Footsteps (31 page)

“Yes, I think.” She slid her arms around his
waist. “And we will.”

Carlo stood on the beach and thought about
what to do—his kid to get to the house, his woman to get to her
apartment, him trapped between. He sighed. “I hate to just drop you
off. I don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll see you at Mass in the
morning, yes?”

“Yes. And I’m keeping you for the day.” He
hated the idea of going back to Providence and facing that life
there. But for now, he took Bina’s beautiful face in his hands and
kissed her. This part of his life, at least, had been repaired.

~oOo~

Carlo was up before Trey the next morning.
He hadn’t done much sleeping, and they’d worn his boy out well and
truly the day before. He checked in on him; he was snoring, his
arms thrown over his head. Elsa, lying on the floor at the side of
his little bed, lifted her head and thumped her tail at him.

“Come on, girl. You want to go out?” She got
up and followed him down the stairs.

His father was in the kitchen, standing at
the big island, the
Quiet Cove Clarion
spread out across the
granite and a big mug of coffee steaming at his side.

“Hey, Pop.” He let Elsa out into the back
yard and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Junior. Surprised you’re alone this
morning.”

“We’re going slower than that. I have to
figure out what to tell Trey, and she’s just figuring out her life.
She’ll be at Mass, though, and I’ll bring her over for Sunday
dinner.”

Carlo Sr. studied him over his reading
glasses but didn’t answer.

Surprised by his father’s reserve, Carlo set
his mug down and stepped back. “I thought you liked her, Pop.”

“I do. She’s a sweet girl. Broken, though.
I’m worried you haven’t learned your lesson about broken
girls.”

“She’s not broken, Pop. You need to look
closer. That’s something I really love about her. She should be
broken. She has every right to be. But she’s not. Not at all. She’s
strong. Tough.”

With a resigned smile, Carlo Sr. finally
nodded. “You’re far gone, son. What’s your plan, then?”

He’d lain awake thinking that very thing
through. “With Bina, I’ll follow her lead for now. She just got her
feet under her. I need to get mine under me, too. I want to move
back here, bring Trey home. I want to live here, in the house, if
that’s okay.”

Again, his father studied him quietly. This
time, Carlo waited him out.

“And your work?”

“Pete and I have to figure some things out,
but I can design from home. Maybe build a studio out back. Or redo
the attic, if Luca will give it up. I can commute for meetings and
presentations. The way things are between Pete and me, maybe it’s
best for us not to be in the same place all day.”

“That’s no better?”

“No. He blames me for it all, and it’s my
fault, so he’s right. But we both hurt if he bails. Maybe this
would give us some time to fix things between us while we fix the
company.”

“If you come, you stay, Junior. I hate this
house so empty, but don’t move back if you’re thinking it’s
temporary. Fill this house with family again.”

“Is that what’s been going on, Pop? You’ve
been moody as hell for months. Is it that?”

Carlo Sr. took off his glasses and folded up
the paper. He finished his coffee. Finally, he met his son’s eyes.
“Your mother’s ghost walks these rooms, you know.”

“What?”

“Relax, I’m not crazy. Not yet, anyway. I
don’t mean I see her. I feel her. Everywhere. I know I wasn’t
always a good husband, but I loved the hell out of that woman. When
I’m alone in here, I can almost hear her. In my heart, I mean. Her
laugh. Playing the piano. Singing over her chores. She gets louder
with every passing year. When our family is here, she quiets. But
alone, the loneliness gets in my head. I’ve been thinking of
selling the place, maybe retiring. Maybe even moving down to
Florida or something stupid like that.”

“Sell the house? Pop! And retire? You want
to retire?” Even though he’d wondered about his father’s
loneliness, Carlo was still stunned.

