Simple Riches (18 page)

“Maybe they are.”

“Hell, no, they’re not.” He picked up a stone, skimmed it over the surface of the lake. It skipped eight times, disappeared. “Not anymore than the people in this town would be if somebody came and dumped a pile of money on their table and offered to buy them out.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air…

“Leonard tried to hold on as long as he could, but he’s an old man, his health is failing…”

“Leonard?” She knew,
knew
what he was going to say next.

“Leonard Oshanski, my dad’s friend. He sold out for his nieces and nephews, he didn’t give a damn about the money. All he cared about was preserving a maple tree his father planted on their land when his little sister died. I told him not to count on it staying, even if they’d promised. People break promises all the time, but he said, no, this one person, this woman had given her word. And he believed her.” He let out a cold, hard laugh. “What do you think, Alex? You think that maple’s plowed ten feet under? I do, no doubt about it.”

***

“Are these absolutely delicious, or what?” Gracie spoke around a mouthful of Hot Ed’s sausage, pepper, and onion.

“They’re delicious,” Alex said, taking a bite. She and Gracie had gone to the Market Basket to get a few things on Stella’s list and halfway out of town, Gracie had a sudden craving for a Hot Ed’s sausage sub. And now, here they were.

“I really hope it’s okay if you eat this thing.”

Gracie grinned. “What’s the worst that could happen? I might go into early labor?” She dug out a french fry, dipped it in ketchup. “I’m thirty-seven weeks now and big as a house. Besides, I haven’t slept in a month, or”—she leaned over, whispered—“had sex with Rudy.” She laughed when Alex blushed. “I wouldn’t mind going into labor now. As a matter of fact, if I thought the sub would put me into labor, I’d eat another one.”

“You know what Nick said—”

She waved a hand at her. “Nick says a lot of things. That’s what big brothers are for, right? Especially, a big brother who’s a doctor—he’s really a pain, it’s like having a watchdog with you 24-7.”

“He just said be careful—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t go wandering around too far from home, bring a cell phone, take a nap, blah, blah, blah.”

Alex smiled. “You are a very noncompliant patient.”

“Hey, Nick’s my brother, not my doctor.”

“So, what did your doctor say?”

She gave her a sheepish grin. “Same thing.”

“Eat your sub, Gracie.”

“I will.” She took another bite, leaned back in her chair, rubbed her belly with her left hand. “Oh, Alex, wait until you have kids one day. You’ll learn all the joys of hemorrhoids, veins, stretch marks, heartburn—” She stopped, clutched her belly. “Yow!”

“What? What is it, Gracie?”

The color drained from Gracie’s face. “I… I …” She massaged her fingers over her belly. “Oh, man!” She squeezed her eyes shut, took several quick little breaths. “It’s either heartburn or… I’m having a contraction.”

“I’ll call Nick.” Alex reached in her purse and grabbed her cell phone.

“Wait,” Gracie panted, “Just… wait. Don’t want to overreact.” She panted again, blinked hard. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, how will you know? We can’t just sit here, we need to get help.”

“Alex. Stop. Sometimes things just happen on their own… in their own time. Relax. I… I want to go home, lie down.”

“Okay, okay, I can get you there.” Action, Alex wanted to do something, anything. She went around to Gracie’s side, helped her to her feet. Gracie took a few steps, stopped, and said, “Forget home, take me to the hospital.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Gracie sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth, “My water just broke.”

Alex couldn’t remember much after that; just a blur of voices and figures moving around her, beside her, giving instructions, encouragement. Alice was the first, running out of the kitchen carrying a stack of white hand towels. She helped Gracie stand, piled them on the red vinyl seat, her blue-veined bony hands flattening the material.
Take it easy, Gracie,
she’d said.
Little breaths, now, that’s a girl. Okay, you’re gonna be just
fine, just fine.
She sat on a chair next to Gracie, held her hand.
I’ll rub your back for you, Gracie, ease some of the pain. Hold on, hold on, that’s a girl.

Bernie called 911, then Nick, then Rudy, then Stella. Alex watched it all, a mere spectator, awed and…
afraid
. Yes, she had to admit it, she was afraid—afraid of the pain on her friend’s usually jovial face, afraid of a circumstance that stripped control and relied on God and fate for the outcome, afraid of the emotions running through the small diner, so raw, so stripped, so real.

