Secrets (59 page)
She glared. “I can do that.”
“I have never questioned your abilities.” He had half expected to drag her out of the shed and been a little disappointed when she came in with Star. But this exchange was showing him all he needed to see. They’d taken about twenty steps back; she was stiff and uncomfortable again, and the new rules kept him from changing that.
It had been the right decision, hadn’t it? His only other option would have been to sweep her into the carriage house and make history. And the carriage house had enough history already. “Rese, about before…”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Remind me.” She shoved a plate at him.
“You mean you forgot?” He toweled the plate.
“I’m trying to.”
He smiled. “Any luck?”
She sloshed the water. “I’m good at putting things out of my mind. Runs in the family.”
There she was. He’d thought for a minute he’d lost her altogether.
“Any chance you can put it out of mine?”
“Lance, your mind has a mind of its own.”
“Say that ten times fast.”
She almost smiled. This was reminding him too sharply just why he’d asked her to marry him. Unpremeditated, of course. Just that Achilles’ heart leaving his head behind. His hand reached out, but she shoved a plate into it. Man, she was good at rules.
He watched her hand move over the dishes, the line of suds caught halfway up her arm, the plunk and splash of the dishes moving in and out of the water. Rico was right. The brain could go just about anywhere with anything.
He dried the last fork and handed her the towel, sorry to see the suds go and the sheen disappear from her skin. She had beautiful forearms, strong and developed. How many more things would he notice now that he was yearning from afar?
She hung up the towel. “Thanks.”
She started to leave, but he grabbed the container of minestrone he’d filled earlier. “I’m going to check on Evvy. Want to come?”
For a moment their gazes held, but she said, “I’ll go over tomorrow.”
Right. No walking hand in hand.
She turned away. “I’ll be in the shed if anyone needs anything.”
“No power tools tonight.”
“I’m past that.” He didn’t know if she meant cured or at a different stage on her project. Either way, he would bet she’d find something to do out there all night. By the stiffness of her step, she’d have a very productive eight hours.
He walked over alone and knocked on Evvy’s door. It was a very long time before she opened it, looking weary and frail, her eyes underscored with shiny blue shadows, her lips pale.
“Evvy, how are you?” He couldn’t hide the concern in his voice.
She waved a hand. “Been better; been worse.” Her voice sounded hoarse and flimsy.
“May I come in? I won’t stay long.”
“Why not? It’s been a regular circus. People bringing meals, sending cards.”
He held up the soup he’d brought. She started to laugh, and it became a cough that sounded like more than a sore throat.
“Have you had that checked?”
She nodded. “I have the nurses across the way nagging at me.”
So he wasn’t the only one to notice, but if she had medical professionals checking in, it might not be as bad as it seemed.
She stepped back. “I’m glad you came. I have something to give you.”
He followed her in.
Evvy sank to her chair, looking exhausted. “Rese might like the little birds on the table.”
He reached down and picked up a wooden bird with its head cocked to the side.
Evvy said, “Ralph carved them. Whittled, I guess.”
He studied them. “She’ll appreciate the workmanship.” Or at least the gesture.
“He would have loved what she did for the house. The old place meant a lot to him.” She leaned but couldn’t reach what she wanted. “Get that envelope, Lance.”
He started to hand it over, but she stopped him, saying, “Open it.”
He sat back and looked in the envelope. It held two things and one looked much older than the other. “What’s this?”
“Read the letter.”
He took out the smaller, newer paper, though the sight of the other had charged him for no reason he could tell. But as he unfolded and read, it became clear. He could hardly draw breath, and speech was out of the question. He looked at Evvy.
She murmured, “I’m not sure I have the energy to hold onto that. You and Rese are making the place a home, even if it does house strangers and rock my windows with music.” She smiled as she said it. “I don’t know who Antonia is, but if she hasn’t come yet, I can’t see the harm in letting you have that deed.”
His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might rock her windows. If he didn’t say something, she’d wonder. “Thank you, Evvy. I understand the charge, and I’m sure if Antonia comes, something can be done.”
She sank back with a soft smile. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”
Much more than she knew. He was humbled and shaken by her trust, but if this wasn’t God’s hand, then he’d never seen it in his life. He stood.“Will you be all right?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured.
And he sensed that she would.
Strange how peaceful she felt as she watched him leave, as though the weight had left her chest. She knew nothing about Lance Michelli except what he’d told her and what she’d seen. And yet…
She closed her eyes.
I hope I did right, Ralph. You can scold me if I didn’t. Not that you ever would
. She took the gold ring from the pocket where she’d tucked it, and closed it into her palm. Life was a circle for those who believed, the end only the beginning.
“Open for me the gates of righteousness; I will enter and give thanks to the
Lord. This is the gate of the Lord through which the righteous may enter. I will give you thanks, for you answered me; you have become my salvation.”
