Alternate Lives: A Valerie Urniak Mystery, #8

By Rebecca A. Engel

When Valerie Urniak Cardonza suffers a head injury that leaves her first in a coma, then with amnesia, she's not certain which will come back first -- her memory or the person who wants her dead.

Valerie has no memory of her real life. All she knows of her life comes from the dreams she had while in a coma. None of those dreams were what her life was actually like. What she's learning of her past while she waits for her memory to return is anything but favorable. What kind of a woman was she, with a teenage pregnancy and multiple marriages?

Valerie has to reconcile her coma-dream life with her real life while trying to determine who hated her enough to try to kill her.

Alternate Lives  is Book 8 in the Valerie Urniak Mystery series. It is set in Chicago in 2004.

Other books in the Valerie Urniak Mystery series are:

Permanent Damage, Book 1

Contrive to Kill, Book 2

Variants of Deja Vu, Book 3

A Ring of Truth, Book 4

Too Soon, Book 4

Dangerous Undercurrents, Book 6

Zugzwang, Book 7

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca A. Engel
• Release date: Mar 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386255093

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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The knock on my door was unexpected. No one had rung from the lobby announcing a visit, and in the almost thirty years I’d lived in this building, no one had come knocking in search of the apocryphal cup of sugar to borrow. I approached my door feeling a bit of trepidation and, like any prudent person, I checked the peephole to see who was there.

The man I saw standing in front of my door, looking straight ahead as if waiting for his photo to be snapped for a passport, had a familiar face, no doubt the reason why some resident of the building had allowed him entry. But that face was thirty years younger than the face it resembled. Standing outside my door was Vincenzo Cardonza, my husband’s oldest son.

I could not imagine why he had shown up here in the middle of the day. There was one way to find out. I undid the locks and swung the door open.

Vincenzo acted a little startled to see me, though I wasn’t sure why that would be. Surely he had known his father would be at work at this hour, as he himself should have been.

I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a warm smile. Vincenzo, what a surprise. I doubted that he was aware I had omitted the typical ‘nice’ from that statement.

Uh, hello... He hesitated a bit too long before adding, Valerie.

It sounded to me like he’d had trouble getting my name out. I wondered if this could be the first time he had actual spoken it. That wouldn’t surprise me; I knew I was usually she or her, in a snide tone, when he referred to me.

Can I come in?

If he had been Bobby, the youngest of Vince’s sons, whom I had adopted upon our marriage four years ago, I would have corrected his grammar. For Vincenzo, all I did was move aside and say, Certainly. As he stepped over the threshold, I added, Your father isn’t here.

I know, he said, heading into the living room without giving so much as a glance at the wall that consisted mostly of glass and looked out on our terrace and, beyond that, Lake Michigan. He had been here once before, but that had been a couple years ago. It was surprising to me that he ignored the view; it was one that usually captivated everyone’s attention no matter how many times they had seen it. It’s you I want to talk to.

Could I have possibly heard him correctly? Vincenzo Giovanni Cardonza wanted to talk to me? This was certainly a first – unless, of course, he wanted to spew vituperative language at me again, as he had in the past. He had led the coalition consisting of my husband’s three oldest sons in their opposition to our marriage. When that had proved a failure, he had done whatever he could to make his father’s life miserable, most particularly preventing, as much as possible, Vince from seeing his grandchildren. Usually Vince saw or heard from his three oldest boys only when they wanted something from him. Was that what had prompted Vincenzo’s visit to me today? Did he think he could get something from his father by going through me?

I pulled my mind away from its suspicious thoughts and remembered my manners. Vincenzo, may I get you something to drink – tea, juice, or water?

I’ll have a cola, he said.

We don’t have any.

Then I’ll have a lemon-lime soda. His manner was that of someone dealing with an incompetent waitress in a poorly stocked restaurant.

We don’t have any kind of carbonated beverage, I told him without apology. I could make tea, or I have apple and grape juice, and, of course, we have water.

His face took on an expression of distaste at my offerings, his mouth pursing in a way that reminded me of the first time I had seen him, when he was one day old. Did this boy – man, I reminded myself; he was thirty years old, after all – know that his middle name Giovanni was in honor of his father’s best friend and my late husband, John Wilson? Or did he think it was simply another of the Italian names his mother had given to her three oldest sons with the hope of appeasing Vince’s Old World grandmother who had disapproved of her?

I took a chair across from Vincenzo. I could smell his aftershave from where I sat, and didn’t know whether he had applied too much or if it was normally this overwhelming. I tried to breathe shallowly as I said, If you don’t want anything to drink, why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?

His eyes looked at anything but me. The amount of discomfort he was displaying made me wonder if he wanted to borrow money. I kept quiet, waiting for him to speak, as if he was one of my newer and somewhat reluctant patients.

It’s Gina, he said at last. She kicked me out.

As a psychologist, I was practiced in keeping my expression neutral; I knew the shock that went through me at hearing his announcement did not show on my face. I see, I murmured.