“No. I don’t want to. I can’t see myself in
one of those retirement subdivisions, where everyone drives around
in a golf cart. Like your Aunt Donna and Uncle Mike. I’m meant to
work. But I’m feeling off lately. Getting distracted.” He paused
and cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I think it’d be
good for you and Trey to be here. I think your Mom would have liked
it. I know I do. Build a studio, fight Luca over the attic,
whatever you want. Fill the place back up. Hopefully with
grandbabies.”

Carlo felt a pang at that but kept it to
himself. “Okay, Pop. We’ll move back. In fact, we won’t leave at
all. If Rosa will watch Trey, I’ll go tomorrow and talk to Peter,
then check out of the hotel. I’ll put the loft on the market after
the repairs are done.” It meant Natalie would need a new job, and
with that realization, Carlo felt real loss. Trey would, too. But
he knew moving back home was the right thing.

His father came around the corner of the
island and held out his arms, and the two men embraced. “I’m glad,
Junior. I fucking hate golf.”

~oOo~

Stuck in the snarl of Monday morning traffic
into Providence, Carlo occupied himself by practicing the
conversations he’d planned to have today. He’d already handled the
contractors for the repairs to the loft and made the arrangements
he’d needed with the listing agent. The building association had a
lot to do with how it was marketed and shown, anyway, so he simply
okayed—after pausing to swallow hard and remind himself that moving
home had financial benefits as well—the cost to stage it. Then he
arranged a hotel checkout for the following day, which would give
him time to collect their things from that sterile suite after he
finished his hard work of the day: Peter and Natalie.

Peter first. The office repairs were
beginning today, too, so Carlo drove straight there, as he’d
planned last week, before his life had changed again. Peter’s Acura
was in his space in the lot. Good.

When he got into the office, Peter was
talking to Ken Jeremy, the contractor, while a couple of workmen
carried in supplies. This wasn’t the kind of project Pagano &
Sons took on—too small—but Ken had subcontracted for them on a
couple of emergency jobs, and Carlo knew he did good work.

“Hey, Ken.” Carlo held out his hand, and Ken
shook it.

“Carlo. Just telling Pete here that this is
a five-six day job, outside. We’ll try to get you done faster if we
can.” Though time and cost estimates were notoriously malleable,
when industry insiders talked to each other, the estimates were
more fixed. If Ken was telling Carlo and Pete six days outside,
maybe less, he meant it.

“Good. Thanks, man.” Ken nodded and turned
to talk to one of his workers.

Pete made a move away without saying
anything at all to Carlo. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He was
acting like a pouting teenage girl. “Pete, hold up. We need to
talk.”

“Did you get the Connelly design done?”

“Yeah. It’s ready to submit. You and me,
though, we need to get ourselves straight. I need you to talk. Not
blame. Talk.”

Peter looked over Carlo’s shoulder at the
workers, then indicated with a nod of his head that they go back to
the privacy of the modeling room. He closed the door behind them.
“Of course you don’t want blame. But it’s your fucking fault. I’m
two payments behind on my mortgage, and that shit’s all on
you.”

“I’ve taken the blame. Every time we fucking
talk, I take the blame, Pete. You’re right. It’s all on me. And I’m
sorry. But we need to look ahead now. What do you want?”

“I can’t just wash all that away—shit,
Carlo! How far away were we from it being even worse—from people
going after
us
and not just our stuff? What they wrote on
Trey’s wall? You bring that heat—you and your family. And what the
hell happened to Auberon? That’s part of all this, isn’t it?”

Carlo wasn’t about to answer that last
question. What he said, rather, was, “You knew who my family was
since we’ve known each other. You thought it was cool.”

“Well I was fucking wrong. I don’t know if I
can work like that. The damn
mob
hanging over my head.”

Suddenly, Carlo was pissed. Furious. He’d
apologized again and again. Fuck, he’d practically begged. And
Peter was no goodie two-shoes, no innocent in the ways of the
world. He’d tried repeatedly to get Carlo to exploit his
connections before. And Carlo was the fucking talent. Peter was a
barely adequate architect. What he brought to their partnership—the
business savvy—wasn’t so unique. “You think you’re good enough to
work any other way?”

