Loving You (33 page)

The specters of DNA tests and Ms. Walker still hovered at the edges of her mind, sending ribbons of worry through her body at unexpected moments. But she held on to Nick's promise to face them together with her.

Togetherness was an unusual idea for Tasha. She'd depended on so few people in her life. Had trusted even fewer. And yet somehow she was beginning to trust Nick. And more than that, to depend on him. To count on him being a part of her life.
Their
lives.

Her steps slowed on the stairs, her fingers tightened on the cool, polished wood of the banister.
So
not a good thing, her mind whispered. If she counted on him, when he finally
did
disappear from her life, he'd take her heart with him. But he would anyway, she reasoned. It was too late to change that now. Too late to keep from loving him. Maybe it had been too late from the start.

Tasha's stomach twisted. He hadn't even walked out on them yet. How could she miss him already? she wondered.

“Tash! You alive?”

Tasha came up from her thoughts like a deep-sea diver, finally breaching the surface. Blinking, she looked down to the foot of the stairs, where Molly waited impatiently.

“What's up?” Tasha took the rest of the stairs and stopped at the bottom, beside her friend.

“You've got a customer waiting.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tasha laughed. “If it's Friday, it must be Margaret.”

“Oh, no.” Molly shook her head slowly and gave her a wicked smile. “This customer's new. And insistent on seeing you.”

She frowned. “Did you tell her I'm booked today?”

“Yep. She didn't care.”

Okay, something was clearly going on. Molly's eyes flashed with amusement and her lips were twitching. Obviously, the new customer was a barrel of laughs. Either that, or the joke was on Tasha. “All right, let's hear it.”

Molly's eyebrows lifted into delicate arches. “Apparently,” she said, dragging out the suspense, “Tassel Loafer has a mother.”

“What?” Tasha shot a look at the dining room and the kitchen and beauty shop beyond. Oh good God. Nick's
mother
was here? Jesus. Would she be able to tell Tasha had just had sex with her son? She swallowed hard. “What did she say,
exactly
?”

“She
said
she wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

Tasha hadn't expected an answer from Molly. But the questions remained. Why was she here? Why now?

To warn her off? Oh jeez. “His mother. Here.”

Tasha's spine stiffened. Memories of the pictureperfect
family gathering she'd witnessed last Sunday danced in front of her mind's eye. She saw Nick's brothers and sister and their families and the kids and the dog and
Nana
. The cookie-baking nana who'd won Jonas's heart in a single afternoon.

“That's right,” Molly told her. “Angela Candellano. Right there in the shop, chatting with Edna like they were twins separated at birth and by twenty years.”

“What does she want?” Tasha heard herself ask the question out loud, for all the good it would do.

“Look, Tash, she seems really nice. I mean, you could do worse for a mother-in-law.”

“Oh, crap, Molly. That's probably what she's afraid of. Probably here to tell me to stay away from her little Nick. Probably thinks I'm after his money or something.”

“Well, yeah,” Molly said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “'Cause you look like an evil, paintedup city woman, out to bewitch poor innocent little Nick.”

Tasha hardly heard her.
Fine
. If Angela Candellano was worried, then Tasha would just put her mind at ease. She wasn't trying to trap the woman's son. Heck,
Tasha
knew better than anyone that she would never fit into the
Leave It to Beaver
world Nick had grown up in.

“Yo, Tasha!” Molly grabbed her arm and shook it. “You're zoning again, girl. Good sex is supposed to
clear
the mind, not dissolve it.”

Tasha slapped one hand across Molly's mouth. “For God's sake, don't talk about sex with his mother in the house.”

Molly pried her fingers off and laughed. “Right, 'cause a woman with four children wouldn't know anything
about sex.” Walking back toward the shop, Molly waved one hand at Tasha. “You stay here. I'll send her out to you so you can stay out of gossip range.”

“Thanks.”

“But I'll want an update later.”

“Naturally.”

