“In th … ere.” She motioned toward the bedroom.
He sighed and got the flashlight he’d swiped from Rese’s workshop all those months ago and kept in the carriage house to light the tunnel without her knowing. Nonna didn’t miss a trick. He brought it out and handed it to her. “You sure?”
She nodded.
Crouching down, he squeezed the release, then lifted the foursquare block of paving stones and looked in. That black hole had caused them both a lot of trouble, but if Nonna wanted to go down, he’d take her down. She would never manage the stairs, almost as steep as a ladder, and he was not exactly at the top of his strength, but he’d try. Good thing she was little.
With extreme care, he carried her to the bottom and set her on her feet.
She turned and looked up. “I w … as carried on those stairs the l … ast time.”
“Nonno Marco?”
She nodded. “When I w … ouldn’t leave, he h … oisted me up and hauled me off.”
“Best way to deal with obstinate women.”
She chuckled.
Baxter whined from the opening. While his great-greatgrandfather had lain in the tunnel he hadn’t allowed the dog down, not wanting the bones disturbed. Now he gave a soft whistle and Baxter clambered down. Lance went back up for Nonna’s walker, then made sure her grip was secure.
She stared into the tunnel, levity fading when he pointed the light; then slowly she started forward. They reached the gate and went through. She stopped at the spot where he’d found Quillan’s skeleton. The lamp still sat against the wall, dry and useless, having burned its fuel and died. She bowed her head, and he couldn’t see her expression, but imagined it.
“You okay?”
“So … senseless,” she murmured. “Poor N … onno.”
“He had you with him at the end.”
She sighed. “Papa had no one.”
“He had the Lord. He died to keep you safe.”
She nodded. “They kn … ew he would come.”
“He had to.” Because when it came down to it, a person had to do what was required. No matter the cost.
The wine was still there, though Rese had used the money hidden under one of the racks. He didn’t care. He’d learned surrender. And it might not be over yet.
————
Rese stopped at the table, flummoxed. The rich, peachy aroma of the filling inside the crisp, buttery shell seized her like a fist. How could it be there unless …
She jerked her gaze to the window. No sign of life in the carriage house. Had he carried Antonia upstairs? She hurried up and looked, but the only rooms in use were Star’s and Mom’s, and they were both sleeping soundly. So Star hadn’t cooked it, even if she might have used Lance’s recipe—only he hadn’t given them that one.
She went back down to the kitchen. Did she imagine it? Was this the first psychotic break? In her misery, she could have crossed some line, passed through a barrier and made her own reality where Lance still cooked wonderful things and left them like gifts for her to find. Would she actually taste it? Would that cement the illusion?
She looked at the pastry with distrust, as though its being there was a test. If she resisted, would it vanish? Could she make Lance go away before he got entrenched like Walter? What if Mom had not kept inviting her invisible friend? What if she’d listened to her controlfreak daughter and refused to play? Maybe they could all have lived happily together.
Rese backed away from the table, one step, two. “I will not eat it. I will not believe it’s there.” Another step, and the pantry door opened behind her. She turned with a shriek, but it was Antonia looking a little weepy, with Lance closing the back wall panel she had once banged in terror from the pitch darkness on the other side.
She’d all but blocked the tunnel from her mind, and as the memory of that awful passage rushed in, she scowled. Antonia emerged from the pantry, leaning heavily on the metal walker. Good support, but not to walk through a black cellar where anything might lurk. Rese shuddered.
Though her face demanded an explanation, Lance looked past her. “You didn’t eat your breakfast.”
“No, I …” She glanced back at the pastry cooling innocently on the table, then glared. “Where were you?”
He stated the obvious. “We came through the tunnel from the carriage house.”
“You slept over there?”
“Didn’t Star tell you?”
“I haven’t seen her.” She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous taking Antonia through the tunnel?”
“It’s m … y fault. I asked.” Antonia settled into the chair and started in on the peach-stuffed pastry.
Lance closed the pantry door.
Rese crossed her arms. “You’re obviously recovered.” On his feet at least, though he’d knocked hers out from under her.
“I don’t know why I passed out. The flight or something.”
“Or something.”
He looked away, not wanting to fight. And why was she? She’d spent the whole night mourning his departure. Now he was there, and all she could do was scold him. “I thought you were gone.”
“You said we could stay.” He frowned, glancing at Antonia.
Rese looked too, but Antonia was carefully feeding herself, bite by bite. A marked improvement. She could obviously put her mind to something and accomplish it. But what was it she meant to accomplish? Lance moved to the stove. “I’ll make you another.”
Rese almost snapped for him not to bother, but his hand shook when he reached for the bowl. What had he done to himself? Other people served God, people like Chaz and Michelle, without physical and emotional damage. But Lance? Lance had to make it painful.
————
Rese’s anger was palpable, though she wouldn’t show it. Her expression was utterly stoic. He wished she’d hurl something, scream, shout, even pinch his sides and cry, but no, she would ice him.
