Hope's Angel (19 page)

“Who
says?”

Paul
turned to glare at her. “Everybody says. They do, too. They don’t like to see
their women with a white guy. And I don’t like to see one of ours with one of
them.”

“Well,
he’s going to be there. And that’s why I’m telling you. So you can get it out
of your system now.”

Paul
stared at her. “Get it out of my system. What’s that supposed to mean? You want
me to just make like it’s not happening?”

“Yeah.
I’m not asking you to become his best friend. You don’t even have to like him.
Just accept that she does.”

Paul
looked out at the road, shaking his head. “So, she kisses him and stuff?”

Connie
rolled her eyes. “I suspect so.”

“How
long have they been going out?”

“Since
August.”

“Christ.”

Connie’s
patience was running out. “What’s it to you? You were never beating down her
door.”

“That’s
not the point.”

“What
is
the point, Paul? He’s just a person who was born different than you.”

“And
you. And Gianna.”

His
harangue was going on too long, and she could no longer contain her irritation.
“Well, get used to it. She could end up married to him.”

Paul
gawked at her. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m
not kidding. Watch the road.”

“And
your old man’s okay with it.”

“Yeah.”

Paul
shook his head, his jaw set. Connie turned away from him, and they rode in
silence the rest of the way home.

He
parked at the curb in front of Connie’s house and left the engine running. Connie
rested her hand on the inside door handle. “Aren’t you coming in for supper?”

Paul
shook his head. “I’m going home.”

Was
he serious?
“Because of David?”

Paul
scowled, and his voice mimicked hers. “No, not because of
David
.”

“What
then?”

He
regarded her with a cold, blue-eyed stare. “Because you think it’s okay that he
fucks your sister.”

Connie
was speechless, totally repulsed by his words. She pushed the door open and
stepped out. The car squealed away the instant the door shut behind her, and
Connie never turned to watch him leave. She felt surprisingly calm and without
regret. If she lamented anything, it was letting him get into her blouse that
afternoon.

When
Connie walked into the upstairs kitchen, Gianna was bent over the open oven
door, adding sliced vegetables to the pot roast. She looked up from her work. “Where’s
Paul?”

“He
went home. Is David here?”

Gianna
straightened up and closed the oven door. “No. He can’t come after all.” Her gaze
followed Connie as the latter crossed the kitchen toward the living room. “I
thought Paul was coming for supper.”

“He’s
being a jerk.” Connie looked into the living room. Her mother sat in the easy
chair, busily crocheting. Nonna was nodding off in the recliner, her needlework
resting in her lap.

“You
told him about David, didn’t you?” Gianna’s voice wavered.

“Where’s
Papa?”

“He’s
insulating pipes in the basement. Did Paul go home because of David?”

Connie
looked at her sister’s stricken face. “He went home because he’s too pig-headed
to see the big picture. Don’t worry about it.”

“Damn!”

Connie
did a double-take. Gianna never swore. “Forget it, Gi; it’s no big thing.”

“Yes,
it is! First Greg and now Paul?” Gianna turned watery, red-rimmed eyes on her. “All
because of David?”

“They’re
the ones with the problem, not David. And Greg’s fine. He got over it.”

 Gianna
swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just that…” Gianna’s chin
began to quiver.

Connie’s
heart skipped a beat. “That what? You and David haven’t broken up, have you?”

Gianna
shook her head, sniffling loudly as she searched her apron pockets for a
handkerchief. “I really love him, Connie. And he loves me. We need for this to
work.”

“And
it will. I won’t bring in some guy who can’t deal with it. I don’t care who he
is.”

Gianna
gave her an imploring look. “But you’re crazy about Paul. You always have
been.”

Connie
pondered that for a moment. “I don’t know if I am. I’m amazing myself here, how
calm I am about him leaving. I can’t say I really care.”

Gianna
seemed unconvinced. “But why?”

“I
don’t know. Maybe because I just saw a  part of him I don’t like very much. And
I’m realizing it wasn’t a surprise.” But there was more to it, and she needed
to tell someone.  The words came out in hushed tones.“Greg said he loves me.
And I think I could love him.” Awe overwhelmed Connie as she spoke her thoughts
out loud. “When I’m with him, I feel safe. Not like a dependency thing. Just … safe.”

Gianna’s
empathetic smile underscored how much Connie’s words resonated with her. “I
know exactly what you mean.”

“And
I don’t feel that with Paul. If anything, I’m always on my guard.” Why hadn’t
she recognized that before? She looked at Gianna with a sense of wonderment.
Could it be, she might be in love with Greg?

***

Papa
was in the basement, cleaning up after insulating the pipes that ran from the
water heater up to the first and second floors. Connie greeted him with a kiss
on his bristly cheek and offered to help. He handed her the broom, and she
swept up the debris from his project while he collected his tools.

“Papa,
do you remember that angel I used to talk about when Angie was born?”

Papa
grunted.

“I
saw it today. In front of a cemetery near St. Albans.”

He
continued to put his tools into the toolbox, his eyes on his work and his face without
expression.

“I
always thought it was a dream,” she said. “But it’s real.”

“How
can it be real?”

