Unforgotten (50 page)
Rese winced. He could be describing her.
He shrugged. “Not a good match, I guess. We drove each other nuts.”
“And you haven’t found a better one?”
He put the cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter. “Haven’t looked.”
“Why not?”
“Because … it wouldn’t compare.”
She stared at him. “You’re still in love with her.”
He pulled a drag, long and slow. “Sometimes it’s like that.”
“Is she married?”
“She was for a while. Number two was even shorter. Got me out of alimony, though.” He stared at the cigarette in his hand. “Not that it stops her asking whenever she runs short.”
Rese studied his face. “Do you give it to her?”
He slid his gaze her way. “I’ve got enough. Just didn’t like a court telling me I had to.”
Rese planted her hands on her hips. “How did I not know this?”
“You weren’t exactly approachable.” He exhaled smoke through his nose. “Vernon thought you might grow out of it, but …”
“Grow out of what?”
“Your need to control, take on the world, whatever.”
Her jaw dropped. “He said that?”
Brad raised a hand. “Don’t get worked up.”
Worked up. Dad had thought her a control freak, and Brad said don’t get worked up? “What else did he think of me?”
“Best natural craftsman—craftsperson—he’d ever seen.”
That part she’d known, though not in those terms.
“He was awfully proud of you, Rese. We all were.”
Her throat grew tight. “Right.”
“Oh, there were a few who couldn’t stand you.” He took a drag. “But you were like our mascot. On the one hand you’re embarrassed to admit it’s cute, and on the other you’d do anything to protect it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Protect? What about all those pranks?”
“All you had to do was show that it bothered you. But you were one tough cookie. Best challenge the guys had going.” He laughed.
She clenched her jaw. “You’d think grown men might be over picking on little girls.”
“When you had it out for them? Making them look bad to Vernon Barrett, the most exacting taskmaster on the planet?”
“I didn’t …” But she supposed she had exposed every flaw she found. Could she help it if she had a good eye?
He sobered. “I’d have fired Sam and Charlie, though.”
Fire rushed to her face. He’d known?
“Problem was you kept it from your dad. Wasn’t my business to tell if you’d handled it otherwise. But I did make sure Vernon took them on his crew when you got the other.”
She gaped. He had looked out for her when she scored the position he wanted?
“Vernon could be pretty blind.”
Tears stung. No way would she let them fall.
“No clue I’d taken a shine to you right about the time you turned eighteen.” He flicked the ash from the end.
She chewed her lip. “Why?”
“Got a weakness for difficult women, I guess.”
She glared.
“My wife had just remarried and …” He stubbed his cigarette butt on the tile, then sent it tumbling down into the gutter. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Rese shook her head. “It’s like we all lived in different worlds. No one communicating anything that mattered.”
He nodded. “So are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
She almost choked. She’d set herself up completely. “It’s not— Lance came back.”
“The guy with the shovel?”
Lance had been working in the yard, maybe with a shovel, the time Brad came. She nodded. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” She squirmed under his scrutiny.
“Well, that’s what you need to figure out.”
She huffed. “That from the man who loves his ex-wife and won’t do anything about it?”
“Too much water under my bridge.”
“Chicken.”
His mouth pulled sideways. “I don’t need advice from a squirt.”
She crossed her arms. “Even when I’m right?”
“Are you ever wrong?”
She swallowed. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“Wish I’d had that on record a few times.”
She jutted her chin. “You were obstinately inflexible.”
“I suppose you’re silly putty?”
She held up her hands. “Okay. Truce. I’m going down. You’ve wasted enough time already.”
He chuckled. “Right.”
As she reached the ladder she thought of her question and hollered it up to him. He called the answer back, and she swung onto the ladder, recalling the ragged aluminum that had gouged her side when she’d tried to show Lance her mettle. She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t half as tough as she’d pretended.
The crew left at five-thirty. Brad approached her an hour or so later. “Let’s call it a day.”
But she’d found peace with the wood, if no answers, and couldn’t stop yet.