Do you? His voice bore that nasty edge he usually used in my presence. Do you really? I don’t think so. His hands balled into fists. After Gina kicked me out, her old man let me go.

Vincenzo’s father-in-law was a manufacturer of draperies. Vincenzo had gone to work for him immediately after their marriage, though in what capacity I wasn’t sure. Possibly, given what I knew about my husband’s eldest, it didn’t involve any work whatsoever. Vincenzo had an innate sense of entitlement, which was undoubtedly the reason why a couple years ago Vincenzo had approached his father, a private investigator with an international reputation, and suggested it was time for him to retire and let his eldest son, who had no investigative experience whatsoever, take over his agency. Vince made a counteroffer that Vincenzo join the police force and work his way up to detective. If, after a few years as a detective, Vincenzo didn’t want to join the FBI instead, Vince would consider taking him on as an apprentice operative. That proposition had not been acceptable to his son.

That’s unfortunate, I murmured now in response to his job loss.

It’s more than that. It’s— He sputtered for a moment as if unable to come up with the right word. I thought ‘vindictive’ was what he was looking for, but he settled on finishing his grievance with, mean.

I kept quiet, waiting for Vincenzo to elucidate the cause of this upheaval in his life. It didn’t take long.

She didn’t mean nothing to me, he said fiercely. I don’t know why Gina’s got her nose so out of joint. And of course her old man will do anything to keep his little princess happy, like firing me. He doesn’t care if it means his grandkids will starve.

I hardly think he would allow that to happen. Vincenzo wasn’t my patient; I could make a personal comment if I wanted to. I didn’t add, though I knew it to be true, that Vince wouldn’t allow that to happen either.

I guess not, Vincenzo conceded after a long moment. But he shouldn’t have done that. How am I supposed to live if I don’t have a paycheck? he asked in a whiny tone.

This was going to be about money after all. Or a job. I’d have more respect for Vincenzo if he was here to solicit a job from his father rather than a loan.

With my mind veering in that direction, his next question surprised me. Will you talk to my wife for me?

CHAPTER TWO

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Given Vincenzo’s feelings about me and what little contact we’d had over the years of my marriage to his father, that question could have appeared to come out of left field. It didn’t because I had developed a relationship with Vincenzo’s wife, starting four years ago when I had thrown a shower for one of Vince’s sisters.

My husband was the youngest of six children, and the sole boy among them. The four oldest girls had married when they were young women, but the youngest of his sisters, Rosemarie, had remained single and cared for her aging parents until their deaths. She’d then helped each of her sisters in turn in taking care of their families. She’d done the same for Vince after he’d married. When the youngest child in his family was born, some years after the three older boys, she returned to Vince’s family to help with the new addition. Vince’s late wife Claudia was by then quite involved with her own career as a nutritionist and owner of several fitness centers. She focused her attention on them rather than her youngest child.

Rosemarie had always given the impression she was content with her life serving as caretaker for her siblings’ families. Her announcement on the day Vince and I told his sons we were getting married that she too was getting married had come completely out of the blue.

Despite being in her sixties at that time, Rosemarie had proved herself to be a bridezilla of the first degree. My once sister-in-law and best friend, fashion designer Lorna Roberts, had volunteered to design and make a dress for my wedding to Vince. Given that it would be my third marriage – or fourth if you counted the one that was annulled when I was a teenager, which I did not – I declined her offer and asked that she instead make a dress for first-time bride Rosemarie. Lorna, the most creative and generous person I knew, had willingly done so. The dress she had designed and made had been stunning. Lorna’s reputation and expertise, however, hadn’t stopped Rosemarie from making her own suggestions and demands about the dress, as if she knew more about design than the internationally renowned, highly acclaimed designer. Not content with being given a gown that would have cost anyone else tens of thousands of dollars, Rosemarie didn’t ask but demanded that I give her a bridal shower – and not any type of shower but an intimate apparel shower. I had complied in order to maintain a semblance of peace in Vince’s life; Rosemarie had proven she was every bit as capable as his late wife had been in making his life miserable.

At that shower I had made a point of getting acquainted with Vincenzo’s wife Gina. She was a strikingly lovely young woman with masses of dark, curly hair. If I myself had not been a former hairdresser, I would have assumed her hair’s thickness and curl came from hair pieces and a permanent, but I could tell the hair on her head was all her own, and the curl was of the type permanents hoped to duplicate. She was quite warm and friendly to me, a surprise given her husband’s usual disposition toward me. She’d told me that in the next few weeks, she had both her aunt-in-law’s wedding to attend and that of an old high school friend.

I’d love to get a new dress for my friend’s wedding since I’ll be seeing some people there I haven’t seen since high school, but Vincie thinks I have too many clothes already. She laughed shortly. If he thinks I have a lot of clothes, he should see my sister’s closet!

Are you two the same size? Before I’d left home at seventeen, my own sister had often borrowed my clothes, usually without my permission.

