Footsteps (23 page)

He’d met Jenny Cassidy six years ago, while
he was working at Supratecture. She’d been not long out of college,
with a shiny new degree in English and American Literature from
Bowdoin, and she had a new job as a copy editor at a small textbook
publishing company in the same building. He’d seen her several
times in the first-floor coffee shop, usually balancing a couple of
stacked trays of cups to take up to her office. On his way up, too,
one day, he’d taken a tray off her stack and helped her bring them
to her office. She was small and waif-thin, with fair, straight
hair, huge, green eyes, and a striking, angular smile—which she
used only rarely. He’d found her lovely. Elfin. One day, he’d
pulled her aside in the coffee shop and asked her to sit and enjoy
her coffee with him before she lugged the trays upstairs. She’d
given him her number while she sat with him.

He’d been dating since tenth grade and had
had a couple of girlfriends, but he was neither the casual fling
type, really, nor had he been ready to settle down. He’d had a
couple of friends from college who were game for hooking up from
time to time, and that had seemed to Carlo like a decent
compromise—women with whom he had an honest connection, but who
wanted nothing more from him than friendship and physical
enjoyment. Friends with benefits had been the real deal for him
throughout his twenties.

He’d felt something for Jenny, though, that
had made him interested in more with her. Maybe it was that rare,
fragile smile, so bright and rewarding when it appeared. Jenny was
high strung, to be sure, and riddled with anxieties and doubts and
strange little foibles. She’d never let him go to her place, not
even to pick her up. When they’d spent nights together, she stayed
with him, in his new loft.

And she hadn’t been able stand him to be
late. Carlo had never been excessively punctual, but if he was a
few minutes past a time when he said he might call, or when he was
supposed to collect her from work or wherever she’d asked him to
get her which was not her own place, she’d freak, sure he was
dumping her. But when he’d held her and reassured her, she calmed
and clung to him.

She’d broken up with him once, while they
were planning their wedding. Spun, he’d gone home to the Cove to
regroup. In the few days of their separation, his siblings had all
managed to make it known that they were relieved, because they
didn’t like her much at all. She was odd, they’d said. Needy.
Suspicious. Demanding too much of him.

They’d almost had enough time for him to see
it for himself when he’d gotten a call from her. She’d been nearly
incoherent, but she’d managed to convey to him that she’d swallowed
a metric ton of painkillers and washed it down with her beloved
merlot. In his loft, to which she still had her key.

By the time she was released from the
hospital, she was in therapy, on meds for bipolar disorder, and the
wedding plans were back on track.

From that point on, things had been good for
them, he’d thought. Decent, anyway. He’d been surprised when she’d
gotten pregnant, because she’d been on the Pill. They had had long
conversations about it, because she’d wanted a baby, and he had not
been ready. He’d been thinking about leaving the firm and striking
out on his own with Peter, and he’d wanted her to be more settled.
She’d quit her job and was trying to write a novel; he’d wanted her
to be able to focus on that before they started a family. But then
she’d gotten pregnant, and he’d rolled with it.

And the first years with Trey were the best
of their marriage, by far. Motherhood settled Jenny. She’d been
wonderful with their son. She’d seemed happy to be a stay-at-home
mom and dove into the role with relish. But her book languished.
Then, the fall right after Trey turned two, she’d hired Natalie to
care for Trey in the afternoons, and she’d started working on it
again. She’d also joined a writing group.

She’d pulled away by inches. Then she finished her first draft and
pulled away more. Carlo had been so happy to see her completing
this thing that had been so important to her, he hadn’t even
noticed that her writing group was meeting later and later into the
night. At the beginning of that last summer, she’d submitted her
manuscript to an agent, using her contacts in the publishing world,
and got signed. Instead of relaxing and coming back to her family,
she’d become more distant.

