A Family Affair: Winter: Truth in Lies, Book 1 (20 page)

“Put your cheek against it,” Lily said. “Feel how soft it is.”

She did. It felt like satin.

Lily eyed the box on the table. “My turn, okay, Christine?”

“Your turn.”
She handed her sister the box, watched her slide her bottom lip over her teeth as she opened it. “Ribbons! Ribbons!” Lily reached in and pulled out a fistful, waving them in the air.

“These are the ribbons Lady Annabelle and I won.”

“They’re mine?” Awe spread through her voice, as though she’d been gifted a great treasure, and perhaps in some way she had; Christine had given her a glimpse into her own childhood, a journey with a horse and rider Lily had long loved and admired. But she’d offered forth another gift as well: acceptance.

Miriam turned away, cleared her throat. “Let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’ so we can eat this cake.” Her voice cracked on the last word and when her gaze swept over Lily who was clutching the ribbons against her chest, there were tears in her eyes.

Dammit, he was not going to feel guilty. So what if they were all celebrating her birthday? So what if she’d casually asked his mother if he were coming?

Nate pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, twisted the cap open. Damned if he’d feel guilty, he wouldn’t. He knew it was going to be like this, knew there’d be the phone calls, even if they were from his mother, wondering where, when, why? Shit, hadn’t they both said they were making a big mistake,
 
insanity
 was the word he’d used, wasn’t it? Or had she said it? It didn’t matter either way; they’d been right.

They never should have slept together, never in five million years. But deep down he knew he’d do it all over again, given half a chance. And that’s what was driving him insane. He shouldn’t want to be with her again, taste her,
bury himself deep inside that heat. They were enemies or as close to enemies as civilized people could get. He had no right thinking about her and she had no right expecting him to come to her goddamn birthday party.

He took a long pull on his beer. Three more days, then she’d be gone. He could get through it, probably wouldn’t even have to see her if she’d just take the hint and stay away from his place. Or he could shack up with Natalie Servetti for the next few days; big tits but she talked too much. Damn, he didn’t want Natalie. All he wanted was to stay in his own house, in his own bed, and he wanted Christine Blacksworth in it with him. That’s why he knew he was screwed
up, why he knew he couldn’t trust himself to be alone with her.

Halfway through his second beer he decided to load the truck and head up to Boone’s Peak to fish and finish off his six-pack in peace. By the time he stopped at Mertha’s Kettle for a chili dog and fries, it would be dark. So he was a chickenshit? So he’d thought of this whole scheme in less than two minutes as a way to avoid seeing her?

He was on his way to get the cooler from the garage when he heard the car door. 
Damn.
 Ten more minutes and he would have been gone. Now he’d have to deal with it, with her. Nate opened the door before Christine had a chance to knock.

“People usually wait for invitations before they come barging into other people’s homes.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“This isn’t a good time.” He was blocking the doorway, forcing her to remain below him on the wooden steps.

“Oh.” Her gaze moved over his half-opened shirt, took in the unfastened belt buckle.

Let her think he was screwing somebody, it was better that way. “Like I said, I’m busy.”

Her face turned a dull red, the color of the tulips in his mother’s front flower bed. He watched her stumble to pull herself together. Jesus, she was beautiful: the eyes, a brilliant blue; the skin, perfect; the lips, full, pink. He cleared his throat, crossed his arms over his chest.

“Good to see you again, Christine. Hope you had a nice trip down here.” Civil, ordinary words, relegating their night together as incidental, unimportant, a body filling a need, nothing more, certainly nothing that might be misunderstood as the beginnings of a relationship.

She backed away from him, one step, two, then three, her gaze never leaving his. “I thought...” Bewilderment seeped into those beautiful eyes, and pain, yes, pain. “Never mind.” She turned and walked to her car, head high, movements slow, purposeful. Not once did she look back.

He didn’t take his eyes off her until the Saab had rounded a bend and was out of sight. He stood in the doorway listening to the fading hum of the car’s motor, picturing the exact stretch of road the tires would be hitting. When the sound disappeared, he was left once again, alone.

***

He didn’t work on Saturdays unless they were short-handed or a machine went down. Then he’d spend the day, sleeves rolled up, alongside his men, doing what needed to be done to keep production going. The company supported eighty-nine families, and Nate felt responsible for all of them. If they were willing to work, he’d do his damnedest to give
them jobs, the same way his father had. Nick Desantro had sweat blood for the company. There were still a handful of “lifers” around, men and women who’d been with ND Manufacturing thirty-five years or more.