She shook her head ruefully, and said in a lowered voice, She’s a lot heavier than I am. But it wouldn’t matter if we wore the same size. She likes flashy stuff. I don’t.

I recognized an opportunity when it stood before me. We’re about the same size, I said. We stood eye to eye, and while Gina had her first child not that long before the shower, she was already thin again. I have a lot of things Lorna has given me over the years, I told her. You could come over next weekend to see if there’s anything I have you would like to wear to your friend’s wedding.

Her eyes widened. Something by Lorna Roberts? she breathed. I love her designs! I thought it was exciting just to meet her here today, but to have the chance to wear something from one of her collections—

When I cut in saying, A lot of the things I have by her were specially designed and made for me, I thought Gina was going to swoon. You could bring Lorenzo with you when you come over. I’d be glad to take care of him while you try things on. She could keep whatever she wanted if that was what it took to give Vince a chance to spend time with his grandson.

That would be wonderful. Vincie has this thing where he insists I should be the one to look after Rennie, not some babysitter. And of course, not him, she’d added with a hint of bitterness.

That was how Vince and I had an unexpected opportunity to spend a Sunday afternoon with his grandson while Gina tried on my designer wardrobe to her heart’s content. She finally decided on a gown that by then was considered vintage Lorna, being one of her earliest creations. It fit Gina to perfection, and made her skin glow as if illuminated from within.

It was so hard to choose! Gina said as she packed up her son’s belongings. You have so many beautiful dresses.

If you want to borrow any of them, let me know. I’d rather have them worn than hanging in my closet. And, I added, almost as an afterthought, that goes for the casual stuff too.

Her eyes and her smile both widened, then she flung her arms around me. That is so nice of you! I can’t believe— She cut herself off abruptly. I presumed she’d been about to repeat something unkind her husband usually said about me.

After that, Gina made fairly regular stops at our house with her son, and on some occasions, she did borrow an outfit. I had always assumed she’d kept those visits, and the cordial relationship we had developed, a secret from her husband.

His next statement proved my assumption was incorrect.

Gina likes you, Vincenzo said now. She talks my ear off about you every time she sees you, how nice you are, how smart, and how can I think you— He cut himself off in the nick of time. I figure if you talk to her, she’ll listen. And with you being a psychologist and all, you can do stuff and say stuff that’ll make her come back to me.

I eyed him coolly. As a psychologist, I said, "my job is not to manipulate people but to counsel them – at their request. I’m not in the habit of offering Gina, or anyone else for that matter, unsolicited advice."

I saw anger flare in his eyes, but he quickly got it under control. Okay, okay, he said, but he sounded disgusted that I hadn’t immediately and willingly volunteered to manipulate his wife on his behalf. Is my little brother anywhere around here? he asked.

The question sounded forced to me, as if made in an attempt to try to soften me up and make me comply with his wishes. He’s at school.

Oh, that’s right, Vincenzo said. Tell me, what year is he again?

This is his first year.

Vincenzo donned a shocked look. Everybody always says that kid is so smart, and he’s a freshman? He’s how old? He frowned with the effort of calculating the age of his youngest brother. Fourteen? That’s not being smart; that’s normal.

"He’s in his first year of college." I was barely able to keep the coldness out of my voice. I wasn’t entirely surprised that Vincenzo didn’t know of his brother’s academic achievements; he’d been in scant contact with my son since I’d adopted him.

"College! No kidding? So the kid is smart after all."

Exceptionally, I said, and made no effort to keep the pride out of my voice, though Bobby’s intelligence was innate and had nothing to do with me.

Can you beat that? Guess he got all the smarts in the family, Vincenzo said in a jolly manner, slapping his thigh. He pushed himself to his feet. I should be going now.

I followed him to the door, opened it, and he stepped into the hall. But rather than going to the elevator immediately, he turned around and met my eyes. You would talk to Gina if she wanted to talk, right?

I would listen to her if that was what she wanted, I said.

If she does talk to you, tell her I want her back. The girl meant nothing to me, nothing at all. Tell her I promise it won’t happen again.

Isn’t that what you promised her last time? I asked quietly as I shut the door.

CHAPTER THREE

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Vince came into the apartment and sniffed. What’s that smell?

It’s dinner, I said. I know I’m not as good a cook as the women in your family, but I don’t think I’m so bad you can’t tell what—

Your cooking smells fine, better than fine Vince said quickly. It’s this other smell I’m asking about, a kind of cloying, heavy— He sniffed again. I can’t place it.

Aftershave, I told him. It made me nauseated at first, but I guess I got used to it, or I would have opened the terrace door to air the place out.

Vince leaned against the kitchen doorway. Is there something you want to tell me? he asked, an eyebrow quirked. Are you entertaining gentleman callers while I’m out?

This one showed up uninvited. I stirred a pot, then put the cover back on it and turned to face my husband. It was Vincenzo.

Vince looked surprised. What was he doing here?

