A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (19 page)

“What a sad story.”

“Worse than sad. Tragic is more like it.” He snatched another pizzelle, studied it. “I wonder if they might have found a way to work things out. You gotta work through the pain to the real truth, and once you do that, there’s hope.” He pinned her with his dark gaze. “Anybody that’s ever loved has been hurt, some worse than others. Hearts ripped, trust gone, even hope tossed in the trash.” Those eyes grew brighter, the voice softer. “But if you fight for it and keep talking, you can get through it to the other side. And that’s where you have another chance.”

Why was he looking at her as if he were talking about her and Nate?
What did he know?
Christine cleared her throat and looked away, but that didn’t keep Pop quiet.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Nate, but when Lily comes here and says you’re still at Miriam’s,
then I got to ask myself if Nate’s refinishing ten ballroom floors, or there’s something else going on. I’m betting on the ‘something else’.” She fidgeted in her chair and opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The tears, however, did.

Pop reached in his pants pocket and handed her a tissue. “Go ahead and cry. I have a feeling this has been a long time coming. You can tell me if you want, or don’t, but all
’s I have to say is you better tell him about the baby fast before somebody else figures it out like I just did.”

The call came right after lunch. Nate had been talking to Jack about a project when his cell rang. He almost let it go into voicemail, but answered it when he spotted his mother’s number.

“Hi, Ma. What’s up?” He didn’t hear anything past
Christine
and
emergency room
. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up his cell and turned to Jack. “Christine’s in the hospital.”

Magdalena General was ten minutes down the road and Nate made it to the entrance of the emergency room in less than seven. His mother hadn’t elaborated other than to say she found Christine passed out on the bathroom floor, and by the time the ambulance arrived, she was awake but groggy. Was he responsible for this? God, he hoped not.

He made his way to the emergency room desk and asked for his wife. He had to see her, touch her, make sure she would be all right. A nurse led him to a draped-off room and ushered him through. His mother and Lily were on either side of Christine, who lay in the middle of a hospital bed, looking small and fragile, her left arm hooked up to an IV. Her eyes were closed, her breathing faint.

“How is she?” He moved to the front of the bed and kissed his mother’s forehead.

Her usual composure had vanished, replaced with worry and something that looked an awful lot like guilt. “The doctor says she’s dehydrated,” she whispered. “They’re running blood work and a few other tests.” She swiped at her eyes. “I should have kept a closer eye on her, insisted she eat, drink, get her rest. I wanted to give her privacy, so I said nothing. I’m responsible for this.”

“That’s crazy. If anybody’s responsible, it’s me.” He smoothed a hand over his wife’s hair, leaned close
, and kissed her temple.
Did I do this to you? Make you so weak, you got sick? I’ll make this right, I swear I will. Just give me a chance.

“Nate?” Lily said in a loud whisper. “Hi.”

He turned toward his sister and offered her a high five. “Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re here with Mom.”

“Me
, too.” She placed a hand on the sheet by Christine’s leg. “Christine needs us. We have to help her get better.”

Nate nodded. “Yes.” His voice cracked. “We have to do whatever it takes.”

His mother placed a hand on his back and massaged in slow circles, like she did when he was a child and didn’t feel well. “It’s going to be okay. It will all work out.” She wasn’t talking about the dehydration; she was talking about the issues between him and Christine. The separate houses, separate beds. Separate lives. He nodded but couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to agree. Maybe because he wasn’t so sure, even when that’s what he wanted more than anything right now. “Come along, Lily. Let’s give Nate a few minutes with Christine.”

“But she can’t hear anything. She’s sleeping.”

Miriam’s next words held that tone that said,
I have spoken, do not make me repeat myself.
“Lily, let’s go.”

When they left, Nate eased in closer to his wife and whispered, “Hey. You gave us all a big scare. Don’t do that again, okay?” He traced the line of her jaw, her chin, her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Nate.”

“Right here.”
He worked up a smile, made an effort to sound relaxed. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.
And ridiculous. I’ve never passed out in my life.”

“Yeah, well, you gave Mom a scare and not much rattles her.”

“I think what happened was too much time in the sun with Pop, too little food,” she paused and her lips twitched, “and too little common sense.”