At one point, Gracie held out a hand.
Come here, Alex, help me.
Alex grabbed a chair, thankful to be doing something,
anything,
and gripped Gracie’s fingers. Alice helped Gracie breathe, pant,
he-he-he
, relax. This tiny woman who cooked sausages with peppers and onions fourteen hours a day showed both women what resolve and focus really meant. When the ambulance came and took Gracie, Alex turned and saw Alice staring at the red and white flashing lights, face pulled in pain, eye’s bright, burning, haunted. Then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn’t until later that night, when Alex and Nick were lying in bed, recalling the very loud, very demanding entrance of Rudy Steven Romanski, Jr. in the back of the ambulance,
he’s got his mother’s big mouth and his father’s big feet,
Nick had said, that Alex thought of Alice, thought of her spirit, her take-charge attitude… her face when the ambulance pulled up.

“Alice really knows a lot about labor,” she said.

Nick was silent for a few seconds, his hand trailing up and down her back in casual intimacy. Did he know even now, scant minutes after they’d made love, that the lightness of his half-distracted touch made her body tingle, made her want him again, close, closer, surpassing the desire for mere physical union?

“Yes,” he answered, “Alice knows a lot about labor.”

She remembered Alice’s face, leathery and lined. “How many children does she have?”

His fingers stilled. “She had three.”

“Had? What happened to them?”

“The first child was stillborn, a little girl, Elizabeth Ann. And the second, John Henry, died of meningitis when he was about six.”

Alex’s chest tightened. “How tragic.” She pictured Alice, her thin body bent over, rubbing Gracie’s back. Had she done that with her little boy, rubbed his body, soothed him, watched him die?

“Samuel, was the baby. Spoiled rotten. Bernie and Alice bought him a motorcycle for his sixteenth birthday, a Harley.” He blew out a long breath. “He died two weeks later going around a bend on a rainy night.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Sometimes God has nothing to do with it.”

Alex lifted her head, stared at him. The dim light filtered through the pink lampshade on the bedside table, making his features dark, unreadable. “How can you say that? Don’t you think He could have stopped those children from dying if He’d wanted to, don’t you think He should have?”

“There was a reason, it had to happen, I believe that. But God doesn’t
make
bad things happen, or necessarily stop them from happening. What He does do is give us strength to understand and persevere, learn from and through the tragedy.”

“You really believe that?”

He nodded. “I do.”

Alex laid her head on his chest, the slow rhythmic beat of his heart flowing to her, through her. He believed his words, she could tell by the way he said them, with such conviction, such certainty. She and Nick were so different. Too different? Nick had family and faith and a village of people who knew him, trusted him, loved him. What did she have? An Uncle who measured his love by her ability to close a deal, an ex-husband who only wanted her because he didn’t have her, a wall filled with degrees and certificates instead of photographs, an apartment cluttered with glass and chrome? There were no brothers, no sisters… no parents, not even memories of parents.

Were she and Nick just too different to form any kind of real, lasting relationship? Did she want one?

“Alex?”

Did she?

“Hey, are you sleeping?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You did a good job with Gracie tonight.”

“Huh. I was petrified. All I did was hold her hand, try to give her support, but I think it was Gracie who was giving me support. Alice did everything.”

“But you were there. Sometimes it’s just being there that means the most, especially when you’re scared.”

“I felt so… inadequate, I guess that’s the word. And helpless.”

“I know.”

“I can’t imagine you ever feeling that way, Nick.”

He stroked her hair, said, “The last two years with Caroline, all I felt was inadequate and helpless.” He stopped, as though thinking and rethinking his next words. “It was very difficult. I’m a doctor, I should have been able to help her and I couldn’t. I could save other people but I couldn’t save my own wife.” His voice fell. “I tortured myself. I couldn’t make her happy no matter what I did. She said she was alone all the time, said she had no friends, so on my night off I’d sometimes arrange a get-together with a few colleagues, but she didn’t like that because she said they were all city types, not like the people in Restalline. When I was working, she’d call the hospital three, four times a night to say she missed me or was scared. We moved to a suburb so it would be more like a small town, and still, it wasn’t enough.” He let out a long breath. “Nothing was enough. She came back to Restalline, spent weeks here, couldn’t wait to move back for good when I got through with my residency. But that wouldn’t have been enough, either. What she really wanted was to go back and have everything be the way it was before, when she was sixteen and we were dating and she had nothing more to think about than what to wear on Saturday night. If she’d have lived, this town wouldn’t have made her happy, nothing would have.”

