“Do you sleep with the guy?” His expression was fierce.
“No! I’ve never slept with anyone!”
He took a deep breath and his face relaxed “Then I can put up with it. Because I’m willing to fight for you, if I have to, but not if you sleep with the guy.”
Candy watched his face as she said, “Did you sleep with Candy?”
“I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about now.” His words came out clipped and angry.
“You did.”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Why not? I told you I’ve never slept with anyone!”
“You volunteered that. I didn’t ask.”
Connie stared at his stern profile, waiting for him to look at her, but he refused, keeping his eyes on the traffic in front of them. His righteous anger frightened her with its potential to end their bond once and for all.
The awkward silence between them was more than she could stand. “Did I tell you I went to the library yesterday to get information about the Abenaki, but they didn’t have anything except a few things on microfilm?”
Greg glanced at her. “Why do you need information about the Abenaki?”
Connie realized too late she hadn’t told him that detail about Angie. Somehow, she wasn’t ready to share it just yet.
“So, you know about them?” she said. “I had never heard the term before.”
“They’re a bunch of people who claim to have Indian ancestors and have been trying to get recognition from the state, but it’s been denied.”
“How come?”
“Because they can’t prove they’re a real tribe. They have to show they’ve always been here as a community with some kind of political infrastructure and that they’re really descended from a known tribe. And they can’t. They’re just trying to scam the state.”
“Scam it how?”
“They want to claim fishing rights as indigenous people. Hunting rights. Maybe land. I’m not sure.”
“The librarian said they’ve gone underground for some reason. I’m not sure what she meant.”
Greg shook his head. “From what I understand, they’ve intermarried with French Canadians to the point where they don’t really exist as a tribe anymore.”
Connie pondered his words, trying to remember what Angie had said about it being better to be French Canadian than Abenaki.
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“We talked about it in my public policy class last year. Why do you want to know about them?”
“It was for Angie,” she said carefully. “I was just hoping to find some information for her, but I didn’t have any luck.”
“Did she need it for school?”
“I’m not sure.”
Greg glanced at her once more. “That’s not what she is, is it? Abenaki? You said she’s adopted. Is she Abenaki?”
Connie did her best to maintain her composure. “Did I say that?”
“You said she was adopted. You didn’t say from where.”
“I don’t know from where. We never got that far.”
“But you said she visits her birth family. So, they’re from around here?”
His questions were beginning to alarm her. “You know, I really shouldn’t be talking about it,” she said. “And please don’t mention it if you see her. The whole thing upsets her.”
Greg’s eyebrows knit together in a frown as he looked at her. “Nothing’s going to happen because you talk to me about it.”
“Good.” Connie turned away from him.
“Don’t you trust me at all?” His voice was tight with hurt.
She turned back to give him a reassuring smile. “Of course I trust you.”
Greg’s face remained troubled, and his voice was gruff. “What about La Boheme?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing.
***
Their ride home that evening was uneventful. Connie kept the conversation light, and Greg seemed equally determined to avoid another confrontation.
She had done most of her homework in the library that afternoon, and when Paul came by after supper she agreed to go out with him for a few hours. She put on her winter coat and followed him outside and down the stairs. A light snow was falling as she slid onto the front seat of his car. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He drove around the block past Nonna’s duplex, and parked the car in front of the familiar house next door.
Connie looked up at the wide front porch. “We’re going to visit your grandparents?”
“Yeah. Except they’re in Rochester until Friday, visiting my aunt and uncle. We’ve got the whole house to ourselves.”
Connie glanced toward the shaded windows of the duplex, just a stone’s throw away. Light shone around the edges of the closed Venetian blinds on both floors. “I hope nobody sees us go in.”
“Nobody’s gonna see. It’s darker than shit out here.”
Connie glanced at the streetlamp in front of the house, then pulled the hood of her coat up over her hair and kept her face turned away from the duplex as she exited the car. She hurried across the sidewalk and up onto the covered porch. Paul unlocked the paneled front door, and she slipped inside the quiet darkness of his grandparents’ living room. The eerily silent house smelled of lemon furniture polish and cigars.
Paul slipped her coat from her shoulders and tossed it onto an armchair near the door, then took off his Red Sox jacket and laid it on top of her coat. Connie kicked off her shoes, remembering his grandmother’s preferences in her house, and Paul smiled as he took her hand to lead her to the couch. Silvery light from the streetlamp shone through the lacy curtains onto the carpet at their feet, providing all the illumination they needed as they settled side by side onto the plush cushions of the sofa.
She was in his arms in a second, hungrily kissing his mouth, running her fingers into the soft fullness of his tangled curls, closing her eyes and pressing tightly to him, searching for his tongue with hers in a frantic effort to be as close as possible. He held her face in his hands, and the sensations his kisses aroused in her were overwhelming. His hand moved downward to caress her neck, then slid lower until it rested against the slope of her breast. Her breathing came faster as both of his hands moved to her breasts, gently lifting and feeling her, pushing her body away from his while their mouths still devoured one another. His fingers slipped to her waist, found the hem of her t-shirt, and pulled it upwards. She and Paul separated long enough for him to pull the shirt over her head, leaving her facing him with only the soft cotton of her bra between them.
