A Clearing in the Clouds

By Joan Fox Peppe

On a sun-dappled street in Naples, Florida, Jim Franza, a retired litigator, is hit by a car in front of his home. His wife Ivy, her best friend Marge Coppola and young neighbor Elena Pineda, watch in horror as Jim is killed instantly and the driver runs from the scene. Ivy is devastated and turns to alcohol for comfort. She blames the driver and Elena for Jim's death since Elena was with the driver minutes before he raced down the road. Elena feels responsible for the tragedy and spirals into morbid depression. Caught between an inebriated Ivy and a reclusive Elena she hardly sees, Marge is distraught at her inability to help either of them. Her desperation growing, Marge is ready to give up when a player from the distant past enters the scene and changes everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543995138

Book preview

Prolog

Elena

Friday, February 3, 2017

Elena’s hands had a death grip on the handlebars as she sped along the unfamiliar busy road. The mountain bike shimmied every time a vehicle passed her. She pedaled harder and hugged the curb, but it seemed the trucks and SUVs sensed her movement and came closer. Her heart had been racing since she turned onto the six lane boulevard, and despite the crisp air, she felt beads of perspiration form on her upper lip. Showing up at the radio station shaking like a plate of flan would belie the confidence she hoped to project. She promised herself she’d never again forget to ask about traffic conditions.

Focusing on the narrow bike path, she raised her eyes to search for her turnoff. Her jaw muscles relaxed when she spotted a sign for Weimer Street. In less than a minute the maddening sounds of tires racing and the stink of emission fumes would be gone. Pumping faster, her calves burned. For a split second she looked at them as if her glance would sweep away the pain. A diesel truck blasted its horn, startling her. Sharply twisting her head in the truck’s direction to see if she was in danger shifted her balance. Her bike shook furiously. Using every ounce of strength, Elena forced it away from the speeding wheels and on to a strip of grass. Brushing against a Live Oak, it skidded to a stop. Somehow she managed to stay upright. Dropping her heavy backpack, she hopped off to assess the damage. The front fender had several deep scratches and a small dent but the wheel turned easily.

It’s a miracle I wasn’t squashed like a toad, she mumbled. Taking a deep breath, she spotted a bus kiosk on the corner. Holding onto the bike for support, she lifted her backpack over one handlebar and wobbled over to the glass booth. No one was waiting so she lowered herself onto the aluminum bench. Her calves were knotting up but the back of her right knee felt like it had been stabbed with a red-hot poker. She closed her eyes and told herself not to panic. Reaching down, she felt the bandage was still in place and her jeans were dry. The scab hadn’t opened up. Her shoulders slumped momentarily and then tightened up. The wound shouldn’t burn this much. The last thing I need now is an infection, she thought. Since her antibiotics were in the dorm, she rummaged in her backpack for a bottle of water and ibuprofen. She downed the pills quickly then massaged the backs of her legs.

With no more time to waste, Elena tied her long brown ponytail higher on her head and hauled herself on to her bike. She rode down Weimer Street, a tree-lined quiet haven with three University dorms. Pulling up to the building that housed the WUFT-FM studio, she checked her phone. Less than ten minutes to start time but it would only take her two to get to her desk. As she parked her bike and quickly locked it, she spotted the back of a woman with a head of full shiny chestnut hair and a slim body. Elena sucked in air and forgot to breathe.

When she regained her composure, she heard herself say, It can’t be her! Why would Ivy be up here, so far from Naples? Elena looked again to see the woman’s face but a hulk of a kid on a skateboard blocked her view. After he whizzed past, she caught sight of that unmistakable red-brown hair again and watched the woman pull open the door to the building where Elena worked. Rushing inside, she found the lobby was empty. She knew there wasn’t enough time to search, but her compulsion pushed her to speed walk down the first floor hallway and peer inside every glass office door.

Elena summoned her courage and was about to yell Ivy’s name when the woman suddenly walked out of the restroom. Not nearly as attractive as Ivy, this person was at least twenty years younger. Feeling foolish for getting instantly unhinged, Elena hurried away, wondering what she would have done if it had been Ivy. Seconds ago she seemed ready to confront her. But that was in the shock of the moment. Maybe instead, she’d look Ivy right in the eye and then give her the cold shoulder. That would be the best way to handle Ivy Franza; ignore her. Ivy blamed Elena for the tragedy and was the one with a heart full of anger. She spilled her venom with indifference to the truth. Thank God the woman wasn’t Ivy.