He wanted me to plead his case with Gina.

Vince’s surprise turned to puzzlement. What do you mean?

He had an affair, Gina found out, and kicked him out. And her father fired him.

"And he came to you to ask for help? The nerve of that kid, after the way he’s treated you."

He had the idea that since I’m a psychologist, I’d be able to manipulate Gina’s mind and get her to take him back.

He shook his head ruefully. What did you say?

That if Gina wanted to talk to me, I’d listen, but that was it. It’s not like he didn’t have fair warning. I wanted to take back those words as soon as they’d passed my lips.

You mean this has happened before? You didn’t tell me that.

I shouldn’t have let it slip now, I said miserably; I should have known Vince would intuit the meaning behind my words. Gina told me in confidence. At least I hadn’t betrayed her other confidence, that her second child, Vince’s granddaughter Serafina, two years old now, had been their reconciliation baby, meant to re-establish and solidify their relationship. Clearly that hadn’t worked.

But it’s not like she’s one of your patients, Vince countered. He knew keeping a high standard of ethics was important to me. I didn’t discuss my patients with him, although he often discussed his cases with me, in part because I served as a consultant to his agency. That kid, he said, his tone disgusted. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Like mother, like son.

Vince’s first wife had cheated on him, and had gone to her grave thinking she had successfully kept Vince from discovering that her youngest child had been fathered by someone else. Vince had known, he’d told me, from the moment Claudia announced her fourth pregnancy, but he had kept that knowledge to himself. He’d done that in part hoping it would help them reconcile a marriage that had long before reached a point of failure. The larger part of the reason was that when Bobby was born, Vince had immediately loved the child.

Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, I told him, wanting to get off this subject. I didn’t want to talk about Vincenzo or Claudia’s infidelities. Why don’t you change while I get it on the table?

By the time he had changed out of his suit, I had our evening meal on the dining room table. It had taken a couple years, but Vince had finally gotten used to the fact that I thought a dining room should be used regularly, rather than its use being restricted to those times when company was over. He’d also grown accustomed to a healthier diet. His late wife Claudia had been a prime example of ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ She had been a nutritionist who promoted a healthy diet to her clients, while at home her family had lived on delivery pizza and assorted carryout foods, eaten in the kitchen, most of the time from the containers in which they came. When Rosemarie took over running their household, she had provided home cooked meals – heavy on meats and starches – but she too had always served family meals in the kitchen, reserving the dining room for holidays and guests. After Vince and I married and he and Bobby had moved into my condo, they had both been surprised to find I did things differently from what they were used to. I wouldn’t say Vince had complained about it; he’d simply been told too many times that serving food in a dining room was troublesome and not worth the effort for an everyday meal. His protests were, if anything, done in the interest of saving me work, but he had finally understood that I believed carrying food a few extra feet was worth the effort.

We talked about anything that came to mind as we ate our dinner, and afterwards, Vince told me he had brought home some paperwork that needed his attention. I had a library book that was due in a few days; I devoted myself to that while he worked.

I went to sleep that night as usual, my head on Vince’s shoulder, an arm resting across his chest. But when I woke up, the room barely starting to get light, I had moved away from him and onto my stomach. The heel of his hand was pressing gently on a spot near my right scapula that tended to knot up any time I was tense. I had thought I’d handled Vincenzo’s visit with equanimity, but my body thought otherwise.

That feels good, I murmured, but my voice was muffled by my pillow. I turned my head a little and spoke again. How did you know that was what I needed?

You moaned when you turned over. I figured that was what the problem was, Vince said without pausing in his ministrations.

How did you know I wasn’t having a salacious dream about you?

Because... Heat emanated from his body as he moved closer to me; his lips grazed the side of my neck, and made me both melt and groan with pleasure, "that’s how you would have sounded if that was the case."

I turned to face him, grinning, though I wasn’t sure if he could see me in the faint light of the room. What other sounds can you elicit from me?

He showed me.

Sated and content, we probably stayed in bed far longer than we should have, but I had no patients to see until the afternoon, and Vince had no morning appointments either. Finally he stretched, started to sit up but let himself fall back on his pillows. There are, he said, as his head sank into the soft down, some decided advantages to not having Bobby here with us.

That’s on weekdays, I reminded him quickly. He’ll be home tomorrow night.

But gone again Sunday evening, Vince said. By then I’ll be more than ready for another round.

How romantically put, I said dryly, jabbing him with my elbow, but gently, as I added, Me, too.

Vince got up to shower, and I stayed abed, thinking of our son Bobby. It had been my second husband, Jacob Harris, who had discovered Bobby’s gift for the game of chess. But shortly thereafter, Jacob had succumbed to dementia and was unable to tutor the boy as he had intended. I had found a chess coach for Bobby, but since his main caretaker, Vince’s sister Rosemarie, did not drive, his chess lessons had fallen by the wayside. I had been too involved with caring for Jacob to offer to serve as his chauffeur, though I knew in my heart that a gift like Bobby’s shouldn’t be ignored.

