Conviction of the Heart (20 page)

And she certainly didn’t intend to debate that point with Nick Sansone.

Change the subject, that’s what she needed to do. “So, what game is on?” she asked.

“Detroit and Atlanta,” Nick replied. “Should be a good game.”

Riviera pouted. “Steelers would have been better. Grandpa will be ticked.”

“I suppose then we’ll have to concentrate on interaction between people, instead of staring at the tube,” Suzanne said, a taste of tart on her tongue.

“No way,” Hope said. “Football is an American right, like carrying a gun.”

“Don’t blame your mother, girls. She just doesn’t understand.” Nick and the girls continued to compare rosters and quarterbacks and scoring per game for the season. Suzanne didn’t care, it was true. On the other hand there were plenty of Monday mornings, she’d been lost in motions court while the other attorneys’ primary topic of discussion was the Steelers’ game of the week. She always felt shut out from those conversations as the “old boys’ club” had time to bond even further. At least her daughters wouldn't end up in the same position.

“The Bengals blew their best chance for a trophy, for sure,” Hope protested. “Traded off the best quarterback they'd had in years!”

Suzanne gave up trying to follow the conversation and went on to mentally check-off the landmarks as they neared her parents' home. Her mother had been coy when Suzanne called to tell her Nick had agreed to come to dinner.

“So, we get to meet the great detective,” Maureen had said. “It’s about time. The girls seem to think you might be thinking about marriage.”

That made Suzanne gasp. “What? No way.”

Maureen, of course, heard what she wanted to hear. “Good. They need a father.”

And Suzanne heard the unspoken corollary that accompanied that—‘you need a husband.’ “Mother!”

“Can I help it if I want to see you happy?”

Suzanne's woolgathering was interrupted by the girls shouting, “Turn here! Turn here!” She got a ragged glimpse of Perryville’s charming main street with the double-globed streetlights as Nick’s tires squealed, barely staying in their lane as he took the corner much too quickly. A couple of miles out of town, the roof of her parents' house came into view over the top of a hill. The butterflies in her stomach did the lambada as they pulled into the driveway. Nick came around to open her door, but the girls didn’t wait, leaping out to romp with their grandmother's Airedale in the six-inch layer of snow.

“It's not a big deal, just turkey and pie,” Nick said low in her ear as they walked together up to the house.

“I know. It’s just that I haven’t brought anyone here like this since John. It seems so—official.”

“Really?” He smiled broadly. “I suppose I should be more honored then. Maybe I should have worn a tux.” He squeezed her elbow and winked broadly.
Idiot.
Despite his teasing, or maybe because of it, she felt much more comfortable.

They climbed the porch steps and Suzanne launched into the mechanics of proper introductions, letting the formal protocol trump her nerves. “Mom, Dad, this is Nick Sansone. Nick, these are my parents, Maureen and Paul Young.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Nick said. He shook their hands like they were visiting heads of state.

“Come inside, come inside,” her mother said. She patted each of them on the shoulder as they came past her into the kitchen. The girls raced upstairs with their overnight bags since they were staying the weekend. Nick offered to be the porter, but Maureen shushed him with a quick wink of a sparkling brown eye.

“No, no, you’re a guest here, Nick! Let Paul show you his masterpiece.”

Nick and Paul detoured into the living room, their voices covered by the drone from the television. Suzanne frowned. “Masterpiece? What masterpiece?”

“You know men, honey. That entertainment center your father built is always a talking point when they get together.”

“Entertainment center. Right.” Suzanne rolled her eyes and continued into the kitchen, which smelled of sage and garlic, a trace of cinnamon lingering as well. Pumpkin and mince pies sat on racks on the spotless counter. The wooden cabinets around the walls were polished to a shine, and the area around was orderly and clean, even in the midst of dinner preparation. Such a neatnik, her mother—clearly genes that hadn’t been passed to Suzanne, whose organizing skills were strung out on life support.

The scent brought back memories of other holidays, when her mother’s table had buoyed up Suzanne, made her feel whole again when her life was out of control. As independent as Suzanne liked to be, something about being back in her mother’s kitchen allowed her to let some of her worries go. Even if it was just for the hours she remained there.

