She raised her chin. "One
more
thing."
"Yeah. One more." He smiled. "That you come home for dinner, that we can gather around the table as we did tonight and share that time every day."
She threw a glance over her shoulder. "They're all sitting there now."
He turned her face back with his fingers. "Let them sit."
"They'll wonder—"
"Let them wonder."
"Lance . . ."
"It's not much to ask." But he needed it, needed that time, that ritual.
"Okay. Fine. Yes, we'll have dinner together."
"Thank you." He kissed her forehead.
"Now, come on. We have a guest."
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"You know who." She tugged him toward the house. "Maybe now you'll stop sulking and converse with him."
"I never sulk."
She snorted.
Just to make sure, he turned her at the door, kissed her hard, and left her breathless. "Let's go converse."
Sofie breathed the love glow Rese and Lance carried into the room like a sweet aroma. Something had happened. Something had changed.
Nonna pointed at Lance. "You l . . . ook like you ate the ca . . . nary."
"Yeah?" He grinned. "Because we're getting married."
So. After all the hard-luck stories he'd fallen for, all the pretty faces who wanted Lance Michelli—the groupies, the models, the missionaries—at last he'd found the one to hold him. Sofie met his eye and shared his joy, and yet the emptiness inside her yawned.
He rested his hand on the back of Rese's neck. "I can't ask her dad's permission, so I'm asking you, Elaine, and Star, and everyone here for your blessing—even you, Brad."
Rese sent Brad a conciliatory grimace. He returned it with a sideways smile.
Nonna raised her glass. "May you be poor in m . . . isfortune, rich in blessings. May you see your ch . . . ildren's ch . . . ildren."
"Grazie, Nonna. We'll work on that."
Rese flushed. She'd learn there was no point in bashfulness. No subject was off limits to this family. Well, no subject as welcome and wholesome as love and babies.
Star stood and circled the table. " 'Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee . . . and craves no other tribute at thy hands but love, fair looks, and true obedience.' " As she tipped her puckish face at Rese, Sofie caught the edge in her expression.
Brad and Lance took each other's measure like two dogs circling, hair rising on their backs. Finally Brad nodded. "If this is what you want, Rese, Vernon would be glad."
Elaine's focus darted around the table—searching from face to face for the husband she missed. Under her breath, she murmured, "He's gone, gone," but it was lost amidst the laughter and clapping as Lance bent and kissed his bride to be.
He spread his hands. "Who's ready for cannoli?"
The baby's cries interrupted the celebration, sounding distant and foreign through the monitor Michelle had lent them. "I'll get him." Sofie went up as the others deliberated between shaved bittersweet chocolate and vanilla crème fillings.
Sofie lifted the infant to her shoulder. He'd eaten right before she sat down for her own dinner, so he couldn't be hungry. He was changed and bathed, exuding only sweet baby smells, but the cries were urgent enough to warrant more than a reassuring pat on the back. His needs were instinctive still, and she tried unsuccessfully to intuit the source of his distress.
She'd made a few passes across the room, gently bouncing the crying baby on her shoulder, when Lance came in. He set a fresh, crisp cannoli on a napkin on the dresser, then took the baby from her and tucked the tiny head beneath his chin. Almost immediately the baby quieted.
She shook her head. All his life Lance had drawn needy, downtrodden people—starting with his grade-school friend Rico. He'd been their champion. Even this infant recognized the healing touch as his eyes slowly blinked back to sleep.
Sofie picked up her sweet. "Matt thinks we need a foster parenting class." They shared a humorous glance, thinking of all the babies and children they had helped raise.
"Okay." He rubbed the baby's back, as comfortable in the role as any man she'd seen.
"What are you and Rese going to do if Maria doesn't come back?"
"We haven't discussed it, haven't discussed anything yet. I didn't mean to propose tonight."
"Then why did you?" She nibbled the edge of the golden cannoli shell, hiding the bittersweet ache his news had caused.
"Couldn't help it."
She raised a quizzical brow.
"I planned to ask her, just not like this. I would have done something romantic, something that showed her I meant it, that I wouldn't mess up." He stroked the baby's head.