He put the hot, crisp popover on a warmed plate and filled it with caramelized peaches, dusted it with confectioner’s sugar, and prayed. Rese thanked him when he set it before her, and the chill spread.
He glanced down at Baxter, who sympathized but was not risking his own favored status. Planted at Rese’s knee, his eyes said, “You’ll have to dig out of this one yourself.”
It was for her sake he’d broken it off. How could he know what God intended? It might have gone another way and endangered her. He had done what he had to, but it occurred to him the Bible was silent on the women’s reactions to the men’s deeds. How had Sarah responded when Abraham told her he was going to run on up the mountain and sacrifice their son? “Okay, honey, be home for dinner?” And they’d had a century of marriage to fall back on. He had two rejected proposals and a lot more time in the doghouse than out.
Rese had made a clean break all right; new partner, new direction, no inn—no need for him at all. So why couldn’t he let it go? In the moments before he’d passed out at her feet, he had known God was not done with him. But Rese might be.
Star gave him a wry smile when he served her pastry. She was not missing a thing and seemed to find his predicament amusing. They had talked yesterday, and she’d told him about Rese getting custody and how Elaine had settled in and even improved since coming to live with them. Elaine had wandered around the house, now and then interjecting her own comments.
Rese had accomplished that, too, making a home for her mother. Did that bode well for him? If Rese could forgive Elaine— Better not presume. Rese drew a clear distinction between her mother’s limitations and the rest of the world’s. His in particular.
When Star asked, he’d told her Rico had the painting in his room, that he woke to it each day and spent a good deal of time comtemplating its composition … or something. She didn’t pursue it, just said, “Thanks for getting me out of New York. I know it wasn’t pretty.” But she seemed to have put it all behind her. And she seemed happy. Was Rese? Not at the moment.
He
served Elaine’s pastry, then sat down with his own. He willed himself to eat it without looking ridiculous, but before he’d made a dent, Rese finished hers and brought her plate to the sink.
“I’ll get that,” he said, but she washed it herself. No comment, of course, on the food. That would imply approval. Within moments she was out the door. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.
“‘What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,’ ” Star murmured.
“And no thaw in sight,” he answered.
“A … ll in good time.” Nonna nodded knowingly.
But Elaine said, “She’s gone, gone, gone.”
————
Try as she might, Rese could not make herself stay past the end of the day. Brad even asked if she’d be there late, and that was her chance to say yes. But she went home and crept inside to the heavenly scents of something that brought a Baxter-like response to her mouth. Lance and Antonia worked together at the stove she guessed by the conversation emanating from the kitchen over the music. Star had pulled tables together in the dining room and decorated with silk roses and candles. It was like walking into House Beautiful.
Slipping past without a word, Rese changed and washed up, then bolstered herself and joined them all in the kitchen. Because of the opera playing on the Bose sound system Star had purchased with money from her trust fund, Lance hadn’t heard her come in. Comfortably invisible, Rese watched him give Mom a piece of cheese from a pile he had handy when she jammed her hand at him.
She put it into her mouth and walked to the wall where she stood with one arm in the air. “The pattern is very important. If you don’t understand. Always put the green with the green. The green with the green.”
Lance held a sprig of something for Nonna to smell. She nodded, and he rubbed it over whatever was in the saucepan. Once again everything seemed centered around him, and before that could seem right, Rese tried to slip back to her suite. But Lance turned and saw her there. Why did his feelings have to be so apparent? And what was she supposed to do about it?
A knock at the kitchen door broke the thread of their gaze. Rese pulled it open, and Michelle gave her a hug—she could only blame herself for starting that the last time Michelle was over. Baxter bounded over ready to spring, but Lance spoke his name in a tone that made him sit and wag instead.
“Doesn’t it smell good in here?” Michelle advanced to the stove and made too much of the glorious aroma.
Just what Lance needed, someone else drooling. He deferred the praise to Nonna, but Rese knew how he sopped up any appreciation for the food he prepared. Whatever his difficulty eating, it had obviously not kept him from providing. She didn’t know what to think about any of that, and it wasn’t her problem, anyway. Why did people keep thinking she was any kind of problem solver?
“I can set another place,” Star said.
What? Rese crossed her arms. Did she have a say in anything? She’d worked hard. She was tired.
“How can I refuse with two professional chefs working together?”
Oh, not professional. There was the little matter of certification.
Michelle turned to her. “Long day?”
Yes, I actually worked. How nice of you to notice. Rese bit her tongue and nodded.
“I came by to ask you something. A favor of sorts.”
Great. Rese waited.
“What favor?” Star said.
“Well, I’ve got a little gal in a tight spot. She doesn’t speak much English, and I’m not too sure about her green card. But I thought of you with all these rooms. It wouldn’t be permanent. Just until she had the baby, or found something else.”
Baby? “You’re kidding, right?” The words were out before she could stop them.
Star giggled.
Rese drew a breath and collected herself. “I mean …” What did she mean?
Michelle took her comment in stride. “We could do a little something from the sharing fund to help with food and diapers.”
“Food and diapers,” Mom said from her spot on the wall.
