Angie ran around the main floor opening all the windows as her mom, her aunt and her mother-in-law, fighting shared fits of hysterical laughter, somehow managed to whip the smoking crostini from the oven, toss it in the sink and turn the cold water on it.
Bowie came at a little after four. Morose, but clearly sober, he drank Dr. Pepper and wandered around looking glum, eventually going down to the river for a swim. A little later, he reappeared on the deck—and headed straight for Glory, who was sitting on the long built-in bench beneath the railing with the sleeping Johnny in her arms.
It was a breath-held kind of moment. Everyone just knew there would be trouble.
Brand’s easy smile faded and Petra and Lucia stopped chattering. Dani and Gracie, who were flitting around the picnic tables getting everything just right for the big birthday meal, cast worried glances at each other. Even Nonna Baldovino, who sat in a nice padded lawn chair smiling benignly and sipping a gin and tonic, suddenly looked tense.
Angie, emerging from the great room through the open French doors, a bowl of chips in either hand, stopped stock-still and wondered what had possessed her to even consider inviting Bowie.
“How’s he doing?” Bowie asked, tipping his head at his sleeping son and shocking them all by sounding almost shy.
“He’s good.” Glory’s soft mouth quivered. She looked down at Johnny, then back up at his father. And then, cautiously, she gave Bowie a smile. “Real good.”
Even though she smiled, Glory looked…so very sad, Angie thought. For herself. For the golden-haired man looming over her. For the baby they had made. Angie understood that sadness, the sadness of loving when loving somehow wasn’t enough.
Love…
Angie knew it then, at that moment, as she recognized her sister’s sadness and felt that sadness in herself.
I’m in love with my husband. I’m in love with Brett….
In love…
Oh, yeah. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She was in love with Brett—crazy, madly, wildly, deeply.
In love.
Too bad Brett had told her from the first that he’d never be in love with her. Too bad she’d agreed with him, promised him she wanted what he wanted from their lives together: sanity and normalness, nothing wild or extreme.
No emotional danger…
What a mess, Angie thought. It should be so right—and yet it’s all completely wrong.
Glory, her shining gaze still locked on Bowie, offered softly, “You want to hold him?”
Bowie speared his fingers through his shaggy, still wet hair. “Uh. Yeah. I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”
Glory indicated the space beside her. “Okay, then. Sit here.”
Bowie dropped to the bench. Glory rose and, with great care, handed him down his son to hold. Johnny yawned and opened his eyes. He caught Bowie’s thumb in his plump baby fist and made a happy cooing sound.
“He’s so damn small….” Bowie’s voice was rough with wonder.
Glory chuckled low. “Hey, he’s huge compared to the day he was born…” Her voice trailed off. Slowly she turned and saw everyone watching them. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, everybody. Nothing thrilling’s gonna happen here. You can all stop staring now.”
That broke the spell. In a breathless rush of voices, they all started talking at once. A sweet trill of a laugh escaped Petra, a response to some remark Brand had made. Ice cubes clinked in Nonna’s glass as she delicately sipped her cocktail. Gracie told Dani, “Well, I’d say this table looks as ready as it’s going to get….”
Still, for the life of her, Angie couldn’t move. She stayed rooted in place between the open French doors, clutching the bowls of chips, struck speechless by what she’d just realized.
In love. Oh, my God. I’m crazy in love with Brett….
It seemed so huge and terrible and frighteningly new—at the same time as she had to admit that, deep down, she’d known it all along, been lying all along: to Brett and to herself.
“Angie, you okay?” Dani was looking at her sideways.
“Uh, yeah. Fine. Terrific.” Yet another lie, but a tiny one this time, a lie that was nothing compared to the whopper she’d been telling herself for two months now. Gathering every ounce of determination she possessed, she ordered her shaky legs to take one step and then another. “Here you go.” She passed the bowls of chips to Dani. Then she leaned over the deck railing and called to her father below at the grills. “Dad, how’s it going?”
He glanced up at her. “Bring those platters down here and let’s get it all on the table.” Brett stood at his side.
“Be right down,” Angie promised, her gaze drawn like a magnet to the tall, broad-shouldered man she had married, the man she loved with all her heart.
Brett gave her a quick smile—and then looked away.
No use staring when he wasn’t staring back. She pushed off from the railing, turning for the house.
And whipped right back around again when a woman’s desperate scream erupted from down by the river. “Help! Oh, my God, Matthew! Somebody, help!”
