Unforgotten (33 page)
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After placing the order for the batten from a company she knew and trusted—since her reputation was on the line—Rese accessed the inn’s Web site. Waiting for it to load up on Lance’s aging system, she wondered what material things he actually valued. Guitars. And his Harley. She brushed a film of dust from the monitor as she waited for the dinosauric modem, then squeaked the chair around and studied the apartment. Each of the guys was represented there.
Rico’s drums dominated the corner, autographed posters of bands on the walls behind, including one of the three of them in the club Lance had shown her. A silver cross from Jamaica hung in the kitchenette alongside a crude weaving made by a blind prophet woman Chaz had feared as a child but loved now. Over the door, a Yankees pennant for both Lance and Rico; respectively the irrepressible and the doomsday fan.
The framed paintings on the walls, they had acquired from street artists. So Star’s painting had not been as novel to Lance as she’d thought. He understood the chance discovery of beauty—and valued it.
The most expensive items were the sound system components, Rico’s drums, Lance’s four guitars, and Chaz’s sax, keyboard, xylophone, and an assortment of wooden flutes. She realized once again the part music had played in their lives, in a large way forming the glue of their friendship.
She returned to the screen and brought up the reservations on her site. She had blocked out the week she intended to be gone and kept the next empty as well—good thing, since they’d been away nine days already. If Lance was pictured on the Web site, and they were there answering phones, the inn would probably be full. But she was hoping for some leeway.
Her kitchen-ceiling project required at least a couple days once she got the batten up, time for the plaster to dry before the skim coat could go on, using up most of the second week. And that didn’t begin to address the rest of it.
Rico was morose and agitated. She had checked on him when she came up, and agreed with Lance—he did growl. Immobilizing Rico’s arm was like muzzling a lion. And he’d already been edgy over Star. And where was Star?
Rese picked up the envelope that had come in the mail. Judging by the return address, it was a money order from Star’s trust. She must have given them this address, must have also switched her disbursement from quarterly to monthly. She had that option, just rarely took it, not wanting to use the money sensibly. Maybe she and Rico had made plans. No telling now how that would go. Rese frowned. How could she go back to Sonoma with Star wandering New York City? She knew it wasn’t her responsibility, but then whose?
Rese rubbed her temples. Above all, there was Antonia. She might suspect the woman of manipulating Lance if she hadn’t seen for herself the tender bond between them. Antonia had one more thing to face, and she wanted him there to help her. Rese understood that all too well.
As for Lance, he was so deeply a part of his family, he seemed to have forgotten their purpose was to settle matters and get back to the inn. If she reminded him, he’d probably send her back, but she didn’t want to go back alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to return, but that … she didn’t trust him to return. Too many people needed him, and too many things happened. It was almost a conspiracy.
She studied the situation. Most of their reservations were for later in the season. People came in droves as the summer drew on toward the grape harvest in the vineyards. But she had rooms reserved sporadically in the near weeks—four in the next, when they would have been back, but now might not be.
Sighing, she crafted a notice to the people who had reserved rooms in the next week, stating that reservations were temporarily suspended due to a family emergency. The family was Lance’s, but the emergency was hers. She couldn’t do it without him. She apologized for the inconvenience and credited back their payments. It was early enough in the season that Sonoma wasn’t full. They’d find something else.
Letting personal concerns interfere with business ran against her grain, but the fact that each cancellation felt better than the last concerned her even more. She should be disappointed, concerned for her future, her plans. Had she lost her vision? Had she ever had it?
Rese closed out of the site. It wasn’t as though she’d put years into the bed-and-breakfast industry. If her competition laughed her out of business, well … what? She’d been more concerned over Roman’s opinion of her work. Something was wrong with that picture.
She turned off the computer, stood and stretched. Lance was with Antonia, so she went across the hall and tapped the door. Knowing he was freed up from the responsibilities of the inn would give him the chance to focus and accomplish whatever he was doing. Then they could decide what, if anything, they were doing.