“He’s nice looking, your lieutenant,” Maureen said, a twinkle in her eye as she poured them both a cup of coffee and set out the cream. “So tall.”

“Yes, he certainly is.” Suzanne read her mother’s face, seeing only approval. “Just what the fortune teller ordered.”
Tall, dark and handsome, wasn’t that the usual lingo?

“You went to a fortune teller?” Maureen gasped.

“No, Mom. I didn’t go to a fortune teller.” Suzanne laughed. “I’m teasing you. I told you Nick was a nice guy. He’s very thoughtful. Believe me, he wants to look out for us in every sense of the words. It’s his job, you know.”

“Of course. Is work going well?”

Maureen gave Suzanne her cup and a spoon, then sat at the oak table, still bare but with the cloth and dishes to go on it piled at one end. The girls’ footsteps sounded overhead, then Suzanne heard them come downstairs to join the men in the living room.

“I’m staying busy.” A nice, safe answer. Her mother didn’t need to hear about any dangers inherent in Suzanne’s work. She had enough to worry about, managing her husband’s blood pressure and the farm, too.

“I worry about you, Suzie. I know you’re one of these new liberated women who can take care of yourself and handle everything.” Her dark eyes searched Suzanne’s face, emotion intensifying as she continued. “Last year, when I almost lost your father, I learned that we all need to love and be loved. Facing the prospect of being alone scares me to death. You’re human, too. Your children love you, but not in the way each adult person needs, love, support, understanding? No man is an island—and no woman, either.”

Silence hung for a few seconds in the kitchen, then Suzanne’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out to look at it. A text message from Maddie. “Excuse me a minute, Mom.”

She selected the message.
He’s taken Katie!

Irritation prickling through her skin, Suzanne apologized with her eyes and stepped into the pantry for some privacy, dialing Maddie’s number. When she answered, Suzanne said, “When did he take her?”

“She must have slipped out this morning. I thought she was studying in her room, but she’s gone.” Maddie’s voice cracked with the effort of holding back tears.

“Did you call the police?”

“Not yet. I called you first. I don’t believe he’s doing this! He knows the children are the only thing I care about.” The sobs tore loose, and Suzanne heard a loud clunk, as if the phone had been dropped, then anxious voices.

“Maddie?” A growl of frustration escaped her. If Greg had broken into the house, someone should call the police.
Do something.
“Maddie?”

A moment later a scrabbling noise on the other end of the phone and then a relieved Maddie. “She’s here. She’s back. Joshua took her for a walk, but she told him she wasn’t going to Greg’s.” The hint of a smile in her voice. “I’m so sorry for disturbing your holiday. I promise I won’t call again.”

“Don’t be silly. If you call, I’ll be there for you, Maddie. That’s what I’m here for.”

Maddie said goodbye and Suzanne held the blank phone in her hand a moment, glad the pantry door was closed. Maybe she could stall off her mother’s persistent nagging a little longer. Or at least formulate a coherent response.

She only wants to see you happy. By her definition, that is. A happily married woman, at home, caring for her man.

Suzanne shuddered.
No, thank you
. She enjoyed her independence and intended to keep it.

The door opened suddenly, startling her. She nearly dropped the phone as she took a step back, ramming her shoulder into a thick shelf of canned goods. “Ouch!”

Nick studied her curiously. His broad shoulders blocked the kitchen from her view. “What are you doing in here? Did your mom put you in time-out or something?”

“I had a phone call.”

“Suz, I thought—”

“And I thought you weren’t going to interfere with my work. I don’t tell you how to handle perps, do I?” The edge in her voice was intentional.
He’d better take the hint.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was just making sure you weren’t living the life of a football widow.” He stepped out of the doorway, turning to give her mother a friendly smile. “Anything I can do?”

“No, dear. Suzie and I can handle it. Here, let me get you some fresh coffee.” Her mother poured him a cup, and poured a second one, too. Suzanne thought at first it might be for her, but her mother handed it to Nick. “Give this to Paul, would you?”

“Of course. Thank you.” He carefully held the full, steaming cups in front of him and headed for the living room, pausing a moment to wink at Suzanne.

