Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) (29 page)

“I know, I’m sorry.” Her mother put up a gentle hand. “We agreed that we were going to tell you this spring, when your dad could get the time off and we could both make the trip east. We wanted to sit down and tell you, the three of us, together.”

“Not Dad. He’s not my dad. My dad is dead.” Judy heard the awful ring of the words and felt a loss she couldn’t begin to understand.

Her mother nodded, tacitly accepting the correction. “But the thing is, we’re all so proud of you, the way you’ve grown up, a lawyer making a wonderful living, you and Frank on your way to getting married. Barb has even been saving up all these years for your wedding, she wants to pay for everything—”

“I’m not marrying Frank,” Judy blurted out, surprising even herself.

Her mother blinked, her tears gone, though her eyes were red and puffy. “Well, whatever you choose to do, Barb and I thought it was getting on time to tell you, but then her illness shifted everything forward.”

Judy tried to follow the timeline. “Did you know she had breast cancer before this weekend? Did you know about the chemo?”

“No, that came as a surprise to me, too. Barb thought she could beat it and she didn’t want to worry me, but when she needed the surgery, she decided not to wait any longer, to tell you.”

Judy swallowed hard, thinking of how awful Aunt Barb must be feeling, looking down the barrel at a dreaded diagnosis, and on top of that, knowing that she was keeping a terrible secret.

“Needless to say, if anything happens to her, she wants you to know the truth, while she’s still alive. She wants to be able to explain her actions and she wants you to be able to hear it from her.”

“What do you want?” Judy said, speaking from the heart. She suddenly knew how her mother must be feeling and even why she’d put off telling the truth for so long. Because suddenly, Judy was losing the only mother she had ever known.

“I wanted you,” her mother said, leaning forward urgently, her hands clasped together on her lap. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you, an adorable, blue-eyed baby girl. We were so happy, very happy, all of us together. You fit right in, and then we had Billy and John, and we became a family, a real family.”

“Not a real family. It wasn’t real.” Judy tried to process it, thinking of her brothers. “Do they know, too? Billy and John? And Tommy? Do they all know?”

“No. They thought we were a family, and I thought we were, too. But we weren’t, I see that now.” Her mother frowned deeply, agonized. “That’s why I know the problems in our relationship were my fault, my responsibility, and now you know that’s true. You’ve been a good daughter to me, a wonderful daughter. You reached out to me time after time, until you finally gave up.”

Judy cringed inwardly, because it struck such a chord. She could remember trying to connect with her mother, but after a while, she had simply stopped.

“I was holding back inside, knowing you weren’t mine forever, not like the boys. I was protecting myself, but I hurt you in the process.” Her mother shook her head, looking down for a moment. “I’m so sorry. It was a bad and selfish decision, made in a different time, for the wrong reasons. I realize now that we actually picked the worst possible choice. I was afraid to love you fully, and Barb was afraid to love you fully. You never had either of us completely. Our beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl fell between the cracks.”

Judy understood her mother and Barb, and she even understood why they’d done what they’d done, but it didn’t make it any less sad. Somehow she ended up betwixt and between, hollow and hurting, her hands empty. She felt her eyes well up.

“The amazing thing to me is the natural affinity you and Barb have for each other. You just fit together.” Her mother’s eyes welled up, too. “You two are a wonderful pair, a true mother and daughter, even though you didn’t even know she was your mother. Nothing defeats nature, not even words.”

Judy realized it was true, that she had always felt closer to her aunt, and she wondered if her heart had known something she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge. She found herself edging backwards toward the threshold, aware of her actions only because Penny bounded off the bed, her tail wagging,

“Are you going somewhere?” her mother asked, rising slowly.

“Uh, yes.” Judy didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that she didn’t want to stay here. “Just out, I think. I think I’ll just go out.”

“Don’t go.” Her mother frowned, plainly worried. “It’s late, and it’s not a good idea to drive when you’re upset.”

“I’ll drive safe, Mom,” Judy said reflexively, then turned away and walked stiffly down the hall, with the dog trotting happily behind her.