Hands trembling, Elena took the stairs to the second floor, opened the door to the small studio and shoved her backpack under her desk. She had three minutes to spare so she sat still, breathing deeply, until she felt calm. One minute to go and she checked her PC. She was pleased to find it had been fired up, probably by Bud Gray. Bud was an upperclassman and the remarkably cute engineer for their popular hour long call-in show Animal Airwaves Live. As the newly hired part-time Support Services Assistant, Elena was responsible for printing out questions the listeners emailed into the show. Then she passed them across the desk to the guest speaker. She remembered that Dr. Michael Ortiz would be talking today about Cancer and Your Pet.

Although it was only her second week on the job, Elena had the simple routine committed to memory. She glanced at the wall clock and then over to Bud. With a hand signal, he gave the ten second alert and the red On-Air light flashed. Dr. Ortiz had a strong voice and a good command of the subject, despite appearing tightly wrapped like an expensive Cuban cigar. Elena printed out a number of questions and increased the font size when the first printout was barely readable. The final step of her job was to respond to each email with a message of thanks. During today’s show, the emails poured in so it was a challenge for Elena to keep up. She hadn’t thought once about the burn behind her knee—or Ivy Franza.

When Bud signaled the two-minute conclusion to the show, Elena was amazed how fast the time had flown. She’d been sitting for a full hour so was happy to stand. With a yawn, she arched her back, lifting her head to get the kinks out of her shoulders. The ripping sensation behind her right knee and a shot of blinding pain forced her back into her chair. Hearing the show’s signature tune in the background was the signal to wrap up the program. Gingerly she pulled her backpack onto her lap, stood, and made ready to dash to the restroom. Dr. Ortiz motioned her to sit down as he continued speaking on air. He thanked everyone involved in the show by name, including Elena. The unexpected recognition caused heat to rise in her cheeks. She offered him a nod of appreciation and stood again to leave. As she reached the door, he called to her.

Miss Pineda, was it your idea to enlarge this typeface? Dr. Ortiz was frowning as he looked at the papers she had handed him during the broadcast.

Oh. Yes. She felt light-headed and held on to the edge of the desk. Maybe she had violated some ironclad rule about adjusting the font. Did I do something wrong? she asked, keeping her eye on the studio door. Hurry. Blood could be dripping down my leg.

I can say with absolute certainty, no. Dr. Ortiz flashed a grateful smile. Thank you for your initiative. The last time I did one of these shows, I could hardly see the paper, never mind read the questions. I’ll be sure to let the powers that be know what a good job you did today.

Pleased by his praise but concerned about her wound, she managed a weak smile and rushed off. Inside the restroom stall, she pulled down her jeans and ran her fingers along the binding. It was dry but very tender. Twisting at the waist, she saw fresh blood stained the dressing and needed changing. Carefully pulling at the corner of the bandage, she winced when the adhesive did its job a little too well. The area was brightly inflamed, so she cleaned the cut with warm water and applied fresh antiseptic dressing. As a precaution, she’d take two antibiotics tonight and was glad her roomies would be on the hunt for free beer. She’d be able to put her leg up, read, and ice the soreness without spying eyes. About to leave the building, she remembered she had to check the PC for questions that came in at the end of the show. She walked into the studio and didn’t see Dr. Ortiz, but Bud was in the soundproof glass booth preparing for the next show. She smiled at him, pointed to the PC, and mouthed the words Five Minutes. He smiled back and she noticed how he sat up a little straighter when he gave her the thumbs up sign.

A half dozen more questions had come in. The last one caught her attention because it was in all caps. MURDERER! DO THEY KNOW IT WAS YOU? I DO AND THE DAY OF RECKONING IS UPON YOU!!

Elena’s knees buckled. As she sat down, the room seemed to spin. There was only one person who would do this. She had no doubt Ivy Franza sent the message.

Part One

Chapter 1

Ivy

Twenty-one months earlier. Wednesday, May 13, 2015

The Havanese puppy ran through the house, hiding under tables and scooted away from Ivy the second she got close. Earlier that afternoon she had brushed his fluffy white coat until it gleamed. All the while he struggled to escape but she had him tethered to the grooming table. Now he was getting even for the torture. Squashing her mounting frustration, she used a light sing-song voice.

