Steal Me (20 page)

Y
ou seem different, Bug.”

She grabbed two more frozen dinners from her grocery bag, stacked them carefully in her father’s freezer.

“
Maggie
,” she said sharply.

“Huh?” her dad said around a belch.

“My name is Maggie.”

“Sure, I know,” Charlie Walker said. “Bug’s just a nickname.”

“One that I hate,” she said, adding two more chicken dinners to the freezer.

“Since when?”

Maggie slammed the freezer door closed. “Since always. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“Huh.” Then, “Get me a beer?”

They faced off in his grimy kitchen. It was the same kitchen she’d grown up in, done homework in, but it held no happy memories.

“You don’t need a beer,” she said.

He groaned and threw his head back. “Not this.”

“Yes,
this
. You’re in court-ordered AA.”

“Only because the lawyer lady they gave me had her head up her ass. She actually looked relieved when they slapped me with the DUI. Told me I should just be happy I didn’t have to go to jail. Can you imagine? Bitch.”

“You
are
lucky you didn’t have to go to jail, Dad. You wrapped your car around a light pole. The only thing they could salvage from your car was the fifth of Jim Beam rolling around under your seat.”

“Christ,” he muttered, reaching for his crutches. “Is this why you came all the way out here? To lecture me?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome for the groceries,” Maggie said, sweeping her arm to the table where she’d brought enough food to tide him over until he healed enough to go shopping for himself.

“Tossy was gonna do a store run. And she wouldn’t have brought me this green shit.” He swiped a bag of salad mix to the ground.

“Tossy?”

Who—or what—was Tossy?

“My new girl,” he said, hobbling over to the card table against the wall, which apparently served as a makeshift bar because he poured a liberal amount of brown fluid into a dirty cup.

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

He turned around to meet her eyes, then deliberately took a long drink.

I can’t stand you
, she thought.

The thought was toxic and freeing all at once.
I can’t stand the person you are—that you’ve let yourself become.

They continued to stare at each other for several seconds before he took another sip of drink and moved back to the kitchen table, lowering himself carefully.

“So you landed your ex-hubby in jail, huh?”

Ah. So that’s how it was going to be. He was going to be deliberately inflammatory now.

“I sure did,” she said, refusing to let him get under her skin.

“Those fools on the TV seem to think you managed to unarm him.” Her father let out a bark of laughter, as though the thought amused the hell out of him.

“I did,” she said quietly.

“Eddie would never let you get the jump on him. He’s clever, that boy.”

“Did you know he was stealing?” she asked.

He looked away.

“When he came to see you,” she pressed. “Did you know he was Smiley? That the money he gave you wasn’t his?”

“At least he gave me the money! He wasn’t even my son-in-law anymore after you got on your high horse and left him, but he helped me out. You never—”

“I’ve been ‘helping you out’ for years,” she yelled, surprising them both with her shout. “I’ve given you
thousands
from a paltry waitress salary. All under the pretense of
therapy
or
rehab
or
counseling
. I replaced the living room window you broke while blitzed out of your mind, the TV you broke, also while blitzed out of your mind…and you know what you gave me in return? Not sobriety. Barely even a
thank-you
. No, the only thing I get from you is
more
. You always need
more
.”

He had the decency, at least, to look guilty, but the look only lasted for a split second before he turned it around on her.

“We’re family, Bug. You think I enjoyed taking care of you and your brother on my own for all those years? It’s your turn to return the favor and help me out.”

Maggie slowly sat in the chair across from him, in front of the food he probably wouldn’t bother to eat because it wasn’t fried or processed.

“I haven’t been helping you, Dad.” Her voice was tired now. “I’ve been enabling you.”

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to stop him. “No, I have. I’ve been enabling you and it stops here. It stops
now
.”

She could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t believe her.

“Ah, Bug, come on—”

Maggie stood. “I love you, Dad. And I love Cory. But I’m done.”

His mouth gaped, the whiskey, shockingly forgotten, although that wouldn’t last long. “What do you mean, you’re done?”

“I mean that if you want to call to talk, to see how I’m doing, or to spend a holiday together, I’d like that very much. But if you call me for money, I’ll hang up the phone.”

“Bug, what the hell? I love you, and I just—”

She picked up her purse from the kitchen counter and moved toward the front door. “Really? Because you only seem to
love
me when you need something. Same with Cory, who by the way, has stopped taking my phone calls because I’ve been asking him to pay me back on at least one of a half dozen loans.”

“That’s not my problem.”

Maggie laughed. “You’re right. It’s not. It’s mine, for surrounding myself with people who use me. I deserve better.”

She walked out, pulling the door tightly shut behind her.

