A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2

by Mary Campisi

  ***

  There was no escaping him. He’d be here any minute and unless Christine wanted Lily to find out what was going on with Nate, she’d have to pretend Miriam’s story were true: Christine was spending a few days with them so Nate could refinish the oak floors. He doesn’t want your sister in the dust and mess, Miriam had said. She’ll stay with us for a little while; won’t that be nice?

  Lily hadn’t looked farther than her own desire to have Christine to herself and dove right into pleading for a checkers and card game partner. It was easy to pretend the truth when the source of the conflict was miles away. Stories could be stretched and reworked to resemble whatever truth a person wanted, even when they bore no resemblance to the truth at all. But when the source of the conflict was in the same room, breathing the same oxygen, well then, the pretending was not so easy. In fact, Christine had no idea how she would smile and make idle chit-chat with her husband when she could barely stand to look at him and certainly didn’t want to hear his voice. Or smell his woodsy scent. And what if he tried to touch her? She glanced out the kitchen window, eyeing the empty spot where his truck would be.

  “Is Nate here yet?” Lily called from behind her. “I’m hungry.”

  Christine forced a smile. No matter what she had to do, Lily was not going to find out that two of the people she cared about most were miserable because one of them had broken his vows.

  “He’ll be here soon. And your mom will be back from the dentist any minute. Why don’t we get the drinks ready?”

  “Nate will have iced tea.” Lily moved to the cupboard and pulled down four glasses. “Do you think he’ll like the spices we put in the tea?”

  “I think so.” But what did she know? She’d thought her husband loved her enough to remain faithful and look how that had turned out. He hadn’t even made it a year. The photos of Nate and Natalie lived in the center of her brain, making her question everything she thought she knew about him.

  “And I know he’s going to like the chicken pot pie,” Lily chatted on, “because that’s one of his very favorites. Mom says he’s going to turn into a chicken pot pie one of these days.” Giggle. Giggle. “How would you like to be Mrs. Chicken Pot Pie?”

  Oh, Lily. The child did not deserve the sadness threatening to burst into her young world if Nate and Christine couldn’t work things out. And yet, how could Christine live with a man she didn’t trust? It had been almost twenty-six hours since she’d seen the photos. Anger had seeped through the numbness, settled in her gut and lay in wait, ready to attack. She would have her say, and she would find out the truth, even if she had to pull it from his lying mouth to get it.

  “They’re here!” Lily banged open the screen door and ran outside as Miriam’s station wagon pulled into driveway with Nate’s truck close behind. Was it coincidence that they both arrived at the same time, or had they met up somewhere to talk?

  When Nate stepped out of the truck, there was a half second when Christine’s heart swelled with longing as she took in the red T-shirt, jeans, the wind-blown hair. How many times had he come home like this, framed her face with his strong hands, and kissed her “hello”?

  “Nate! Nate!” Lily flung herself at him and he hefted her into his arms, laughing as he twirled her around. He set her down, kissed the top of her head, and glanced toward the back door. His smile slipped when he saw her. “Come on, Nate.” Lily grabbed his hand. “Let’s go inside. I’m hungry.” She yanked him toward the door with Miriam following behind.

  Christine sipped in air as her husband entered the kitchen and faced her. “Hi.” It was a gentle tone, filtered with uncertainty, so unlike Nate.

  “Hello.” How could a simple word be so difficult to say?

  “Come on, Nate.” Lily clutched his hand and laughed. “You have to kiss Christine like you always do when you see her.” He paled, cleared his throat, and leaned in. The kiss was feather-light and quick, so quick Christine didn’t have time to prepare for it.

  “No, that’s not right.” Lily grabbed her brother’s hand and placed it on Christine’s right shoulder. “Now put your other hand on her other shoulder and hug her like you always do.” Nate complied, jaw clenched, mouth clamped shut.

  “That’s right, and now you have to kiss her on the mouth for a long time. And then, you kiss her behind the left ear until she giggles. And then—”

  “Lily, that’s enough.” Thank God for Miriam’s interruption. “Can’t you see your brother is tired? He’s had a long day and he’s hungry.”

