To Love a Cop (27 page)

Ethan left at the same time they did, waiting while she opened her car door to again kiss Laura lightly, and then laughing when Jake gagged.

“Kissing girls is fun.”

“Mom’s not a
girl
,” her son said, sounding revolted.

“Yeah, but, see, I’m not a boy, either.” Ethan grinned at her son. “So I like to kiss
women
. Happens as you grow up.”

“Not to me,” Jake said with confidence.

“Hmm.” Ethan glanced at Laura. “Do you have a recorder running? We’re going to want to play that back.”

“I have an excellent memory,” she assured him.

Jake rolled his eyes and got into the car.

“See ’ya,” Ethan said. “Lunch Monday?” His voice had grown huskier.

“Yes, please.” Her primness was ruined by the sultry note that surprised even her. “And dinner Tuesday or Wednesday?”

His eyes flared. “How about
and
?”

Oh, dear God. Was he hinting he wanted to be there every night? She knew that was what she wanted, too, but...she needed time. He knew that.

Somehow, she found a smile. “If you come too often,” she joked, “you’ll discover what we
really
eat for dinner most nights.”

“Macaroni and cheese out of a box?” He bent to kiss her cheek again, nuzzling just the slightest bit. His last words were soft. “Bring it on.”

And then, shaken, she found herself behind the wheel, waving at Ethan’s parents, who until this minute she hadn’t realized were still standing on the front porch, and at Ethan, too, who flipped a hand and strolled toward his SUV as though nothing of note had occurred.

Starting the engine gave her a chance to regain her composure. Not until she pulled away from the curb did she glance at Jake.

“Have fun?”

He shrugged, but not in that new, sulky way he’d developed. “Ethan’s dad is nice. He said I could call him Joe.”

“Mr. Winter is probably still more polite.” She didn’t add,
If you meet him again.
“I liked his mom, too,” she said. “Guess there’s a reason Ethan is a great guy.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake sounded abstracted. “Do you miss your mom and dad?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised at the direction he was taking the conversation. “I wish you remembered them.” They’d been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver when Jake was three.

“Sometimes I think I do,” he said doubtfully.

“You might. Most people do have a few memories as far back as two or three years old.”

He looked straight ahead. “I think...she might have been hugging me. She had on this apron with a black cat on the front. At least...I know Aunt Jenn has that apron now. So maybe I’m mixed up.”

“Mom loved that apron. She wore it a lot. She made the world’s best apple pie.”

“And Grandad took me fishing, didn’t he?”

“He did.” She smiled at him. She had no idea whether he actually remembered that; she talked often about her parents, and when he was younger Jake had loved going through photo albums with her. It was nice to think he might hold on to real memories of his grandparents, though.

“I kind of wish I still had my other grandparents,” he said suddenly. “I mean, I know they don’t like me, but...you know.”

She hurt for him terribly. “It’s not that they don’t like you. It was...” As always, she had to struggle to explain the unexplainable. “Such a shock, I guess. And they felt torn between Marco’s family and us.”

“So they chose Marco’s family,” he said matter-of-factly.

Yes. That was what they’d done. If a choice had to be made, she even understood that one. Marco’s father, Rinaldo, had been devastated, as had his mother, Donna. Where could be safer for their young son to play than at his cousin’s house, with Jake’s father a police officer?
She
had had to make the excruciating phone call telling them their son was dead. Matt had been completely unable to.

How did I not know until then that he was a weak man?
she wondered, not for the first time. If he hadn’t bailed on her so shockingly and finally, would their marriage have survived? Or...if he’d assumed the burden of living with what he’d done, might he have grown into a stronger man she could have loved again?

She shook off the useless speculation, the hamster wheel of what-ifs.

“You haven’t said. Do you see your cousins at school? Has either of them talked to you, um, recently?” She knew he’d hear what she didn’t say:
since they quit bad-mouthing you.

“Nick did.” Tino’s oldest was a year ahead of Jake, a seventh-grader. “He sort of said he was sorry. And that he kind of remembered me. ’Cuz we played together.”