He smiled and clasped her hand. “There’s been a lot of that last one going around. Sometimes we need a wakeup call to put things in perspective. Mine came with that phone call a little while ago.” His voice dipped. “I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Her eyes grew bright, rimmed with tears. “Nate, we have to talk. There’s something—”

He placed a finger on her lips to stop the rest of her words. “We’ll talk, but not now.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I love you. I never want to hurt you and that’s all I’ve done lately.”

He moved closer, his face inches from hers. “We’ll get past this. We’ll talk it out and move forward, better than ever.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “You’ll see.”

She touched his cheek. “I want to come home.”

He grinned. “I’d carry you out of here right now if I thought Mom and Lily wouldn’t come after me. We’ll see what the doctor says and once he gives his okay, I will carry you out of this place. Now rest.” She smiled and closed her eyes while Nate held her hand. These past several weeks were a mess and all he wanted to do now was get Christine back home and take up where they’d left off before the whole Natalie
Servetti incident. One of these days, Natalie would have to return to Magdalena and when she did, he’d be waiting for her. It might take time and patience, but he’d get her to admit Gloria Blacksworth was behind this whole thing. And then what? He didn’t know, but that damn woman had almost destroyed his marriage and she’d have to account for that. Some people really were pure miserable. He was still thinking of his mother-in-law and her misdeeds when the drape opened and Dr. Vincent entered. James Vincent was a middle-aged Southerner from North Carolina who had married Mimi Pendergrass’s niece and settled in Magdalena eighteen years ago.

“Hi, Doc.
Is she going to be okay?” Christine squeezed his hand, hard, as if she were scared. The furrow between her brows and the pinched lips told him she was scared. Didn’t she know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her?

“Nathan, good to see you.”
Dr. Vincent moved to the bed and smiled at Christine. “You’ll be fine, Mrs. Desantro. We’ll run another bag of fluids through before we release you.” He glanced at his chart. “Make sure you eat at regular intervals, stay hydrated, and get rest. Are you taking your vitamins?” When she nodded, he continued, “You’ve got your next appointment scheduled with your doctor?”

“Yes.”

Why was she so hesitant? And what did Dr. Vincent mean by next appointment? When had she had the first and with whom? What was going on? Did it have something to do with Christine’s sudden odd behavior? Nate was puzzling through this, trying to make pieces fit into some sensible order, when Dr. Vincent dropped a boulder on him. “Congratulations to both of you, and give my best to Lily and your mother.” Then he was gone.

“Congratulations to both of us?” Nate turned to Christine who had gone from pale to paste. “What’s he talking about?” People didn’t throw out congratulations unless it was a wedding, or an engagement, or a baby… his brain stuck on the last one. “Christine?”

Her attempt at a smile fizzled. “Surprise. We’re going to have a baby.”

***

Harry made it to Magdalena with only two stops, three if you counted the break for the cop to write the speeding ticket. He thought about hopping in the car and heading out last night after Lily’s phone call, but Greta made him see that wasn’t the best plan.
Wake up early, start fresh
, she’d said.
I don’t like you driving when you’re tired. And slow down.
She’d hugged him tight, whispered,
I don’t want anything happening to you.
So he’d stayed the night, with Greta tucked beside him until 1:00
a.m
. when she dressed and went home. He didn’t sleep as well when she wasn’t there, and damn, he hated to admit that, but it was the truth. When you had somebody who really cared about you, what you did, how you felt, hell, what you ate, it made a difference. Who would have thought that he, Harry Blacksworth, would actually
like
a woman pestering after him? Maybe
pestering
was too harsh a word; inquiring and expecting an answer might be better.

And speaking of inquiring, what the hell was going on with Chrissie and that damn husband of hers? If Harry weren’t so
involved with Greta and her kids, he’d have noticed something was off. She hadn’t been calling much at all and when she did, she sounded kind of puny, like a watered down scotch, no punch. When Lily called him last night, she’d spoken in a rush of worry and agitation that jumbled her words and made her hard to understand. On a good day, he had to concentrate when he talked to her on the phone, but her message last night was clear, even without the words. Something was wrong between Chrissie and Nate and Harry had to fix it. The kid gave him a lot of credit because his knowledge and success with relationships between couples could fit in a shot glass. Still, this was Chrissie they were talking about, and Lily, his two favorite girls. Or maybe they were two of his favorites, with Greta and Lizzie being the other two.

