Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3) (17 page)

She picked her bag up from the sidewalk and stalked to the door. As she pulled it open, he said that last thing he could think to say.

“I love you, beautiful girl.”

She paused, but she didn’t turn. And then she went inside.

Theo picked up his bag and walked the few blocks to Hunter Anders’ ‘
pied-à-terre
.’ Alone.

~oOo~

When Eli came into the apartment much later, Theo was sitting in the dark library. His head had stopped tormenting him about Carmen some time ago. Now he was just enjoying the dark.

“Dad?”

“In here.”

Eli came to the doorway, and Theo looked over the back of the sofa at him. With the light from the living room glowing behind him, he was little more than a shadow nearly filling the entrance.

The shadow spoke. “I just left Rosa with Carmen. What happened?”

“Is she okay?” He tried to wonder whether she was regretting being such a bitch, but his head didn’t want to hold the thought.

“She’s…yeah. Okay. I guess. What happened?” Eli came into the room. “God, Dad. Look at you.”

Theo looked down at himself. The room canted a little as he turned his head down, but otherwise everything looked normal. He brought the glass in his hand up and took a drink. “I’m okay, too.”

Eli moved a stack of Hunter’s art books and sat on the low table in front of the sofa, facing his father. “Dad.”

Theo laughed. “Elias. How’s Rosa? Did you have a good weekend? Is she your
true love
?”

“She’s good. We had a good weekend. And maybe. Let me help you to bed. You need to sleep it off.”

The bed was empty. Again. He was so damn tired of sleeping in an empty bed. So damn tired. He pushed his son’s hands away. “Nah. I like it in here. And I want you to tell me about your good weekend. I had a good weekend, too. Mostly.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying. How much did you drink?”

Theo laughed and tapped his pleasantly quiet head. “Enough. I know what I’m doing, son. Son. My son. You’re a good son. We should get Jordan out here again before you go back.”

“Jordan’s not here, Dad.” Before Theo could say he knew that, Eli stood. “Okay. At least lie down for me. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.” Eli pulled Theo down to lie on the sofa, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

Theo had no idea if Eli ever came back. Black took him over almost as soon as he lay down.

~oOo~

The next afternoon, while Theo was still in the jaws of a righteous hangover that seemed to intend to last all day, Eli brought Rosa over to collect Carmen’s things. Over the weeks that they’d been together, most of her things, he thought, had found their way here.

Rosa brought an empty suitcase in. She was quiet and looked embarrassed. Guilty, too.

“I’m sorry, Theo. Carmen’s…I don’t know. I don’t even understand her.”

Theo waved her comment, and the pang it made, away. “It’s fine, sweetheart. Take what you came for. You know where the bedroom and bathroom are.”

He turned and went to the kitchen. Not to hide, exactly. But to be away. He got himself some coffee and aspirin and sat alone at the table, waiting for them to be done and to be gone.

He wondered in which apartment the two happy little lovebirds would be spending their nights together now. No longer would they have a place to themselves. It didn’t much matter for the moment, though. Carmen and Rosa were heading for Germany the next day.

Eli leaned on the doorframe. “She’s packed. We’re going. But I’ll be back. I’ll stick with you tonight. We can talk.”

Theo shook his head. “No. Be with your girl. I’m good. We’ll talk while she’s away.”

“You’re not good, Dad.”

“Maybe not. But I want you to have your night with your girl. I’m fine on my own.”

Eli was quiet for several seconds. Theo had the impression that his son was evaluating him. “Okay. We’ll stay over there. But Dad, do me a favor.”

“Sure.”
 

“Don’t go get more booze today.”

Theo turned and scowled at him. He was pissed—who did this
kid
think he was, making judgments like that? He was careful, though, to answer calmly. “It’s not a problem, Eli. I just had a bad night last night. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Then take today off. If it’s not a problem.”

“Fine. Whatever. Wasn’t going to drink today anyway.”

“Good. I’ll call and check in, okay?”

“Go on, Eli. Rosa’s waiting.”

He went, and they left the apartment a few minutes later.

It was after his dinner of leftovers before Theo needed to make a run down to the market.

~ 11 ~

Carmen lay in bed and stared out the window. The morning sounds of the city were driving her insane, but she didn’t have the energy to get up and close the balcony doors.

She could hear Rosa and Eli milling about in the flat, talking quietly, too. She really hoped Rosa would do as she’d asked and say goodbye to Eli here. She didn’t want to have to watch their picturesque goodbye at the train station. They were going to be away only a week, but Rosa was looking at the calendar, seeing that their summer was almost over, and getting maudlin about saying goodbye to her honey.

Eli had been planning to return to the States at around the same time, and the two of them had been talking for a couple of weeks now about how they’d stay together. Would Eli move to Providence? Would Rosa move to Maine? Would they both move someplace new? It was all sweet and romantic and far too fucking fast, but Rosa was truly happy, and that had changed her. She was calmer, more thoughtful. Not a complete makeover, but a noticeable improvement.