“I don’t like you on the site alone.” He didn’t say it, but she knew he was thinking accidents happened.
If she let her mind go with that, she’d have a panic attack, but she would not let her mind go. “I’ll be careful.” She slipped her safety goggles back into place. “You don’t have to protect me.” Their mascot. It rankled, and yet …
He shrugged, knowing argument was futile. “See you in the morning.”
She nodded, already lining up the next board.
A long time later, she drove the hour and a half home. The house was silent, and she crept in, careful not to walk into anything in the dark. She would just check on them, then go to sleep. She made her way through the kitchen, surprised that the door to her suite was open. But then she found both rooms empty. The shock of it was as painful as his arrival. She pressed a fist to her throat. He was the cruelest, most thoughtless man she’d ever known.
Just because she’d said things weren’t the same didn’t mean— Why had she stayed so late on the site? To prove she didn’t care? She released her fists. Okay, so he was gone. He had probably called a cab to take his grandmother to the airport, then driven his Harley with no helmet all the way across the country with his dog. His dog!
The house seemed painfully empty. No Baxter tapping across the kitchen floor; no Baxter bumping her legs; no Baxter curling up on her bed. She dropped to it, despondent. No Baxter; no Lance. She had driven him off, laying it out that way; her partnership with Brad, the end of the inn.
“There’s nothing for me to do.”
His face had shown it all.
When doing was how Lance mattered. She’d shown him that he didn’t. Had he waited, hoping she’d get home so he could say goodbye? She hadn’t even given him that.
She dropped her face to her hands. Hadn’t he thought Antonia might want more time? She closed her eyes. Maybe he just couldn’t take any more. Neither could she. Brad had said to figure out what she wanted. Now it didn’t matter.
She curled into the bed without even changing and realized the sheets had been laundered. There was no scent of Lance, only Summer Breeze. He or Star had washed away all trace of him. And now she cried, soaking the pillow with tears and silent sobs.
L
ance left Nonna sleeping in the carriage house and went with Baxter into the stone kitchen in the old villa where he’d once planned to be a part of something special. Those plans had changed without him, but he was still compelled to do something. Though it might disrupt their routine, he hoped they wouldn’t mind too much if he cooked. Eating had become difficult, but preparing food for others always seemed right and good.
The pantry was still stocked with most of the imperishables he’d ordered. He took out flour and baking powder and checked the refrigerator for eggs—enough for the popover batter. He’d caramelize peaches for a filling. Whipping cream would have been nice.
He could go get some, but the Harley was loud. He had driven it yesterday, surprised it started, until Star told him she’d fired it up a few times to keep it lubed. Rese either hadn’t thought of it or had hoped the thing would die a slow and painful death. Once he’d heard its purr, he’d strapped the guitar to his back, whistled Baxter aboard, and taken off. But no matter how many miles they’d covered, how many hours they’d sat on the cold knoll while he composed a new ballad for this stage in his life, his heart had called him back.
He passed a hand over his eyes, knowing he could lose. Nonna had told Rese everything, and it didn’t make any difference. She’d had enough of his kind of trouble. But he was just reckless enough to keep trying.
When he heard the shower in her suite, he cooked and filled her pastry and set it out on the table. Then with Baxter glued to his side, he walked through the brisk, misty morning to see if Nonna was awake. She came out of the bedroom as he entered, one button skipped on her cardigan, but otherwise dressed and groomed.
The long silver braid hung down her back. Momma would have coiled it up, but he didn’t think it mattered. “Good morning, Nonna.” He kissed her cheeks.
She looked him straight in the eye. “Take m … e down.”
“Down?”
She walked over to the trapdoor leading into the tunnel and cellar below. Was she serious? They had stopped at Nonno’s grave on the way in, the meter running in the taxi while he showed her where he’d laid Quillan Shepard to rest, where others had buried her father. She had thanked him with glistening eyes but had not broken down, and he’d sensed her relief and the peace of completion.
Underneath them now was where Nonno Quillan had fallen, where she’d last seen him alive the night she’d been forced from her home. Why would she want to relive that? But her expression brooked no argument. He said, “We’d need a light.”
