A Family Affair: Summer: Truth in Lies, Book 3 (13 page)

She glanced down at the egg mixture she’d been attacking with the whisk. “Oh.” She set the bowl aside and grabbed a cutting board and an onion. “Eight years is a long time to be apart. I do so want this to work, but I’m having reservations.” She chopped bits of onion and tossed them in the frying pan next to her. “People change.” She sighed. “Love changes.”

“Don’t you start putting doubts in Tess’s head. She doesn’t need that, not now. Those kids belong together and they’re getting a second chance.”

“I suppose. But it could all go so wrong,” she said as much to herself as Will.

“Or it could go right. It could be the best damn thing that’s ever happened to them. Loo
k at Nate Desantro and his wife. Who would have ever thought he’d fall for the daughter of a man he despised? But look at them. They got past the mountain of hurt and accusations, and they’re making a life together. I’ve never seen a happier couple but I’d have taken bets you’d never get them in the same room.”

She had to agree
. Nate and Christine Desantro had beaten all the odds, including a meddling mother. And Nate wasn’t anything like the young, angry man he’d once been with a boulder of resentment weighing him down. She supposed love and the right person did that. Still. “They had Lily on their side.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Can’t forget her.”

“So, we’ll get Lily on Tess and Cash’s side. Pop’s already corralling The Bleeding Hearts to create situations and occasions for them to get together.”

“I don’t know…” She’d been so determined to get them together, but now all she saw were the pitfalls. Why couldn’t she just be happy for them? Why did she always have to think there was trouble around every corner?

“Haven’t you
ever wished for a second chance?”

There was a rawness in his voice that pulled at her, made her heart ache for his s
adness. Maybe even try to take away that sadness. She batted that last away faster than a fly on a spoonful of jelly. She had nothing to offer Will Carrick but the friendship of a sister-in-law.

“Well?” There was that voice again, soft and sad. “Haven’t you?”

She shook her head, shutting down the question and the voice that threatened to seep past the barrier she’d constructed long ago. Life had dealt her too many disappointments, especially where her husband was concerned, and she was not willing to take another chance on the unknown. “No,” she said, drizzling oil in the frying pan. “I’ve never considered it.”

It took less than a day for Nate to learn of Christine’s late-night exploits and if the frown and brackets around his mouth were any indication, he was not pleased. He stood in the living room, hands on hips, and waited.

“I was going to tell you,” Christine said, keeping her voice down so she wouldn’t wake Anna, who slept in the next room. “But I didn’t want to wake you last night and I was half asleep this morning when you left.” Both parts were true
, but her husband didn’t look convinced. Or maybe it wasn’t enough to appease him. Probably the latter. Nate did not like surprises or gossip, and certainly not when his wife’s name was attached. She tried again. “I even wrote a note telling you where I was in case you woke up while I was gone.”

“
How thoughtful.” He moved closer, his presence sucking most of the oxygen from the room. “Did you ever think maybe I’d take issue with my wife leaving our home in the middle of the night, driving down winding, unlit roads to a
bar
, to stop an idiot from doing something stupid?”

“Cash is not an idiot,” she said quietly.

The left side of Nate’s jaw twitched. Twice. “No, he’s not an idiot.” He paused, his dark eyes turning darker. “He’s a pain in the ass, and if he ever pulls a stunt like that again, you better damn well not try to rescue him. If he wants to sleep with half the town, fine.”

“Tess is my friend and she needed me.”

“Anna and I need you, too. And we can’t have you putting yourself in dangerous situations.”

Christine sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you last night and tell you. If I’d done that, you would have tried to talk me out of it, or worse, insisted on going yourself.”

“That’s right. I would have taken care of it.”

“There’s where you’re wrong.” She stood and faced her husband. “If you think you’re getting within a football field of Natalie Servetti, think again. That woman is pure poison and I was not having her near you.”

He must have heard the upset in her voice because his expression relaxed and he laid his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have anything to worry about. She’s not going to come between us again.”

She looked up at him, willing him to understand. “That woman would have caused the same pain for Tess and Cash that she did for us. I couldn’t let that happen. Don’t you see? Cash was
miserable, and I’m guessing most of it had to do with Tess.” Her voice dipped, softened. “I heard she was waiting for Cash when I dropped him off at his house.” She smiled. “And I heard she didn’t make it home last night.”