Now, though, Eli had decided to stay in Paris longer—and that, as far as Rosa was concerned, was Carmen’s fault. Eli didn’t want to leave his father alone. Because Carmen had broken his heart, apparently.

Well, grow a pair, Theodore. Shit happens. Life’s a bitch. Pick your bitter platitude.

Telling her she was afraid. No, she was not. Fuck him straight to hell.

She tried to hold on to that attitude and the shield that came with it, but she couldn’t keep it steady. Her chest hurt. Fuck, it hurt so bad.

She did love him. Denying it to him was important, but she couldn’t deny it to herself. Despite every effort and intention, she’d fallen in love with a man who wore his love for another woman around his goddamn neck every second of his life. He was writing another goddamn book about his love for her.

Maybe he loved Carmen, too. She at least believed that he believed he did. But he’d never love her enough.

She’d told him his pendants were poignant. They
were
poignant. They made her ache.

A knock on the door uprooted her thoughts. “Carm? Eli made Dutch babies for breakfast. Come eat.”

She didn’t even know what a Dutch baby was. More than anything this morning, Carmen wanted to avoid sitting at the table with Eli and Rosa, the two of them being all sweet and in love, and both looking at her with an infuriating combination of concern and disapproval. She’d had her fill of it since she’d come into the apartment Monday evening and found them curled on the sofa watching a French news program. They were on Theo’s side, so she wished they’d just go hang out at his place and leave her the fuck alone.

“Thanks, Rosie. Not hungry. I’m just going to chill for awhile, then hop in the shower.” They’d be on the train in a few hours, and she’d have a week free from being confronted by everything that she’d let go wrong in Paris.

Assuming Rosa would let up about it.

“You sure?”

Carmen sighed. “Yes, sis. Go have your breakfast.”

Finally, she heard the creak of the floor as Rosa left her alone. And Carmen got back to tearing herself up for wanting shit she couldn’t have. She’d known better. Nothing good came from walking the path of want. Why even bother to try?

Her heart raced and her head ached, as if her sadness and disappointment were so deep that it was literally making her sick.

She tossed the duvet back and got up, headed to the bathroom. She’d take a hot bath; maybe that would calm her down. One look at the deep tub brought the memories back of the last bath she’d had. Her throat constricted sharply, and breath became a struggle.

Shit. Was she having an anxiety attack? She didn’t have anxiety attacks. But as she doubled over and clutched at her tight throat, she thought she might be dying. She tried to call out for her sister, but she couldn’t get enough air to make sound. Crumpling to the floor, she lay there and made herself focus until she could take steady breaths.

When she was calm again, she was pissed—at herself and at Theo. He put the idea of fear in her head, and now she’d had a damn anxiety attack. She was not afraid. She fucking was not!

Being smart wasn’t being afraid. Being strong enough to bring heartbreak now instead of later wasn’t being afraid. Fuck him.

She got back up on her feet and started the shower. When it was hot enough, she stepped in. Then, with the sound of the spray and the wet of the water hiding her tears even from herself, she let herself cry.

~oOo~

The ride to Frankfurt was quiet and tense. Rosa tried a few times to start a conversation, but the second Carmen smelled Theo in her words, she shut it down. The absolute last thing she needed was her shallow little pink princess of a baby sister giving her fucking relationship advice. Eli was the longest relationship she’d ever had, and they’d been together two months. Big fucking whoop.

Two months was nothing. She’d been…hanging out…with Theo for two months. That was nothing. It was nothing. A fling.

She kept her eyes closed and pretended to be sleeping.

They got off the train in silence and rolled their bags through the station in silence. Carmen headed straight for the taxi rank, and Rosa trotted behind her in slightly more sensible shoes than usual.

They’d arrived in the late afternoon. The station was crowded, and the line for a taxi was long. Carmen just wanted to get to the hotel and be done with the day. She really wasn’t in any mood for sightseeing. She should probably get a handle on herself and be the tour guide she was supposed to be for Rosa.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It had buzzed earlier, when they were getting ready to get off the train, and she’d forgotten to check. She pulled it out now—Sabina was on the line. For a second, she thought about declining it and calling back when they were in the hotel, but they had a long wait. Better to talk to Sabina than to ignore Rosa.

“Hey, Sabina. We just got to Frankfurt. What’s up?”

“Carmen, I’m so sorry.” Sabina’s voice was rough with stress. “It should be Carlo who called. Or Luca. But they…”

Carmen’s heart dropped. “Sabina, what is it? What happened?”

“Pop. He…collapsed this morning at work. His heart.”

“Oh God!” Tears were on her at once. Taking the phone from her ear for a second, she yanked Rosa out of the line and dropped her bag to the sidewalk so she could hold her sister and grip the phone in her other hand.

