She felt anything but peaceful with God. She’d rather stand Him up and demand some answers. And depending on that, she’d decide whether to retain or can Him. Ironic that she envisioned Him more like the guys of her crew playing mean tricks than like Lance, when He was the one instructing her.
“ … And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings… .”
Rejoice in our sufferings? How did that work? Should she be glad her mother tried to kill her, that her Dad made her into the opposite of the woman he loved, then bled to death in her arms before they could have a true relationship? Rese frowned at the page.
This was why she didn’t read. Even in school she’d struggled to understand how the teacher pulled the supposed meaning from what the words actually said. When students piped up with their own brilliant deductions, she’d wanted to throw something.
But this section must have meaning to Lance if he’d underlined it. She returned to the sentence.
“ … because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character.”
That part she could see. It wasn’t suffering that built character, but the persevering through it. Not the pranks that had made her strong, but her withstanding them, the cruelty driving her to find focus and excellence. She could see that. Lance had endured his own grief, and wasn’t his character what she had sensed beneath his troublemaker looks?
So perseverance produced character,
“and character, hope….”
Hope. After what she’d learned about her own chances to lose her mind? To become the outcast her mother was, to never know what was real or what her twisted brain had created? And yet … the fear had lessened, as though there really was the possibility of hope.
“ … And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
Like cool creek water running over her bare feet, the words took hold in her, washing away her resistance.
“God has poured out his love into our hearts.”
She had felt that love when the Lord—if that was the being in her room— had sustained her. She couldn’t even compare it to any human love she had known up until then. Mom’s love had been frightening and inconsistent; Dad’s solid but conditional. The love she had felt in her room that night had not required anything from her but trust.
Rese swallowed a fierce tightening in her throat. Tears filled her eyes, but the surprise of their coming was far outweighed by the awesome comfort of their falling.
Time.
Past and present run together.
A watercolor wash of moments.
Nonna Carina’s hand on my head.
No, it is my daughter’s hand.
“It’s Dori, Momma.”
She thinks I don’t know my own daughter-in-law?
Who knows what I mumbled with my stubborn mouth?
It does what it likes.
S
o what’s the plan, Rico?” Lance had fed them breakfast, and Rese was out in the shed working on his wardrobe, he supposed. They hadn’t had much chance to talk alone, and he wanted to get her on his bike and find the connection they had when the rest of the world didn’t get in the way. Chaz was taking a shower in the carriage house, and it was as good a time as any to let Rico have his say.
“You know the plan.” Rico launched into the attributes of Saul Samuels, agent above all agents with connections all the way to God, to hear Rico tell it. Their big break was only the nod of his head away, and playing with them last night had awakened a thirst he’d thought quenched by all his firm intentions to leave that life behind.
Just what he needed—another possibility.
Lord! Haven’t you tried me enough?
If he took the path to uncover Nonna’s secrets, he risked alienating Rese. If he pursued their relationship, he would let Nonna down. If he chose Rico’s dream, he would fail both of the others. Where was the simplicity Conchessa seemed to find in her theory of possibilities?
Lance toweled the last dish dry and put it on the shelf. “I can’t do anything with that right now. I’ve got other responsibilities.”
Rico’s hands gripped his hips. “Cooking?”
“That’s part of it. I took the job.”
“I can’t count the jobs you’ve left.”
“This is different.”
Rico snagged a lime from the bowl on the counter, tossed and caught it.“Take her with you. Won’t be the first time a woman’s followed your gig.”
“Rese is no groupie. And this is her place.”
“So she’s got a house. We can base out of here if you want. Pop’ll get good rent for our apartment. Or your sister Monica can spread out.”
Lance turned a chair and straddled it. “You know that’s not all, Rico.”
“I been thinkin’ about the rest.” Rico took a stool to face him. “So it went to our heads. So we made some mistakes.”
“And we’d make them again, and you know it.”
Rico shook his head. “What happened to Tony changed things. Not just for you.”