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Lance waited through Nonna’s tears. They should forget it. Two, three paragraphs at a time exhausted her emotional stamina, and now she was avoiding Nonno’s letter altogether. But she talked, telling him things he’d never heard before, the parts of her life she’d kept quiet but needed now to make known, as though she was afraid what Marco might say could tear apart the reality she was describing word by arduous word.
He didn’t want this to hurt her. Even now he’d forget it, put Nonno’s pages with the other things, the dossiers and Sybil’s letter from Sonoma, things he’d put out of Nonna’s sight. He would put it all away and let it go. He almost wished he could. Something wasn’t right, and he was sure they both sensed it. For once he was on the front side of trouble, but Nonna wouldn’t let him walk away.
He rose from her side at the tap on the door, surprised to find Rese.
She asked softly, “How is she?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s hard.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that.”
He leaned a shoulder to the jamb. “I know we need to get back.”
“I canceled the reservations for next week.”
“What?” He sagged as that load settled on him. “I wish you’d asked.”
“It was my decision.”
His, too, if they were partners, but frankly, the inn was far from his thoughts. He stepped outside the door, pulling it behind him, then rubbed his face. “I keep thinking we’re getting close, and then …”
“Things happen.” She didn’t exactly sound like Pop, but he’d gotten that message there too.
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“Maybe for a reason.”
“Yeah?” That was a new twist for Rese.
She tapped her thumb on her thigh, a rare signal of unease. “Lance … when Rico crashed, I had the thought that maybe it wasn’t an accident.”
“Someone meant to hit him?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just, like you said, a reason behind things, even things that seem bad.”
She hadn’t appeared to accept that the saving presence she’d encountered in her room could be the same divine being he’d described at Ground Zero, that God could choose to save—or not— even His own servants, His sons and daughters, people who had seemed blessed beyond measure. Now Rico’s accident had opened her eyes, but she didn’t resent the reality; she found hope in it.
She expelled a breath. “I know it sounds weird. But I thought the sight of the ambulance would paralyze me like before. Then when I saw it, when they put Rico inside, it hit me that it was all part of something bigger.”
He knew it was. It all was. But sometimes he wanted things to be small, inconsequential. Haphazard. He was a walking contradiction; trying to get inside God’s head, yet resisting the permeation of that Spirit in all aspects of his life. In Rese’s fresh understanding he saw his reluctance.
“Maybe even that night with Mom was meant to happen.”
His protective spirit rose up at the thought, but he couldn’t argue her conclusion. If there could be purpose behind Rico’s crash, how much more in Rese’s rescue?
She frowned. “If it hadn’t, the next time might have worked.”
His mind jumped to all the ways Rese could have died, a little girl alone with a mother she loved, but who could not be trusted. But why put her there in the first place? So the Lord could reveal himself? His first cynical reaction was countered by excitement. She was speaking the faith of new belief. It hadn’t been battered yet, and he could still remember how it felt.
“Or Mom could have died. And I wouldn’t have the chance to do something for her.”
That purity of thought speared him. How had he grown so jaded? “You’re amazing.” He threaded their fingers together.
“You say that? After all the ways you’re there for people, all the things you’ve done?”
Had he? Was he? “I guess that’s what it’s about.” They might be pawns, but they were pawns with an irresistible drive to take that next step, marching into whatever lay ahead for the chance to make a difference. “So you think we’re still here for a reason?”
“Does it feel finished to you?”
He shook his head. But he hadn’t expected her to feel it. “I thought you were getting antsy, finding projects to keep from climbing the walls.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Some things I can’t resist.”
He raised his brows. “Oh yeah?”
“Old houses. Shaggy dogs.”
“A man with an earring.” He brought their entwined fingers to his lips.
“You’ll need to talk to Michelle again. Baxter could be an issue.”
Cool, practical Rese. Only he knew better. “The only issue with Baxter is if he’ll ever settle for me again after all this female attention.”
“Good point.” She nodded toward Antonia’s door. “Are you going to be a while?” There was just a hint of longing behind her question, so slight he could have missed it altogether.
