Right Next Door (30 page)

He seemed unusually quiet on the ride home. Carol didn't question her son until they'd dropped her mother off. “What's bothering you?”

“Nothing.” But he kept his gaze focused straight ahead.

“You sure?”

His left shoulder rose and fell in an indecisive shrug.

“I see.”

“Mr. Preston was at the meet today. Did you see him?”

“Ah…” Carol hedged. There was no reason to lie. “Yeah. He was sitting with his friend.”

“Mr. Powers and Mr. Preston are good friends. They met in college.”

Carol wasn't sure what significance, if any, that bit of information held.

“According to James, Mr. Powers's been single for the past couple years, and he dates beautiful women all the time. He's the one who arranged all those hot dates for James's dad…and he's doing it again.”

“That's none of our business.” Her heart reacted to that, but what else could she expect? She was in love with the man. However, it wasn't as if Alex hadn't warned her; he'd said that if she wasn't willing to accept what he was offering, it was time to cut his losses and look elsewhere. She just hadn't expected him to start so soon.

“James was telling me his dad's been going out every night this week.”

“Peter,” she said softly, “I think it would be best if we made it a rule not to discuss Alex or his dating practices. You know, and, I hope, have accepted, the fact that the relationship between James's dad and me is over…by mutual agreement.”

“But, Mom, you really love this guy!”

She arched her eyebrows at that.

“You try to fool me, but I can see how miserable you've been all week. And Mr. Preston's been just as unhappy, James says, and we both think he's going to do something stupid on the rebound, like marry this Babette girl.”

“Peter, I thought I just said I don't want to talk about this.”

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms and beginning to sulk. Five minutes passed before he sighed heavily. “Babette's a singer. In a band. She's not like the run-of-the-mill bimbos Barney usually meets. Mom, you've got to
do
something. Fast. This woman is real competition.”

“Peter!” she cried.

“All right. All right.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I won't say another word.”

That proved to be a slight exaggeration. Peter had ways of letting Carol know what was going on between Alex and his newfound friend without ever having to mention either name.

Saturday, after playing basketball with James in the local park, Peter returned home, hot and sweaty. He walked straight to the refrigerator and took out a cold can of soda, taking the first swallows while standing in front of the open refrigerator.

Carol had her sewing machine set up on the kitchen table. Pins pressed between her lips, she waved her hand, instructing her son to close the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Peter muttered. He did as she asked, then wiped his face. “Ever hear of a thirty-six-year-old man falling head over heels in love with a twenty-three-year-old woman?” Peter asked disdainfully.

Stepping on a nail couldn't have been more painful—or more direct—than her son's question. “No. Can't say that I have,” she said, so flustered she sewed a seam that was so crooked she'd have to immediately take it out. With disgust, she tossed the blouse aside, and when her son had left the room, she trembled and buried her face in her hands.

On Sunday morning, Peter had stayed in church a few extra minutes after Mass, walking up to the altar. When he joined Carol in the vestibule, she placed her hand on his shoulder and studied him carefully. She'd never seen her son quite so serious.

“What's on your mind, honey?”

He gave her another of his one-shoulder rolls. “I thought if Grandma could talk to God, then I'd try it, too. While I was up there, I lit a candle to St. Rita.”

Carol didn't respond.

After that, she and her son drove over to her mother's house. The tears started when she was in the kitchen helping Angelina with dinner. It surprised Carol, because she had nothing to cry about—not really. But that didn't seem to matter. Soon the tears were flowing from her eyes so hard and fast that they were dripping from her chin and running down her neck.

Standing at the sink washing vegetables helped hide the fact that she was weeping, but that wouldn't last long. Soon someone would see she was crying and want to know why. She tried desperately to stop, but to no avail. If anything, her efforts only made her cry more.

She must've made more noise than she realized, because when she turned to reach for a hand towel to wipe her face, she found her mother and her sister-in-law both staring at her.