For a moment, she wanted to turn back. To rush back and tell her dad that she didn’t mean it, that she’d always be there for him.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders and walked toward the train station, head held high.

Her decision hadn’t been an easy one, but it was the right one. Maggie had meant what she’d said about enabling him; as long as she was his crutch, he’d continue to lean until he’d crippled them both.

Once seated on the train, she pulled out her phone. A picture message from Gabby with new pictures of the kids. A text from Elena, asking if Maggie had been getting her other texts, wondering if she wanted to grab dinner. An e-mail from one of her favorite stores that was having a massive blowout sale.

That
one, she clicked on. She’d need a whole new wardrobe for the job she’d start on Monday.

Maggie had quit the diner the day after the incident.

Partially because she didn’t think she could bear to be in there again without thinking of Eddie waving a gun in her face.

Partially because she’d had a bit of one of those quintessential life-or-death epiphanies in which she’d realized life was too short in a job that didn’t feed her soul.

Partially because working at the diner would always mean
Anthony
. Seeing him, remembering him, pouring him freaking coffee…

She forced the thought from her mind, focusing instead on a couple of inexpensive blouses that looked like they’d be appropriate for an editorial assistant at a major publishing house.

Yes. Publishing house.

A
big
one.

Maggie still had to pinch herself when she thought about the job.

The fact that she’d even gotten the interview had been shocking enough. She was pretty sure it had been more a function of her brief brush with fame than it did her résumé, which had a whole lot of serving tables and not a whole lot of anything meeting their job requirements.

But she’d had one thing that all the other shiny recent college grads probably hadn’t. An
insane
amount of knowledge about young adult fiction. The interview had lasted nearly three hours, with four different people, all of whom had seemed impressed by her passion for the genre.

The woman who’d be her boss—a recently promoted editor—had then taken Maggie out for drinks where they’d talked for two hours more about their favorite books, and even Maggie’s own story.

The job offer had come the next day.

Life was looking up.
Way
up.

Not only had she finally managed to stand her ground with her family, but her wretched, slightly crazy ex was behind bars. Eddie had taken a plea bargain, but he’d still be in jail for a very,
very
long time.

Plus there was the not-so-minor fact that she’d never have to wear that bright orange Darby Diner uniform again, nor would she have to pinch her pennies quite so tightly.

The editorial assistant position pay wasn’t great—at all—but it was a start. A career path that would hopefully teach her the tricks of the trade she needed to get her own book published someday.

To achieve the dream.
Her
dream.

Part of it, anyway.

Maggie turned her head, pressed her forehead against the cool window of the train.

Sometime in the past few months, her dream had shifted. Grown more complicated.

She still wanted to publish the book. Still longed for a day when she was good and truly living off a writer’s income. Heck, she’d already started a second book while the first was out on query to agents.

But the dream felt…partial. It was a component of her dream life but not the heart of it.

And Maggie was very much afraid the
heart
of her dream was completely out of reach.

Anthony.

Anthony was at the center of her dream.

The strange thing was, she actually understood why he’d turned away from her that day. Even more strange, her happiness for his moment in the spotlight had overtaken her own shakiness, her own desire to be held.

She understood then what love was supposed to be. In its purest form, it was unselfish. It was wanting something for someone else because he wanted it, even though it would take him away from you.

And yet still, she’d thought—hoped—that once the Smiley case was put to rest, he’d finally understand.

Understand that he could have both, her
and
the job. That she would support his career, not take him away from it. That she understood its demands and wanted him anyway.

Except you never told him that, did you?

Maggie sat up, pulling her face away from the window as the thought seeped beneath her skin. Repeated.
You never told him you loved him.

For three weeks, Maggie had been waiting for him to call. Waiting for him to see the light.

Like she was one of the immature high school characters from her book.

Old
Maggie waited.
Old
Maggie let life happen around her.

New Maggie…

New
Maggie fought for what she wanted.

And she wanted Anthony Moretti.

H
is siblings had forsaken him. All three had said they’d “probably” be headed to Staten Island for dinner.

All three had bailed on him, leaving him to a lonely ferry ride out to his parents.

Also? All three siblings cited the same reason for skipping dinner:

You’re awful company.

Adding insult to injury, even his
own
mother didn’t look particularly pleased when he’d let himself into the house.

“Your mood better have improved since brunch,” she said on a sigh.

He set down the bottle of wine he’d brought with him on the counter and frowned. “You’re my mother. Aren’t you supposed to ask me how I am?”

“I already know how you are. You’re miserable.”

He shrugged. Couldn’t argue with that. “Dad around?”

“Tinkering with the gas grill out back. Don’t know why since we’re heading toward winter, but you know how he gets. He drives me and himself out of his mind unless he has something to do.”