  “But, Mom, he always kisses Christine like that.” Her dark brows pinched together. “Even when he’s tired. And that time when he was sick.” Her voice hitched and faded as she repeated, “He always kisses Christine like that.”

  Nate mumbled something under his breath, clutched Christine’s shoulders, and pulled her to him. The kiss was hard, possessive, and over before she could decide if she wanted to respond or not. He trailed his lips along her neck, settled on the soft spot behind her left ear, and kissed it. Once, twice, his tongue circling the flesh until she squirmed and giggled, like she did every time he touched her there.

  Lily clapped her hands. “That’s it! Christine giggled.”

  Nate pulled away and stepped back. “I’m hungry,” he said, his eyes still on her.

  Miriam jumped in. “Good. Chicken pot pie is meant to be eaten when it’s fresh out of the oven, not sitting around so the crust turns to mush.”

  “I wanted pizza, but Mom said we had to make chicken pot pie for you.” She scrunched her nose at him and he mussed her hair. “Spoiled boy.”

  “Right.” Nate sat down next to Christine. “You, Miss Lily, are the most spoiled young lady in Magdalena.”

  She grinned and added, “In the state of New York.”

  He shook his head. “In the United States.”

  She threw her arms wide and said, “In the world.”

  “Lily.” Miriam gave her daughter a stern look. “Not at the dinner table. You and your brother can continue your silly shenanigans after supper.” Lily flashed a grin at Nate who smiled back. They bantered like this often, and for just a second, it felt like any other day. Normal. Relaxing. Peaceful. And then Christine remembered it wasn’t.

  Thankfully, Lily kept the conversation going with her talk about Pop Benito’s new tennis shoes from his son in California and the postcard his granddaughter sent him from Spain. Christine made a few comments, toyed with her food, and actually ate a few bites. She did not look at her husband or speak directly to him. The next time Miriam invited him to dinner, Christine would make sure she wasn’t home. Pop said she could stop over whenever she wanted to strategize about ways to get The Bleeding Heart Society’s support or just chit-chat.

  What would he say if he knew about Nate and Natalie Servetti? Quite a bit, and it wouldn’t be sugarcoated either. After peach cobbler and cleaning up the kitchen—Nate insisted on washing—he kissed his mother and Lily and made some lame comment about getting back to sanding the floor.

  “Christine, can I see you for a minute?” He had his hand on the doorknob and when she nodded, he opened it and motioned her past him. She made her way to the truck, out of earshot and partially blocked from view, in case Lily was in one of her inquisitive moods. Nate leaned against the truck door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we going to talk about this?”

  She stood a few feet from him, just out of arm’s reach, in case he got the urge to touch her. “Eventually.”

  “That could mean anything.” He shrugged, his voice guarded. “Two days, ten? A year?”

  “I don’t know. It’s too soon.” That was the truth. Her emotions wouldn’t settle down so she could think logically, and aside from Miriam, who pushed for her to work it out with Nate, there was no one she could talk to. She certainly couldn’t confide in Uncle Harry who might get it in his head to drive to Magdalena and confront Nate. There would be a scene because Uncle Harry didn’t do anything on a small scale. It would be in th
e Magdalena Press, and the whole town would read about the photos of Nate and Natalie Servetti. And then there was the baby that no one knew about: their baby. She would have to tell Nate, but not yet, certainly not under these circumstances.

  “What’s going to happen when you find out I’ve been set up and you didn’t believe me?”

  The fact that he wasn’t giving up that story unsettled her. Was he telling the truth? Or did he merely think he could make her believe it was the truth if he said it with enough conviction? She needed answers and time.

  “Why were you at Gino Servetti’s? What was the big surprise that you would risk running into your old lover for it?” He looked away, his expression unreadable.

  “Well? Can you at least tell me that?” When his gaze met hers, she could have sworn she spotted a flicker of pain in those dark eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Yes, it does. What was it?”