Her chest was too heavy to cough, her eyes too heavy to raise. But inside she felt light as air.
Lance all but staggered to the carriage house, more thankful than he could say that the guys were out with Star. He couldn’t face them right now, couldn’t face anyone. It might be the Lord’s hand, but it had fallen so heavily he couldn’t stand. He closed the door behind him and dropped to his knees.
Lord!
He held Nonna’s deed and the letter naming her the heir, and it both thrilled and devastated him. “What am I supposed to do?” He bent over and groaned. If he laid it all out, he’d destroy what Rese had dreamed and accomplished. She might fight him in court, but that would be worse than he could imagine. It couldn’t be what Nonna wanted, couldn’t be what God wanted.
And yet the house had impacted him from the moment he saw it, calling to him to right the wrongs committed inside. How? He pressed his fists to his face. He could turn it all over to a lawyer, hit the road and put miles between his heart and Rese. He could go back and tell Nonna he’d done it, that without even knowing what she wanted, he had taken back what she’d lost.
His chin sagged to his chest.
Please. Show me your will. I can’t do this
alone
. What were his motives, the motives God would expose? To score one for the family who lost Tony? To get back what was wrongfully taken long before that? His breath came sharp and tight. To make Rese love and need him enough to give it over without a fight?
He groaned again. It was all so wrong. But Quillan lay unburied, Vito was shot down, Nonna forced out, and two generations of friends had held the property for her in trust. He took it out and stared at the deed that had quickened his heart. His inheritance. His birthright. More precious to him for that reason than the escalated value of the property. The wine, the cash, none of it mattered as much as the lives that had made this place. Yes, he wanted it. But was he willing to hurt Rese for it?
I dream of Papa with holes in him like lace.
Lance tries to put his fingers in the holes.
No use. There is only one thing he can do.
One thing.
Does he know?
A
ntonia opened her eyes. There was no blood, no bullet holes. That was only in her mind. She’d heard, but not seen it. She swallowed, recalling the fear, the haste, the terrible sound. Nonno’s hand in hers. She imagined, but she’d never seen Papa dead.
Only Nonno.
A wave of grief. Why had she left him lying in a tunnel, no headstone, no epitaph, nothing to mark his grave. He would have wanted to lie beside Nonna Carina. His heart had joined her in the graveyard when he laid her there, and his place was with her. Instead he’d lain alone in the dark, secret tunnel. Barricaded, hidden, but not forgotten.
Tears stung. What had she been thinking? Even Papa had been buried. Joseph Martino would have seen to that, she knew. But in her frenzy, all she could think was to hide her Nonno, to keep them from finding him and the cellar and whatever Papa had down there.
She didn’t want to remember that night, but the past came now and sat heavily on her mind. The darkness of the night with no moon. The dampness in the air. Car doors closing outside when no one should be there. The glimpse of figures in the yard, then rushing to get Nonno, to hide in the cellar.
Papa had told her to be ready if trouble came. He had shown her the tunnel, the cellar under the carriage house that she had not known was there. Then he had gone away. Why did he have to sneak off in the middle of the night? What could he be doing at that hour? Something to do with Arthur Tremaine Jackson. How she despised that man. He was cold as the finger of death, and Papa should have seen it.
But he hadn’t, and they were all in danger because of it. Rousing Nonno, she took him down, down into the cellar. Was it waking him like that, hurrying him, or the shock of what they heard overhead as they slunk away to save themselves? All of it, maybe, had stopped his heart. She didn’t know.
But Arthur Jackson had killed Nonno as surely as he’d killed her Papa. And she had left them there. Her hand trembled, clutched up against her like a broken wing, stiff and useless. She felt the helplessness she’d known that night. Nothing she could do to change what was happening, no way to make it right.
The wardrobe had a finish Drexel Heritage would envy. The drawers moved like silk, the doors hung straight and fitted together perfectly. Except that it wasn’t in place.
It belonged in Lance’s bedroom, and Rese didn’t for the life of her want to get it in there. She could ask Chaz and Rico to help move it, but they were in the kitchen with Lance, cleaning up from breakfast. She had snuck in while he did his thing with the guests, grabbed a fruit-filled pastry and escaped back to the shed, but there was nothing left to do. Even the scraps from her project were accounted for, the sawdust vacuumed and surfaces wiped.
Only the wardrobe was out of place, Lance’s wardrobe. The closet for his skeletons, as he so humorously put it. He’d been kind over dishes last night, pretending she hadn’t made an utter fool of herself, and had left her alone after that. She couldn’t avoid him forever, but she might manage a year or two, just to let the hurt and humiliation settle. She had never let Brad see how she felt, but she’d laid it all out with Lance. Here I am; take me. Instead he’d made new rules.