"You will, though. Everyone makes mistakes."
He shook his head. "She's had to deal with too many."
"And made her own, I'm sure."
"I guess."
She smiled. It was always harder for him to see someone else's failings. "You should be down there with her."
"I don't want all this to fall on you." He laid the infant back in the bassinet. "You're not getting your work done."
"I'm not sure that matters."
He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
"These last six years, I've been trying to comprehend what happened. To find the key, the big answer. I thought if I understood, it might not hurt so much."
His face softened, his expression unbearably empathetic. Their brother Tony's death had hit him harder than anyone but Pop. Loss, so sudden, so complete had left them all reeling. But Tony hadn't chosen to leave. And that was the part of her loss that hurt most.
"Now I'm wondering if it hasn't been years wasted."
"It's not wasted. You've worked hard and you're almost there. You write and defend your paper; you get the degree."
"For what? Am I any closer to an answer than the day he left?"
"Maybe not that answer. But others?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"You've been hyper-focused. Maybe it's burnout."
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"Sof, you don't write that dissertation, Pop'll think I wore off on you."
She smiled. "Maybe you have. And it's as though the sun's coming out after a long, long rain."
M
att could not remember feeling so irritable. Maybe it had to do with Ryan, sprawled on the sofa, swigging a beer as he perused the programming on the various sports channels. Four empty beer bottles, dirty dishes, empty bags of organic blue corn chips, and salsa-crusted tumblers indicated he'd been there awhile.
Matt hung his hands on his hips. "No work today?"
"Nah. I'm a loser. Low aspirations."
"Says who?"
"My beloved."
Matt scanned the mess. "And you're proving her wrong?"
"Who, me?" His blue eyes looked pained. "I've got arrested development."
"You do not." Matt sat down. While he tended to take insults as challenges, Ryan collected them like charms, letting them define and discourage him.
"Her best estimate's about eighth grade."
Eighth grade was when Ryan's dad had taken a job overseas, flying back on odd weekends—except the company wasn't the only start-up his dad had overseen. There'd also been the other family. But Ryan had gotten a lot of mileage out of that already.
"When did you talk to her?"
"This afternoon."
Matt tried to gauge whether she'd told him about Friday night, guessed by the number of empties that she had. "Well, get things straight before Friday. Then I won't have to sit through the awards."
Ryan hung his head. "Bec's getting one. Best Service New Accounts."
"Yeah? Good for her."
"She's an achiever."
Matt nodded. "Lots of energy. And she cares."
Ryan sank back in the couch and closed his eyes. "She say what she's wearing?"
"No."
"Probably blue. That cobalt wrap dress? Hot. Really hot. You'll like her in that."
"I'm sure. Too bad she's only my friend. Remember, I introduced you guys?"
"She should have gone for the other achiever who cares."
"Yeah, I never thought of that. She's certainly tall enough." Since Ryan wanted a pity party, he rubbed the sore spot. Heels gave Becca an edge on Ryan's five eight.
Ryan scowled.
Matt spooned half the chicken stir-fry he'd picked up at the natural foods market onto one of Ryan's used plates. "Here you go."
Ryan stuck a fork into a chunk of teriyaki-soaked chicken and a crispy snow pea, eating in sullen silence.
Matt poked his chopsticks into what was left in the carton. "You gonna make Friday an issue?"
"Thinking about it."
"Then hand me the remote. I want to catch the news."
"That's depressing."
"And sports aren't?"
"With sports it's mixed." Ryan tossed the remote. "You wearing that suit?"
Since he'd been scheduled for court, he'd worn a coat and tie to work. He'd probably wear something similar Friday. "Why do my clothes suddenly matter?"
"Suits hang better on tall guys."
He hated when Ryan wanted to wallow and wouldn't allow a solution. "You're saying I'm better in a suit than you?"
Ryan forked a wad of noodles. "Becca thinks so."
"Guess I will, then, especially if she wears the hot cobalt wrap. Maybe I'll get a tie to match, just like prom."
Ryan rammed the noodles into his mouth. "You can be a real jerk."