Nate raised a brow. “Who told you that?”

“Pop.” Her smile spread. “Not sure how he heard it, but you’d have thought someone gave him a truckload of pizzelles from the excitement in his voice. He says he has plans for those two and isn’t about to stop until he hears wedding bells.”

Nate shook his head. “
Guess he’s not settling for wedding invitations this time.”

“He wants to hear the ‘I do’s’ and he said so himself.”

“Huh. He would.” He eased her toward him. “I heard you were kick-ass tough in O’Reilly’s last night.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Stood your ground and took care of business.”

Christine smiled up at h
im. “You’re not the only Desantro who knows how to intimidate to get the job done.” She leaned on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “And don’t forget it.”

“Bossy woman.”
He buried his hands in her hair and deepened the kiss.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” she murmured against his lips.

“Who?”

Those dangerous hands slid down her back, cupped her butt.
“Tess and Cash.”

Nate sighed and pulled away. “Really, Christine? I’m already pissed at the guy
; now you’re going to let him interfere with our sex lives?”

She laughed. “
You’re not suffering in that area.”

His lips twitched. “Not yet, and I want to keep it that way.”

Nathan Desantro could still make her forget to breathe when he looked at her with that half smile, his dark gaze covering her. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

That comment made the half smile spread and the dark gaze glitter.
Christine was still thinking about her husband’s smile and the way a single look could make her tingle as she fixed them ice tea, grabbed the mail, and headed onto the deck. Cash and Tess were on their way to their own happiness and with time and trust, their second chance would come. She handed Nate his tea and sank in the chair beside him, lifting her face to the late afternoon sun and the scent of verbena and lilacs swirling in the breeze.

“More junk mail?”

She glanced at the mail, sifted through a few bills, advertisements for car insurance and credit cards, a woodworking magazine, and a padded manila envelope from her mother. She set the others aside and opened the manila envelope. “There’s something from my mother.”

“Oh boy.”

She reached inside the envelope and pulled out a slim white notebook with embossed roses on the cover. When she opened the notebook, she spotted four envelopes; three of them tattered and yellowed with age. The fourth was crisp and new, marked,
read first
in her mother’s elegant handwriting. “They’re letters.” There would be a past in them, perhaps a past she didn’t want to know about.

Nate touched her hand.
“Do you want me to read them first? Or read them to you?”

His voice had turned gentle, his dark eyes clouded with concern. He understood that despite
their painful and rocky relationship, Gloria was still her mother. He also knew at any moment Gloria’s supposed kindness could turn to venom. She shook her head. “No, I’ll read this one. It’s marked
read first
. That’s odd, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s your mother so who knows
?”

She bit her lower lip, hesitated. “Do you want me to read it out loud?”

His smile covered her. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She opened the white envelope, removed the single sheet of paper, cleared her throat, and began. “My dearest Christine,
if you are reading this letter, then I am dead.” Christine gasped and threw the paper aside. “Nate!”

He was o
ut of the chair in two seconds and kneeling at her side. He pulled her against him and said, “I’m sorry, babe.”

She clung to him, trying to
process what she’d just read. “She’s…dead.”

Nate stroked her back. “I’m really sorry.”

Christine sniffed. “Why would she tell me such a thing in a letter? And how did she know? Unless…” She eased from his grip and said, “You don’t think she killed herself, do you?”

“No.” He said the words with confidence and not a second of hesitation.

“How can you sound so certain?”

His dark eyes narrowed a fraction as though considering his words. Nate had a grim view of the world in general, including people’s motives, especially her mother’s. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but your mother loved her body too much to harm it.” He leaned over and picked up the letter that had landed on the
deck floor. “Let’s let her tell the story. Okay?” When Christine nodded, he began to read.

If you are reading this letter
, then I am dead.

Please do not think this is an attempt to elicit compassion or forgiveness from you. I know I deserve neither of those. I felt the need to be blunt in the beginning of this letter for fear you would toss it in the trash along with the notebook. THAT would be a tragedy.

I don’t know the exact date of my death, but that will be easy enough for you to obtain, if you so desire. As I write this, it is December 30
th
and I am enjoying the warm weather of Palm Springs with my companion, Elissa Cerdi. She is young, beautiful, full of hope and promise, and so naïve. She reminds me of myself at that age, as though the world were filled with opportunity and all I had to do was look for it. I know the comparison must sound implausible, even ridiculous, given my behavior and lifestyle. But it is true, or at least it was. If you choose to read the notebook, you may learn things about me you didn’t know. I learned things about me I didn’t know.