Her mother was murmuring something to Paula in Italian, which was interesting since the other woman didn't understand a word of the language. But Carol understood each and every one. Her mother was telling Paula that Carol looked like a woman who was in danger of losing the man she loved.

With her arm around Carol's shoulders, Angelina led her into her bedroom. Whenever Carol was ill as a little girl, her mother had always brought her to her own bed and taken care of her there.

Without resistance, Carol let her mother lead her through the house. By now the tears had become soft sobs. Everyone in the living room stopped whatever they were doing and stared at her. Angelina fended off questions and directed Carol to her bed, pulling back the blankets. Sniffling, Carol lay down. The sheets felt cool against her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep.

She woke an hour later and sat bolt upright. Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she held her hands to her face and breathed in deep, steadying breaths. This wasn't going to be easy.

Her family was still busy in the living room. The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Carol moved into the room. She picked up her purse, avoiding their curious eyes. “I…have to go out for a while. I don't know when I'll be back.”

Angelina and Peter walked to the front door with her, both looking anxious.

“Where are you going?” her son asked.

She smiled softly, kissed his cheek and said, “St. Rita must have heard your prayers.”

Her mother folded her hands and raised her eyes to heaven, her expression ecstatic. Peter, on the other hand, blinked, his gaze uncertain. Then understanding apparently dawned, and with a shout, he threw his arms around Carol's neck.

A
lex was in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich when the doorbell chimed. From experience, he knew better than to answer it before James did. Leaning against the counter, Alex waited until his son had vaulted from the family room couch, passed him and raced toward the front door.

Alex supposed he should show some interest in his unannounced guest, but frankly he didn't care—unless it was one stubborn Italian woman, and the chances of that were more remote than his likelihood of winning the lottery.

“Dad,” James yelled. “Come quick!”

Muttering under his breath, Alex dropped his turkey sandwich on the plate and headed toward the living room. He was halfway through the door when he jerked his head up in surprise. It was Carol. Through a fog of disbelief, he saw her, dressed in a navy skirt and white silk blouse under a rose-colored sweater.

At least the woman resembled Carol. His eyes must be playing tricks on him, because he was sure this
woman standing inside his home was the very one who'd been occupying his thoughts every minute of every hour for days on end.

“Hello, Alex,” she said softly.

It sounded like her. Or could it be that he needed her so badly that his troubled mind had conjured up her image?

“Aren't you going to say anything?” James demanded. “This is Carol, Dad, Carol! Are you just going to stand there?”

“Hello,” he finally said, having some trouble getting his mouth and tongue to work simultaneously.

“
Hello?
That's it? You aren't saying anything more than that?” James asked, clearly distressed.

“How are you?” Carol asked him, and he noticed that her voice was husky and filled with emotion.

Someday he'd tell her how the best foreman he ever hoped to find had threatened to walk off the job if Alex's foul mood didn't improve. Someday he'd let her know he hadn't eaten a decent meal or slept through an entire night since they'd parted. Someday he'd tell her he would gladly have given a king's ransom to make her his wife. In time, he
would
tell her all that, but for now, all he wanted to do was enjoy the luxury of looking at her.

“Carol just asked you a question. You should answer her,” James pointed out.

“I'm fine.”

“I'm glad,” she whispered.

“How are you?” He managed to dredge up the polite inquiry.

“Not so good.”

“Not so good?” he echoed.

She straightened her shoulders, and her eyes held his as she seemed to be preparing herself to speak. “Do you…are you in love with her, because if you are, I'll…I'll understand and get out of your life right now, but I have to know that much before I say anything else.”

“In love with her?” Alex felt like an echo. “With whom?”

“Babette…the singer you've been dating.”

James cleared his throat, and, looking anxious, glanced at his father. “I…you two obviously need time alone. I'll leave now.”

“James,
what
is Carol talking about?”

His son wore an injured look, as if to suggest Alex was doing him a terrible injustice by suspecting he had anything to do with Carol's belief that he was seeing Babette.

“James?” He made his son's name sound like a threat.