Hey Paco. I know the best game. Laughing at the absurdity of trying to cajole the little ball of energy, she sat on the floor in the kitchen where he could see her from his hideout. She pulled her legs up to her chest, hid her face in her hands, and waited. Ivy heard him cautiously approach and didn’t move a muscle. He sniffed her perfectly painted toenails, then came closer to lick her ankle. All at once she grabbed him and hooked the leash hidden in her pocket to his collar.

Got ya, you adorable little mutt. She did a quick victory dance and thought even the famous Dog Whisperer couldn’t have done it better.

Paco was a surprise birthday gift to her husband Jim on his big Six O. He and the puppy bonded immediately. It had been years since they had a pet. Ivy clearly remembered the level of patience necessary for housebreaking. To her great regret, what escaped her memory was the energy zapping tasks of feeding, cleaning up, and training. The repetition of essential command words was driving her to drink, and nothing was more reckless for Ivy. Years ago she’d been to that hell hole of excessive alcohol consumption and vowed she would never return. In recent years she had been able to keep light social drinking well under control.

She picked herself up from the tile floor and ran her fingers through her slightly disheveled hair. Her stylist Terri Allen said her color was called Rich Cognac. Closing her eyes, she could hear her darling mother’s advice: If you only remember one thing, it’s that a woman’s hair is her crowning glory. Whatever you do, be sure your hair is perfect and then you will be too. Ivy not only took those words to heart, she did her mother one better. Weekly trips to the plushest avant-garde shop in Naples, Fox and Company Salon, ensured a continually stunning coiffure, impeccably manicured finger and toe nails, and a flawless peaches and cream complexion. The full-body exfoliation, also known as ‘The Works,’ was a once-a-month indulgence with a huge pay-off when it came to romance. Ivy was on a first name basis with every operator and aesthetician at Fox and loved the owner, Mister Michael, who dropped the Mister part of his name ages ago. Terri Allen knew as many intimate details about Ivy as did her best friend Marge.

Paco, out? He pranced around, wagging his tail in anticipation. Well, of course, the one word you would listen to. Duh!

Ivy enjoyed the exercise of their late day walks down her street, Night Orchid Drive. She and Jim were enchanted with the neighborhood the minute their real estate agent showed it to them. Wide lots with exquisitely maintained homes, most with tile roofs and paved driveways, were sheltered by giant Mahogany trees and Royal Palms. Not surprisingly, they fell in love with a large home that had been recently renovated. They made a cash offer the day after seeing it and with a little tweaking over the years, 614 Night Orchid Drive became a showplace. Close to the downtown area, their street was long with a deep curve in the middle and ended at a small park facing a wide lake.

After speed-walking to the small park each afternoon, Ivy would allow herself and Paco a few minutes respite on one of the benches. Then they were off again, tiring out Paco and toning up Ivy’s legs and butt. Although she went to the gym every other morning before dawn, she welcomed the additional exercise. Being two years older than her handsome husband, it was just as important to maintain a firm body as it was to keep her hair color vibrant. Two months ago, when she announced her plans to bow out from the position as District Manager at Stix Athletic Wear, at her retirement party, she delighted in hearing how she looked twenty years younger than her age of 62. Good genes combined with Ivy’s mission to maintain the illusion of youth worked magic. At the gym, she pulled her thick, youthfully styled hair into a pony tail and wore a baseball cap the same way all Gen X women did. Her wardrobe was classically vogue with just the right touches of juvenescence.

Inside all day with Paco, the newly installed AC cooled their house, making it chilly. She didn’t realize how blistering the heat was until she stepped outside.

Ouch! Son of a…. She flew back inside and told Paco, We’re not trotting to the park today, pal. Finding her sandals, she slipped them on and led the puppy into the shade of their heavily treed backyard. It probably won’t be this hot tonight at Venetian Village, she thought. There’s always a breeze off Naples Bay, especially for the late dinner she planned for the little celebration. Ivy was sure it would be a perfect night; first sparkling wine, then lovemaking, and finally out for a light dinner on the water. Paco nudged her leg which directed her attention back to their game. She bent down to pick up his squeak toy and heard her husband’s voice.