You may even learn to forgive me.

But first, there is more. I was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer last year. It was a blow, one I refused to accept, until I realized there was no beating this one. I knew I had cancer when I visited you in Magdalena. It’s why I came. The doctors didn’t know how long I had and since I refused all treatment, I assumed I would not see another summer. I believe I was correct on that assumption. You may check the date of my death to confirm. People think it’s a horrible curse to know you are dying, that you’ve been given a number of days, or months, perhaps years, and the infinite timeline we believed was ours has been stripped from us, leaving us raw and exposed.

Once I understood there was no bargaining or buying my way out
of this damn thing called death, I decided to stop wasting the hours I had left—hadn’t I already wasted decades?—and try to get things in order. Elissa convinced me to clean out my closets and donate much of my clothing and your father’s to charity. I did so, gladly. What use did I have for a closetful of evening gowns? I’ve begun wearing those velour lounge pants women are so fond of and I must admit they are quite comfortable. Of course, I only wear them in the house, and never if company is expected, but lately, there hasn’t been anyone but Elissa.

While cleaning out your father’s closet, I discovered three letters. One he’d written your Aunt Ellie
many years ago. She must have given it back to him when she was dying, or maybe he found it among her belongings after her death. Oh, how I wish I had read this letter years ago, known of his feelings, known anything that might have changed the course of our destinies. But I didn’t know until now, and somehow, despite how your father and I ended up, this makes it more acceptable. The second letter was written shortly after your birth, when his heart was so full of love for you that I knew I must share it. And the third was a letter I wrote him a few weeks after we became engaged. I was a lovesick young girl who thought the man she loved would love her more if she lived and breathed for him alone, giving up her work, her passions, herself—for him.

Oh, how wrong that notion proved. I had forgotten how I once felt, forgotten all of those feelings until I found these lett
ers. They proved something to me. Your father did love me once, as much as I loved him. There is great peace in that knowledge.

I have no right to ask you to forgive me my many transgressions, but do know I left this world in peace, with thoughts of you, my dear Christine.

You might wonder why I didn’t tell you of my terminal diagnosis. The answer is indeed quite simple. For once in my life I chose not to burden you, make you feel responsible, or duty-bound to ‘make life better.’

Thurman
Jacobs will contact you in due time. Perhaps that young man of yours would like to see Chicago and the house where you grew up. And, perhaps Lily would, too.

Love,

Mother

Nate folded the letter, eased it back into the envelope, and picked up the next one. He pulled Christine closer, kissed her temple. “Should I read the next one?”

She didn’t want there to
be
a next one, but there was. “Yes.”

Dear Ellie:

It’s 3:45 a.m. California time and I can’t sleep. I’d like to blame it on the
time change, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Not even close.

I’ve met a woman.

You’re probably wondering why I don’t just wait a few hours and then pick up the phone and tell you all of this. That would make the most sense, and I’m always a logical person, aren’t I? The truth is, I can’t wait. I must tell someone and I must do it this way, when the emotions are bouncing inside with such force, they’ve made me lightheaded. I want you to feel this exhilaration, this joy, this boundless energy, and I want you to feel it from something other than work.

I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s full of ideas and energy and possesses a keen intelligence that captivates me. Do you know she’s talked of heading to London to work for a
brokerage house? As happy as I am for the opportunity this would present, I’ve been walking around with a pit in my stomach since she gave me the news. How can I let her go? How can I live with her an ocean away for who knows how long?

The answer just hit me—I can’t.

I’ll be home in eight days, and then I want you to meet Gloria. She’s brought me such happiness, and I plan to marry her.

Love,

Charlie

Christine listened to Nate read her father’s words, her heart heavy with sadness. The woman in the letter didn’t sound like her mother at all. What had happened to her? Had she given up, given in, or given away too much of herself, until there was nothing left but a stranger, and an unlikeable one at that? Her father had loved her mother once, and yet that love had not survived. Had her mother’s affair with Uncle Harry killed that love, or was it already dead? And if it were, how and why and when? Was it a slow, painful death filled with remorse and disillusion, or was it a quick severing of emotion, fast and final?