Topaz Heat (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) (10 page)

He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry until Tony reached them. She seemed to sense that he was near, because before he spoke or touched her, she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “He was such a good man,” she said through her tears.

“I know,
cara
.”

“Where’s Maxine?” Derrick asked.

“En route to the Cape. They left immediately after church. I bet they’re not even there yet,” Tony said. He bent and lifted Robin into his arms, then carried her to a chair and sat down. “We’ll need to call her.”

Robin kept her head on Tony’s shoulder, but seemed to have the tears under control. “I gave Darlene the number,” she said. “Sarah’s going to be devastated.”

“Maria will bring the kids in, and we’ll go over there.”

Derrick swallowed the lump in his throat as he stood. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if anyone needs anything.”

Robin lifted her head. “You aren’t going to go?”

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants and made a fist. “It’s a family thing.”

Tony scowled. “You
are
family.”

His smile was tight enough to crack his lips. “To you and Maxi, maybe, but not to Sarah. She doesn’t need me there to antagonize her.”

“Derrick …”

“Just …” He closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Just tell Sarah I’m sorry. That I’ll be praying. And call me if she needs anything.”

He left before Robin could say anything that would make him stay. Since all he wanted to do was go to Sarah, to have her turn to him the way Robin turned to Tony, he knew it wouldn’t take much to convince him to go.

DERRICK
sat at the head of the long conference table. Heads of the departments in the hotel sat in the seats around the table, from the head concierge to the head chef to the kitchen manager to the head of housekeeping, and everyone in between.

He'd introduced himself to those who did not know him personally. Despite this being day three of this first week, he hadn't yet made it to every department, so there were still a few people he hadn't met. He’d taken reports from each person. He'd asked for specific areas of concern within the hotel and the emergency needs that had cropped up during the last few weeks during the decline of the previous manager’s job focus.

And all the while, he thought about Sarah. Sarah whose heart had broken when her father died. His own heart ached for her, and he found it impossible to ignore her in this time of need. Regardless of anything, he needed to go see her.

As if on a perfect, divine cue, his secretary, Andrea, opened the door at the end of the room and stuck her head in. Derrick caught her eye and she nodded, so he gestured forward with his hand. “Lunch has arrived, friends,” he said, standing as Andrea walked completely into the room and held the door wide for the waiters pushing the carts. “Let’s go ahead and take a break and eat, rejuvenate ourselves for the rest of the afternoon." He looked through the sea of faces and picked the facility manager. “Don, can you please bless this meal?”

As soon as Don initiated a chorus of "amens" and the staff went to stand in the buffet line, Derrick looked at his watch and motioned Andrea aside. “I need to head out to Charles Thomas’ funeral. I just want to quickly pay my respects then I'll be right back.”

She nodded. “I was surprised you called this meeting during the time of the funeral. I know the rest of your family is there.”

“Well, the timing of Bill Matheson’s departure was out of my hands.” He pulled his suit jacket off the back of his chair and slipped his arms into it. "I doubt I'll be thirty minutes.”

DERRICK
watched the three boys as they watched the high school youth basketball team practice. He guessed their ages to be right around thirteen. They wore the typical baggy jeans that came down too low and showed off too much. They each had on baggy shirts that fell well below the low waistband of the jeans, tucked in to the jeans so that it made their torsos look extra long. Derrick noted the careful lack of any gang colors.

Two of the boys were African American, and one was something Mediterranean. In this neighborhood, it was likely Italian.

He discarded his jacket and picked up a basketball. He contemplated the best way to approach the boys as he crossed in front of the bleachers, spinning the ball on his finger, bouncing it up and down his arm, tossing it in the air. He reached them about the time they turned in unison to watch him.

“Hey,” he said, pointing at the court. “You going to join?”

One of the African American boys sneered and tried to look tough. “What’s it to you?”

Derrick immediately felt like maybe the direct approach was the best approach. “Because, son, you’ll discover at this church that there are actually adults who care about you, your well being, and your happiness, and we want nothing from you in return.”

The boy held his gaze for about a second before looking at the floor. Derrick read all he needed to read in his gaze. “I’m Derrick. I just moved back here from New York this week.”

The lighter skinned boy looked him up and down, from his clean haircut to the toes of his shined shoes. “Back here? Yo, you ain’t from here, bro.”