“Well,” the boy admitted with some reluctance, “Mrs. Sommars might've gotten the impression that you were dating someone else, from…from something I said to Peter. But I'm sure whatever I said was very nebulous.” When Alex glared at him, James continued. “All right, all right, Peter and I got to talking things over, and the two of us agreed you guys were wasting a whole lot of time arguing over nothing.

“Mrs. Sommars is way, way better than any of the other women you've dated. Sometimes she dresses a little funny, but I don't mind. I know Peter would really like a dad, and he says you're better than anyone his mom's ever dated. So when Uncle Barn started pressuring you to date that Babette, we…Peter and I, came up with the idea of…you know…”

“I don't know,” Alex said sternly, lacing his words with steel. “Exactly what did you say to Carol?”

“I didn't,” James was quick to inform him. “Peter did
all the talking, and he just casually let it drop that you were dating again and…”

“And had fallen head over heels in love with someone else,” Carol supplied.

“In the space of less than a week?” Alex demanded. Did she really think his love was so fickle he could forget her in a few short days? He'd only retreated to fortify himself with ideas before he approached her again.

“You said it was time to cut your losses and look elsewhere,” she reminded him.

“You didn't believe that, did you?”

“Yes…I thought you must've done it, especially when Peter started telling me about you and…the singer. What else was I supposed to believe?”

“I'll just go to my room now,” James inserted smoothly. “You two go ahead and talk without having to worry about a kid hanging around.” He quickly disappeared, leaving only the two of them.

“I'm not in love with anyone else, Carol,” Alex said, his eyes holding hers. “If you came because you were afraid I was seeing another woman, then rest assured it isn't true. I'll talk to James later and make sure this sort of thing doesn't ever happen again.”

“It won't be necessary.”

“It won't?” he asked, frowning. They stood across the room from each other, neither of them making any effort to bridge the distance. The way Alex felt, they might as well have been standing on opposite ends of a football field…playing for opposing teams.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she seemed to be gathering her courage. When she spoke, her voice was low and trembling. “Don't be angry with James…”

“He had no right to involve himself in our business.”

“It worked, Alex. It…worked. When I believed I was losing you, when I thought of you with another woman in your arms, I…I wanted to die. I think maybe I did, just a little, because I realized how much I love you and what a fool I've been to think I could go on without you. I needed time, I
demanded
time, and you wouldn't give it to me…”

“I was wrong—I understood that later.”

“No,” she countered, “you were right. I would never have made up my mind because…because of what happened in my marriage. With Bruce.”

The whole world seemed to go still as comprehension flooded Alex's soul. “Are you saying…does this mean you're willing to marry me?” he asked, barely able to believe what she was saying. Barely able to trust himself to stay where he was a second longer.

Alex didn't know who moved first, not that it mattered. All that did matter was Carol in his arms, kissing him with a hunger that seemed to consume them both.

“Yes…yes, I'll marry you,” she cried between kisses. “When? Oh, Alex, I'm so anxious to be your wife.”

Alex stifled the sudden urge to laugh, and the equally powerful urge to weep. He buried his face in the soft curve of her neck and swallowed hard before dragging several deep breaths through his lungs. He slid his hands into her hair as he brought his mouth to hers, exploring her lips in all the ways he'd dreamed of doing for so many sleepless nights.

Her purse fell to the floor, and she wound her arms around him, moved against him, whispering over and over how much she loved him.

“I missed you so much,” he told her as he lifted her from
the carpet and carried her across the room. He was so famished for her love that he doubted he'd ever be satisfied.

“I thought I'd never kiss you again,” she moaned. “I couldn't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

Alex made his way to the sofa, throwing himself on the cushions, keeping her in his lap. He stroked her hair as he gazed into her beautiful dark eyes. Unable to resist, he kissed her again.

When they drew apart, Alex rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, luxuriating in the warm sensations inside him. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to do anything but hold her and love her.

“Alex,” she whispered. “You asked me about Bruce, and I didn't tell you. I was wrong to hold back, wrong not to explain before.”