Jack Finnegan was a lifer; he was the one who taught Nate the business when his father died. Jack was the most trustworthy person Nate knew, a husband of forty-two years, father to five, grandfather to seventeen, and the best damn fly fisherman for fifty miles around. He lived two-and-a-half miles from the shop, worked every Saturday, no matter the weather or the occasion. When his youngest daughter, Sara Elizabeth got married two years ago, Jack worked the morning shift and made it to St. Gertrude’s by noon.

It was Saturday; all machines were running, all jobs were on time, but Nate was at work, pouring over inventory sheets. It was a pain-in-the-ass job, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting at home feeling like a shit for what he’d done to Christine yesterday. 
Stay busy, stay busy. Don’t think about it.

The plan might have worked if Jack hadn’t meandered into his office, plunked his skinny ass in a chair, and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Nate kept his eyes on the sheets in front of him. “Inventory.”

“Inventory?
Hell, you ain’t done inventory in ten years.”

“That’s why I’m doing it, to get back on track.”

“What’s her name, Nate?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When a man does something he ain’t done in ten years, something everybody hates doin’, there’s a woman involved.”

Nate shrugged. “No, just trying to find a way to tighten up inventory.”

“If you say so.”

The old man was no fool. He saw a hell of a lot more than he owned up to; most of the time he just kept it to himself unless Nate was involved; then he took it as his duty to point out the trouble spots.

“There’s no woman,” he said again.

“Not even that Blacksworth gal, Charlie’s daughter? What’s her name?”

“Christine.”

“That’s right. Christine. What about her?”

“What about her?”

“Seems like I remember hearing your mother say something about the two of you—”

He looked up, met the old man’s curious gaze. “There’s nothing there.”

“Too bad.
She sounds like a great gal, not bad to look at either.”

“How would you know?”

Jack’s gaze flickered. “I seen pictures of her. Charlie showed me lots of times. He was real proud of her.”

Nate went back to his papers. The sooner he ended this conversation, the better. He’d come here so he wouldn’t have to think about her and now Jack was trying to open up a full-blown discussion. Christ, couldn’t people just mind their own business? And what was his mother doing, telling Jack about him and Christine? Was she going to tell all of her church friends, too? And the neighbors up and down Artisdale Street? Why not just place an ad in the
 
Magdalena Press—
Nate Desantro and Christine Blacksworth, new couple, mother rejoices?

“Jack!” The door flew open and Betty Rafferty stood there, balancing eight reams of copy paper in front of her.
“Oh, Nate. I’m sorry. What are you doing here?”

“Inventory,” Jack said.

“Inventory? You never—”

“I know, I know. Today, I’m starting something new, okay?”

She shrugged, set the boxes on the table in the corner. “I thought you were in here by yourself,” she said to Jack. “Reading the paper with your feet propped up.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me, the loafer.”

Nate welcomed the disruption. Normally, he avoided Betty; her mindless chatter gave him a headache, but today, he was glad for anything to divert Jack and his fishing expedition.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone. Nate, if you’re hungry, there’s blueberry muffins and banana bread in the lunchroom, though I can’t say how much of the bread will be left if you don’t get to it soon. You know Ray loves my banana bread, says it’s just like his mother used to make.” She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “The trick’s in the sour cream. I use a cup, not the fat-free kind, either, and I’ll tell you, it does make a difference.”

Nate rubbed his jaw. Damn, but the woman could talk.

“Stop flappin’ and start workin’, Betty.”

“I was just saying hello to Nate.” Her voice slipped into a warm, conspiratorial whisper. “Talked to your mother the other day, she sounds real good.”

“She’s getting along.”

Betty’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Hear you’re seeing Charlie’s daughter.”

“Betty.”

She held up a hand. “That’s fine, nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. Must just be the Lord’s will.” She looked at the ceiling. “You just never know how things are going to work out now, do you?” She winked at him. “She’s a real looker, too, and nice, real nice. I think you two are perfect for each other. Perfect. Much better than the last one you had.” She waved at both men, turned and headed for the door. “Well, toodles,” she called behind her. “I’ve got loads to do before noon.”

Nate waited for the door to click before he spoke. “Jack?”

The old man was studying a frayed shoelace on his work boot. “Hmm?”

“What’s going on? Did my mother come in here and broadcast my personal life to everybody?”

“Don’t listen to Betty. She don’t know what she’s sayin’. You know she’s got a bigger mouth than that fifteen-pound widemouth I caught at the lake last year.”

“Was my mother here?”

Jack pushed back his ball cap, scratched his head. “Come to think of it, she did stop by one day last week. You was visiting a customer, I think.”