  “Forget it.” When he spoke in that tone, he was done with the subject. She knew him well enough to know that.

  “Fine.” A few days ago, she could share anything with him, had been planning to tell him he was going to be a father. Today, she could barely maintain eye contact.

  “Call me when you want to talk.” He opened the truck door, turned and said, “The longer you wait, the harder this is going to be to fix, until one day, it won’t be able to be fixed.”

  ***

  Pop watered the first of three pots of basil, careful not to drench the delicate leaves. They’d need transplanting soon so they could spread out and grow. Too many people tossed the seeds in a pot and with the exception of an occasional bottle of water, did nothing, and wondered why their basil was so puny, or died, or withered into a spindle. Where was the wondering? Plants were like people; you had to tend to them or they’d go wild or shrink from neglect. Take Nate Desantro. Pop could sure tell Christine had been tending to that young man, showing him he counted as her number one person. You can’t buy that kind of love; it grew from inside a person and when they shared it, it spread, kind of like Pop’s secret fertilizer that only he and Lucy knew about.

  “Ah, Lucy, you’d like Christine. She’s not snooty like Nate’s first wife, and she loves Lily. You can see it when she talks about her.”

  Pop lifted the watering can to the second pot, ran a steady stream into the soil. “I took her to The Bleeding Heart’s Society meeting the other day.” He chuckled and pulled a weed from the pot. “She got an earful. Didn’t know what to think, I could tell. Not many garden clubs talk about ways to handle an unruly fifteen-year-old or who’s gonna make a Homecoming dress for Denise Bellan. I had to let her see for herself what we’re all about.”

  He fingered the leaf of a small basil plant. “Every time I walk into that meeting room, I remember the first time you suggested starting a wish box for people to write in what they needed. Who would have thought the whole town would get behind it? I know you remember the first wish the society granted.” He fingered a basil leaf and pictured his Lucy handing an envelope to the soon-to-graduate college student with four brothers and a father on disability.

  “Meg Delstant never forgot that suit the society bought her so she could go on that interview. She said that’s what got her the job.” He chuckled and watered the Swiss chard.

  “We know that brain of hers had something to do with it, but that suit gave her courage to do what needed to be done.” His voice dipped, filled with a mix of sadness and love. “That was you, Lucy. That was all you and your kindness.

  “What do you think about Christine? Think she’s a keeper? Or do you think she’ll hightail it out of here at the first sign of trouble? She really seems to love the boy and you know Nate’s a hard one to love. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Even love that blooms eternal runs into patches of crabgrass.’ You got a point, but all I want to do is make sure that patch don’t explode into a football field.”

  Pop set down his watering can, shielded a hand against his eyes, and glanced at the sky. The blue matched Lucy’s eyes. He smiled and laid a hand across his heart where his dear wife rested.

  “Nate and Christine remind me of us,” he whispered. “She’s feisty until she talks about him. He’s bull-headed but can’t see nobody but her. But time and crabgrass will tell their story, like it did ours, don’t you think so, Lucy?”

  ***

  “Okay, what did you do now?”

  Nate kept his head bent and his eyes fixed on the spreadsheet in front of him. Damned if he was going to open his mouth about anything personal, especially the truth behind the reason he was at work on a Saturday morning doing the one thing he hated more than anything—inventory.

  “Nobody can count anymore. Do people just make up the numbers so they don’t have to move parts around and get their hands dirty?” Frustration seeped through his words, spilled over Jack’s inquiry. This wasn’t about numbers or inventory; hell, this wasn’t about business at all. The reason he was here, the reason he’d been unable to stay at his house for longer than the few miserable hours when he tried to sleep, had to do with Christine. Falling asleep in front of the television, drinking, moodiness, extra hours at the shop—all centered around his wife and her obvious attempts to distance herself from him while she figured out her life and his part in it.

  “Uh-huh.” Jack moved closer, tapped a bony hand on the desk. “The last time you blamed inventory on your misery was when you fell for that wife of yours but refused to admit it.”

