand the female mind.”

  Not about to let that one slide by, Wren said, “Is that a fact, Mauricio? What am I thinking right now?”

  He shot her his most charming smile, the one that used to melt the hearts of women and make them stupid. Nothing. Only when his grin turned sheepish did she smile back.

  My mother must have really wanted grandchildren because she said, “Step away from the table if you need a moment, Christof.”

  I rose to my feet to do just that. I was excited but reminded myself to keep my cool. It was unusual to feel so much, one way or another, about a woman I knew next to nothing about. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take all the time you need,” my father said. I wasn’t yet out of earshot when he added, “I hope he doesn’t botch this. I really think she could be the one.”

  “I can hear you, Dad,” I called back from the doorway. “And you’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. She’s just checking that I’m okay.”

  Stuffed animal still in her arms, Ava ran from her chair to my side and gave my waist a tight hug. “Good luck, Uncle Christof. Do you want me to go with you?”
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  I ruffled her hair. “Thanks. I’ve got this.”

  “Come back to the table, Ava,” Heather said.

  “But Mom, this is important. She’s already in his heart,” Ava said, pointing to her chest.

  Heather took Ava by the hand to lead her away. “He’ll be fine, Ava. Sorry, Christof.”

  Ava’s concern was so sincere I bent at my knees until I was eye level with her. Regardless of how my phone call went with McKenna, Ava’s concern reminded me that I already had an amazing life. “You know why I’m not worried, Ava?”

  She was all eyes. “Why?”

  I ruffled her hair again. “Because I believe if we are good to each other and do our best, we all end up where we’re meant to be.”

  “Like me.”

  Ava was an example of something good coming out of a tragedy. Her first mother had been taken away so young. Heather had stepped in, though, and shown her so much love she’d become a remarkable, resilient little girl none of us could have imagined our family without. I tapped her nose lightly. “Just like you.”

  A slow smile spread across Ava’s face. “Is she pretty?”

  “So pretty. But she’s something even more important than that.”

  “What?”

  “She’s the kind of person who helps someone even when she doesn’t know them. Smart and brave. That’s more important than pretty.”

  Ava gave my hand a squeeze. “I hope you marry her, Christof.”

  “First let’s see if she’ll agree to meet me for dinner.”

  “Tell her there’ll be cake. Everyone loves cake.”

  I chuckled and straightened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  With that I walked out of the house and into the sunshine as I tried to remember something, anything, from the night I might have first met her.

  I reread her message and hesitated before responding. Really, none of it was a big deal. In fact, the whole situation should have felt a bit ridiculous.

  Why didn’t it?

  I chose my first response carefully. I did. Thank you. You were right, it was as simple as reattaching the hose.

  Her answer came back immediately. I’m glad.

  When she didn’t write anything more, I did. I was hoping to hear from you.