Anthony was barely listening as he blindly watched his mother stir something around and around on the stove, snapping out of it only when her wooden spoon clattered loudly against the homemade spoon rest one of the kids had made her in kindergarten.

“Is your rotten mood because Maggie quit the diner?” she asked.

His eyes snapped up, drilling into her, outraged.
Nobody
in his family had dared to mention her name to him since he’d practically ripped Vincent’s head off for calling him an idiot a couple weeks back.

“Glare all you want, dear,” Maria said mildly. “I’ve seen far worse from your father. And you may be able to muzzle your brothers and sister with that snarl, but we mothers are made of firmer stuff.”

“Grandmothers too,” Nonna said, wandering into the kitchen while smearing on a tomato-colored lipstick and smacking her lips noisily. She blew him a kiss.

“Hey, Nonna,” he said dutifully. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Been staying here for days,” she said. “Not surprised you didn’t notice, what with the burying yourself in your office and all around having your head up your—”

“Nonna,” his mother said.

“What? If his grandmother won’t be straight with him, who will—”

“I was
trying
to, before you came and barged in here—” Maria said, getting riled up in only a way that Anthony’s grandmother could manage to achieve. She took a deep breath. “We’ll tell him together.”

Nonna nodded, a rare moment of quick agreement between the two women, and then they both turned to face him, speaking at the same time.

“You made the wrong decision.” (His mother)

“Dry rigatoni has more brains than you.” (Nonna)

He glanced between them. “That’s nice. Thanks.”

His mother sighed, gave whatever was in the pot one last stir, and then pointed to the kitchen table.

“Sit.”

He did, mostly out of habit from his mother making that very same gesture with that very same tone at least a million times throughout his childhood, usually after bombing a spelling test, or putting a spider on Elena’s pillow, or telling a very young, gullible Luc that he could fly off the back of the couch if he hummed Michael Jackson songs at the same time.

“Sweetie, what we want to know is why, if you’re missing Maggie so much, you don’t go to her?” His mom patted his hand.

“Also, if you make amends, maybe she’ll come back to the diner, and we can all get extra bacon again.” Nonna patted his hand as well.

“I don’t want her to come back to the diner,” he growled.

And he meant it, although perhaps not for the reasons they thought. On one hand, he’d give anything to see her again. Just once. To have her spill eggs, or a sandwich, or, hell, even scalding hot coffee on him again, the way she had back when things were simple and he could satisfy himself—mostly—on the warmth of her smile.

But on the other hand, the diner wasn’t where Maggie belonged. It was a quaint, small place, for quaint, small minds, and Maggie was…

Maggie was a dreamer. Who dreamed big dreams and thought big thoughts and wanted big love.

Not just for herself but for everyone else, which made her even more remarkable.

What does your dream feel like?
she’d asked.

She hadn’t told him his priorities were out of whack. Hadn’t condescended to his dream of being police commissioner. She’d only supported. Lifted him.

And he’d done the same for her.

By leaving her.

“Did she break up with you?” Nonna asked bluntly. “I break up with my fellas all the time when they stay moody for too long.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I let her go.”

“Oh Lord,” Maria said. She never used the Lord’s name in vain, which meant this was a desperate prayer, perhaps for patience, and Anth resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

“You didn’t fall into that ridiculous, ‘it’s for her own good’ nonsense, did you?” his mother asked.

He remained silent.

“Oh, Anth.” It came out on a sigh. A tired sigh.

Nonna giggled gleefully. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now! That’s the preamble to a lecture if I’ve ever heard one.”

“With all due respect,” he began, “I don’t think either of you understand—”

“Probably because it’s silly, but go ahead, dear, explain it to us,” Maria said, setting her chin on her hand.

He eyed her warily. “Well. Um, okay. It’s just…you both know that I want to be the police commissioner someday. That if I play my cards right, I’m on my path to get there. That everyone expects it of me. That I want it. Really truly
want
it.”

They both nodded.

He fell silent.

They too were silent, waiting for more.

“That’s sort of it,” he said awkwardly.

His mother’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, that’s
it
? That’s your big reason? Did she not support your choices?”

Nonna wagged her finger. “I like Maggie, but if you tell me she’s one of those pansy girls who gets all faint at the notion of her man having a dangerous job, I’d be happy to go shake some sense into her.”

“No—” he held up a hand. “She was…she understood. She more than understood, she wanted it for me.”

“So then what’s the problem?” his mom asked, relaxing slightly.

“I can’t have both.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” Nonna said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Of course you can have both. You
should
have both.”