Her book was picked up by a publisher in
late July. Trey turned three in August, and they’d had their usual
party on the beach in Quiet Cove. Jenny had left a little early,
saying that she had an early morning meeting with her agent the
next day. When Carlo had arrived at the loft around nine that
night, Trey snoring on his shoulder, everything that was Jenny’s
was gone from the loft. She’d left a note: she wanted nothing but a
quick end. She didn’t want Trey, she didn’t even want scheduled
visitation. She wanted nothing but an end. He hadn’t seen her
since.

Later, he learned that she’d moved to New
York City and was living with one of the writers from her
group.

Had he rescued her? Had that been all? Had
there ever been love there? He couldn’t speak for Jenny. But he
knew the pain he’d felt when he’d stood in the loft’s kitchen
reading that note, his son asleep in his arms, the scent of his
chocolate chip birthday cake still on his breath. He knew how much
he loved the family he and Jenny had made. He knew the ache in his
heart. Maybe he’d rescued her somehow, or had at least tried. But
he hadn’t loved the rescue. He didn’t think so highly of himself as
that. He’d loved the woman.

Yes, he’d really loved Jenny. Past tense.
But what he felt for Sabina was different. It was stronger, even
after only these short weeks.
She
was stronger. She’d told
him that she didn’t feel strong, but he saw it. She was a survivor.
God, what she’d survived. And the strength to know she needed to
stand on her own—Jenny had never had that kind of strength. Jenny
had needed to lean—even when she’d left, she’d simply moved to a
different shoulder.

Sabina Alonzo didn’t need rescue. She had
saved herself, was saving herself. He hoped she would see him as a
man who might stand with her and not as a man who wanted to save
her. He only wanted to love her.

He already did.

~oOo~

In the hopes of settling Trey’s worries,
he’d brought him along to look at rental homes. Two afternoons and
evenings of slogging through a list of properties that might be
rented on a month-to-month basis. So far, it looked like the
landlords willing to consider an arrangement with so little
security didn’t have the kind of offerings, in the kind of areas,
in which Carlo would consider letting his son live. If the
insurance payout would happen, he could get the loft repaired and
get it on the market, then start looking for a place to buy—a place
better suited for a child’s home, with a yard and kids in the
neighborhood. The loft had never been the ideal home for Trey, as
much as they both missed it now.

Trey was crabby and ill-mannered by the end
of the second day, and Carlo took his kid home. He had a ton of
work still to do; they were preparing a proposal to submit the next
week, and getting that job could smooth things out for the
company.

Natalie was still in the suite when they got
back, and she was making dinner. Carlo sent Trey to the bathroom
and turned into the tiny galley kitchen, his eyebrow cocked. He’d
expected her to take the evening off.

“Hey. What’re you making?”

She slid a glass dish into the oven and
closed the door. “Nothing special. Just a casserole and a salad.
Are you working tonight?”

“I have to. I have to get this draft done.
But you don’t have to stay. I thought you’d want to be home with
your teacher.”

Natalie shrugged. “Yeah, well. Whatever. I’d
rather be here with you guys.”

“Nat?” Carlo rubbed his hand over her back.
He thought she was very pretty. She had a breathtaking, sparkling
smile and the wit to match. Lush blonde hair and clear blue eyes.
She was on the bigger side, though, and he guessed not all men
appreciated that. If he examined his own history, he’d have to
admit that he was just as guilty of that as anyone. But he hated
that Natalie had gotten her heart broken so often.

“Yep. I’m okay, though. This time, I did the
dumping.” She went to the sink and washed a colander of fresh
spinach.

“Yeah? I thought you liked this guy.”

“I did. I do. But he started the ‘let’s join
a gym’ thing. When I said I was happy the way I was, and that I
didn’t want to spend the time and expense on a gym when I spent my
whole day playing tag with the world’s busiest preschooler, I got
the ‘yeah buts.’ I’ve been around this track plenty of times, so I
dumped him. I don’t want to be with somebody who thinks I can be
improved.” She gave him a wry grin tinged with sadness. “I’m
perfect, dammit.”

“You absolutely are.” His kissed her temple.
As he moved behind her to get himself a beer out of the fridge, and
as Trey came out of the bathroom, shaking his still-wet hands as he
always did, there was a heavy, insistent pounding on the door.