“Yes.” Thank God she was pulling into her driveway, because her vision had suddenly blurred. “You and Nick and Marco.”

“Uh-huh.” He cleared his throat. “He looks like me.”

She tried to smile despite the tears. “Handsome.”

Her son ducked when she ran her fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve seen him staring at me a few times. Like...” His voice trailed off.

“He’s curious.”

“I guess.” He sneaked a look at her, his eyes red. “I thought maybe, after Uncle Tino said he was sorry, that, I don’t know...” Once again he stumbled to a halt.

“They’d want to see you?” Her voice was thick. “I think, um, they do.”

Now he looked at her, his face a study in bewilderment. “How do you know?”

“Your aunt Emily called. One of your dad’s sisters,” she prompted, since it had been such a long time since they’d really talked about the Vennetti side of his family. At his nod, she made herself continue. “Then, just the other day, your grandmother called, too.”

“Did they...want to talk to me?”

“We didn’t get that far. I was so angry, I told them not to call again.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t say anything.

“I should have talked to you. It wasn’t my decision to make, not entirely anyway.” Laura bit her lip hard enough to hurt as she waited for his response.

“That’s okay,” he mumbled. “I mean, they didn’t want to see me then, so why should I want to see them now?”

“That’s how I felt about it.”

But he was saying what he thought she wanted to hear, not what was in his heart. Ethan had said something once, that she didn’t exactly remember, suggesting that it could be meaningful to Jake to be included again in his father’s family. To see their regret and acceptance. And no, he was unlikely to ever feel for them—at least for the older generations—what he would have if they hadn’t turned their backs, but could he build lasting relationships with his cousins? There were half a dozen who were within a year or two of him.

Even if she couldn’t forgive...could she pretend to? For Jake’s sake? Or, if not, at least give them access to him?

“Let’s both think about this,” she said to Jake’s bent head. “Your aunt Emily was a really nice woman. We were friends.”

His head came up, his eyes suddenly fierce. “But not good enough,” he said with a sharpness that echoed her anger.

“No. But going against the rest of the family would have been hard. Your Grandma Vennetti...”

“Dad called her a bully once.” Jake looked as startled at the recollection as Laura felt. “I don’t remember what she did, but he was mad.”

“Well...everyone does walk on eggshells around her. But being a strong woman isn’t a bad thing. What
is
bad is that no one ever stood up to her.”

“Not even Dad.” His tone was strange.

“He called it respect,” she said softly. The two of them had quarreled over his insistence that when Mama summoned them for any occasion, however inconvenient, they went. “He fought her more than anyone else in the family, you know.” This was a better memory. “She was mad that we didn’t give you an Italian name. And she wasn’t happy about him going to college. He could make good money being a carpenter like Tino, she said. Or what about a plumber?” Unconsciously she mimicked Mama’s cadence. “Your father ignored her, because he knew what he wanted to do.”

“Did any of the others
want
to go to college?”

“I don’t actually know.” She made a face. “I hope no one will try to stop the cousins in your generation.”

“
I’m
going to college,” he declared.

Laura smiled at him. “You better.” She unlatched his seat belt and then hers. “What say we go in the house? The neighbors are probably all wondering what we’re doing just sitting here.”

Opening his door, he asked, “Do you think they really wonder?”

Laura chuckled. “Maybe Mr. Wooten. You know how he’s always peering out between the blinds.”

“Maybe he’ll call the police.” Jake sounded newly enthusiastic. “’Cuz he’ll think we’re scared to go in. Like we saw someone through the window.”

“Right. Maybe we should wave at Mr. Wooten, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yeah!” Jake turned and did, and Laura stifled a giggle when she saw the blinds in their elderly neighbor’s front window quiver.

* * *

M
AN, HE HATED
STAKEOUTS
. Ethan always forgot what a low threshold for boredom he had. He hadn’t been kidding when he said that about needing intense physical activity to allow him to settle down to a quiet activity or to concentrate when he had to.