Rese frowned. “Diapers come after babies, or with. I mean, when she’d be finding something else.”
Star giggled again.
Mom left her spot and jerked out her hand for another piece of cheese. Lance handed it over and turned back to the stove. Star and Antonia watched her reclaim her wall space. No one seemed to be reacting to Michelle’s favor of sorts. Were they all waiting for her to speak the obvious? We’re not set up for a baby, or strangers, or …
Rese sagged against the table. “We’d need to talk about it.”
“Oh, sure.” Michelle waved her hands. “I know I’m springing it on you, but she’s in kind of a hovel, and it can’t be healthy for the baby, you know?”
The weight descended. She could not take on another need. “I’m not sure …” She looked from Mom to Star to Antonia to Lance’s back and wished she could pass out for a day or two.
“Let’s eat,” Lance said.
The roasted pork with saffron rice in a light, savory sauce, crisp green beans, and some kind of flatbread were fabulous, but she had as hard a time getting it down as Lance. Even though she had two cooks and three filled guest rooms, she wanted to holler, “I’m not running an inn!”
“The best I can figure,” Michelle said, “Maria came up with the migrant workers, but some of them didn’t move on. Anyway there’s seven living in one room, six guys and her, and she’s a little hazy about the father.”
Rese closed her eyes. She understood Michelle’s concern, but she had concerns of her own. What was happening to the plan she’d made? Work with Brad, take care of Mom, have a place for Star as long as she wanted it.
“And since she’s only sixteen—”
“Sixteen!” Rese met Star’s gaze across the table. She’d been waiting for her to flip out, but instead she’d grown quietly intense. Rese read the message there. How much could a pregnant sixteen-year-old eat?
But that wasn’t the point. There would be a baby, and how could Maria work and pay child care? And then there was Mom. What if she got stressed out? And what if Star left? Rese had to work or there’d be no income.
She had avoided Lance the whole meal, but like Baxter biting a wound, she looked at him now and asked, “What do you think?” When she should have cut out her tongue before giving him the idea his situation was anything but temporary and his opinion mattered.
He tried to read her, but when she gave him nothing to go on, he shrugged. “Nonna likes babies.”
Antonia nodded, her mouth pulling into a slanted smile.
Rese turned to Michelle. “Maria could be deported.”
“She’ll probably have the baby first. She’s close.”
“How close?”
“I’d guess within the month.”
Rese dropped her jaw.
“Pretty short notice,” Michelle acknowledged.
Why did all her reasons start seeming like excuses? They were valid. “I’m not here much. It would be on you, Star.”
“Oft the means to do good deeds, makes good deeds done.”
“It might be hard to get anything done, like painting.”
Star spread her arms. “Such is the fickle fabric of fate.”
Well, against such fickle fabric, what choice did she have? “What about a doctor, and all the baby stuff?”
“A midwife at the church has taken over her care. A labor of love.”
Meaning free of charge, she supposed, and if others were being generous, what kind of hardhearted lout was she?
Star pointed with her fork. “You could make the prettiest cradle, Rese, with that burly wood in the workshop.”
“That burly wood is spoken for.” But she might have some left over, and there were other nice pieces. She could not believe she was getting excited about a design that sprang to mind.
She hadn’t even met Maria. But then, she’d been willing to open her home to strangers before. On a temporary, economicall
y advantageous basis, with Lance handling it all. Lance. She groaned.
“We’ll get back to you,” he said, taking the pressure off, easing her situation.
Rese seethed, but didn’t argue.
“Yes, great. Just let me know.” Michelle was all smiles, knowing what the answer would be, so why not just say so?
But Rese kept quiet. There were too many variables. Antonia might like babies, but how long would she be there? And what if Michelle found uses for the other guest rooms? Taking Maria would send a message, set a precedent, make saying no that much harder the next time. She used to be good at no. She’d honed the skill of refusal. She could say no right now. But she didn’t.
After Michelle left and Lance helped Antonia back to the carriage house, Rese took Mom up to bed. It was their time together, since Star had responsibility during the day. Sometimes she wanted to talk, but tonight Mom walked over and turned on the TV, a sign that she wanted to be alone.
Rese didn’t take it personally. She understood alone. And it might become a rare commodity. She went downstairs. Lance and Star were cleaning up, Star whisking between the table and the sink, Lance up to his elbows in suds. What was he doing at her sink, and why hadn’t they gotten a dishwasher? Oh, yeah; she’d nixed it.
The opera had been replaced by classic rock, and Star moved to the beat as she put a rose between her teeth and spun around the kitchen. Lance sent a sideways glance Rese returned before she could stop herself. She did not want to start the communication of glances again. It led to other nonverbal communication.
Clenching her jaw, Rese grabbed a dish towel and accepted the rinsed plate he held out. The muscles and tendons stood out in his forearms as he worked and made her think of Rico, but she didn’t ask until Star had blown them kisses and gone upstairs.
“He’s pretty well healed.” Lance handed her the last dish. “If he doesn’t overdo it.”
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