Chapter Thirty-four

Judy found herself parked in the dark in front of Frank’s grandfather’s rowhouse, without remembering having driven here. She wiped her tears with her sleeve, then went into the console and found some napkins, which she used to dry her eyes and blow her juicy nose, hard and noisily. She knew Frank was still awake because the light was on in the front window, and through the old-school sheer curtains, she could see the bright colors of the TV, undoubtedly tuned to
Monday Night Football.
She looked around the skinny side street and spotted Cartman’s Jeep parked under a streetlight up ahead, so that meant the boys were over, watching the game again.

She tossed the napkin aside, eased back into the driver’s seat, and tried to decide what to do. She must have wanted to see Frank because she’d driven here, but she hadn’t realized the game would be on and she didn’t know how it would go down if she went inside. The last thing she wanted was an instant replay, no pun intended, and she knew she must look a mess. She shifted up in her seat and checked the rearview mirror, taken aback at her reflection, even in the dim light. It wasn’t only that her eyes, nose, and lips were red and puffy, but for the first time in her life, she looked at her own face through new eyes, as if she had never seen herself before.

She frowned at her eye color, which she had always thought were a china blue like her father’s, but now she realized she had no idea what her father looked like. Everyone always said that her mouth was clearly from her mother, but Judy would have to start clarifying the term
mother
, because she was still thinking of her
mother
as her mother, when her
aunt
was really her mother.

She scrutinized her face, pondering her features as if each one were a cardboard piece from a jigsaw puzzle, trying to match her turned-up nose to her Aunt Barb’s nose and wondering where her cheekbones fit, because they could have come from a total stranger, who also happened to be dead. Judy felt tears well up again, but she pressed them away. She couldn’t sit out here forever and she couldn’t overthink it.

She grabbed her purse, got out of the car, and chirped it locked while she walked up to the front door, with its three steps of worn grayish marble. Like the other rowhouses on the street, they were of red brick, with one front window on the first floor, and two above that, then a flat tar roof with a satellite dish aimed for maximum sports reception. South Philly was Mary DiNunzio territory, and Judy didn’t fit in here, but she wasn’t sure she fit in anywhere, after her conversation with her mother. Then she reminded herself that her mother wasn’t her mother anymore, and her real mother had breast cancer, which made her sick at heart. She’d already lost one mother and she didn’t know if she could lose another.

Judy set aside her emotions and knocked on the front door, remembering the first time she had been here, when she represented Frank’s grandfather Pigeon Tony, on a case. She’d been delighted to meet her new client’s hunky grandson, who had swept her off her feet, and while she waited for Frank to answer the door, she wondered if those old feelings were still there, or if they weren’t, if she could get them back.

“Babe!” Frank said, opening the door. “Come in!”

“Hi, sure.” Judy tried to get her bearings, knowing that it was still dark enough on the stoop for him not to be able to see her clearly. She could hear the noise of the football game and the boys talking inside. “Do you think we can get a minute alone? I just want to talk to you.”

“Totally, sure!” Frank was already reaching for her, giving her a hug, and sweeping her inside the little entrance hall, which was divided from the living room by a panel of ridged glass. But when he let her go, he did a double-take, his eyes widening in surprise, then anger. “What happened? Who hit you?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Cartman called out. “WHO HIT WHO?”

“Cartman, shut up!” Frank shouted over his shoulder, then put a strong arm around Judy.

“Frank,” Judy whispered, “nobody hit me, but can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Come with me, out back.”

“Good.” Judy kept her head turned, letting Frank run interference for her with the boys and lead her through the tiny dining room and kitchen, then he flicked on the outside light and opened the back door.

“Thanks.” Judy stepped into the backyard, a small, rectangular plot of grass, surrounded by whitewashed cinderblock, with two plastic lattice beach chairs in front of a loft that Frank’s grandfather had made for his homing pigeons. The loft was about thirty feet long, with a white framed-wire cage on all four sides, containing forty-odd snow-white doves, and reddish-brown Meulemanns and Janssens.

“What happened, baby?” Frank asked, aghast. He touched her arm, tilting her toward him as he looked at her face. “What the hell? Were you mugged? I’ll kill him!”