Bet we could cook a thin crusted pizza on our pavers right now. Do I have any takers? Jim opened the lanai door and, seeing Ivy in form-fitting shorts and a deep V-neck top, wolf whistled. He was invariably pleasant when he came home and never looked tired from a full afternoon at the Von Liebig Art Center in downtown Naples. The Center was one of a kind, displaying the paintings, photographs, and sculptures of talented local residents. Jim was developing a solid reputation as an artist and won several coveted awards in the last two years. He taught watercolor and acrylic painting three days a week at the Art Center. His twenty-year hobby had turned into a small job now that he was a retired litigator. The classes always energized him and Ivy found that trait especially alluring.

Beaming at the sound of his voice and enjoying the whistle, Ivy turned and almost fell as Paco pulled her with uncommon strength. Refusing to struggle, she dropped the leash. He flew into Jim’s arms, licking every inch of his face.

Okay Paco, slow down, boy. That’s enough face slobbering for today. Jim grinned as he lowered the puppy to the ground. Paco pranced around, his euphoria unrestrained.

Hello there, you gorgeous man. Ivy ducked out of reach as Jim leaned in to kiss her. Don’t even think about coming near me until you wash your face.

You drive a hard bargain, little lady. Just so happens you caught me at the right time. Jim was doing the worst imitation of John Wayne she had ever heard and, although she didn’t want to, she laughed. Her reaction encouraged him to ham it up even more. So I’m happy to oblige since I’ve had nothin’ but some lovin’ on my mind all day.

He pulled open the lanai door and Paco rushed past them and into the kitchen, ready for his dinner. They followed him and after filling his bowl with kibble, Ivy pointed to the kitchen sink. Jim promptly cleaned up. With his face still damp, he reached for her. She pressed up against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. They kissed lightly and with a wicked smile, Jim whispered, Is that the best ya got?

Still glued to him, Ivy threw her head back and chortled. At the sound of her unharnessed emotion, Paco came barreling over and ran in circles. They did their best to ignore him but the puppy wanted to be included in the game they seemed to be playing.

Paco, stop. Sit! Jim commanded. Paco disregarded the order, barking louder. His tail flying back and forth, he cocked his head as if to ask, Why? It’s playtime, isn’t it?

He’s a willful little bruiser, isn’t he? Jim wasn’t smiling when he pulled away from Ivy. As soon as they were apart, Paco calmed down.

Willful isn’t the word for it. He’s got us wrapped around his little paw and he’s becoming quite the demanding mutt. Ivy attempted to hide the exasperation in her voice. God knows I’ve tried but haven’t made much progress with our daily etiquette lessons. Maybe we should have his hearing tested?

Jim chuckled at her attempt to make light of the frustrating situation. Didn’t Marge and Anthony take their little guy Buster for professional training a few years back?

Ivy remembered the Coppolas telling them their dog trainer worked miracles. Ivy adored Marge who was one of the kindest and smartest friends she ever had. Anthony was a big teddy bear with a delightfully dry sense of humor. After being introduced by mutual friends, Jim and Anthony spent a fair amount of time on the golf course together. The men learned they both had graduated from NYU School of Law a few years apart which helped form a bond. The fact that the two couples lived on opposite sides of Night Orchid Drive cemented the friendship.

Yes, now I remember. Ivy recalled how well behaved Buster was after only a few sessions. But Marge also said the trainer was really training them and not Buster. She began to twist her wedding ring and three-carat diamond engagement ring back and forth on her finger; a sure sign she was anxious, as Jim often pointed out.

Well, we’re in trouble then, my pretty. Jim’s eyes always twinkled when he was about to tease her. I’ve been trying to train you for years to have a martini ready for me when I return from a brutal day at the Von L. Hasn’t worked yet. He patted her butt as he walked past her.

Not so fast! Ivy blocked his path and, forgetting her puppy training concerns, playfully pushed him away from the refrigerator. True, I don’t have a martini but would you settle for a chilled bottle of this? She opened the door and removed two icy flutes and a bottle of his favorite La Marca DOC Extra Dry. She puckered her lips so he could properly thank her. She didn’t have to wait long.