He looked at his hands folded on top of the table. “You saw what happened with Vannah. I never took her on a date. Stood her up more times than I can count when she tried to plan something. I missed dinners she’d cooked, outings she’d planned…I forgot her birthday…”

“So your job came first with Vannah,” his mom said with the smallest of shrugs. “That doesn’t mean that it would be that way with Maggie.”

“But it
would
be that way. It already is that way. Look at the way the Smiley case worked out. Had I been her boyfriend, I could have comforted her…
been there
. Stayed at her place, made her feel safe. I could have hugged her after she was held at gunpoint. But I didn’t get to be Anthony. I had to be Captain Moretti.”

I had to choose.

His mother’s hand rested over both of his, squeezing. “Those were exceptional circumstances. I’m certain that Maggie understood that.”

He felt a little flare of hope ignite in his chest, but he stamped it out. “But there will be other times—”

“Other times when your work comes first, yes, but sweetheart, that’s true of all jobs. Anyone with
any
career is going to have to work late sometimes, or leave early sometimes. When you have children you may even miss the occasional ballet recital or soccer game because of it. But that doesn’t mean you’ll have to miss
all
of them. You just…you do the best you can.”

“What your mother is trying to say is that you’re smelling a wee bit high-and-mighty, aren’t you? Thinking your job’s more important than other boyfriends and husbands and fathers.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Nonna charged forward. “And you of all people should know that it is possible to have both. You had your father.”

“Who frequently missed dinners,” Anthony was quick to add. “And who missed more than a handful of soccer games. Who made Mom cry on more than one occasion when he had to reschedule an anniversary dinner.”

“Yes, there were occasional hiccups and tears. But you think Gloria and Bruce Varni next door didn’t have those very same issues? That anniversaries and piano recitals weren’t missed occasionally?”

Anthony chewed the inside of his cheek. The Varnis owned a small specialty food store, and he immediately understood the point his mother was trying to make.
Cops aren’t the only ones who struggle with work/life balance.

“And more important,” she said, squeezing his hand once more. “In spite of everything you just mentioned about your father working, you grew up wanting to be just like him.
Just like him
, Anthony. Had it been so bad for you kids—
or
for me—I don’t think four out of four sons would have followed in his footsteps.”

He pulled his hands away, running them over his face. Considering. “I need to think.”

“Okay,” his mom said softly. “But one other thing…”

“God, there’s more?” he muttered.

“Definitely,” Nonna chimed in, her expression gleeful. “Can I be the one to tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“That none of what we just said is really the point.”

“It’s not.” His voice was flat. Confused.

“Nope,” Nonna crowed, and tapped her temple. “That’s all head stuff. Logistics. What you really need to figure out, what will really matter at the end…is
do you love her
?”

Anthony stared at his grandmother, then his mother, who shrugged. “Your grandmother’s quite right for once, darling. Either you can live happily without Maggie, or you can’t. Decide
that
, and everything else will fall into place.”

Love.

The word buzzed in his ears. Toyed with the edges of his mind. Settled in his heart, only to realize…

It was already there.

He loved her. He loved Maggie.

And the women of his family were right. It was all that mattered. It was all that mattered all along.

If someone told him right now that he couldn’t be a cop tomorrow, he’d be crushed, devastated. But he’d get over it. Eventually.

But when it came to Maggie, there was no getting over her.
Ever
.

The back door slammed shut as his father came back inside, skidding to a halt when he saw the three of them at the table. “Whoa, what did I miss?”

Tony walked to the sink to wash his hands.

“Your son just had a revelation,” Maria said, sounding quite pleased with herself as she stood and resumed her usual position by the stove.

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked, turning to give his son a steady look. “What about?”

“Maggie,” Nonna said, her voice even more blatantly smug than his mother’s had been.

“Ah,” his dad said, grabbing a towel and drying his hands. “That’s good to hear.”

“It is?” Anthony asked skeptically.

He’d been prepared for his father to have some dark words about the dangers of getting involved with an informant when he should have been focused on his work, and that women would come and go, but the NYPD was forever, and blah blah blah.

“Definitely,” Tony said. “That means you won’t bite my head off when you find out I invited her over for dinner tonight.”

Anthony’s spine slowly straightened, and all the nerve endings that had felt deadened for weeks slowly came back alive. “Say that again.”

“Maggie,” his father said, pouring himself a glass of wine. “I invited her over for dinner tonight.
Someone
had to take action.”

Anthony stared at his father before transferring his gaze to his mother who looked…not shocked. “You knew about this.”

“Of course, darling. Now why don’t you do something useful and go fetch your girl from the ferry dock. Oh, and ask her if she likes lamb. Oh, and—”

But Anthony wasn’t listening.

He was already out the door.