He sighed. "I'm doing Becca a favor, Ryan. I hate awards."
"But you'll have a good time. You'll be there for her big moment."
Matt nodded. "Yeah, I will. And I'll be happy for her."
Ryan shoved his plate aside. "Couldn't you say no?"
"Why would I?"
"Because I can't stand it."
"Then fix it."
"Yeah. Right." He pushed up to his feet. "Thanks for nothing."
"Hold on. You're not leaving."
"Wrong-o." Ryan wove toward the door.
He had hoped the barbs would shake Ryan out of his self-pity enough to consider what he might do to make things better, but he'd pushed too hard. "Come on, Ryan. Hang awhile."
" 'Cuz this is so much fun? Thanks for the chow. You're a true friend."
"Let's talk it out."
"Nothin' to say."
"You're not okay to drive."
Ryan spun. "Who are you to say if I'm okay? Just leave me alone."
"Let's find a game," Matt said as he placed himself between Ryan and the door. "Gotta be something you want to watch."
Ryan swayed. "Don't feel like sitting with you right now."
He knew what Ryan wanted, but he would not renege on Becca. They were both his friends, and he had to find a way to stay neutral. Right. Like neutral had ever been his position. Matt reached over and took the keys before Ryan even thought to tighten his grip. "See what you can find to watch while I change clothes."
Not the way he'd planned to spend the evening, but he'd hold Ryan's hand if that's what it took. He went into the bedroom and removed his coat and tie. He'd unbuttoned his shirt halfway when he heard an engine, rushed to the window, and saw Ryan pulling away. Must've had a magnetic key box. He shook his head. "Stupid."
He couldn't exactly chase him down, so he turned on the news and ate, then washed the dishes and cleaned up. It wasn't far to the house Ryan's mother had left him. He'd only had beer, and a little food with it. He'd probably be okay. Matt collapsed on the couch and dozed. Later in the night, he moved into the bedroom, convinced he'd done what he could.
His rationalizing fell flat when the call came the next morning to bail Ryan out. Matt returned to the office after depositing Ryan, recipient of his first DUI, back at the house. He had just taken his seat when Diana, the state's attorney, called.
"Looks like we might have found the missing mother."
He shifted the phone to his other ear. "Maria?"
"She answered to that name and matches the missing person's description. She was in the back of a pickup with a load of stolen electronics. The officer who pulled them over noticed that she seemed lethargic. When he told her to climb down, she hemorrhaged. The others are in custody, but she was taken to the hospital."
"She's given birth?"
"Very recently," Diana told him. "And no infant. She claims he's
muerto
."
Hmm
. "If this is the same Maria, I'm supervising her baby's case, and he's very much alive."
"I'm reluctant to bring a case against her. The DVD players were reported stolen from the Best Buy bay before she took off from the place you told me she was staying, and it's a good bet she wasn't in the back of that truck because she wanted to be. She's young enough to qualify for CPS herself."
"Let me grab Cassinia and see what we can do."
After wrapping it up with Diana, he tapped on Cassinia's cubicle and explained the situation. On the drive to the hospital, he gave her what information he'd already gathered from the midwife and the others—omitting mention of a cleft palate that miraculously went away. Cassinia had less use than he for miracles and more animosity toward those who believed.
She also had a fierce dislike for abusers and obviously suspected it in Maria's situation, though no one had proof the girl wasn't acting on her own impulses. He'd made an effort to wait on the facts before forming any conclusions. Cassinia's tight mouth betrayed emotions barely held in check when Detective Brazelton met them in the lobby.
His hooked nose and jowls hung even longer as he told them Maria had been taken into surgery. "Apparently she's still carrying a nonviable fetus."
Matt frowned. "Then she's not our baby's mother?"
"We think she is. It appears she was carrying two—birthed one and failed to expel the other."
Matt's jaw fell slack. "No one noticed?"
"No ultrasound. No prenatal care. According to the staff, the second fetus stopped growing near the fourth month and has been dead for some time. The living infant masked the situation, but she's been septic for a while. If Officer Sheldon hadn't pulled them over, she would have died."