Alex heard the frustration in his words, felt the pain in the spaces between. The idyllic union of Nick and Caroline had not been so idyllic after all. “But maybe,” she said, “with Justin, things would have been different. She might have changed.” She wanted to say “grown up,” but didn’t.

“Maybe, but she couldn’t hold on long enough to get help. The fire started in the kitchen that night, she should’ve been able to get out, at least yell for help… unless she was so drugged up she couldn’t wake up… or didn’t want to.”

“Oh, Nick—”

“I don’t ever want Justin to know. He needs stories of his mother loving him, fighting the devil himself to stay alive. The hell of it is, all Caroline ever wanted to do was be a mother, more than anything… but after he was born, she barely wanted to look at him. I thought it might be postpartum depression, thought about having her see someone…but I wasn’t quick enough.”

“I’m sure you did everything—”

“Everything I could? That’s the hell of it, Alex. I don’t honestly know if I did everything I could. Maybe I never should have let her leave the hospital. Maybe I should have ignored her pleas, made her see somebody. Maybe then she’d still be alive.”

Alex closed her eyes, tried to shut out the pain of those last words. And then he spoke again. “But if we were still together, it would have been out of guilt, not love. That’s no way to raise a child, and it’s no way to live a life.” He tightened his hold on her. “And you, Alex Chamberlain, you would have been nothing more than a mere acquaintance, and that I would have regretted most of all.”

The scream, a sharp, piercing howl, resonated through the walls, jolting them awake. Alex jumped up first, grabbed a robe, “It’s Edna. Something’s wrong.” She ran out of the bedroom, naked under the pink cotton, barefoot, hair flying.

Nick yanked on his jeans, pulled the polo over his head, and ran a hand through his hair
. Chuck.
When he reached the bottom landing, Edna’s howl had turned into a long, consistent wail mixed with a hiccough of barely intelligible words.

“Chuck. Chuck. No. No! Jesus, dear sweet God, no.”

Nick hurried into the living room; Alex was calling 911, Edna was crumpled in the corner of the room, head bent, crying. Direct center, positioned six feet from the television was Chuck Lubovich in his green-and-gold recliner, eyes wide open, head tilted to one side, mouth slack. His face was ashen, both arms dangling from the edge of the recliner.

Nick knew even before he felt the cold skin on the old man’s neck that there would be no pulse. Chuck Lubovich was dead.

“Oh, Dr. Nick,” Edna said, rising and half lunging at him, “thank God you’re here. Help. Please, help Chuck.”

He glanced up at Alex, saw the hint of understanding in her eyes before she put her arm around Edna and said, “He’ll do whatever he can, Edna. You know that.”

“I…I can’t lose him.” She shook her red head, a bobby pin glinted in the light. “Not now… not yet. Oh, God, not yet.”

“Let’s go in the bedroom, come on.” Alex took her arm, led her away. “It’s out of our hands. You know that, Edna. Now, it’s God’s will. We’ll pray He gives you strength to understand… and persevere.”

They were the very words Nick had mouthed hours before. She’d challenged them then and yet now, she’d used them to ease Edna’s grief. Would he ever truly understand Alex Chamberlain? No, he didn’t think so. He folded Chuck’s arms over his stomach, pulled up a chair, and sat down to wait for the ambulance.

***

Elise opened the back door of her Honda Civic and lifted out the box. Croissants, fresh from the bakery, stuffed with ham and cheese, grapes, juice boxes, and cream puffs for dessert. She hadn’t planned on dropping off dinner at Michael Androvich’s house, but Nick had mentioned his mother was going over to Gracie’s to help her out with the baby, so Michael, or more correctly, Kevin and Sara, would probably be on their own for a meal tonight. They’d be lucky if they got Spaghettio’s or leftover pizza.

Michael Androvich was not one of her favorite people right now, though she’d seen Kevin and Sara most every day for the past two weeks at Stella’s. They’d called her at work, begged her to come see them, play a game of Sorry or Uno, take them to the park, or her father’s bakery. Stella had seemed pleased with the children’s attention, even encouraged them to go. Michael had said nothing, chances were he didn’t even know about her visits. Ever since Marie Lendergin’s wedding, he’d avoided her, pretending he didn’t see her when she drove by downtown, turning his back, looking away. The few times he’d called Nick at the office, he’d been abrupt, almost angry. What was his problem? She’d done nothing, not a thing. Elise thought of Marie’s wedding, thought of the pillow dance and Michael kneeling before her. Was this whole cold shoulder about
that
? About the split second before the kiss that almost happened when they’d looked into each other’s eyes and … no! Of course it wasn’t. What a ridiculous, silly notion. Lord knew, the man looked at lots of women, actually did a lot more than
look
at them. He probably didn’t even remember the incident, he was probably just ticked about something, who knew what, and was being his typical self; a jerk. So what if he was ignoring her? It wasn’t as though they’d been good friends, or friends at all. They’d been more… acquaintances, people who shared mutual friends.