Peter actually took a step back, as if Carlo
had struck him—which was, frankly, next on the agenda. “Yeah, fuck
you. We’re through. You can buy out my stake.”

“And if I won’t?” Couldn’t, more likely.
Until the loft sold, there was no way he could afford it. And it
wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the partnership they’d had. It had
worked. For them both. There were years of friendship tangled up in
this, and it sucked, but Carlo couldn’t back down.

“Then I’ll sell it to the highest fucking
bidder. I don’t give a shit.” They stared at each other for a few
incendiary seconds, and then Peter spun on his heel and left—the
room, then the office, and apparently their partnership.

~oOo~

“I’m pretty smart. You know that, right? I
mean, I don’t have a fancy college education, but I got me some
common sense.”

Carlo looked up from his roast beef sandwich
and met Natalie’s eyes. She was smiling—it seemed to him she smiled
nearly nonstop—but there was tension around her pretty eyes. “What
do you mean?”

“You invited me to lunch. Trey is still at
the beach. Your expression could best be described as ‘morose.’
You’re firing me. Right? You’re moving back home.”

He blinked. She was definitely smart.
“Um…”

“C’mon, Carlo. I know you. I know Trey. I’ve
been watching what’s been happening since May. You think I didn’t
see this coming? It’s okay. I get it. You’d both be better off in
Quiet Cove.”

“Can’t get anything past you. And I’m so
sorry. I love you.” Her smile got wider at that. “Don’t worry about
money—I can pay you severance, give you time to find something.”
He’d figure out how to do that; he wanted Natalie as little hurt by
this as possible. “I don’t want to lose you, though. It breaks my
heart.”

“Well, you’re not dying, right? Not selling
Trey off to the highest bidder? And you’re not moving farther than
the beach, right? And we’re still friends, even if you’re not
paying me to be anymore?”

He laughed. “Of course.”

“Then I have a friend at the beach. I intend
to exploit that friendship outrageously for free weekends of lying
in the sand ogling hot men.” She reached across the table and
grabbed his hand. “Honestly, Carlo. I was waiting for this. I’m
ready. I’m okay. You, too. We’re gonna be great. Smooth seas.”

He hoped she was right. He knew when he got
back home, back to Bina and to Trey, he’d find the hope Natalie had
that things would work out. Even if on this day, he still felt
trapped in the undertow.

Carlo looked over her shoulder and rubbed
her arms. “We could have ordered a cake, you know. I could still go
to the market and pick up a cake. You don’t need to put yourself
through this.”

“No! I can do this!” Sabina leaned back a
little from the slightly lopsided chocolate layer cake. Everything
had gone fine, according to the recipe, until she’d put the top
layer on the bottom layer, and now it kept wanting to slide off.
Also: frosting rosettes were a lot more difficult than the cookbook
suggested. They were a ‘beginner’ skill, apparently. But she should
have practiced to achieve the level of ‘beginner.’ Blue blobs
rimmed the base of the slippery cake.

She had been an average cook, once. It
wasn’t something she’d enjoyed, but her aunt had taught her basic
kitchen skills. After years of having a kitchen staff, those skills
had atrophied. But the past week, spending time again with Trey,
and with Carlo, she was beginning to feel like they were her
family, and she wanted to do something special for Trey’s birthday
party. Remembering baking birthday cakes for Tia Valeria, she’d
decided she’d do the same for Trey.

But Tia Valeria had liked Bundt cakes and
pineapple upside down cake. She hadn’t figured on a layer cake
being so tricky. Or decorating with frosting.

Carlo and Sabina were alone in the
house—Carlo Sr. was at his office, doing some paperwork, and Rosa
had taken Trey to Carmen’s to keep him out of the way while they
got ready for the party, which had been relocated from the beach
when everyone had woken up to grey skies this morning. It still
hadn’t rained, but the sky was dark enough that they had the lights
on in the house.