“I’m
talking about a statue, Papa. A big angel that stands at the gate to a
cemetery. Hope Cemetery. Why do I know that statue?”

Papa
added a roll of gray duct tape to the tools in the box. “We go to cemeteries.
You see angels there.”

“Not
like that one. I don’t remember ever seeing a big one like that where the
babies are buried. Or Nonno.”

Her
father shrugged.

“I
know Angie’s real name is Hope Marie,” Connie persisted. “How did she get that
name?”

Papa
frowned at her. “Why do you ask me these things?”

“Mamma’s
busy. And you’re more likely to tell me the truth anyway.”

His
soft brown eyes were apologetic as they stared into hers. “There are some
things I cannot tell you.”

“About
Angie?”

Papa
turned away and picked up his toolbox without answering.

“What
about Angie? I love her, Papa! I’m worried about her! I’m her sister! Why do
you keep secrets from me?”

He
remained with his back to her. “Secrets that belong to other people are not mine
to tell or yours to know.”

Connie’s
skin went cold. “But there are secrets. Is she even my sister?”

Anger
contorted Papa’s face as he turned back to look at her, but something akin to
fear resided there as well. “One who understands
family
would never ask
such a question.” He turned and briskly walked away, the conversation over.

***

Connie
spent the remainder of the afternoon sprawled on her bed, reading about
ribonucleic acids. By five o’clock, the mouth-watering smells of browning beef
and roasted vegetables were intense, and her stomach growled in anticipation.

The
kitchen door creaked open and clicked shut, and a murmur of feminine voices
came down the hall. It sounded like Angie was home. Connie had one more page to
go before the questions at the end of the chapter.  She should have time to
finish before dinner was served.

Mamma’s
sharp voice cut through Connie’s concentration: “
Santa Maria
, Angela,
what did you do?”

Connie
closed her book and scrambled from the bed, out into the narrow hallway. Nonna,
Mamma, and Gianna were standing in the kitchen opposite Angie.

Angie
stood near the door, still wearing her red coat, an apologetic smile on her
face. “It’s how they wear their hair, Mamma.” She turned her profile to them.
Her straight dark hair had been bobbed to a blunt cut that barely touched her jawbone
in the front and tapered upward in the back. It hung shiny and smooth, and
Connie had to admit, the style was extremely flattering. The simple lines
accentuated Angie’s cheekbones and put the focus on her eyes and the fullness
of her mouth.

“I
like it,” Gianna said.

Connie
could not contain her curiosity. “Who are
they
?”

Angie’s
eyes met Mamma’s, and Mamma immediately changed the subject. “It’s time to get
ready for dinner. Connie, you and Gianna put out the food. Nonna and I will
finish the table.”

Being
ignored was more than Connie could stand. “Can we stop playing games?” She
immediately regretted the tone and volume of her words, especially in front of
her grandmother.

Mamma
turned to her with a calmness Connie did not expect. “We will talk after
dinner, Concetta.” Her solemn gaze moved to Angie. “It is time,” she said so
softly, it sounded like a prayer.

Angie
nodded and moved past them all to go to her room, avoiding Connie’s gaze as she
slid by. She joined the family for a dinner that was even more quiet than usual,
but barely ate, and when coffee settings and fruit were brought to the table,
she left for her room once more. Neither Mamma nor Papa called her back.

“It
is time that we talk,” Mamma said as she poured coffee into Nonna’s cup. Connie
met Gianna’s gaze across the table; Gianna looked as apprehensive as Connie
felt. Beside Gianna, Nonna sat with her hands folded and her eyes downcast.

Mama
filled her own cup and passed the pot to Connie. “Your sister has been going to
see the family of
Signore
LaCroix. They are her family, also.”

Connie
set down the coffee pot, too stunned to pour accurately.
How could that be?
Despite all of her conjecture, she had never believed she might be right. She
didn’t want to be right. How could Mamma—

“Your
sister was born to the LaCroix family,” Mamma continued. “We took her at
birth.” Her gaze shifted to meet Papa’s, and he took up the story as though
they had rehearsed it.

“We
have raised her as our own.” His voice was stern. “And that does not change.
She is still your sister.”

Gianna’s
face had gone pale and her eyes wide. “There were no twins?”

“There
was only Lucretia, born too soon. We knew she would die,” Papa said.

Mamma
covered her face with her hands, and a grim Nonna rested her palm on Mamma’s forearm.

Connie
watched her father. “You knew?”

He
nodded. “We didn’t know why, but the doctor said each baby would be worse. They
had seen it before. The first is okay. The second, affected a little. The
third—your brother—died after he was born. The next would die before its time
to be born.”

She
had learned about this in genetics. “Did Mario turn yellow?”

Papa
looked surprised.“You know this?”

“It’s
called hemolytic disease of the newborn. It happens when the blood of the
mother is a different type from the blood of the baby. It can get worse with
each pregnancy.” She looked to her right, toward her mother who was quietly crying
into her hands. “Now they have a shot that they give to the mother after each
pregnancy, so that the next baby isn’t affected. But they didn’t have that in
the forties and fifties. They didn’t really know what it was.” She turned back
to Papa. He was watching Mamma with an anguished expression.