Then Jacob had died in his sleep unexpectedly. My grief was not as profound as it had been after my first husband John had been murdered five months after our wedding. For the last months of Jacob’s life, the Jacob I had been taking care of was not the man I had been idyllically married to for twenty-five years. In one of those strange twists life can take, my long-time friendship with Vince Cardonza developed new aspects that at one time would have been unimaginable. We fell in love, or at least I did; Vince claimed he’d been in love with me for years. My son J.J. and Vince’s youngest son Bobby had been the only two of our combined five offspring who had not been opposed to our marriage.

After we were wed, I made sure Bobby returned to his chess lessons. Partway through the school year, his classroom teacher informed us he was gifted in math and eligible for a special program at a magnet school. His academic achievements soared after that. By the next year he was going to a high school for math classes. It wasn’t only at math he excelled; he aced his way through all his courses. He skipped a couple grades, started high school at twelve, and completed all its requirements within two years. Now, at fourteen, he was a college freshman.

That hadn’t been without its problems, however. I wasn’t ready to have my younger son leave home for college, nor did I like the idea of him living in a dorm at such a tender age. But Bobby, usually a sunny, agreeable child, was obstinately opposed to having his mother drive him to college each day. He was too young to drive himself; in fact, he was too young to get a learner’s permit. Public transportation was available but it would take three or four times longer than a trip by car since we lived in the city and the campus was in a suburb. Bobby had adamantly refused to see that riding the bus would be a waste of his time and talent. I’d been willing to drop him several blocks from the campus so no one would know how he got there. He had stubbornly continued to refuse to consider such an idea.

Then fate intervened. I had a regular appointment at the beauty shop – I had trouble thinking of it as a ‘salon’ – that had once been mine. My former employees had bought the business from me decades ago. My late husband Jacob’s hair had turned prematurely white when he was quite young, and on him it had looked distinguished. For a while I had let the gray come into my own chestnut-colored hair, but had begun having it colored shortly before I married Vince. These days my roots were mainly white; I was militant about keeping that fact hidden. I wanted to maintain the illusion, at least to myself, that I looked young enough to be Bobby’s biological rather than adoptive mother; with white hair, that illusion wouldn’t be possible.

As I sat in Brenda’s chair, I’d told her – bragged, actually – about Bobby’s academic achievements and how he would be attending college at fourteen. I also told her of our arguments about commuting versus dorm life. Brenda was, not unexpectedly, in full agreement with me that a fourteen-year-old boy, even a gifted one, did not belong in a dorm. Then she made a suggestion that I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years.

You know my Mom, she began, and of course I did. Her mother had briefly worked in my salon years ago when I took a leave after adopting my son J.J. She was then an empty nester and starting a new chapter of her life by returning to her pre-marriage occupation. She’s close to eighty now, but she’s sharp and active, and her health is good. She gets a clean bill of health every year at her cancer check. Bridget was a colon cancer survivor. Mom’s insisting she wants to stay in the house where my sisters and I grew up. I can kind of understand that. She was happy there with my Dad and raising her family. I’ve hired a cleaning woman for her, and someone to take care of the lawn. I go there, or my sisters go there, with our kids or our grandkids every weekend, but the thought of her there alone every night... Brenda shook her head. I don’t like that at all. You know where she lives, don’t you?

I thought a second before I shook my own head.

She’s a couple blocks from the campus. In the mirror I saw a smile forming on Brenda’s face. What would you think of my Mom taking in Bobby as a boarder? He’d be close enough to campus to walk there, and he could come home to you every weekend when my whole crazy family descends on Mom. I know Mom would love to have someone to take care of again. She’s a great cook, and I’d bet she’d do his laundry, too. And I wouldn’t have to worry about her being alone so much.

He could bring his laundry home, I protested. Do you think she’d go for it?

Would Bobby? she countered. I know he’s a great kid, and he’s got manners that would put Emily Post to shame, but do you think he’d be willing to live with a woman old enough to be his grandmother?

I kept myself from bristling at her words as I fit into that category myself. In fact, I had once calculated that if my daughter Eleanor, born when I was seventeen, had lived and had a child herself at a young age, and that child did the same, I could have had a great-grandchild around Bobby’s age. Bridget was older than I was. If I could be his great-grandmother, so could she. Why don’t you talk to your Mom to see if she likes the idea? I’ll talk to Vince and Bobby, and we’ll compare notes.

I could hardly sit still while Brenda freshened my hair color and eliminated the white of my roots. The more I thought about the idea, the more I thought it was ideal.

The moon, sun, and stars all continued to be lined up right. Vince had loved the idea, as had Bridget. Bobby was agreeable to it once he met Bridget and saw the house and the room he’d occupy there. From Sunday evening to Friday evening, Bobby stayed with Bridget; he spent weekends at home with us. Bobby had elicited the promise from us that when he turned eighteen, we would reconsider him moving into a dorm. I figured he’d probably be doing post-graduate work by then.

