“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.
Fourteen
Alex 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.