The door opened onto a sidewalk that led to
the parking lot. Something about the sound of that knock seemed
less than friendly, and Carlo’s veins flooded with adrenaline.

“Take Trey to the bedroom.” Natalie nodded
and headed to Trey. “Elsa, come.”

Again the heavy pounding. Then: “Carlo!
Carlo! Let me in!”

Joey? Carlo looked at Natalie and waved her
on back to the bedroom. Something was up. He didn’t know what, but
he wanted them away from it. The dog, all hundred and fifty pounds
of her, was at his hip. As gentle as she was, if she thought her
family was in danger, she’d stop at nothing to protect them. Carlo
could relate. He peered through the peephole and saw his youngest
brother’s face, warped by the fisheye lens. It had to have been the
lens that had made his face look so bizarre. He opened the door,
leaving the security slider engaged. Elsa’s tail started to wag,
and that settled Carlo’s mind a little. But then he took a good
look at his brother.

“Joey? What’s up?” Jesus. Joey’s face was
hamburger. His right eye was swollen completely shut and an
alarming shade of, well, black, his cheek was running blood, and
his mouth was every possible shade of purple and about four sizes
too big. An odd lump and mottling on the left side of his face told
Carlo that Joey’s jaw was broken. He’d seen a similar look once
when Luca had badly lost a match. Luca hadn’t lost often, but when
he had, he’d made the other guy beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of
him to keep him down.

“Let me in, brother. I need help.”

Carlo closed the door, disengaged the
sliding bolt. and let his brother in. “Fuck, Joe. What happened to
you?”

“I need help. I’m so fucked, Carlo. God, I’m
so fucked.” The words seemed to be mired in mud.

“Okay, okay. Sit.” He led him to a chair at
the little table that served as dining area and desk. “I’ll get you
something for your face.” He went into the kitchen and grabbed a
dish towel. He wet it and brought it over with the roll of paper
towels. “Here. Clean up. I think there’s some fruit or something in
the freezer.” As he went back into the kitchen and dug a bag of
frozen blueberries out of the little freezer, he said, “Tell me
what happened.”

Just then, Natalie came out. Elsa took the
opportunity of the open bedroom door to slip in to be with Trey.
“Is everything okay? Oh!” She saw Joey’s face. “Oh, Joey! What
happened, honey?”

“Hey, Nat. I’m okay. I need to talk to
Carlo, though.”

“Um, okay. I could…” She looked at Carlo. “I
could take him to get a hamburger or something?”

Carlo nodded. “Yeah. Thank you. Not sure how
to get him past this mess, though.” He gave his brother an
appraising look. There was nowhere to hide him, and Trey would be
excited to see his Uncle Joey. “There’s an ice room down at the end
of this building. Are you in so much trouble that you can’t walk
down there safely and wait until Trey is out of here?”

“No. I can do that.”

“Good.” He threw the blueberries at Joey.
“Go now, and I’ll text you when he’s gone.”

Joey nodded and, bag of frozen blueberries
held to his face, left the suite. Carlo watched until he turned the
corner.

When he closed the door, Natalie was turning
off the oven. “Just leave this in there. I’ll deal with it when I
get back. I might be able to salvage it.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

She nodded and went to collect Trey, who was
audibly enthusiastic about the idea of hamburgers for dinner. As
they left the suite, Nat looked over her shoulder. “Just text me
when we can come back.”

He nodded and waved to his son. When they
were safely away, Carlo texted Joey.

Once his baby brother was seated again at
the table, his face freshly washed and looking barely any better,
Carlo said. “Now. Tell me what the fuck happened.”

“I got rolled. I was on a job, just supposed
to be an easy collection. Went smooth. But before I could get to my
truck, I got rolled. Three guys. Did this”—he waved at his
face—“and this”—he lifted his shirt to show deep, red bruising over
his ribs and stomach—“got my piece, and got the cash. Carlo, it was
$40,000. I’m so fucked. If I don’t have that money in the morning,
the Uncles are going to turn me into chum.”