Vince padded out of his bathroom, barefoot, drops of water glistening here and there on his body, a towel slung low around his hips. Going to stay in bed all day? he asked me over his shoulder as he rummaged through a drawer for his underwear.

No, I’ll get up soon, I said, stretching, the sheet I’d pulled up to cover me falling away with my movement.

I saw that Vince was watching me in the dresser mirror, his eyes lascivious. Trying to entice me back to bed?

If I say yes... I asked hopefully.

I have to leave for the office. But hold that thought for Sunday night.

He headed back to his bathroom; I knew he was going there to hang up his towel. The state he’d left his bathroom in on a daily basis had been a major issue for me when we were first married. Because of the awful way his first wife had treated him, I had waited almost a year before a chance remark on Vince’s part had given me the opportunity to broach the subject. Since then he’d been keeping his bathroom nearly as neat as I kept my own.

I stayed in bed until he was dressed and shaved, then padded after him to the door of the apartment to lock up when he left. His goodbye kiss made my toes curl. I was reluctant to let him leave, and already eager to have him come back home.

I almost forgot, he said as he stepped out into the hallway and pressed the elevator button. There was no hurry for him to speak as the elevator was glacially slow. There’s a case I want to talk to you about tonight.

The elevator doors slid open – the quickness of its arrival could have made the record books, if anybody kept such a thing in this building – and he stepped inside and gave me a jaunty wave as the doors slid shut again. I waved back, and although I was smiling, I wasn’t sure if his parting statement was good or bad.

CHAPTER FOUR

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Saturday morning was something of a madhouse in our apartment.

Almost since her birth, my granddaughter Eleanor had been spending Saturday mornings with me while her mother went grocery shopping. She was now four – going on fourteen – and I was dreading the day I’d be told she considered herself too old to be stuck with Grandma and wanted to go shopping with Mommy instead. When that day came, however, that loss of time with her would be tempered by the fact that my son J.J. and his wife Wendy had a second child. Jason was a lovely little boy who’d recently turned one; the J of his name was in honor of Jacob. I’d still get to take care of him were Eleanor to desert me.

Bobby was home for the weekend, of course, but having him there was no problem; in fact, it was the opposite. Eleanor adored him and considered him her best friend in the whole world. He kept her entertained while I dealt with the fussing Jason. He had finally drifted into a light doze when our doorbell rang, long and hard. Jason woke up immediately and gave an ear-splitting wail.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, nor was Vince. I carried the crying Jason to the intercom and hit the button.

Hi, it’s Gina, I heard. Can we come up?

Of course. I pressed the door release. Her ‘we’ must mean the children were with her, but I decided to wait until I saw them get off the elevator before I summoned Vince. I didn’t want to disappoint him if Gina had simply been using the royal ‘we.’

Gina alighted from the elevator with her two children. I called to Vince who came at a run. He adored Lorenzo and Serafina. I had spent most of our married life feeling guilty that because of me – or more correctly, because of Vincenzo’s dislike of the fact I’d married his father – Vince didn’t get to see his grandchildren nearly as much as he would have liked.

I turned to see Eleanor eyeing their entry warily. Lorenzo was a few months older than she was. They should have made ideal playmates, but Eleanor hadn’t warmed to him. He did tend to be loud – evidenced by his immediate screaming demand that his grandfather give him a horsy ride – and he was a tad rougher at play than my granddaughter found comfortable. A tiny part of me always wondered if at some level the comment he had made about her when they were little more than toddlers resonated in her mind. On that day, as today, Gina had dropped by while Eleanor was with me. Her son had looked at Eleanor and asked loudly, Why’s she so funny looking?

My granddaughter was most decidedly not funny looking; in fact, she was exquisitely beautiful, and smart as a whip to boot. However, she more clearly favored her mother’s Asian heritage, with tawny skin, silky black hair, and exotically slanted eyes. But her eyes, like her father’s, were blue. Lorenzo obviously hadn’t had many encounters with people outside the Caucasian race. To her credit, Gina quietly but firmly reprimanded her son for his rude behavior.

As I continued to pace the floor trying to get Jason to settle down, I was perfectly content despite the minor chaos going on around me. Vince was down on his hands and knees with Lorenzo perched on his back and screeching merrily. Gina sat on the floor with Serafina and Eleanor, each girl with a doll, and chattering raucously. Bobby was moving easily from group to group, one moment becoming a second horse, which relieved his father of his rider momentarily, the next participating in a doll tea party. His smile stayed on his face no matter what he was doing.

I was so blessed in both my sons. Bobby was gifted and good-natured. The one other fourteen-year-old boy I’d known who would have been willing to drink an imaginary cup of tea with little girls was my older son J.J.

Looking at Gina, I could see faint circles under her eyes, the one outward sign of the marital turmoil she was experiencing. I knew that J.J.’s wife Wendy would not have to face the problem of an unfaithful husband. J.J. showed the same kind of love and devotion to his wife that his father had shown to me.

