I pull back from his embrace. “I don’t want them to hear.”
“They’ll think I’m not a good lover.”
He laughs harder when I clamp his mouth with my hand. I have learned so much, but I can’t imagine learning to live like this. We’ve been in the house two days, and I have not met his mother. Marco said she must be helping his aunt who has female trouble and was not well when he left.
We don’t know for sure because there’s no telephone in the tenement, as Marco calls it, since the original house was partitioned into separate dwellings. There is also one bathroom to each floor, and five or six families for each. His pop is laying brick someplace called the Bronx and only comes home on Sundays. He’s a good craftsman, Marco says, but has to go where the work is. Times are hard even for those with jobs.
I feel like a sneak coming into a home when no one knows I’m here except the man who brought me. But he will not take it seriously, and some time later I wonder if we have conceived a child in the shadows of this room with his two-legged dog and the clowns looking on… .
Antonia opened her eyes to Lance. His face held such tenderness, she thought for a moment she was still in her dreams. His likeness to Marco, not just outside but inside as well, had made him special in a way he always knew but never flaunted. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his smile deep in his eyes. “Hey, Nonna.”
She blinked and tried for a smile, knowing her words would not be right.
With the washcloth on the bed stand, he wiped the moisture from the side of her mouth. “What can I get you?”
Not “can I,” but “
what
can I?” Expecting to serve.
“Macchiato and biscotti? Polenta besciamella?”
She laughed. It was a joke trying to make her needs known.
“I know. I’ll surprise you.” He squeezed her hand and started to stand.
“L … ance.” Well, that was better than before. Sleep must have helped.
He eased back down. “What, Nonna?”
She nodded toward the papers.
His gaze softened. “You need something in you first.”
“A … fter.”
Madonna mia
. Her words were back!
Clearly hesitant, but for once obedient, he picked up the papers and held them out. When she shook her head, he raised his brows. “You want me to read?”
“Yes.” Now there was the right word. If she’d waited just this long she could have told that banker. No matter. She had what she needed.
He looked at what he held, reluctant, it seemed, to search the secrets within. So much unsaid, but also unforgotten. He frowned. “I think you should get your strength back first.”
She waited. He would run out of arguments soon enough. Recalling what came before had prepared her for what would come next. Whatever Marco had to say would not change what had already been. She knew his heart. She knew.
Lance met and held her eyes, then sighing, flipped over the cover page. He read the beginning part that she had read in the bank, and his face mirrored her own initial reaction. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, and he continued aloud:
“My first impression of Vittorio Shepard was intelligence coupled with fundamental gullibility, too much conscience for an inner-circle man, but enough ambition to be useful in spite of it—the exact sort of fellow men like Arthur Jackson looked for.
“When I approached him secretly, Vittorio doubted neither my credentials nor my information. He’d come to suspect the operation already, and faced with the evidence, his concern was for you and for his pop. He would help me, he said, if I assured your safety. From my position, I owed him nothing; his own decisions had put you at risk. Yet I agreed, seeing an opportunity for cover.
“As a suitor, I could meet with Vittorio without raising suspicions. In return, the Bureau would assure your protection—an arrangement neither of us found ideal, but it was workable. He clearly stipulated the restrictions I tried to voice to you once, but neither of us had taken into account your spirit and fortitude. For my part, I was charmed and could only pray it would not interfere with my ability to do my job.”
Lance looked up. Could he see her shaking? Even though she knew Marco’s heart, she still could not hear his words without pain. The thought that he had deceived her from the start … And she felt so weak.
“Bene,”
she said. “I …’ll eat.”
“Good.” Lance set the pages aside, obviously relieved. He lifted and carried her down to the wheelchair, then rolled her into her restaurant and cooked for her. She had thought that he would take the place over, and watching him work in the big old kitchen she wished it still. But his heart was in Sonoma, at the villa she had once called home.
W
alking in, Rese smelled something wonderful. They’d grabbed pretzels on the street for lunch—all that Monica could stomach—but that was hardly enough to fuel their marathon of stores and bargain basements.
