Unforgotten (35 page)
“She’s fired up Pop to tackle every project he’s let slip. I’m not sure if it’s a competition or a buddy club. But they’re building Dom a curio shelf while they wait on the plaster in the kitchen.” He shook his head with a laugh. “Pop had to admit the job she did with the wood patch was better than any he’d seen.”
Rico grinned. “So now she’s not a girl.”
Lance laughed. “Not sure he’ll go that far. But he told me last night I should get my head on straight and marry her.”
“Does he know it’s against your religion?”
Lance rocked back in his chair. “I’m thinking of changing that.”
Rico shook his head. “Right.”
No surprise Rico didn’t believe him. He’d seen the crash and burn of every other relationship, knew the moment Lance would turn and run. “It’s different this time.”
“It’s no different, man.” Rico’s face took on a strange expression. “Love is for mortals.”
Lance huffed. “And?”
“You’re something … else.”
“I think maybe you did hit your head.”
Rico spread his hand. “Look in the mirror.”
“Get outta here.” Lance brought the legs of his chair down. “I’m going to sit with Nonna. Want to say hi?”
“I spent time with her yesterday. She slept, though. Don’t think she knew I was there.”
“She knew.” If anyone could see in her sleep, it was Antonia Seraphina Michelli. And she wouldn’t miss Rico in any event.
Though she knew he was the devil on her grandson’s shoulder, she’d had a soft spot for the scrawny boy from the first day Lance brought him home. He was like an alley kitten, skittish and starved for affection. They’d found solace and shelter in her kitchen, brought her laughs and trinkets. She’d made Rico return his mother’s jewelry, but kept all their bird’s nests and marbles and drawings, displaying Rico’s side by side with his.
Lance hadn’t realized until he was older that their situation was unusual. He’d adopted Rico and assumed the rest would too. And they had, becoming Rico’s family in every way that mattered. Momma stuffed him, and Pop got as much work from him as from his sons in return for cheap rent. Chaz helped, too, once he entered the picture, and now Rese was balancing the score.
Not really though. If Pop had ever collected what he could, he’d have retired long ago. But at sixty-three he was still setting the example. Work hard and give generously. Don’t talk about it.
————
I am large with child when Marco tells me my sentence is over. His pop has laid brick for an apartment building in the Bronx. Its financier is on the point of ruin, and Gustavo Michelli is no fool. He has taken the building off the man’s hands in payment for his work. All I hear is that we’re leaving the tenement that has been my personal hell these last eight months.
With a squeal, I encase Marco’s neck. I don’t even care if his mother scowls. Her scowl is a permanent fixture. Her Marco, her prize, married without her knowledge to a Northern snob. The ball of my belly presses between us and the baby kicks. Marco laughs, then eases me back in deference to his momma.
“We’re moving up, Momma.”
Suddenly I can’t breathe. She’s coming too? But of course she is. The building is her husband’s. I’ve seen Pop Michelli enough to know they’re married, but I can’t blame him for getting as far away as he does. Who would want to contend with the sour spirit I must face every day?
Like his pop, Marco is still gone too much, and my hearts aches without him, but when he comes back, I give him the best of me. What man wants to return to a shrew? He is mysterious about his job, but I don’t press it. I’m just glad he’s working.
It would crush me to see him in a breadline, to worry about him in a communist labor strike. I feel for those people, but I have no wish to join them. “When do we go?”
“The building isn’t complete. A couple months yet.”
I can’t hide my dismay. I don’t want this baby born here. “Oh.” My voice gives me away.
Momma Benigna pounces. “Now she’s complaining. Gustavo works himself toward an early grave to give us this, and she’s complaining.”
If anything puts him in an early grave it won’t be me. How badly I want to say it aloud! But I’ve promised myself I won’t put Marco in between as she is always doing. How she makes me regret that I ever wished for a momma. But I will not ruin the moment. Marco must know the gift he’s given me with his news—hope.
Antonia realized she’d done it again, drifted off while Lance waited patiently beside her.
“Io lo fatto.”
Her apology came effortlessly for once.
“Don’t worry about it.”
His eyes were gentle. She had seen them flash and seen them cry, seen them hungry and rebellious. She’d seen him full of righteous anger, but most often she’d seen him with the look he wore now. He had the letter ready, but waited for her, wondering if she could bear it. She had put him off long enough.