Tasha walked into the living room and leaned casually against the back of the sofa.
Okay, a little too casual, Tash
. Straightening up, she moved, and stood with her back against the wall, as if expecting an execution.
Oh, that's much better
. For Pete's sake, she was just Nick's mom. She wasn't the pope, as Mimi used to say.

Mimi
.

Tasha drew a long, deep breath, steadying her nerves by remembering the woman who'd taught her to believe in herself. Mimi wouldn't be worried right now. So by God, Tasha wouldn't, either. This was
her
place.
Here
she did belong.

“Such a nice house.” The voice floated in front of her as hurried footsteps echoed through the kitchen and into the dining room. Framed in a slice of watery sunlight slanting through the dining room window, Angela Candellano stopped dead and smiled at Tasha.

Short and well-rounded, Nick's mother had a kind face and warm brown eyes. Her graying black hair was piled in a loose topknot on the crown of her head, and with both hands clutching it, she held her pocketbook at her waist. Her green flowered dress was starched and pressed and her black shoes were glossy.

“Ah, Tasha.” She smiled broadly and suddenly erupted into a lightning fast walk that carried her to Tasha's side in a flash. Freeing one hand from the pocketbook, she wrapped an arm around Tasha and
gave her a quick, hard hug. “Is so good to meet you. We didn't get to talk when you came to pick up Jonas.”

“Yes,” Tasha said, coloring slightly at the memory. She'd yelled at Nick in front of his family, then stormed off like a petulant five-year-old. “And I'm sorry I just showed up and then left again without any warning, but I—”

“Pshht.” Angela waved a hand, dismissing that statement as her gaze swept the old house. “Very nice house,” she said, nodding in approval. “Feels warm. Loved.”

“Yeah, I've always thought so.” Tasha wasn't sure what was happening, but this wasn't exactly going the way she'd expected. Somehow, she'd thought Nick's mother would be fire and brimstone—she was more like hot chocolate and marshmallows. “Mrs. Candellano…”

“Oh.” She waved one hand again and started roaming the living room, looking at everything with interested eyes. “Call me Mama.”

“Thank you, but—”

“Mama is easier,” the older woman insisted, pausing to look at a framed photo of Mimi, Tasha, and Jonas, taken last Christmas. “This is Mimi?” She shot Tasha a quick look. “She has a good face. Jonas, he told me about her. And about you.”

“Mrs.—”

Brown eyes narrowed.

“Mama…”

Brown eyes smiled.

“Mama, I don't know why you're here, but if it's about—”

“Thanksgiving,” the woman interrupted. “Is about Thanksgiving dinner. I want you and Jonas to come.”

“Oh.” Surprise hit Tasha hard and left her speechless.

“Families should be together, yes?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“My grandson should be there. His Tasha should be there, too.”

Okay, this was slipping into bizarro world. She really hadn't expected to be fielding an invitation to a family holiday dinner. And now that she was, she didn't know what to say. Having dinner with the Candellanos was
so
not a good idea. First off, Nick probably wouldn't want her there anyway. Sleeping with her was one thing. Including her in the circle of his family, his life, was something else.

Besides, did she really want to dig herself deeper into a world she would, all too soon enough, not be a part of anymore? “It's very nice of you to ask,” she started to say, “but I don't think—”

“My Carla's bringing rolls—she don't cook so much—” Mama frowned in disappointment. “Stevie, ah, Stevie is bringing cakes and things. That Stevie, you'll like her. She's a cook. She should teach Carla. Carla doesn't listen to me so much about cooking. But she eats.”

“That'd be great—”

“Do you cook?”

“A little.”

“Is good to cook. Makes the house smell like home, yes?”

“Mama—”

“Beth—that's my Tony's wife, such a good girl—is bringing cannoli.” Mama shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Might not be so good, it's her
first try. Still, we'll eat it. My sons, they eat everything.”

“Mama…” It was like trying to empty a pool with a strainer. No way could she get into this conversation. She was just a bystander here. This small woman was a force of nature. And suddenly Nick's hard head made perfect sense.