Oh, and there was the small fact that Elise was head over heels crazy in love with Michael’s brother, and the two brothers were at odds with one another over heaven knew what, though deep down, Elise thought Michael might be jealous of Nick. Who really knew? The man infuriated her, period. He was arrogant, and willful, and sarcastic. And he saw more about her than she wanted him to see—like the fact that she was in love with a man who didn’t know she existed in any capacity other than as his employee.

She walked up the stone pathway, shaking her head at the mounds of weeds pushing out over the sides of the slabs. The house was a two-story log cabin made of rough-hewn logs, with wide windows and a front porch. If she owned it, she’d fill the wooden planters on either side of the steps with petunias and pansies, white, pink, and purple. She’d hang ferns from the rafters, and a grapevine wreath layered in chrysanthemums and hyacinths. She’d give the children sunflower seeds and a trowel to plant them on the side of the house where the sun was brightest. She’d…
good God
, what was she thinking?

Elise rested the box on her knee, got ready to ring the doorbell. No! This was a mistake, a stupid mistake. She should never have come
here
, to his house. What was wrong with her? Kevin and Sara could survive one night of Spaghettio’s or cold pizza. She’d just leave now. No one would ever have to know she’d had a momentary brain lapse. Elise hefted the box higher to get a better grip.

The door flung open, “What the hell?”

She dropped the box, stared at Michael Androvich, bare-chested, fly half open, hair ruffled and unkempt. He looked like he’d been… like he’d been …

“What the hell are you doing here?” His brown eyes were almost black.

“I…” She tilted her head toward the box. “I brought the kids dinner.”

“They’re not here,” he said. “And I’m not a damn charity case.”

“Michael,” a woman’s voice came from inside, spilled over them, “who is it, sweetheart?”

“Is that… is that…?”

He glared at her, stepped forward and pulled the door shut. “None of your damn business who it is.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Cynthia Collichetti, Cody’s bartender and town slut.

Michael ignored her. “Listen here, Snow White, why don’t you take that little Italian ass of yours out of here before those virgin eyes see something they shouldn’t?”

“Cynthia Collichetti.” Word had it she’d slept with men who were sixteen—which would make them boys in Elise’s mind—and every age after that up to and including Mr. Simpson, a seventy-six-year-old widower who drove a black Cadillac and smoked thin cigars. “Cynthia Collichetti,” she repeated again. “You’re a pig.”

He reached out, grabbed her arm. “Damn right I am, honey, and don’t you forget it.”

She tried to twist away, but he tightened his grip, took a step closer. He smelled of beer and too-sweet vanilla, probably from Cynthia Collichetti. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

“Not as much as I’m going to if I catch you coming around again.” He pulled her to him, dark face inches from hers. “You come here again, Snow White, and I’m gonna think you’re looking for something.” He patted the front of his pants. “And I’m gonna give it to you.”

Elise broke free, ran to her car, the sound of his laughter rolling over her as she flung open the car door. She stopped, turned slowly. Michael was laughing, his eyes on her, arms crossed over his chest like a giant statue, strong, powerful, … all alone. He might be a jerk, and she’d called him a pig, but he wouldn’t hurt her, even with his threats. Deep inside, she felt that,
knew
it. And in that instant, she knew his bad-boy behavior was more contrived than real. Anger boiled inside, a slow, quiet rage that wanted to lash out, hurt.

“You don’t scare me, Michael Androvich,” she yelled at him. “You’re the one who’s scared!”

He started coming toward her, fists clenched, “You watch your mouth.”

“What are you afraid of, Michael? Afraid if you act like a decent human being people will start to expect things from you? Maybe expect you to be responsible, carry your own weight?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, this way, who cares what you do, right?” Her voice trembled. “You order a pizza and sit in front of the television with Kevin and Sara while you eat, and that’s considered dinner, right? And nobody says anything because at least you’re feeding them, right?”

“I said, shut up.” He was standing less than two feet from her.