Paul’s eyes were looking at hers, silently asking for permission. Connie’s gaze shifted to his mouth, to the fullness of his partially opened lips, and she leaned forward to kiss him once again. His hands rested on her shoulders for a moment, then slowly eased the bra straps down her arms. Connie closed her eyes as his fingertips moved to touch her breasts where the cotton met skin, then curled around the thin material and pulled it forward and down. His fingers brushed against the hardness of her nipples, and she drew a deep, involuntary breath. She was completely topless with him for the first time, and she began to tremble.
“Are you cold?”His hands closed over her breasts, and she gave a small whimper as she shook her head. The entire experience was incredible—the warmth of his hands, the sensations that traveled from her breasts to her groin, the exhilaration of being naked before him. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said. His eyes were on her bare breasts, his hands lovingly lifting and caressing them. He bent to close his mouth over one nipple, and Connie let out a gasp at the painful intensity of the ache that shot through her, all the way to the space between her legs. He pressed her backwards until she was lying on the couch, and she reached for his face as he looked down at her, wanting his mouth on her breast again. Instead, he brought his lips down on hers, licking and tasting her, then slowly worked his way downward, kissing her chin and her
neck, moving along her breastbone and between her breasts, holding back on what she wanted most—for his lips to close over her nipple and suck it until she couldn’t stand it another minute.
He moved off the couch to kneel on the floor beside her and lowered his mouth to her breast. She threaded her fingers into his black curls and pressed his head to her chest, where he sucked one nipple and then the other until she was crying for relief. She arched her back, and the flat of his hand rested on her bare abdomen, then slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans. She knew she should stop him, but the pulsing ache between her legs wanted his touch so badly. His fingers worked their way deep into her jeans, and when they curled to press against the thin isthmus of fabric between her legs, she let out a muted sob. The word “don’t” came out as a whisper she didn’t expect him to hear and didn’t really want him to honor.
***
“Gianna?”
Connie sat on the edge of her sister’s twin bed in their darkened bedroom. Gianna was turned toward the wall, curled into the fetal position, her favorite way to sleep, and Connie had to stifle an urge to crawl into bed with her and press herself against Gianna’s back. When they were small and afraid of the night, cuddling in the form of spoons had always helped both of them go to sleep.
“Gigi?”
Gianna moaned and rolled onto her back. Her dark hair fanned out to either side, framing her pale face against the white of the pillowcase. Her eyes slowly opened, then widened at the sight of Connie staring down at her.
“Connie? What’s wrong?”
Connie swallowed back the lump that kept rising in her throat. “I just need to talk to you. I’m sorry to wake you.”
Gianna pushed herself up on her elbows, her brows knit in concern as she stared at Connie. “That’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“I… I did a terrible thing…” Connie put her hands to her face and began to sob.
Gianna was upright in an instant, scrambling to her knees to cradle Connie in her arms. “Oh, God,” Gianna said, which, for her, was a sin in itself. She held tightly to Connie and waited for the sobbing to wane.
Connie cried herself out, then lowered her hands. Gianna released her but remained close, staring into her eyes. When Connie didn’t speak, Gianna whispered, “You went all the way?”
Connie looked down at her own hands, now resting in her lap, and swallowed hard. “Not exactly. But close.”
Gianna waited.
“Just fingers.” Connie had no idea how Gianna would react, but she had to tell someone, and her older sister was the only one in whom she could confide. Still, she avoided making eye contact, afraid of the disdain she might find on her sister’s face.
“Inside?”
Connie nodded.
Gianna rested her hand on Connie’s forearm. “Hey. Look at me.”
Connie looked up.
Gianna gave her a wan smile. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not saying it was the right thing to do, but it’s not the end of the world.” Her dark eyes searched Connie’s face. “Did he force you?”
Connie shook her head, still meeting Gianna’s eyes. If nothing else, she would take full responsibility for what she had done.
“Connie, I don’t want to make assumptions—and don’t get mad—but this is Paul Cefalu.”
“I would never get mad.” Connie beheld Gianna with a surge of affection. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”
Gianna’s smile was self-deprecating. “Six months ago, I would have been a self-righteous prig.”
Did that mean she and David—
“No,” Gianna said, reading her mind. “But not because we don’t want to.”
Connie nodded and looked away. “I feel awful.”
“Then, that’s why you have to stop, more than for any other reason. This is not a healthy relationship.”
“But you can’t blame Paul. I mean, he could have… gone farther… but he didn’t.” Connie looked down at her hands resting in her lap. “He’s not a bad person.”
“I have no idea, one way or the other. But we both know he’s wicked good-looking, and you’ve always had a thing for him. And it seems to me it’s based on his face.”