“What, you found religion?” Rico had been the devil on his shoulder too long to believe that. They’d attended Mass every day, but the grace Lance found there rolled off Rico like oil on a hot skillet. His heart was true, but his head didn’t follow.
“With you and Chaz on the straight and narrow, I can’t go wrong.” Rico beamed a roguish smile.
“You can. And when you do, it’s me you’re dragging down, and somehow it’s me taking the fall, and Tony’s not here to pull me out, Rico.” The pain hit him squarely in the chest. “I have to get it right myself.”
Rico grew serious. “I know that. But you’ve got it closer than you think.”
“Close isn’t enough.”
Rico hunched forward. “You’re not perfect. You’re never going to be. And neither was Tony.”
Lance stared at him. If anyone had reason to revere Tony, it was Rico, whose tail had been dragged from the fire more often than even his own. He was not going to listen to this. He pushed up from the chair.
“You think he’s a saint. But he had faults, just like the rest of us.”
Lance’s throat squeezed. “Name one.”
Rico looked away. “I just don’t think you should—”
“One fault, Ricardo.”
Rico’s hands tightened on the chair in front of him. He had something, or thought he did.
“Say it. What do think Tony ever—”
“He had a thing for Gabbi.”
Lance stared at his friend. His breath shot out of his lungs with the force of a fist to his gut. “You’re saying he cheated on Gina?”
“I’m not saying he cheated, man.” Rico spread his hands. “But I saw him with my sister.”
“Saw him how?”
Rico made a fist. “With her heart in his hand.”
Lance fumed. He knew Rico well enough that he wasn’t making it up. But he’d misinterpreted something.
Rico didn’t back down. “It wasn’t just Gabriella. He liked the attention he got.”
That was pushing it. “He couldn’t help that.” Tony’s magnetism had been as unintentional as his skin. He was born with it. “What proof do you have he ever used it?”
“No proof.” But Rico held his gaze like a dog on point. He believed Tony might have, and that was too much.
Lance grabbed him by the shirt. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” His voice was tight with fury.
“It’s dangerous to see too much in anyone. And worse to think you have to match it.”
“This isn’t about Tony.”
“It’s always about him.”
Lance let go as Chaz walked in, fresh from his shower and smiling. But he took in the situation and sobered.
He spread his hands. “I leave you two alone for ten minutes…”
Neither one of them smiled.
“I don’t know which is Cain and which is Abel, but if you were thinking of knocking each other’s heads, mon….”
Lance scowled. He felt like knocking him. Rico couldn’t accept that things were different; he was different. Or did he only want to believe that? He forced back the fury. Rico was wrong. Tony only wanted to help. Lance knew how that was. If Gabbi took it wrong…
But he was haunted by too many faces himself. Something in the way Rico had closed his hand like a figurative fist around his sister’s heart….Gabriella had her own problems, just like the girls he’d tried to help. Like Rese? Lance swallowed, pulled his gaze from Rico to Chaz. “No one’s knocking heads.”
“Someone ought to,” Rico said. “Before yours is the size of Tony’s.”
Lance lunged, jerking Rico to his feet and knocking the chair to the floor before Chaz got between them.
“This is not the way. Violence is never the way.” Chaz stared him down until Lance stepped back.
His conscience stabbed. What was he doing attacking Rico? Proving he hadn’t changed at all. He caught his forehead with his fingertips. They wouldn’t be having this conflict if Rico wasn’t trying to force the band thing again. Lance knew how much he wanted it. But to drag Tony down to make his point….
Rese came in smelling of sawdust and stain, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. “Can you help me with something?”
He had to smile at her oblivion. With wood on her mind, the tension in the room was lost on her. “Sure.” He left Rico to Chaz and followed her out. As soon as they’d cleared the window, he pulled her close and kissed her.
“What was that for?”
“So now I need a reason?”
She cocked her head. “It felt like it.”