“You’re afraid to settle whatever it is between you and Nick because then you might have to actually be responsible for the business and what if you screw up, make a mistake? Oh, my God, what then, Michael? So just let Nick handle it even though he doesn’t know half what you do about the business and he’s got a practice to run. That’s it, isn’t it? Just think of Michael, think about what Michael wants.”

“You’re screwed up.”

“Maybe I am. But I’m not sleeping around because I’m afraid of a real relationship. And I’m not blaming my ex-wife for my messed up life. And I’m not hanging out at Cody’s and ignoring my kids because I think I’ve gotten a raw deal. I’m not doing any of those things. You are.”

“Get the hell out of here. Now!”

“I’m going!” She got in her car, slammed the door. “For somebody so strong, you’re the weakest man I ever met.”

“And stay away from my kids!”

Elise started the engine. “How will you know if I come near them or not? Huh, Michael? How are you gonna know when you’re never with them?”

“Fuck you!” he shouted. “They’re my kids. Stay away from them.”

She sucked in a breath. “Be a father, Michael. And if you won’t”—she stared straight at him—“then fuck you, Michael Androvich.
Fuck you
.” Then she threw the car in reverse and tore out, leaving a trail of gravel and dust in her wake.

It wasn’t until she was past his house, past the split-rail fence marking the edges of his property that she started shaking. And then the tears came, hard, fast, heavy, half blurring her vision, clogging her throat. She needed to talk to someone, confess what she’d done, get absolution.
She’d just told Michael Androvich to go fuck himself.
She’d never said anything like that before. The closest she’d come was seventh grade English at St. Stanislas when Tommy O’Reilly said her parents needed to take an English class or get back on a boat to Italy. She’d turned around and told him to go to hell, right there in the classroom with Sister Winnifred standing at the head of the class pointing out prepositional phrases with her wooden ruler.

Stella Androvich. She would listen, she was the one Elise needed to talk to. Would she be back from Gracie’s yet? Elise reached for a tissue, blew her nose, swiped at her cheeks.
No more tears.
By the time she reached Stella’s driveway, she began to wonder if baring her soul to the mother of the two men who caused the most anguish in her life was such a wise idea. Maybe she should keep her own counsel, wait and see if Michael said anything. Of course, he wouldn’t, she knew that.

The decision to blurt out her story or keep quiet was over the minute Stella opened the door and saw her standing in the doorway like a pathetic urchin. “Elise? What on earth is wrong, dear?”
No tears, no tears, no tears…
But they came anyway, choking out Elise’s voice. She could do no more than shake her head.

“Elise! Elise! Wanna play on the tire swing?” Kevin came running toward her with Sara two steps behind.

“Swing. Weeeeee!” Sara ran up, hugged Elise’s legs. She bent down and scooped the little girl in her arms. She had her father’s brown eyes… and his chin…

“Not now, children,” Stella said, lifting Sara out of Elise’s arms. “Elise and I have to talk. Why don’t you two go outside and play?”

“Can I push Sara on the tire swing?”

“Can you be careful? Very careful?”

Kevin nodded his dark head, mouth flat, unsmiling, reminding her of his father in miniature. “I’m always careful, Grandma.”

Stella ruffled his crew cut, smiled. “Then off with the two of you. I’ll bring out your ice cream sandwiches in a little while.” When the screen door banged behind Kevin and Sara, she turned and said to Elise, “Sit down, child. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Elise pulled out a chair, sat down at the kitchen table, bit the inside of her cheek, blinked hard.

“Cry, cry if you need to.” The older woman reached out, took her hand.

“I… I… it’s awful.” Tears slid down her face. “I did something really awful a little while ago, Stella.”

“Elise Pentani, I’ve known you your whole life, known your father and your mother, God rest her soul. I don’t think you’re capable of doing anything ‘really awful.’”

“I…”—she sniffed—“I did. Michael…”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded, heaved a sigh. “Finally. This is about Michael.”

“I thought I’d bring some food for the kids. Nick said you were going to Gracie’s so I figured Michael would have them. Anyway, I got a box of their favorites together, ham and cheese croissants, cream puffs, juice boxes, and I went to deliver it.” Her lip started to quiver. “I didn’t think… I thought Kevin and Sara would be there… not Cynthia Collichetti.”

“Oh, I see.”

Elise hung her head, let a heavy drape of hair fall in front of her face. “That’s not the worst of it. I went and confronted Michael about it. Told him he was hiding behind his irresponsible behavior because he’s really afraid of making mistakes and… and commitment.”