Slick, Mom. Very slick.
Suzanne bit her lip, feeling a little sheepish and definitely torn between her responsibilities. Her mother looked at the old black and white clock on the wall by the stove. “Dinner is in about half an hour. Let’s set the table.”

The two women laid out the white linen tablecloth that had belonged to Maureen’s mother, the one used only for special occasions. Even with infrequent use, the cloth had acquired certain stains that would only have come out with bleach too harsh for its aged threads. Suzanne recognized the mark left when a too-eager Riviera had decided to serve everyone blueberry cobbler one Easter Sunday when she was much younger. Coffee and tea alike had left traces over the years, and somewhere she remembered a blood stain left from some rare roast beef. A quick scan didn’t reveal it. Perhaps time had removed it from view, just as time tended to cover over memories, letting them fade away.

She laid out the Fiestaware plates, alternating their assorted shades of green around the table, then the salad bowls and cups and saucers, while Maureen placed real silverware at each setting. Suzanne remembered the wooden box that had been carefully carried to America by one of her great-great aunts, inside enough silverware to set a table for sixteen. Every year the utensils must be rubbed with the anti-tarnish cream before they were used; now the forks and knives gleamed with the polishing Maureen had surely given them the day before.
A special occasion indeed.

That task complete, her mother surveyed the kitchen, tapping her finger to her lips. “The salad is tossed, and the service bowls set out.” She opened the refrigerator and closed it. “I’ll have your father come mash the potatoes in a few minutes.” She turned to Suzanne and smiled as a roar went up from the other room. “I think I’ve got everything else under control. Why don’t you see what trouble they’re getting into?”

In the living room, she found Nick ensconced in a recliner chair, focused as closely as her father on the football game. They waved their fists at the television almost in unison as a play ended and the girls broke into excited discussion.

“He didn’t make it.”

“It was too a first down!”

Paul pointed to the screen. “They’re bringing out the chains.”

Suzanne snorted. “Chains? Are they dragging someone to the dungeon? I didn’t think they could do that for a penalty.”

All four turned to her with a deadpan look of disbelief. Hope finally said, “Mom. Don’t be an idiot. They’re measuring.”

“Oh. Okay.” Suzanne shrugged a bit, chastised. She leaned on the back of Nick’s chair, watching her family as much as the broad screen in front of her. After a few moments, she felt the touch of Nick’s hand on hers, on the far side of the chair from where her father sat. She glanced at him and found a warm smile sitting on his lips. She let herself return it.
Everything will be all right.

Even once they all sat at the table for the meal, Nick mesmerized the group, handling the conversation with deft expertise. He discussed politics and farming with her father, then home repair and the preparation of perfect gravy with her mother. He went on to tease Riviera about her new boyfriend, and Suzanne wondered how he’d gotten ahead of her on that.

“Your boyfriend?” she asked her daughter. “When did that happen?”

Riviera turned three shades of red. “He’s not my boyfriend. I mean, he’s a boy, and he’s a friend, so…I mean. Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Right,” Hope said. Her eyes twinkled with a sarcastic glint. “Nothing at all.”

Riviera elbowed her sister. “Shut up.”

“Where did you meet this boy who’s a friend?” Suzanne’s mother asked, taking over the interrogation. Suzanne knew from years of experience that it was impossible to escape her mother’s determination. Maureen was much more stubborn than her sweet face would lead one to believe.

Apparently Riviera knew, too. “He goes ice skating on Saturdays down at the rink. He was just showing me some moves, that’s all. Then we started talking online. He’s really nice.” She stared down at her empty plate. “Isn’t it time for pie, yet?”

Suzanne’s mother laughed. “It must be. You girls clear the plates and bring in the pies, will you? The whipped cream is in the refrigerator.”

The girls did as they were asked, even bringing the adults the coffee pot, which they passed around, emptying it into their four cups. When the pie had been served and eaten, Nick offered to help with the dishes.

Suzanne’s mother shook her head. “Suzie and I have a routine, Nick. You and Paul go relax, and we’ll have this cleaned up in no time.”

“Are you sure? I take orders pretty well, or at least Suzanne thinks so.” He winked at her again, and she knew he referred to the day she’d done her fall cleanup. But it did him no good.