“If you want, you could bring some wine. That would be nice.”

“I'm sure Jonas would love to come.” When the woman paused for breath, Tasha jumped in. Even though it pained her to think about Jonas spending Thanksgiving away from her, Mama Candellano had a point about families being together. And if Nick
was
his father …

“You'll love it, too. My Nicky, he can drive you.”

“Nicky—”
Jesus
. “Nick might not want—”

“Nick is good boy.” Angela tipped her head to one side and studied the young woman who looked so flustered. She'd wanted a better look at the woman who'd caught Nick's attention. She'd seen it in her son's face last Sunday. The moment this girl had arrived at the house, Nick had come to life. Whether he knew it yet or not … he was in love. Real love. For the first time in his life. And Mama was pleased. “You like my Nicky, yes?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“Ah, that's nice.” Angela reached up and patted Tasha's cheek. She had her answer. The flash in the girl's eyes. The color in her cheeks. Nice to know that girls could still blush these days. “You're a good girl, Tasha. We see you on Thanksgiving. Wine, now. Don't forget.”

“I—”

Turning around, Angela headed for the front door. The best way to win an argument, she'd learned more than forty years ago, when first dealing with her husband … was to act as if you'd won and let your opponent be stunned into silence.

She opened the front door and looked back over her shoulder. Poor girl looked so perplexed. Well, she'd get over it. “Say hello to my grandson!”

When the door slammed, Molly came racing back into the room. “What's going on? What'd she want? What'd she say?”

Tasha tore her shell-shocked gaze from the front door and turned it on Molly. “She invited Jonas and me to Thanksgiving.”

“Are you going?”

Tasha threw her hands up in surrender. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but, “I'm in charge of wine.”

*   *   *

Jonas didn't feel good. His throat was kinda sore and his head hurt, too. He thought about calling Tasha and getting her to come pick him up from school. But it was Friday and if he was sick today, she wouldn't let him go to the football stadium with Nick tomorrow.

Heading down the crowded, noisy hall toward his next class, he grinned when Alex slid into him. “Hi.”

“Hi. Did you ask? Can I go to the stadium with you?”

“Yeah, you can. Nick says he's gonna take us to the locker rooms and everything.”

“Cool.” Alex grinned, then frowned. “How come you're still callin' him
Nick
? Why not
Dad
or something?”

Jonas lifted one shoulder in a tired shrug. “I don't know. Feels a little weird, still.”

“But good weird, right?”

He looked at his best friend and blinked when Alex's image went a little blurry. He cleared right up again, though. Good. “Yeah,” Jonas said, turning in to biology class. “Real good weird.”

*   *   *

From his desk at the small local television station, Nick was occupied with myriad jobs that kept him moving but bored him senseless. How in the hell was he supposed to be interested in covering high school sports and local news when his life was twisting in the wind?

He leaned back in his desk chair and stared out the window at the lowering clouds outside. Gray skies, high wind, and a temperature drop let him know a storm was blowing in off the ocean. He had a sudden urge to go stand on the cliffs behind his childhood home and watch the waves pounding against the rocks below. He'd always been able to think there. And Christ knew he needed to think.

But he was trapped in this cubicle of an office for at least another hour or so. Around him, voices lifted and fell; a quick burst of laughter was followed by a warning to keep it down. Keyboards clattered under typing fingers, and ringing phones shrieked above the din. Nick shook his head and looked around the room. Some of these people had been here thirty years. Others, like him, were new at it.

But the new ones were eager. Hungry to make a name, build a future. He'd been that way once. When he'd first started in football, Nick had been the go-getter.
The guy who ran instead of walked and never sat down during practice. He'd known what he wanted and he'd gone after it with a single-minded determination.

This place was different.… He couldn't imagine living his life in a series of rooms like this one. Closed off, sealed inside a building, worrying about scripts and assignments and ratings and the camera angle.… But if this wasn't what he wanted, what was?

Mind churning, he suddenly stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Screw this,” he muttered, and headed out.