“Lance is cooking,” Lucy said.
“How do you know it’s Lance?” Rese followed her toward the inner restaurant entrance.
Lucy shrugged. “It smells good.”
“Don’t talk about smells.” Monica clamped her hands over her mouth and hurried up the stairs.
Lucy pushed open the door for Rese, saying a little reluctantly, “I’ll have to deliver Momma from the kids.”
Rese went in and set her bags on a corner counter, then walked around the large walk-in refrigerator to find Lance assisting Antonia’s fork to her mouth.
He looked over and smiled. “Have fun?”
“Actually … yes.” Once she realized she didn’t have to buy anything in the multilevel city block of a store, she’d merely marveled at the designer outfits, jewelry, perfume, and even allowed Lucy and Monica to have their fun, holding up dresses, whisking scarves around her neck, trying on hats, purses, shoes too spiky to walk in.
“Pull up a chair.” Lance motioned toward the dining room.
She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but she brought a chair close and gave Antonia a smile, surprised to receive a version of one in return. His grandmother was recovering; Lance must be so relieved.
“Hungry?” He nodded toward the stove.
“It smells great.”
Normally he would have gotten up and served her, but his hands were full, and she was glad he didn’t. The only time she’d helped herself to Lance’s cooking before was when she’d reheated his lasagna for breakfast. That lasagna had been heaven. She went to the stove and lifted a lid.
A shrunken chicken, but the aroma delighted her. “What is it?”
“Quail braised in cognac with polenta besciamella.”
Rese found a plate and helped herself to the tiny bird and cheesy cornmeal side dish. “I’ve never had quail.”
“It’s Nonna’s favorite.” He winked. “Got to fatten her up.”
The delicate poultry didn’t seem as good a choice as his mother’s gravitational spaghetti sauce, but she took a bite and sank into the flavor. “Lance, it’s delicious.”
He smiled. “I hoped you’d be back before someone claimed the rest.”
“I hadn’t expected to take so long.”
“You don’t know my sisters.”
She did now. After seeing what they liked at Bloomingdale’s, they’d scoured other stores for knockoffs and bargains, and if that didn’t show all, Rese didn’t know what would. She had gotten some things she needed if they had to stay longer, which was possible since she didn’t have any immediate reservations in the next week either. After that it was touch and go. She’d have to get onto the site and see what days were already reserved. She could go back without Lance, but what good was that? She’d have his dog, but not his cooking.
“Have you checked with Michelle lately?”
He nodded. “Baxter’s in love.”
“The traitor.” Every golden shaggy bit of him.
“That’s what I said when he fell for you, but at least he’s got good taste.”
Rese tipped her head. “He groveled at Sybil’s feet.”
Lance winced. “Okay, he’s a pushover.”
She tried the polenta and found it a good companion to the quail. Lance did with food what she strove for in renovation, integrating and complementing each element with another. “I’m glad you got through to Michelle. I haven’t been able to do anything but leave messages. She must keep busy.” It struck her how little she knew the woman who had heard her confession of faith on the back porch after Evvy’s funeral and was now watching out for the inn and keeping Lance’s dog.
Lance said, “I also talked to Pop.”
Rese stopped chewing. “You did?”
“Yesterday after the bank.”
And right before Rico’s accident. No wonder he hadn’t mentioned it.
He dabbed his grandmother’s mouth. “What do you think of that, Nonna? Me and Pop, man to man.”
She nodded, warmth filling her eyes.
Rese swallowed. “What did he say?”
“Basically … grow up.” He set aside the finished plate and fixed his gaze on Antonia. “I told him about Sonoma.”
Antonia stiffened.
Rese did too. “Lance …” It came out under her breath. Even she knew Antonia had kept all of that between the two of them alone. In a family that shared everything, she had kept the things Lance learned a secret—until now.
He took Antonia’s hands. “When I leave, they’ve got to know what you’re dealing with. It’s too much for you to handle alone.”
Of course. He’d said the same thing to her,
“You can’t face everything alone.”