Impressive, Mrs. Franza. What is the occasion? He took the bottle and expertly removed the foil wrap and wire. Draping a dishtowel over the fat cork, he twisted and—pop! The golden liquid filled the glasses with a hint of foam at the top.

Glad you asked, she said as they watched the fine bubbles dance their way upward in the crystal. Will and Devon decided on a name for the baby.

Will Sheehan was Ivy’s son from her first marriage. He and Devon, his wife of five years, had been trying to conceive for four of them. After several visits to a reproductive endocrinologist, in December their dreams were realized. By April, the ultrasound revealed the baby was a boy. For a month, the couple had been testing out names.

Don’t keep me in suspense. Jim clicked his wine glass to Ivy’s. No. Let me guess. Dylan? Liam? Ciaran? Wait! I know, they decided on Darragh, a solid Celtic name. He took a healthy sip from his glass and grinned at his silliness.

Are you quite finished? Ivy’s smile held a touch of impatience. Actually the baby’s name is quite beautiful. It’s James Callahan Sheehan. She paused to let him fully process the news. They named him after you, Jimmy. Her smile stayed in place but her eyes were moist.

Jim looked to see if she was teasing. When he realized she wasn’t, he carefully placed his glass on the quartz counter and shook his head.

Named him for me? His voice was soft. What about Blake or Devon’s father?

I didn’t question Will when he called earlier this morning, Ivy said. I just thought the name was perfect. Obviously, the middle name is for Devon’s family.

Sure. But don’t you think Blake will be hurt the baby wasn’t named after him?

I hadn’t really thought about it. Ivy turned away. She knew if Jim looked at her, he’d see she was lying.

She wasn’t proud of it but couldn’t deny she was pleased they hadn’t named the baby after Will’s father. Blake was only that, the biological father. Not the Daddy who took Will fishing or read him bedtime stories, reviewed his homework countless times, or did a myriad of other tender, instructive things. Jim was the one who helped Will become the smart, good man he turned out to be. Blake was never there for Will. He had no interest in anyone but himself. He’d been too busy cheating his business partner, chasing the newest flavor of the month, and always, without fail, getting drunk. Blake had never earned the right for a namesake.

Ivy forced herself to smile and grabbed Jim’s hands. Touching him returned her to the present and the lovely life they’d been sharing for the past twenty-three years. The ugly past with Blake was behind her. If only the raw anger she still felt for him could be left there too.

I think Will and Devon wanted to honor you for being the unselfish, caring man you are. Ivy tenderly kissed him. Let’s not worry about things that don’t concern us. She kissed him again and gave into what had been mounting inside her since he arrived home. A little less gently she bit his lower lip and ran her tongue over the same spot. Then she placed Jim’s hand on her breast and whispered in his ear.

Right now you have more important things to do.

Chapter 2

Raul

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

For three days, temperatures soared to the mid 90’s. Everyone was talking about the intensity of the heat and humidity arriving early. Because it was still spring, no one expected lawns to turn brown overnight or water levels in pools to drop as if someone pulled a plug in the tub. The Naples Daily News ran a front page blurb about the health hazards of dehydration. Radio announcers, local TV commentators, and phone weather apps gave constant reports and predictions.

I get it already. Raul told the radio in his car as he pulled into his driveway at 790 Night Orchid Drive. It was 5:00 pm and the sun was as bright as an incandescent bulb. The air conditioning vent of his Audi was directed at his deeply tanned face which was flushed from working outside. Turning off the ignition, he saw ribbons of heat rising from his pavers.

With effort, he pulled his long body from the car and noticed Marge Coppola across the street watering the yellow Allamanda in her front yard. She was wearing a faded beach towel wrapped around her bathing suit like a sarong. The towel appeared as wet and droopy as Marge looked.

She smiled and waved. Hot enough for you, Raul?

He smiled back. Oh, is it hot Marge? I hadn’t noticed.

She laughed and continued watering. He was grateful they didn’t need to engage in small talk. Marge was the type of neighbor everyone should have but he was too tired today to spend energy on empty words.

He walked though his living room with its soft colors of cream and coral, Anna’s favorites. At the French doors he noticed a large bird skimming the lake. As he walked closer to see if it was an osprey, he stumbled over his granddaughter’s running shoes.

Damn it, Elena!