For a moment Vince caught my eyes, and I knew it wasn’t in my sons alone that I had been blessed. Three times I had found men I loved who had loved me in return.

As the head of the youngest of the men I adored finally drooped against my shoulder, Vince got to his feet. Who wants to take a walk to the playground? I thought the resulting cheers would wake Jason but he slept on. My eyes again caught Vince’s in a moment of understanding. He was getting the older of the kids out of the apartment to give Gina a chance to talk to me if she wanted to do so. It was a wonderful, thoughtful gesture, and one that would not have been undertaken by anyone but a man like Vince who at one time had three little boys under the age of four. I knew his young charges were in good hands.

I eased Jason into the crib I kept on hand for times such as these and went back into the living room. Want some tea? I asked Gina.

I want a stiff drink, she said, but I’ll settle for some tea.

I went into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil; I didn’t want the beeping of the microwave to wake Jason or Vince’s noble gesture would have been in vain. I pulled the kettle off the burner before it could shrill, and poured the nearly boiling water into a teapot. While the tea steeped, I got a tray ready, then carried it all back into the living room.

I poured the tea and handed a cup to Gina. She sniffed at it and sighed. You always have the most interesting types of tea, she said. When I was growing up, I thought there was one brand of tea, and nothing else.

Same here, I confessed. I knew no other kind of lettuce but iceberg, and I thought that fish sticks were what fish was supposed to taste like.

That’s a shocker, Gina said. I’ve seen how your kitchen’s stocked. It’s like a health food store in there. What happened?

I was uncomfortable answering that. I didn’t want to talk about how my second husband, a heart surgeon far ahead of his time, had changed my eating and cooking habits. You live and learn, I said offhandedly instead.

I’ve sure got some learning to do, Gina said.

I knew she wasn’t referring to dietary matters any longer. I echoed her question to me. What happened?

Vincie came over to my Dad’s last night, Gina said. She still called him by his childhood nickname; once he’d become a father, he’d insisted everyone else refer to him by his given name of Vincenzo. The kids were asleep and my folks were out. I wasn’t going to let him in, but he can be a charmer when he wants to be.

I said nothing; I had never seen that side of his nature. A shiver of apprehension ran up my spine as I waited for her to continue.

He told me he’d been over to see you. He said you’re all for us getting back together and—

He came here, but I didn’t say that, I said quickly. I didn’t say a word about you two getting—

She cut me off. I know that. I know you, and I also know the look Vincie gets when he’s blowing smoke at me. He probably figured if he told me you wanted us back together, I’d go pack my bags without a peep.

I gather you didn’t do that.

There’s not a chance in hell I’m going back to him, Gina said fiercely. Especially after— She stopped abruptly, her eyes darting away from mine.

Gina, he didn’t force himself—

No, she said quickly, then grinned. I’ve got a knee and I know how to use it. But he did do this before I put my knee in action. She pushed up her long sleeves and I saw the black-and-blue imprints of fingers on her arms.

Vince used to be a cop, you know. If you want to get a restraining order against Vincenzo, he could walk you through it. My husband would not sanction any man who abused a woman; Vincenzo was his firstborn, but his son would not be an exception where that behavior was concerned.

Gina shook her head. I don’t think he’ll be bothering me any time soon, if ever. It’s going to take a while for his junk to get back to where it belongs. I got him so good, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s stuck up in his throat.

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. Knees are handy things sometimes. If I’d known that when I was sixteen, my life would have taken an entirely different path. But if those terrible days hadn’t happened, would I be where I was right now, happy with my marriage and my work, and with two wonderful sons and two equally wonderful grandchildren? That was one of those chicken-and-the-egg type puzzles that couldn’t be solved.

The doorbell rang three times in quick succession. That’s Wendy, back from grocery shopping, I told Gina. She’s on her way up.

I should get going, she said, putting down her teacup and starting to rise.

No, sit back down, I told her. Vince isn’t back with the kids, and besides, it’ll give you and Wendy a chance to catch up. They knew each other and were on friendly terms, but with two kids each and full-time jobs, they didn’t have much time for socializing

Gina slapped a hand to her forehead. I must be a little loopy, forgetting about my kids.

You know, if you need a break from them, or a babysitter when you go out, Vince and I are always willing, I said as I heard Wendy’s key in the lock.

Thanks, Gina said. I may take you up on that sometime. Mom and Dad have been great about taking us in, but they’re not used to having little kids around anymore.

Hi. Wendy spoke softly from the foyer. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.

Not at all. Vince took the older kids to the playground. He should be back pretty soon.

Gina stood to greet Wendy. With her high-heeled boots and bouffant curly hair, she towered over my diminutive daughter-in-law. But Wendy’s size was deceptive; she was a strong, determined woman, and in the year since she’d graduated law school, she had already developed a reputation as a cutthroat prosecutor at the State’s Attorney’s office where she and my son both worked.