“I didn’t get mugged,” Judy began, but she wasn’t sure what to say next. She slipped from his grasp, drawn to the loft. Inside the pigeons fluttered this way and that, disturbed by the sudden light and the presence of people, so late. They cooed and called to each other, their wings beating against the wire walls, shedding fuzzy underfeathers that flew around in the quiet night air, sailing on invisible currents. “God, I love these birds.”

“What happened, hon?” Frank followed her to the loft, linking his fingers through the cage wire.

“I’m fine, but it’s a long story. It’s been a long day and night, starting with Aunt Barb’s operation.” Judy watched as the birds began to find their mates, because homing pigeons were bonded pairs, mated for life. They settled down together, two by two, tucking their white wings neatly at their sides, puffing out their chests, their eyes red and perfectly round, complementing their dark pink, scaly legs. Judy used to let them perch on her fingers, surprised at the warmth of their feet.

“Judy, who hit you? Was it the guys who attacked you at your aunt’s? Are they stalking you? Because if the police won’t do anything about it, I will.”

“The police are all over it, but thanks.”

“You don’t want to tell me about it?”

“Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.” Judy felt that what had happened at the barracks was old news compared with the conversation with her mother, which she needed to hash out with somebody. She watched the birds without seeing them anymore, losing focus. “I had a weird discussion with my mother, though.”

“Tell me what happened to your lip, then tell me about your mom.”

“My lip doesn’t matter, my mom does.”

“Your lip matters to me.” Frank frowned. “I can’t let people take shots at you and get away with it.”

“Listen, I appreciate it, but that’s not what’s on my mind right now. My mother’s the thing that’s on my mind. My mother is important.”

“What’s important is that people are attacking you, physically.”

“Can’t I identify what’s important, to me? Can’t I decide what I want to talk about?” Judy couldn’t tell if she was picking on him or if she was right, but it bugged her just the same. “It’s about my need to talk, isn’t it? It’s not about your need to know. It’s not about you.”

“Where’s this coming from, babe?” Frank was taken aback, looking at her like she was crazy. “I ask how you are and you are pissed at me?”

“I answered how I am, but I told you that I wanted to talk about my mom.”

“If you’re in danger, I want to know about that.” Frank threw up his hands. “What’s the point of keeping me in suspense?”

“I’m not keeping you in suspense.” Judy didn’t want to fight, but she wanted to be heard. “I told you I’m fine.”

“Okay, have it your way.” Frank folded his arms, his expression newly tense. “Tell me about your mom. You fought over nothing again, right? Because you two always fight. You’re oil and water. Am I right or am I right?”

“No, not exactly,” Judy said, dismayed. “It wasn’t about nothing, and we didn’t fight. We talked.”

“Okay, tell me what and your mother fought about, or sorry,
talked
about.” Frank sat down in one of the beach chairs in front of the loft, next to a round wooden table.

“Oh, jeez.” Judy sank into the other chair. “What are we fighting about? Do we have to fight?”

“Lately we do, that’s what it seems like. You’re unhappy all the time, and I think I know why.” Frank unfolded his arms and leaned forward, a familiar warmth returning to his rich brown eyes. “It’s not your mom, and it’s not even your aunt, getting sick. You’ve been upset from before that, since Mary and Anthony decided to get married.”

“No I haven’t,” Judy said reflexively. She didn’t want to talk about it now, but she was surprised that he’d noticed.

“Yes you have, and I know how women are.” Frank’s features softened. “It’s like when one goes to the ladies’ room, you all go to the ladies’ room.”

“No, I’m not that girl, the one who needs to go to the bathroom just because everybody else is.”

“I think you’ve been worrying about why we’re not married, and when I’m going to ask you to marry me.” Frank smiled gently, and Judy started to panic inside.

“No, that’s not it. I swear, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I’m not dumb.” Frank buckled his lower lip, regretful. “We never really talked about it because we both assumed it would happen. But that’s not good enough for you anymore. It’s not good enough for me anymore, either.”

“No, it’s fine,” Judy rushed to say. “We don’t have to get married just because somebody else is getting married. What’s right for one couple isn’t right for another.”