  “Leave it alone.” He did not want to talk about Christine to anyone right now.

  “You know, this marriage business isn’t always a smooth road. Nope, sure isn’t. Sometimes you get stuck in quicksand and feel like you’re gonna suffocate. Other times, you gotta push uphill so damn hard, you think your heart’s gonna burst.” He blew out a long breath. “And then there’s the times you think about getting in your truck and driving off. You don’t, though, because that’s not what you signed up for now, is it?” His voice turned gruffer than usual. “And you wouldn’t make it past the county line because you belong together. So, what did you and Christine fight about?”

  Damn, but the man would not leave it alone. Nate shoved the spreadsheet aside and looked at Jack. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” Nate snapped.

  “Nothing. If you say everything’s fine, then, of course, I believe you.” He scratched his jaw. “I’m just wondering if life is so good right now, why you’ve been such a crabass lately, and why hasn’t Christine stopped by with lunch?”

  “She’s been busy.” Busy avoiding me.

  “Right. Busy.”

  “I’ve got work to do, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.” The only way to survive right now was to keep his brain and his body in steady motion so he couldn’t think about the emptiness eating his soul.

  “Sure.” Jack nodded, his bushy brows pulled together. The man saw more than he let on, and most times he kept his observations to himself, unless they involved Nate. Then, he made it his job to investigate the situation, put it under a damn microscope, and eventually offer a solution, solicited or not. So why wasn’t he doing that now? Why was he so amenable to staying out of Nate’s business? Something was up.

  “I just have one question.” Damn, here it comes. “I was back in the warehouse a few days ago and I noticed this tarp over some big contraption. Couldn’t figure out what it was, unless one of the workers got lazy and covered up some material they didn’t want to put away. So I investigated.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “And you’ll never guess what I found.”

  Nate looked away. “I have no idea.”

  “Really? Sure as hell looked like your work.”

  “Huh.” He picked up a pencil, fiddled with it. Jack’s inquisitiveness was closing in on him. It was only a matter of two or three more sentences before he called Nate out.

  “Yup. Nice piece of work.” He tipped his baseball cap
back and scratched his forehead. “What I can’t figure out is what’s a cradle doing back in the warehouse.”

  Damn Jack Finnegan and his intuitive nosiness. “Okay, you got me. It’s my work.”

  “Christine’s pregnant?”

  Nate shook his head. “No. It was just something I wanted to make, for when the time came.” He should have started the cradle months ago and given it to her. Maybe by now she’d be pregnant. That would have given her the extra reason to work things out instead of what she was doing now, which was stalling and avoiding him. Why was it luck was always a stroke behind him? Just this once, couldn’t things roll in his favor?

  “Why did you say ‘for when the time came’, not ‘for when the time comes’?” Jack had worked his way back to Nate’s desk. “What’s going on, boy? I’m a good listener and sure as hell not a gossip trap like Betty. Whatever you tell me won’t leave this room.”

  It wasn’t that he thought Jack would broadcast Nate’s marital problems throughout Magdalena because the man was as solid and trustworthy as they came. No, this was more about voicing the accusations and the current state of his screwed-up marriage. He didn’t want Jack giving him that pitiful look that said, The worst is yet to come, or even It’s not irreversible, but damn close. Once you started talking about it, it became a reality; sometimes other people’s reality, and everybody had an opinion. Let her go. Fight for her. Stand your ground. Get a lawyer. Never trust a woman, especially an estranged wife.

  He’d said these words a time or two himself, but dammit, this was different. This was his marriage; this was Christine they were talking about. Nate opened his mouth, willing the truth to spill out, but he couldn’t do it.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t talk about it right now.”

  The old man nodded, his expression somber. “I understand. How ’bout I move that piece of furniture to the computer room, so nobody sees it and starts asking questions? Tom ain’t gonna say nothing seeing as it doesn’t have a keyboard or a monitor attached to it.”