I love your hair, Gina said as she smiled at Wendy.

Wendy grinned back. I was about to say the same about yours. It’s glorious.

It’s a pain, Gina said. If I had the nerve, I’d cut it all off. A sly grin crossed her face. Vincie would hate that. I think I’ll do it this week.

Don’t do anything drastic, the hairdresser in me cautioned quickly. Too many times I’d had women sitting in my styling chair wanting to practically bald themselves after a relationship when awry. I had always talked them into a less drastic change, with the promise of a free restyling in a week if they weren’t happy with the results. I don’t think I once had to fulfill that promise.

I’m not going to go short, Gina said. I had a pixie cut in grade school, and I looked like a pinhead.

Wendy giggled. I got a perm when I was in college. I looked like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. And as it grew out, my head looked like a big triangle.

I heard the sound of the elevator reaching our floor. Sounds like Vince is back with the kids, I said as I went past the giggling girls to open the front door.

Three little kids, one teenager, and my handsome husband clamored off the elevator and into the apartment. Mommy! three little voices cried to the two women inside. Then the baby started to wail.

I’ll get him, Wendy said. As I entered the living room, she was coming out of the playroom with Jason in her arms. Eleanor resembled her mother, but Jason was a mini-version of his father, right down to the same indignant look on his face for having been allowed to cry for all of ten seconds. But as I watched him rub a fist into one sleepy eye, his expression turned sunny again, and he leaned his fair head affectionately against his mother’s neck.

I’ve got to get going, Wendy said. Get your stuff, Elly, and kiss Grandma and Grandpa goodbye.

I want to stay, Eleanor said sulkily. I shot a hopeful look at Wendy but saw she was shaking her head.

Did you forget? You’ve got a birthday party to go to this afternoon.

That got my granddaughter moving. She grabbed her doll, then raced over to me and flung her arms around my legs. Bye, Grandma. I hoisted her up in my arms so I could give her a kiss, and she gave me a resounding one back. When I set her down, she made a beeline for Vince. Bye, Grandpa. He dropped to his knees and folded her into a bear hug. Then she headed for Bobby, her arms already stretched out to show she wanted to be picked up. He complied, and swung her around until she squealed with joy. When he set her down on the floor, he waited patiently while she continued to cling to his neck for a few more seconds. Bye, Bobby. I noticed that while she had called him Uncle Bobby when she was a toddler, over the last year or so she had dropped the uncle; he was simply Bobby.

Bye, Elly-nor, he said, using the variant of her name he devised when she was little more than a baby. Her parents called her Elly, but Bobby knew I liked her more formal full name. He’d tried to combine the best of both worlds.

I walked Wendy and Eleanor to the door, giving Jason one last kiss for which I got a flirty look in return. Baby boys were so cute at that age. As I stepped back into the living room, I saw Gina had her children ready to go.

Go give Grandma and Grandpa a kiss, she instructed her children.

Lorenzo folded his arms across his chest. No, he said firmly. I’m not kissing her. She’s not my Grandma. He scowled at me.

Rennie! Gina said sharply.

It’s all right, I told her. Don’t force the issue.

I watched as Lorenzo and Serafina said their goodbyes to their grandfather and uncle, then walked Gina to the door. If you change your mind about that other issue, I told her, call.

When I stepped back into the living room, Vince was right there and immediately folded me into his arms. That kid’s clearly under the influence of his father, he said grimly.

It’s okay, Vince. Had Eleanor done that, I would have been devastated, but I hadn’t formed a bond with Vince’s grandson. He was a bit too much like Vincenzo. Where’s Bobby? I asked, and not to change the subject.

In his room. I think he wanted to make a phone call.

As if proving those words, Bobby’s upper body popped out of his door, cell phone in hand. Can Charlie have dinner with us tonight?

Sure.

Can he sleep over too?

"Why not?’

Bobby stepped back into his room, and I glanced at Vince to find him smiling down at me warmly. You didn’t hesitate a second, he said. Do you know how many fits—

I held up a hand. I tried as often as possible to stop him from telling me tales of his late wife’s shortcomings. Long ago she’d been a hairdresser at my beauty shop before she changed fields. I’d thought we were close friends, but as it had turned out, I hadn’t known her the way I thought I did. I’m glad Bobby and Charlie have stayed friends. I was afraid with Bobby going to the magnet school and then racing through high school and heading off to college, the two of them would drift apart.

Bobby had to change schools when Vince and I married and they’d moved in with me. Charlie was the friend he’d made on his first day at the new school, and they’d been tight since. The odd coincidence to me was that Charlie lived in the same building where J.J.’s long-time friend Eddie had lived. I better see about thawing out some salmon, I told my husband. That had always been Charlie’s favorite dish.

Anything to tell me about Gina? Vince asked leadingly.

I nodded. But not now, I said with a significant glance at Bobby’s closed door. Not until we have absolute privacy.

CHAPTER FIVE