His nature was communal, his first reaction to share the burden. He didn’t understand that some things could only be faced alone. And by the looks of it, Antonia didn’t want to hear it any more than Rese had. Even if it was true.
They locked eyes and sat in stubborn silence, until Lance said in a soft voice, “Forgive me?”
Two devastating words. They demolished angry walls, brought down defensive fortifications. Impossible to resist, especially when Lance said them with all his heart.
Antonia struggled to speak, and finally came out with something that had to be wrong. “J … acob.”
She didn’t know his name?
Lance didn’t realize or didn’t care. He shrugged. “Pop needed to know.”
Antonia’s eyes flared. Rese held her breath. Hadn’t he learned from the last time he upset her? How could he keep pressing people further than they wanted to go? But she saw the strain in his posture. He wasn’t as sure of himself as he sounded when he continued, “Jacob might have been a rascal and a cheat, but God loved him anyway.”
What was he talking about? But Antonia’s mouth jerked. She raised a finger at him.
“I know.” He smiled. “I deserve everything you want to say.”
Rese had thought Antonia’s anger would escalate, risking another stroke. But her face flushed with warmth—and humor? Lance responded, the joy in his eyes unmistakable, like the first rim of sun above the horizon. Between them passed a communication so finetuned, words were irrelevant.
Rese watched mutely. Her heart hammered. How would it be to love him that way? To be loved that way, by someone who cared so deeply that maybe your darkest fears and future really didn’t matter? For a moment she glimpsed what God must see in Lance, and understood the choice. Tony might have been the world’s version of a hero, but Lance was something more.
“So.” He stood and angled the wheelchair away from the table. “Like your stew?”
Antonia slapped at his hand.
“Careful. You’ll knock off my goatskin.”
What on earth was he talking about? But Antonia laughed. Whatever it was, they were in it together.
Rese followed them to the base of the stairs, where he lifted Antonia into his arms. “Fold that chair, can you, Rese, so the kids don’t play with it?”
He carried his grandmother up to her room and helped her into the chair by the window. He offered to stay, but she motioned them out. “L … ater.”
As they crossed the hall to his apartment, Rese said, “Jacob?”
Lance looked amazingly pleased with himself. “She’s called me that since I was a kid.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of a joke.” He peeked in at Rico, zonked out with painkillers, and closed the bedroom door. Chaz would have left for the restaurant hours ago.
“I don’t think she was joking.” Rese settled into the chair across from the couch. Her legs were as tired from shopping as if she’d walked roofs all day, but she wanted to know what had gone on between Lance and Antonia.
“It’s from the Old Testament.” He took his guitar from its stand and sat down on the couch. “There were these twins, Jacob and Esau. Esau was born first, but with Jacob holding on to his heel.”
She did not want to picture that.
His fingers worked the strings softly as he spoke. “Firstborn Esau got the inheritance and the right to lead the family when his father, Isaac, was gone. But he sold that birthright to Jacob for a pot of stew.”
“Must have been some chef.” Rese raised her brows. “Is that what Antonia meant?”
Lance laughed. “Not exactly. More that Jacob tended to get what he wanted.”
“Oh.”
“And not always by the right means.”
“He lied?”
Lance looked down at his fingers picking, then out across the room. “Esau was a man’s man, the mighty hunter sort, and his father’s favorite. Jacob was at a disadvantage.”
She suddenly saw how personal this story could become, and maybe why Antonia called him that.
“God had told their mother that the older would serve the younger. So Jacob thought he was in God’s will when he did what he did.”
“He thought God wanted him to deceive?”
“He didn’t deceive Esau. His brother had willingly given up his birthright. But his father’s blessing could have changed that. So Jacob tricked his father into blessing him by mistake.”
“And what happened?”
“Jacob became Israel, father of the twelve tribes. Jesus was descended from him.”
“It didn’t matter that he lied and cheated?”
“It didn’t change what God intended for him.” His voice wavered. “But he paid for it.”
“How?”
“Got tricked into marrying the wrong woman, for one thing.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Call it payback.” He smiled sideways. “He had to work seven more years to get the one he wanted.”