Harry decided to head straight to ND Manufacturing and face off with Nate before he talked to Chrissie. If that husband of hers wasn’t treating her right, Harry had half a mind to give him a right hook. He might only get one punch in before
Desantro clobbered him with one of those beefeater fists of his, but Harry’s daily workouts kept him light on his feet and quick. He might get a second punch in if he were lucky. He pulled into the plant, with Lily’s garbled pleas fast-forwarding through his brain.
You have to come, Uncle Harry. Fast. Christine just got out of the hospital and she won’t stop crying. Nate won’t talk to her; won’t talk to anybody. Hurry, Uncle Harry.

“I’m looking for Nate
Desantro.”

A woman with cat-eye glasses and a look that said “nosy” studied him a second too long. “And may I ask your name?”

Damn abrupt for a receptionist, unless deflecting unwelcome visitors was her job. This one could give Belinda a lesson or two in protecting your boss. Harry got too many calls that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with his old life, starting and ending with a long line of Bridgetts. “Harry Blacksworth. His wife’s uncle.”

You’d have thought he said
George Clooney by the way her expression softened and got all cozy.
“You’re Harry?”
She thrust a chicken-bird hand at him and smiled. “I’m Betty Rafferty. You were one of Charlie’s favorite people; said he admired you for following your own path.”

Path to what?
Sin and debauchery? Poor Charlie, he really had been messed up. Harry was not one to be admired. His soul was black and tarnished, but he had a chance to do right by Christine. He shook the woman’s hand and laughed. “About the only path I follow has a fairway in it.” He laughed again. “So, is Nate here?”

She darted a gaze toward a closed door behind her. “He’s in there,” she whispered. “Been there since before I got here and I opened up at 7:00.” The woman leaned over the counter, dropped her voice even lower. “Is something going on? When he starts closing his door and won’t talk to anybody, that’s never a good sign. And now with you here,” she paused, tilted her head as though she were connecting dots to the truth, “well
, that concerns me. Is Christine okay?”

Harry zeroed in on her, threw her a warm smile, the one women couldn’t resist, and said in a voice like melted butter, “That’s what I’ve come to find out. Now, he might not talk to you, but he’ll talk to me. Damn straight on that.”

Betty Rafferty nodded her curly head. “Good. That’s very good. His office is right behind me. Better knock first.”

“Thanks.” Harry made his way past a copier and two limp plants with dusty leaves the size of a person’s hand. Apparently, Betty didn’t have a green thumb. He debated on whether or not to knock, decided against it, and opened the door.

“Betty, I don’t want to…” Nate Desantro looked up from the clutter on his desk. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry stepped inside and closed the door. “Hello, Nate.” He made his way to the desk, crossed his arms over his chest
, and zeroed in on the probable cause of Christine’s upset. “What the hell’s going on between you and my niece?” Talk about turning into a ghost. The guy paled beneath a scrub of tan and stubble. He looked like crap, from his messed-up hair and unshaven face to his rumpled T-shirt. But it was his expression—beaten, tired, hopeless—oh, that last one was bad—that made Harry uneasy. This whole thing was about a relationship and even Lizzie knew that wasn’t his bag. But he had to give it a whirl, for Chrissie’s sake. “Well, what’s going on?”

“Have you talked to her?”

What was with all the jaw-twitching and hand-flexing like Nate was trying not to punch something? “No. I want to hear it from you firsthand.”

“She called you?”

“Of course not.” Harry pulled out a chair and sat down. Hell, if he wanted to, he could probably land a few good punches on the guy’s jaw because the mountain man looked deflated and weak, like his strength was oozing out of him, right onto the indoor-outdoor carpeting. “Lily called me. Seems she’s the only one around here with sense enough to let me know about Christine.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair, which made it stick up more than it had a few seconds ago, and sighed. “She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant? Damn.” Harry eyed Nate, tried to gauge his feelings on the subject, and when he came up blank, decided to ask straight out. “That’s a good thing, right? As long as you’re the father, and I assume you are”—that drew a cold stare—“just joking. You’ll make great parents.” How did he know what made a great parent? This was Greta’s territory, not his. “So, congratulations.”