Derrick snorted and spun the ball on his finger. “You think? I grew up in that apartment over Jake’s Bar.”

The kid who hadn’t spoken yet stared at him open mouthed. “You?”

“Yeah,” Derrick drawled. “Until my eighteenth birthday.”

One of the other kids spoke up. “The man closed Jake’s down. Said it wasn’t fit anymore. They’re going to demolish the building.”

That surprised Derrick. He felt a little sad. “I lived there my whole life.”

“My brother Jonsie’s getting a job with the crew. He’s going to start in two weeks.”

“That’s fantastic.” He held his hand out to the kid. “My name’s Derrick. Derrick DiNunzio.”

For a long time, the kid stared at Derrick’s hand. Then cautiously he took it. His hand was limp, returning no grip. Derrick filed that away to teach him one day how a man shakes a hand so that the next time he could do it in confidence. “My name’s Benny. This here is Alfonzo, and that’s Tyrone.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Benny.” Derrick shook hands with each one of them, saying each name, looking each boy in the eye, giving the respect that they had likely never received before. “Do you want to play ball?” He asked.

“They ain’t gonna let us,” Tyrone said. “We’ve been here for three weeks now and we ain’t played yet.”

“Have you asked?” Derrick said.

Instead of replying, the boys all shrugged. Derrick turned and whistled to the youth playing the game. “Got room for four more?”

“Four?” The tall boy who had been playing center asked. Derrick had known him since he was half his height, when he first moved in with Peter and Caroline O’Farrell.

Derrick slipped his tie over his head and unbuttoned his top collar. “You heard me.”

“Sure. We got room for four.” He laughed as he tossed the ball to Derrick. Hard. “You’re going to feel it though, old man.”

“Keep talking,” Derrick said. He tossed the ball back and unbuttoned his left sleeve. As he walked into the center of the court, he looked behind him. “Come on. Let’s show these guys how to play ball.”

The sweat and the exertion would be good for him. The funeral had unnerved him more than he would ever admit. Funerals always sent him back to his mother’s funeral. As his body played ball, his mind wandered far away and he remembered the day she died very vividly.

TWENTY
-two-year-old Derrick DiNunzio propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. On the hospital bed in front of him the frail body of his mother remained as it had for the last two days. Inside he felt hollow, knowing he should feel something, hating himself for feeling nothing.

He hadn’t seen his mother in three years. Since the day Antonio Viscolli, a legend in his old neighborhood, offered him a home and a job four years ago, he’d only returned home once.

He remembered her as a cold, hateful woman. He returned home and she had cursed him for selling out, for letting someone else pay for his education in exchange for who knew what. He hadn’t bothered to defend himself. It would have done no good to say anything to her, to try to make her understand something even he didn’t yet fully grasp.

He looked up as his mother’s head moved on the pillow. Her eyelids fluttered and she frowned before she opened them. He leaned forward and touched her hand. “Mamma?”

Her head slowly turned toward him. The disease that attacked her heart had stolen years from her, adding lines to her face and gray to her hair. As far as the doctors could determine, she had never received treatment for it. Derrick knew without anyone telling him that she wouldn’t be leaving the hospital alive.

“Derrick,” she whispered. “
Mio figlio
.”

“English, mamma, I can’t understand you.”

She patted his hand. “
Mio figlio
.”

He had never learned Italian. She had insisted that they only speak English so that she could learn it too. “I don’t understand.”

“She said, ‘my son.’” Derrick whipped his head around and saw Tony in the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”

Derrick’s eyes went back to her pale face. “She’s dying.”

She gripped his wrist and tried to sit up. “
Non l’ho mai detto
…”

Desperate, he looked to Tony, who walked into the hospital room and stood on the other side of the bed. “‘I never told you.’”

Derrick stood and gently pushed her shoulders back down. “Don’t try to talk now. Just rest.”

“
Non ero una madre buona
.” Her eyes fluttered closed but she opened them again.

Without waiting for Derrick’s plea, Tony translated, speaking softly. Derrick never even took his eyes off his mother’s face. “‘I’ve not been a good mother.’”

“Don’t say that. Just rest.” He wasn’t hollow any more. Something inside of him opened up and flooded his heart, making his throat ache and his eyes water. “Just rest, mamma.”

“
Non ero una madre buona, ma l’ho amato sempre
.”
Her eyes fixed unblinking on his. “
Lei capisce
?”