“And nobody bothered to tell me she was in, not even my mother?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t no big deal. She stopped in, brought some corn muffins, said hello and good-bye.”

“After she told you about Christine Blacksworth.”

“That’s right, that’s about it.”

Nate leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “We go back a long way, Jack. I trust you more than just about anybody I can think of.”

“Thanks, Nate. Feeling’s mutual.”

“So I’m going to trust you to tell me how the hell Betty knew what Christine looked like and worse, how she acted. Tell me, Jack, and by God, if you value our friendship, it better be the truth.”

Miriam carried the laundry basket outside and set it down. It was a perfect day for drying clothes, sheets especially. She lifted Lily’s sunflower sheet from the basket, folded it in half, and pinned it to the line. Tonight when she crawled into bed, Lily would smell the fresh air on her sheets, rub her face in the soft fabric, and say that it felt like summer and sunshine.

Winter was gone, though it had stretched far into April and spring had taken root, pushed the bulbs to the surface, sprouted their delicate heads in bursts of red, pink, white, and yellow, which were now fading and shriveling to a dull greenish-brown. Christine and Lily had visited Abbott’s Greenhouse early this morning and returned with enough vegetable plants and seed packets for the entire street. They’d spent a good part of the day planting Big Boy tomatoes, broccoli, bell peppers, zucchini, lettuce, cucumbers, beans, even two blackberry bushes on the far corner of the property.

Miriam turned toward the 8x10 patch of dirt, staked out with markers reading, 
cucumbers, beans, zucchini
, and cages housing drooping tomato plants. Almost two seasons had passed since Charlie’s death, close to five months since she’d heard his voice, watched the even movement of his chest as he slept, smelled him on her sheets. It was already a lifetime, and yet she could still remember the touch, the smell, the sound of him in painful detail. A few mornings ago, as she lay on his side of the bed, she thought she heard him, was certain she smelled him. The sensations were so real, so ordinary, and yet anticipated that later she wondered if her wanting had merely created the illusion.

Was this what happened when half of a whole was gone? Was the other person destined to wander through life, aching, empty,
searching?

Thank God for Lily and Nate. She clutched a pillowcase to her chest. And thank God for Christine, too.

She was thinking of Charlie and how proud he’d be to see his daughters together that she didn’t hear Nate’s pickup pull in the driveway. It wasn’t until he was ten feet from her that she turned.

“Where is she?”

The anger in his voice spilled over his body, seeped into his eyes, through his face, to the set of his jaw, just like his father’s used to when he was on the verge of a rampage.

“Good heavens, Nathan, what’s wrong?”

“Where’s Christine?”

“In the house with Lily.
Why?”

He ignored her question, turned and headed for the back door.

“Nathan.” She dropped the pillowcase in the laundry basket. “What’s going on?” She hurried after him, grabbed his arm.

“Let me take care of this. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You will, soon enough.”

He flung open the screen door and stepped inside. Lily was pouring two glasses of juice in the kitchen. “Hi, Nate. Want some grape juice?”

“No thanks, Lily.” His tone gentled. “Where’s Christine?”

“In the living room.” Her lips pulled into a wide smile. “Playing War. I’m winning.”

“I have to talk to her right away. I want you to go to your room until I tell you to come out.”

“Why? Are you mad at me?”

“No, Lily,” Miriam said. “This is adult talk, that’s all.”

Lily set down her juice glass. “There’s Christine’s juice,” she said, pulling her lower lip through her teeth.

“Good. Now go.”

“Don’t yell, Nate.”

“I’m not yelling, Lily, but I’m losing my patience.”

She turned and ran out of the room. Nate headed for the living room with Miriam close behind.

“Nate? What’s wrong?” Christine sat on the floor, legs tucked under her Indian style.

“When were you going to tell me? After I was indebted to you even more, then you were going to spring it on me, so you could play me like a puppet? Was that your goddamn plan?”

“What are you talking about?”

“ND Manufacturing. The note. I know your name is on it.”

Miriam leaned against the wall, took several deep breaths.
 
Dear God, not this way, not now.

“How...how did you find out?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think my people aren’t loyal to me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Jack Finnegan told me all about it, how you came to visit him, told him you held the note but didn’t want me to find out.”

“I only wanted to help.”

“Help? By coercing my own mother into letting you take over the note? That was helping? So you could control the company, control me?”

She met Miriam’s gaze, then looked away.

“No more bullshit, Christine. How’d you do it? Threaten my mother with exposing Lily if she didn’t sign? Huh? Tell me, is that how you people do business in Chicago? Rule through intimidation?”

“No.”