“In th … ere.” She motioned toward the bedroom.
He sighed and got the flashlight he’d swiped from Rese’s workshop all those months ago and kept in the carriage house to light the tunnel without her knowing. Nonna didn’t miss a trick. He brought it out and handed it to her. “You sure?”
She nodded.
Crouching down, he squeezed the release, then lifted the foursquare block of paving stones and looked in. That black hole had caused them both a lot of trouble, but if Nonna wanted to go down, he’d take her down. She would never manage the stairs, almost as steep as a ladder, and he was not exactly at the top of his strength, but he’d try. Good thing she was little.
With extreme care, he carried her to the bottom and set her on her feet.
She turned and looked up. “I w … as carried on those stairs the l … ast time.”
“Nonno Marco?”
She nodded. “When I w … ouldn’t leave, he h … oisted me up and hauled me off.”
“Best way to deal with obstinate women.”
She chuckled.
Baxter whined from the opening. While his great-greatgrandfather had lain in the tunnel he hadn’t allowed the dog down, not wanting the bones disturbed. Now he gave a soft whistle and Baxter clambered down. Lance went back up for Nonna’s walker, then made sure her grip was secure.
She stared into the tunnel, levity fading when he pointed the light; then slowly she started forward. They reached the gate and went through. She stopped at the spot where he’d found Quillan’s skeleton. The lamp still sat against the wall, dry and useless, having burned its fuel and died. She bowed her head, and he couldn’t see her expression, but imagined it.
“You okay?”
“So … senseless,” she murmured. “Poor N … onno.”
“He had you with him at the end.”
She sighed. “Papa had no one.”
“He had the Lord. He died to keep you safe.”
She nodded. “They kn … ew he would come.”
“He had to.” Because when it came down to it, a person had to do what was required. No matter the cost.
The wine was still there, though Rese had used the money hidden under one of the racks. He didn’t care. He’d learned surrender. And it might not be over yet.
————
Rese stopped at the table, flummoxed. The rich, peachy aroma of the filling inside the crisp, buttery shell seized her like a fist. How could it be there unless …
She jerked her gaze to the window. No sign of life in the carriage house. Had he carried Antonia upstairs? She hurried up and looked, but the only rooms in use were Star’s and Mom’s, and they were both sleeping soundly. So Star hadn’t cooked it, even if she might have used Lance’s recipe—only he hadn’t given them that one.
She went back down to the kitchen. Did she imagine it? Was this the first psychotic break? In her misery, she could have crossed some line, passed through a barrier and made her own reality where Lance still cooked wonderful things and left them like gifts for her to find. Would she actually taste it? Would that cement the illusion?
She looked at the pastry with distrust, as though its being there was a test. If she resisted, would it vanish? Could she make Lance go away before he got entrenched like Walter? What if Mom had not kept inviting her invisible friend? What if she’d listened to her controlfreak daughter and refused to play? Maybe they could all have lived happily together.
Rese backed away from the table, one step, two. “I will not eat it. I will not believe it’s there.” Another step, and the pantry door opened behind her. She turned with a shriek, but it was Antonia looking a little weepy, with Lance closing the back wall panel she had once banged in terror from the pitch darkness on the other side.
She’d all but blocked the tunnel from her mind, and as the memory of that awful passage rushed in, she scowled. Antonia emerged from the pantry, leaning heavily on the metal walker. Good support, but not to walk through a black cellar where anything might lurk. Rese shuddered.
Though her face demanded an explanation, Lance looked past her. “You didn’t eat your breakfast.”
“No, I …” She glanced back at the pastry cooling innocently on the table, then glared. “Where were you?”
He stated the obvious. “We came through the tunnel from the carriage house.”
“You slept over there?”
“Didn’t Star tell you?”
“I haven’t seen her.” She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous taking Antonia through the tunnel?”
“It’s m … y fault. I asked.” Antonia settled into the chair and started in on the peach-stuffed pastry.
Lance closed the pantry door.