Connie continued to stare at her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe before, but I’m not sure that’s all it is now.”
“What about Greg? You’re still going to see La Boheme, right?”
Connie closed her eyes, her heart aching. Was what she had done the equivalent of sleeping with Paul? “I’m all confused about him.”
“Does that mean you’re not going?”
“No, we’re going.”
Gianna gripped Connie’s upper arms and peered into her face. “Then, give him a chance. And stay away from Paul for a while.”
“Paul’s coming for dinner on Sunday. Ma invited him.”
Gianna sighed. “That should be fun. David’s coming.”
“Paul won’t say anything.” A new wave of anguish washed over Connie. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I did that.”
Gianna gently shook her. “You can’t change it, Con. You can only learn from it. And go to Confession.”
“Today’s Wednesday. What if I die before Saturday?” As stupid as it sounded, her fear of eternal damnation was real.
“Say an Act of Contrition. Be truly sorry, and when you get to the part about not doing it again, mean it.”
Connie sniffled back a pending wave of new tears. “The trouble is, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to not do it again. I mean, if not with Paul, what about Greg? He’s an attractive guy. And he says he loves me.”
Gianna released her and sat back on her heels. Her dark eyes held Connie’s. “I love David. He loves me. And it’s part of the deal. We’re not going to hurt each other or send each other to hell because of something we can control. You can control it, Connie.”
When had Gianna become so sophisticated about love? “Do you think he’s the one?”
Despair tinged Gianna’s voice. “I don’t know. Mamma says he’s the first guy I’ve gone out with, and I shouldn’t make a decision that way.”
“Ha!” Connie was incredulous. “Papa’s the only man she ever had a relationship with! They were practically promised at birth. I’m not sure they even had a choice.”
“They were betrothed. She told me that.”
Connie stared at Gianna. “She told you that?”
“Yes. But then she said, because they knew it, they never looked at anyone else, and they just fell in love with each other. Like it was meant to be.”
Connie shook her head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad she talks to you about it. I can barely get two words out of her about that kind of stuff except that men are animals, but not Papa.”
“She worries more about you.”
“About me? Why?” Connie wasn’t sure if she should take offense.
Gianna’s expression was serious. “Because you’re more worldly and adventurous than I am. You’re not afraid to try new stuff. And she’s afraid you’re going to get hurt really bad some day, and that scares her.”
Connie let out a sigh. “Maybe she should be worrying more about Angie. I still don’t get the thing about part Indian.”
Gianna reached for her disheveled sheet and blankets, then lay back in the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. “One thing at a time, Connie. It’s late. Go to bed and say your prayers.” She rolled away from Connie, her face to the wall once more, and drew her legs up into the fetal position.
Connie went into the bathroom. If it wasn’t for the noisy plumbing waking her parents, she would have taken a shower. Yet soap and water wouldn’t be enough to wash away how dirty she felt. She began to mumble the Act of Contrition as she pulled a washcloth from the drawer and prepared to quietly do what she could.
Chapter Seventeen
Friday, November 8
Angie’s spirits seemed to rise even as Connie’s plummeted. While Connie suffered from anxiety attacks fueled by guilt, Angie had noticeably ligh
tened up. Having her secret out, at least to the extent that it had been shared with her sisters, gave Angie the freedom to be open about where she was going on the weekend and why.
On Friday evening, Mamma and Papa went to visit Nonna and The Aunts, leaving their daughters behind. The three girls were seated in the living room, folding family laundry, and Angie had just finished describing the LaCroixs’ log home on a back road outside of Swanton.
“What do you call them?” Connie asked as she rolled up pairs of ankle socks and tossed the orbs back into the wicker laundry basket.
“Mère and Père. My French is awful, but it makes them happy. I’m just so glad it’s not Mamma and Papa. I could never call them that.”
“Was it really weird at first?” Gianna sorted underwear by color; each of them had her own color.
Angie smiled. “I guess. I mean, I already knew them a little from when they used to visit. But, of course, it was different knowing who they really are and staying overnight at their house. They kind of watched me all the time at first and fussed a lot, like they were afraid something would happen that would make me want to come home and never go back.”
“I can’t imagine Mr. LaCroix fussing,” Gianna said.
“Not him so much, but her. And Francis.”
Connie sorted through the pile of ankle socks looking for a match to the blue one in her hand. “How long has Francis known?”
“Since he was ten.”
Connie looked up in surprise. “That long? All those times he came here, he knew you were his sister? And we found out last week?”
Angie gave her an apologetic grimace. “Con, I know that upsets you, and I’m sorry.”
Connie looked away, knowing she shouldn’t take out her frustrations on Angie. “It wasn’t your choice.”
“Don’t be mad at Mamma and Papa, either. They were just trying to do the right thing.”
“Do you have grandparents, too?” Gianna asked.
“They died.”
Connie wondered how that felt, knowing she missed the chance to know her biological ancestors.
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