He was still adrenalized. But he tipped his head back and tried to fake a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “The sun’s shining, the birds are singing, you smell like wood and…” He found her lips with his gaze. “… looked like you needed kissing.”
Her brown eyes narrowed as she glanced back toward the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Yeah. And just in time. I was about to knock Rico in the head.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He hooked her elbow. “Let’s go for a drive.” He had a serious need for the road.
“I’m working.” But she didn’t resist his tug. As he handed her the helmet she added, “Hiring you has diminished my productivity.”
“Stop whining.”
She drew herself up stiffly. “I never whine.”
Now he was picking a fight with Rese? “So get on already.”
She stared into his face, her ire rising.
“Please.” He did not need another argument. Baxter looked hopeful, but Lance wanted her. “Please.”
She climbed onto the bike, and he took the road faster than he might have without Rico’s words burning inside him. He never pretended Tony was perfect. But he and Rico together didn’t come close. He pictured Gina at the memorial. It was all she could do to stand. That was not a woman who’d been cheated on.
Rese’s arms tightened, and he eased back on the gas. Rico was jealous. He’d always envied Tony. They both had. Sure women noticed him. Everyone did. He was that kind of man. The kind who stood firm and did things right. But memories of his own were eating at the edges of his conviction.
He would not believe for a minute that Tony had betrayed Gina, but had Tony known how Gabbi felt? Had he allowed a sort of hero worship, sought it even? Not just with her, but others as well? Lance unleashed the bike. He was projecting his own issues. Or had he learned it from his big brother?
“It’s dangerous to see too much in anyone. And worse to think you have to match it.”
Lance couldn’t begin to match it. So why was he trying to be everything Rese needed? Why had he made her need him at all?
Lord?
It was hazardous to search too deeply. Motives and intentions never looked as pure as he thought. Was it God’s will he wanted, or a little of the power, the adoration? He’d taken a hard, determined woman, a woman filled with confidence and direction, and had her—as Rico said—eating out of his hand. Maybe there was more of Tony in him than he thought.
The road wasn’t calming his mood. He pulled over abruptly, turned into the Chateau St. Jean vineyard. The long drive was shaded and blooming, elegant and stately, as he imagined Nonna’s property had been once. It wound into a visitors’ parking lot, and he parked the bike and climbed off. He strapped the helmet down and took Rese by the hand, striding along the walk toward the chateau.
The gardens were carefully planted to delight the senses, and tables awaited picnickers. He wasn’t hungry or particularly interested in wine at the moment. He led Rese around the outside of the chateau to an area he supposed was not intended for visitors, and she started to point that out.
“Don’t talk. Kiss me.” He’d issued the order, but followed it himself, decidedly.
She pushed him away, scowling. “I don’t know what happened with you and Rico, but I’m not the cure.”
Her words penetrated the haze. What was he doing, accosting her like that? His whole system was charged with destructive energy. He’d been thrown into some macho role, some need to prove… what? He dropped his chin. “I’m sorry.”
She softened. “What happened, Lance?”
He clenched his fists. “Rico.” He couldn’t tell her more than that, couldn’t voice the things he’d said about Tony.
“Do you want them to leave?”
He imagined Rese giving Rico the boot with the same cold steel he’d seen when she’d almost fired him. But there was too much between him and Rico to let her solve it. “I just want him to lay off.”
“ ‘Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character.’ ”
He raised his brows. “Where’d you get that?”
“Chapter five of a Roman letter.”
His heart rushed inside him. Here she was handing him his faith, when she didn’t even believe it. Or did she? He wasn’t getting a clear picture. She still argued vehemently, yet she’d memorized part of the book of Romans and applied it now to him.
He took her hands. “ ‘And character, hope … because God has poured out his love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit… .’ ” Was his character godly? Did he persevere and rejoice in the hope of the glory of God? He wanted that more than any revenge on Rico, more than anything. He wasn’t trying to be perfect, just to get it right.
He drew her close and kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”