“It's all right, my…”

She gently stroked his face. “For both our sakes, I need to tell you.”

“You're sure?”

She didn't
look
sure, but she nodded, and when she started speaking, her voice trembled with pain. “I was incredibly young and naive when I met Bruce. He was the most fun-loving, daring boy I'd ever dated. The crazy things he did excited me, but deep in my heart I know I'd never have married him if I hadn't gotten pregnant with Peter.”

Alex kissed her brow and continued to stroke her hair.

“Although Bruce seemed willing enough to marry me,” she began, “I don't know how much pressure my father applied.” Her voice was gaining strength as she spoke. “It was a bad situation that grew worse after Peter was born. That was when Bruce started drinking heavily and drifted from one job to another. Each month he seemed to be
more depressed and more angry. He claimed I'd trapped him and he was going to make sure I paid for what I did.” She closed her eyes and he heard her sigh. “I did pay, and so did Peter. My life became a nightmare.”

Alex had suspected things were bad for her, but he'd no idea how ugly. “Did he beat you, Carol?”

Her eyes remained closed, and she nodded. “When Bruce drank, the demon inside him would give rise to fits of jealousy, fear, depression and hatred. The more he drank, the more the anger came out in violent episodes. There were times I thought that if I didn't escape, he'd kill me.”

“Didn't your family know? Surely they guessed?”

“I hardly ever got to see them. Bruce didn't approve of me visiting my family. In retrospect, I realize he was afraid of my father. Had Dad or Tony known what was happening, they would've taken matters into their own hands. I must have realized it, too, because I never told them, never said a word for fear of involving them. It was more than that…. I was too humiliated. I didn't want anyone to know about the terrible problems we were having, so I didn't say anything—not even to my mother.”

“But surely there was someone?”

“Once…once Bruce punched me so hard he dislocated my jaw, and I had to see a doctor. She refused to believe all my bruises were due to a fall. She tried to help me, tried to get me to press charges against him, but I didn't dare. I was terrified of what Bruce would do to Peter.”

“Oh, Carol.” The anger Alex was experiencing was so profound that he clenched his fists. The idea of someone beating this warm, vibrant woman filled him with impotent rage.

“I'd lost any respect I ever had for Bruce shortly after we were married. Over the next three years I lost respect for myself. What kind of woman allows a man to abuse her mentally and physically, day after day, week after week, year after year? There must've been something terribly wrong with me. In ways I can't even begin to understand, all the hurtful, hateful things Bruce accused me of began to seem valid.”

“Oh, Carol…” Alex's chest heaved with the weight of her pain.

“Then Bruce didn't come home one night. It wasn't unusual. I knew he'd come back when he was ready, probably in a foul mood. That was what I'd braced myself for when the police officer came to tell me Bruce had been killed in an accident. I remember I stared up at the man and didn't say anything. I didn't feel anything.

“I was hanging clothes on the line, and I thanked him for letting me know and returned to the backyard. I didn't phone anyone, I didn't even cry.”

“You were in shock.”

“I suppose, but later when I was able to cry and grieve, mingled with all the pain was an overwhelming sense of relief.”

“No one could blame you for that, my love,” Alex said, wanting with everything in him to wipe away the memories of those years with her husband.

“Now…now do you understand why I couldn't tell you about Bruce?” she asked. “Your marriage to Gloria was so wonderful—it's what a marriage was meant to be. When she died, your love and James's love surrounded her. When Bruce died—” she hesitated, and her lips were trembling “—he was with another woman. It was the final rejection,
the final humiliation.” She drew in a ragged breath and turned, her eyes burning into his. “I don't know what kind of wife I'll be to you, Alex. Over the years I've thought about those three nightmarish years and I've wondered what would've happened had I done things differently. Maybe the fault
was
my own…maybe Bruce was right all along, and if I'd only been a better woman, he wouldn't have needed to drink. If I'd done things differently, he might've been happy.”

“Carol, you don't truly believe that, do you?”