He knew she wasn’t home. At times like this, he regretted allowing her to volunteer at the Animal Rescue Center. Eight months ago she started working a few hours a day after school. Raul was pleased she maintained her grades and praised her effort. But lately, she was late getting home and that irked him. Dinner time was when they caught up with each other, making small talk and laboring to preserve their fragile bond.

He picked up her shoes and tossed them into her messy bedroom which was the master. Anna insisted when Elena came to live with them eleven years ago that they switch rooms. He remembered his wife telling him how she wanted it to work.

"Elena will need space for a small play area in her bedroom, a desk for homework, and another bed for sleep-overs. It won’t be so bad sleeping in the guest room, carino."

In the past decade, only one friend, Tamara Murphy, stayed over. For years the girls were together almost night and day. When Elena began going to ARC, it seemed that Tam was not the constant presence in Elena’s life anymore. Raul guessed Elena over-identified with the orphaned animals at ARC, especially now that their beloved Anna was gone.

His body felt like he had a pallet of roof tiles tied to his back as he headed for the kitchen. Eyelids at half mast, he leaned on the granite counter and pulled off his dusty work boots. With a grunt, he placed them by the garage door. Laboring outside in this type of heat was challenging for any man, but for one who just turned sixty-two it could be deadly. He opened the refrigerator door and felt the cool air tingle his bare arms and face. Then he grabbed a bottle of Radeberger Pils and guzzled it, still letting the frosty air revive him. He closed the refrigerator and walked into the family room where his leather chair seemed to beckon him like a lover. Slowly he eased into it, still holding the beer.

"Ahh, perfecto! Just what I needed. Today the men acted like spoiled ninos." As the sole proprietor of Pineda Construction of Fine Homes, Raul had responsibility for ensuring his new foreman Jose Ruiz was paying attention to every assembly detail assigned to the men. The crew was especially ornery today with the sun hammering down on them and tested the unseasoned overseer frequently. Jose ignored their griping with good humor and issued orders fairly. Raul kept on eye on the action, careful not to cut Jose’s legs out from under him. He was pleased Jose prevailed but his restraint exhausted him.

He looked around the spacious room that led to the lake through the lanai. The bench his father made them as a wedding gift sat under the Ficus tree. His praying place, he called it. Remembering the countless hours spent there during and after cancer took Anna, dampened his eyes. Anna’s presence had filled the house with a joyful lightness. Now, three years after her passing, he and Elena drifted apart in their sorrow. As the abuelo, he knew a grandfather should reach out and reassure his granddaughter that everything would be fine. But how could he tell her such a lie?

The groan of the ice maker as it dropped more cubes returned his attention to the room. Glancing at the coffee table, he noticed a magazine that wasn’t there this morning. Luz, their part-time housekeeper and cook must have left it for him. He hired her when Anna became too weak to straighten up or make meals. Luz was a good cook, almost as good as Anna and a shameless matchmaker. She constantly tried to set him up with her friends. Politely he’d thank her, saying he had no interest in meeting anyone. A few months back she almost convinced him to join her and her best friend for dancing and drinks at Stan’s Idle Hour. As he opened the car to drive to Goodland, he pictured himself standing on the sidelines, not sure what to do next. He slammed the door shut and went back inside.

Last week she asked him if he had seen the movie The Godfather, Part Three.

Of course I’ve seen it, Luz. Who hasn’t? Why?

"Because me and my marido watched it for the third time last night on TMC. You know Mr. Raul, your double is in that movie. I’ve said it right from the first time I met you."

Luz, I don’t look anything like Pacino, especially with that kooky crew cut. No way.

No, Mr. Raul, Andy Garcia. You look like Andy Garcia.

You mean the kid who plays Sonny’s illigit son? You’re kidding, right?

Serious as a snakebite. ‘Course, you’re a few years older than he was when he made that movie. But I saw his picture recently in a magazine. You could pass for twins except you’re taller. I’m gonna bring it to you so you can see for yourself.

Raul suspected this was the magazine. He picked it up and saw she had written on the cover Turn to Page 26. The good looking actor had aged since GF3 and as foolish as he felt making the comparison, he could see a resemblance. He’d never admit that to Luz. If he did, he’d be encouraging her and she would never stop with her fix-up schemes.

He leaned down to replace the magazine and one of the envelopes in his shirt pocket slid to the floor.