“R … ead.”
He lifted the pages. “Sure?”
No, but clinging to the hope in her memory, she nodded.
Lance read.
“With Vittorio inside, my job was more field marshal than foot soldier. I’d worked it both ways and generally preferred the latter, but Vittorio was discreet, partly why Jackson had brought him in, no doubt. That worked both ways now.
“Though he knew from me the bank was dirty, and Jackson dirtier, Vittorio maintained his deference to the boss. He pulled it off better than I’d expected, and I thought if we got out of it intact, I’d recommend him to the Bureau. More than one agent had come out of similarly shady situations. They provided useful insights. And frankly, I liked the man, though I admit I was more favorably disposed to you and Quillan. It became a priority to insure all your welfare. In that I failed, though I didn’t understand why.
“I’d kept the operation straightforward, learning early on that simplicity worked best—one reason I preferred a cover to clandestine meetings. Vittorio agreed. His part was to record what he witnessed without judging its usefulness. Dates, times, transactions, meetings. He would be my eyes, and I’d decipher what all he gave me. A simple plan that would have worked—if I’d received the information.”
Lance looked up. “That must be the envelopes I found in the cellar.”
Antonia pulled herself into the present. “En … ve … lopes?”
He winced. “Never mind.”
“L … ance.”
He shook his head. “If you don’t remember, forget it.”
She glared. “Tell m … e.”
He sighed. “From the cellar with the money. I showed you. Then you got theatrical and made a scene.”
Insolent! She swatted his hand. “Sh … ow me.”
“Nonna.”
She gave him the look that brooked no argument. It may have been a shock before, but now it was Marco, a part of him he’d never shared. And Papa too. All these years she’d judged him, hidden him away in her heart, ashamed of the love she still felt. All these years …
“Okay.” Lance got up. “But if you scare me again, that’s it. I’m burning it all.”
————
Lance went into his apartment. Rico must have gone out, because it was empty and completely silent except for the ceiling fan rocking in its bracket as the blades moved the air around. He got the box he’d tucked away after Nonna’s ministroke. He had sprung it on her the first time—stupidly—but now she was asking. Maybe she recognized the purpose that seemed to be driving it all, purpose even Rese had seen.
He got the box and held it for a moment before going back to Nonna. Rico’s contention that he was anything other than painfully human was crazy, but as he stood with the box he almost felt outside himself, as though he wasn’t quite solid. Something tugged inside … something undeniable. He wanted to resist but couldn’t.Was that how Tony had felt, charging into the tower when every human sense must have screamed to turn back?
Closing his eyes he whispered, “Here I am. Such as I am.”
The fan
click-click
ed as he stood unmoving. Whatever it was lasted only a moment; then he opened his eyes and wondered if he was imagining all of it.
He brought the box back to Nonna. It felt strangely heavy as he set it in her lap, or maybe that was his own fear weighing. He didn’t want another setback.
The envelopes were at the bottom, so after helping her open the lid, he lifted out the items he’d shown her before, watching intently for any sign of strain as he handed each over. This time she seemed to take them like old friends, unafraid of what they might tell her. He should have waited on God’s timing. When would he learn not to force his own will?
She seemed reluctant to let go of her diary, but set it aside at last and looked at the envelopes. She studied the names penned there. “Th … is is Papa’s penm … anship.” Her face tightened when she reached Arthur Jackson’s file.
Lance knelt down beside her. “Are you upset, Nonna?”
She looked into his face. “You’ll kn … ow when I’m u … pset.”
He squeezed her hand. “Your pop might have been involved with something he shouldn’t, but as soon as he knew, he did the right thing. He worked with Nonno.”
She nodded. “Arthur J … ackson m … urdered Papa.”
Lance shrugged. “Maybe. But it wasn’t his idea.”
Her brow pinched. Confusion filled her eyes.
He took out the letter he’d gotten from Sybil, the one she’d copied from her father’s safe, a bit of family lore. The time her great-granddad hired a hit man—only the assassin had approached Arthur Jackson, informed him, offered his services.
Nonna read the letter, her face moving side to side as she read, a mute denial. She dragged her gaze from the page. “Wh … o?”