“Forget it, I don’t want to know. Everything you say is a lie anyway.” He stood in the middle of the living room, fists clenched, rage pouring out of every word he spoke. “I want you to leave, 
now
, and don’t come back. Lily shouldn’t be around someone like you.”

“Nathan, wait.” Miriam forced the words out of her mouth.

“No, Ma, let me take care of this.”

“No, Nathan.” She had to speak up, had to tell him the truth. “Christine didn’t bribe me or coerce me.”
 
Oh, God, forgive me
. “The loan wasn’t mine in the first place.”

“What?”

“It was never my note, Nathan.” She moved toward him, placed a hand on his arm. “You were struggling, having such a hard time keeping everything together, and I knew if you just had a little help—”

“Whose name was on the note?”

She sensed the second he figured it all out; his body tensed, and his breath stilled.

There was no way around the truth, not any longer. “Charlie signed the note.”

He deflated in one giant rush of air. “Blacksworth.”

“It was the only way, Nate.”

He shrugged off her hand. “And then, of course, Christine showed up and just stepped right in and took over. All this time, I thought it was the Desantro will prevailing, and it wasn’t; it was the Blacksworth money that pulled us out.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“You know, I would rather have let it all fold than take money from them.”

“What about your people? Don’t the employees deserve a fair chance?”

“Not if I had to sell my own soul to help them out.”

“You didn’t. Charlie simply gave you time to recover; you’re doing the rest.”

He dragged both hands over his face. “What would the old man say now? His own son has to take money from his mother’s lover to keep the company afloat. That’s pathetic, don’t you think?”

“I think it says Charlie believed in you.”

“The old man would tell him to take that belief and go screw himself.”

“Stop it, Nathan.”

“You think Charlie Blacksworth’s so wonderful, maybe the town should build a statue to honor his greatness. Huh? What do you think about that?” He spread his arms wide. “I think I’ll start a petition, see how many names I can collect.”

“You’re out of line.”

“I never remember you saying such wonderful things about my father. Your husband.”

She said nothing. How could she tell him she’d felt nothing but relief when his father died?

“Wasn’t he good enough? Were his hands too dirty for you?”

“Nathan!
Stop!”

“I want to know, I’ve always wanted to know. Why didn’t you cry over Dad at night the way you used to when your lover was gone? He was your husband, for chrissake, my father. Charles Blacksworth was nothing but a weak bastard who wanted the best of both worlds.”

“He was an honorable man who loved me and Lily.”

“Don’t bring Lily into this; this has nothing to do with her. She was his daughter, of course he loved her.”

“All parents don’t love their children, Nathan, especially if they’re born with,” she paused, gathered strength, “a deficiency.”

“You’re saying we should all clap our hands because he loved his own daughter?”

“I’m saying some men would have run away.”

“Only a coward.”

“Dear God, I thought I was protecting you by not telling you the truth, but I think I’ve done more harm. Maybe if I had gotten it all out at the beginning, things would have been different. You and Charlie might have actually gotten along.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You will.” Her mouth pulled into a sad, faint smile. “When your father and I married, we were very much in love and so happy when you were born. We couldn’t wait to have another child, but instead I lost three babies before my fifth month. Something happens to a couple when they lose a baby; it makes them desperate, even irrational, the wanting is so deep, the loss so bleak. After a few years, we began to worry we’d never have another child. But finally, I was pregnant again and this time, I didn’t miscarry. We couldn’t wait for the new baby, boy or girl, we didn’t care.” She blinked hard, swallowed. “Your sister, Anna Nicolina was born three weeks early.” The tears started then, spilling down her cheeks, onto her chin, her neck. “The top of her head was missing. She only lived two hours. I stroked her tiny body, praying to God for some kind of miracle and all the while knowing there was no hope. They let me hold her while she took her last breaths.”

“Jesus, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

She sniffed, swiped both hands across her cheeks. “Because then I would have had to tell you that your father was at O’Reilly’s Bar when your little sister died. I would have had to tell you that he deserted us, told me it was better she died. And then I would have had to admit to the hatred that filled my soul from the moment he spoke those words until he took his last breath on the shop floor. I would have had to tell you that your hero, the man you thought was next to God, had rejected his own daughter.”

Nate looked away, closed his eyes.

“So I kept silent all these years. I did nothing to stop the animosity you felt for Charlie because I thought I’d destroy your love for your father, but now I see my silence is destroying your chance for happiness, for peace. Charlie may have been a weak man, Nathan, but he loved Lily.” She touched her son’s arm. “Stop this anger before it destroys you.”

He stared at her, the pain and bewilderment of her revelation stretching across his face. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Then he turned and was gone.