“Carmen, what?” Rosa was terrified immediately.

“It’s Pop. I don’t know.” She put the phone back up, and heard that Sabina calling for her.

“Is he…God, Sabina!”

“No, Carmen. No. They are taking him to surgery. It’s serious, but he is with us. You should come home. Quickly, if you can.”

She turned to Rosa, who was sobbing. “He’s alive. Heart attack. He’s in surgery.” Rosa nodded and sobbed harder.

Carmen’s heart skittered, but she found a sliver of calm in knowing that they hadn’t lost their father yet. “We’re turning around right now. We’ll take the TGV back and get the first flight out of Paris. We’ll be home as fast as we can.”

“Good. I think that is right.”

“How are the boys?”

Sabina’s only answer at first was silence, then sniffles. “He is so loved.”

Now Carmen’s tears came with sobs, too. “Yeah, he is. We’re coming home.”

~oOo~

The elevator dinged their floor, and Carmen grabbed Rosa’s hand.

When the doors opened, they walked together with John to the waiting room. They’d spent a lot of time in the hospital over the past couple of years. Joey had been shot almost exactly two years before. It had been less than a year since Luca and John had been beaten almost to death. Things were just falling the fuck apart.

Over the course of the past twenty-four hours, Carmen and Rosa both had spoken to multiple family members—their brothers, Sabina, and Adele, their stepmother. John had come to the airport to pick them up, so they had current information about their father, and about the circumstances of the family since they’d been gone.

And it wasn’t good. They’d come home to a battlefield.

The Uncles were at war with some enemy Carmen didn’t have enough information about to understand, and it was bleeding all over her family. Carlo Sr. had worked his whole life to keep himself and his children separate from the Uncles’ business. Until recently, he’d been successful. But Luca and John had gotten hurt over the Uncles’ business. Carlo Sr.’s friend, Norm, had been killed over the Uncles’ business. Pagano & Sons Construction was losing business over it. The day before their father took sick, he and Luca had had to lay off a whole crew—something they hadn’t had to do even during the housing crash several years before.

The stress and loss had taken their father down.

He’d had a massive coronary—an acute myocardial infarction—and keeled over shortly after he’d arrived at the office the morning before. Luca had come in just behind him and found him unconscious on the floor, his coffee cup still in his hand.

He hadn’t been breathing.

Luckily, Luca was part of Quiet Cove’s volunteer search and rescue team, and he’d administered CPR immediately and had their father breathing before the ambulance could get there. Not conscious, but breathing.

There had been substantial damage to his heart, though, and he’d spent most of that day having open-heart surgery. He was now stable but still unconscious.

Rosa pulled up short as they arrived at the entrance to the waiting room. Carmen could see that it was full of family. There were a lot of Paganos. When they came together, they filled up a room.

“Wait.” Rosa pulled on Carmen’s hand, trying to bring her away from the door.

“What is it, hon?”

“I can’t. I’m not ready.”

John stepped up and brushed his hand down Rosa’s arm. “C’mon, Cookie. It’s just family. Everybody missed you.”

Her lip trembled. “What if…what if something happened since you came for us, though?”

“Carlo would have called. C’mon.” Carmen changed her hold on Rosa’s hand, linking their fingers. “We’ll go in together. Family is where we need to be, hon. Family is the most important thing we have.”

Rosa lifted sad, wet, red-rimmed eyes to her. She was exhausted. Carmen could relate. She hadn’t slept since the morning before, when she’d woken up alone in bed in Paris and lain there listening to Rosa and Eli love each other and eat Dutch babies—which, it turned out, were a kind of enormous pancake.

“Okay.”

Carmen held her hand, and John put his arm around her, and they went into the waiting room, where they were immediately swallowed up in family love. Everybody took their turn hugging them, both comfort and welcome home. Rosa fairly fell into Carlo’s arms, sobbing, and Carmen smiled sadly. Rosa had always had the kind of adoration for her eldest brother usually reserved for messiahs and rock stars. She watched as Carlo, whispering, “Shh, shh, shh. C’mon, Peanut, I got ya,” lifted Rosa off her feet and walked her to the only quiet corner of the room.

Carlo, John, and Luca all had some kind of goofy food nickname for Rosa. ‘Peanut,’ or ‘Cookie,’ or ‘Shortcake.’ Joey called her ‘Grossa’; they didn’t get along much.

Everybody called Carmen ‘Caramel,’ when they were feeling extra affectionate—which wasn’t often, thank God.

None of the brothers had nicknames, really, except some derivation of ‘brother’ or some shortening of their actual name. During Carmen’s angry feminist years in college, she’d tried to get the family to consider why the girls got food names. But they’d all thought she and her hairy pits were hilarious. Even her mother, still alive at the time, thought she was thinking too much about words meant in affection.