A grin tugged at his mouth. Yeah, okay, he’d had some pretty intense physical activity today. Way too brief, though. He’d be embarrassed at his lack of endurance if Laura wasn’t as impatient as he was. They invariably shed clothes the minute his apartment door closed behind them, and often didn’t make it as far as the bed. He’d be developing a real fondness for his sofa, except he’d discovered the fabric was unacceptably rough on a bare ass. Laura had decided it was
his
turn to be on the bottom, and he’d found out why. Maybe he’d consider buying some new furniture... Except
she
had a great sofa.

Ethan contemplated that sofa briefly, but knew damn well not much if anything would ever happen on it. If Jake wasn’t home, there was the possibility that he’d come home unexpectedly. Even if they were married...yeah, the sofa thing wasn’t happening.

And yes, increasingly he was thinking that word.

He had a passing memory of walking into his father’s home office one time when he was something like thirteen or fourteen and finding Mom sitting on the desk with her blouse open and Dad’s hand inside her bra. Even as he grinned again, alone there in the dark, Ethan remembered his horror. Some things a guy didn’t want to see his parents doing. Not at
any
age.

He was reaching for his insulated coffee mug when a flicker of movement caught in the corner of his eye had him going absolutely still. For a moment, he didn’t see anything. Maybe it was a cat or—

A teenage boy. There he was, swinging down from his second-story bedroom via a tree limb. Had to be Austin March. Ethan touched his watch to check the time. 2:36 a.m. Mom and stepfather would not be happy to know the kid was sneaking out in the middle of the night.

Appearing beneath a streetlight, he didn’t seem to be carrying anything. He broke into a trot, though, and Ethan didn’t even try to resist his curiosity. Maybe it was the wrong call...but he wanted to know where the kid was going.

He let him get far enough away that Ethan was able to open his door and close it quietly. Then, seeing his chance when Austin disappeared around a corner, Ethan broke into a run, too. He stuck to front lawns as much as possible so Austin didn’t hear running footsteps behind him.

It wasn’t a long pursuit, only seven blocks before Austin faded into the darkness between two houses. Ethan did the same, moving as soundlessly as possible.

A low voice came to him. “Yo. I’m here.”

“You’re late.”

Damn, Ethan wanted to see the speaker, but the darkness was near impenetrable.

“The dickhead stayed up late watching TV...” The rest became indecipherable. He heard the soft sound of a sliding door. Damn it, they’d gone inside.

A light came on, but he could barely see it leaking around and through some blinds. Probably only a lamp. This kid—and something about the voice as well as the subterfuge convinced him it
was
a kid—wouldn’t want his parents to know he welcomed visitors at this time of night, either.

Pondering his options, Ethan eased behind a rhododendron.

Maybe the two had girls here. Maybe they’d stolen a six-pack or a bottle of whiskey and planned to get drunk. Or high, if they’d gotten their hands on something else. All...well, okay,
innocent
wasn’t quite the right word, but normal behavior for teenage boys.

He could go back to the Gelfman house, keep watch the way he was supposed to, make note when Austin got home. Or he could wait, hope to find out what these two intended.

He squatted down, back against a fence post to get more comfortable. Two boys, right age. Right neighborhood. Right time of night.

No, he wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

F
ORTUNATELY,
J
AKE WASN’T
any more talkative in the morning than Laura was. He’d slept through the night when he was six weeks old, and by a year old slept until eight or later. Not a morning person herself, Laura had been incredibly grateful, even if it was occasionally exasperating trying to get him up for school.

She was especially slow starting this morning. Sleep had been elusive with her brooding over her anger at the Vennettis and the question of whether Mama was right.

Matt had been impossible to separate from his family. It was why the isolation from them, when it came, had devastated him so entirely. Even so, she suspected it would pain him to think of Jake growing up not even knowing aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents.
Matt
would have forgiven them.

She thought.

She finished her cereal and inhaled her coffee, not surprised when Jake finished his own bowl of cereal and made a couple of slices of toast to top it off.

“Do you mind buying lunch today?” she asked, watching as he spread jam lavishly on the toast.

“It’s something gross.” After a pause, he said grudgingly, “I can make my own.”