Lance shrugged. “The guy knew Nonno was a federal agent. He might have figured out your pop was the inside man, but it looks like it started with Nonno.”
Definite strain in her forehead. The letter shook. He clasped her withered hand. “Stay with me, Nonna.”
But her tears came. He slipped the letter free and put it with the envelopes into the box. He took it out of her lap, leaving her personal things beside her, though she seemed to have forgotten them altogether. Her trembling lips worked, and she whispered, “Marco,” with such confusion and despair it gripped his heart.
Why were they doing this? What was the point? Did God delight in bringing His creatures low? Angry, Lance jerked his chin up.
No more strokes, no more shocks, no more pain, Lord. Your burden is not light
. Couldn’t He see it was crushing her?
I’m taking this yoke. Lay it on me and give Nonna peace
.
Again, he felt hollowed out, but this time he wrestled in his mind like Jacob with the angel.
It’s between you and me, Lord
. And he was not letting go.
O
ver the next three days, Rese watched the way Lance’s family cared for Antonia, allowing her the dignity of things she could do for herself while providing what she needed. Couldn’t she do that much for Mom? She might not know what the doctors and nurses knew, but if the new drugs provided some peace and clarity to Mom’s troubled mind, she could give her a home again, a family, even if it was only the daughter she hadn’t wanted to keep.
Though Antonia had slept almost constantly the past few days, between naps there was always someone checking in and children presenting drawings and stuffed animals and wounded fingers to be kissed. Rese knew all this because Lance now kept their door and Antonia’s open. He wanted to be instantly available to read or sit or listen, though she seemed to have put him off again. Maybe they were done and Lance just hadn’t realized. Or she was gearing herself up, as he said, getting back her emotional stamina.
Rese sighed. His patience was admirable, but they were through the second week, and though she had cleared the next, she would need to give the three reservations in the last week of June enough notice to find alternate lodging if necessary. The inn might have been full if she hadn’t suspended reservations, but she couldn’t worry about that. Lance had to tie up his loose ends so he could focus on their business. She had to see that he didn’t lose sight of that.
A passel of children scuffled through Antonia’s door across the hall, hushing each other and giggling. Rese could now identify which ones went to which parents, and even knew their names. But when Nicky separated from the group, ran in and climbed into her lap, it sent a glow through her she couldn’t hide.
Lance shook his head. “I’ve been replaced.”
Rese smiled. “There are some things quarters can’t buy.” But she was as surprised as Lance.
Nicky snuggled in, sending waves of warmth right through her.
“Nice, ay, Nick?” He ruffled the toddler’s hair. “I like that spot too.”
New waves of warmth. “Don’t you have something to do?”
He leaned back and cloaked her with his gaze, a slow smile.
Vinnie came and rapped a knuckle on the doorjamb, the scent of cigar smoke curling in around him.
Lance only tipped his chin. “Whatchu need, Vinnie?”
“Nothin’. I came to see your girl.”
Lance raised his brows.
His girl. Rese turned her attention to Vinnie. “Yes?”
The old man shuffled over. “That shelf you did for Dom. What’s the chance I get one too?”
She smiled. “Came out nice, didn’t it?”
Lance crossed his arms, looking from her to Vinnie.
She could imagine what he was thinking. “I’ll have to run it by Roman.”
“Don’t take no. I got more stuff than Dom, and better stuff too. His old trophies?” Vinnie blew through his lips. “I got a signed Sinatra doll.”
Rese nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“And three albums, all signed. Those shouldn’t be in a box.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “I gotta go.” He turned to Lance. “You oughtta marry that girl.”
Lance shrugged. “I’m working on it.”
“Working.” Vinnie fanned both hands down at him. “What’s to work on?”
“Only got one shot left.” Lance flicked a glance her way, causing just the reaction he intended, she was sure. “Can’t waste it.”
Vinnie flapped his hands again and walked out.
“Lance …” This was as good a chance as any to get a progress report, but Monica came to fetch Nicky, and then Jake, Tony and Gina’s oldest son, arrived with a battered guitar case. As he set up to play with Lance, she guessed it was as much to soak in time with his uncle as for instruction. Watching them, she felt the rightness of Lance’s influence.