He pushed the door open behind him. “Let me just tell Nonna good night.” He went back in and found her sleeping. He hoped she’d rest well, and maybe tomorrow they could read. Or not. The story she’d told was compelling, and he wanted more. He had known her as his nonna, but now, through her labored words, he was getting to know the young woman she’d once been, and he considered that a privilege. He bent and brushed his lips over her forehead. “T’amo, Nonna.”
“She knows.” Sofie had slipped in behind him, and together they got Nonna to bed.
L
ance went across the hall, anticipation rising. Rese had come to him, interrupting as she never did. She had all but asked for him. This was good. This was real good. Their responsibilities had kept them apart all day, and it was time to change that. His step found an old, familiar bounce as he crossed the hall, anticipating time spent with a glass of wine, a beautiful woman… .
He opened the door. Rese and Rico were at the table with a deck of cards. So much for romance. He sat down and eyed Rico, holding his cards with the arm strapped to his chest, his unbuttoned shirt thrown over his shoulders.
“Playing it close to the vest?”
Rico glared.
Had he chosen this moment to regain sociability? Or had Rese realized the fire she’d stoked and remembered not to play with matches? Or had he imagined it all? “What’s the game?”
“Five card draw. She has the wickedest deadpan I’ve ever seen.”
Lance laughed out loud. “To say the least.”
She laid a couple cards down. “Dealer takes two.”
“From the top,” Rico said.
She raised her eyes. “You think I cheat?”
“Just making sure.”
“I’ve never cheated a hand in my life.”
Lance leaned his chair back. “How many hands have you played?”
“A few. Brad and some of the guys came over sometimes. Dad’s game was five card stud, but I prefer draw.”
He shook his head. “Basketball and poker. What else don’t I know?”
“You were going to call Michelle.” Rese fit her new cards into her hand.
“It’s three hours earlier Pacific time. Deal me in.”
“Call Michelle. Then I’ll deal you in.”
The bossiness that had raised his hackles at first amused him now. He got up and took his phone from the charger. He’d programmed Michelle in when he left Baxter in her care. Funny, he thought, he’d entrusted his dog to her without even knowing her last name. Some people were like that; you just sensed it. And while Baxter was not very discerning, he hadn’t complained much.
Lance leaned against the small sink in the kitchenette and waited through the rings to leave a message. “Hi, it’s Lance. Things are still up in the air, but if Baxter’s a problem—”
“Hi there.” Michelle surprised him. “No, he’s not a problem. In fact, he’s been coming around with me to visit my homebound friends. He’s a big hit.”
“His spirits are good? No moping and sighing?”
Michelle laughed. “Hate to tell you, but he’s pretty content.”
Traitor
. “Well, I appreciate it. I just don’t know yet how much longer we’ll be.”
“Take care of business. Your dog’s doing fine.”
He hung up and sat down. At Rese’s raised eyebrows he said, “He’s changed his name to Benedict.”
She rolled her eyes. “Funny how animals take after their masters.”
“Ouch.”
“Friendly, adaptable …” Rese set two stacks of chips before him. “Ante up.”
He tossed a chip, then sat back as she shuffled and dealt him in from Rico’s handicapped position. He picked up his cards. “You sure you’re okay about the inn? You could go back.”
“It doesn’t make sense for me to go back alone. I can’t take guests without you.”
“You did before.”
“I had Chaz and Rico and Star.”
Rico stiffened. “Can we play?”
Lance opened with one chip.
Rese tossed in two. “See your bet and raise it one.”
Lance and Rico shared a glance. Rico saw her bet, and Lance flipped another chip in and said, “Pot’s good; I’ll draw three.”
Rico slid three cards off the deck with his index finger. “Rese?”
“I’ll hold.”
Rico raised his brows. “None?”
“Yep.”
Lance sat back in his chair. She’d raised and drawn none. Hmm. He studied his pair of jacks, tossed in two chips. Rese saw it and raised him two. Rico hesitated long enough before matching that he might have something small and suspect a bluff, in which case the jacks were better than they looked.