Chapter Nine
As the frantic screams tore through the mountain air, Brett plunked his beer on the nearest flat surface and took off, racing to the street, across it and down the sandy path to the river’s edge in seconds flat.
Clarice was still screaming as she dived into the water. Beneath the high rocks on the other side, in the natural pool formed where the current caught and eddied, the limp body of her older son floated loosely, turning a slow circle.
Trista tried to follow her. Brett caught up with her in time and grabbed her arm. “Watch the other kids.”
“Oh, God,” she screeched, blinking as if waking from a trance, and wildly glancing around at the other kids, any one of whom, left unsupervised, might end up caught in the swift current and swept downstream. “Of course,” she cried. “I will. Okay…”
Brett paused long enough to shuck off his shoes. He dived. It was cold enough to bring a gasp, but not to slow him down. He swam for all he was worth. The current tugged at his clothes, dragging at him. He only swam harder, reaching Clarice and the unconscious child in no time.
Sobbing, calling her son’s name, she had Matthew turned face-up by then. She struggled to keep his mouth and nose above water. As best he could right there on the spot, Brett assessed the boy’s condition. He couldn’t see any chest movement, but the boy’s skin color still looked pretty good—too pale, but not yet turned blue. Near his hairline, the kid sported a nasty contusion.
“He dived too deep,” cried Clarice, telling Brett what he’d already figured out. “He hit his head on the rocks underneath….”
“Pass him to me.”
Miraculously, Clarice did as he’d told her. Brett got an arm under the unconscious boy’s small torso, bracing his limp body high enough that his head was clear of the water. Stroking out with his free arm, he took off for the other side.
It wasn’t all that far. In a few long strokes, he could lower his feet. Once he was upright, he took a couple more steps and the rushing water was waist-high. He didn’t squander the crucial extra seconds it would have taken to carry the kid up to the beach. He simply switched his grip so he held the boy from underneath, checked for obstructions to the airway, found none, and started mouth-to-mouth, right there in the water. He took care not to tip the head too far back, and to get a good seal over the mouth each time. The object was to deliver slow, gentle breaths at four-second intervals.
By the third breath the kid started breathing on his own—followed immediately by hard coughing and sputtering. Only then, did Brett hoist the boy against his chest and forge onto dry land.
The worried crowd on the beach parted so Brett could carry Matthew to the nest of blankets Angie had ready and waiting. He knew without having to ask that she would have already called 9-1-1.
Carefully, Brett dropped to a crouch, set the boy down, rolled him gently to his stomach and into the recovery position—top arm and leg
at right angles to the body, head tilting back, chin jutting forward—so the fluids would drain as he expelled them.
Swallowed water started coming up, along with the kid’s breakfast and lunch. As soon as that was over, Brett and Angie eased him onto a clean blanket. Angie covered him as Dani and Gracie grabbed a couple of plastic buckets and cleaned up the mess.
“It’s going to be all right,” Brett promised Clarice and her husband Mike, as the couple moved in closer to kneel by their son. “I’ll have to check that bump on his head, but it looks to me like he’s going to pull out of this just fine.”
A few feet away, Stella sent up a prayer of gratitude to the Holy Virgin. Rose cried, “Thank God you were here, Brett.”
A murmur of agreement went up. “Yeah, Brett.”
“Good going, Brett.”
“What did we ever do without you…?”
Brett’s gaze collided with Angie’s. “Our hero.” She mouthed the words—the same words she’d said the day after they were married, when he found little Stephanie in that cabinet under the stairs.
That day, she’d looked up at him with stars in her eyes. Now she just looked sad—and then quickly turned away to tuck the blanket more snuggly around the shivering child.
By the time the EMTs arrived, Brett had already examined Matthew’s injury and asked him a few questions to confirm that he was thinking clearly. The techs waited while Brett ran the usual checks for strength, balance, coordination, reflexes and sensation. All were normal. No need to send the kid to the hospital.
The EMTs took off. Since the danger was passed, people started wandering back up the hill again, headed for the house and the almost-ready birthday meal. Brett spent a couple of minutes with Clarice and Mike, explaining the dangers of post-concussive syndrome and telling them what signs to watch for, reassuring them again that he didn’t think there was anything to worry about, but they should make sure that Matthew took it easy for the next couple of days.
“Come on everybody….” It was Rose, at the top of the trail leading down from the street. “We’re about to put the food on the table.”
The stragglers started up the path. Matthew, on his feet by then and wrapped in a blanket, strode along beside his father in the center of the small group.
Brett hung back a little, though his dripping chinos and wet shirt clung to him uncomfortably and he really needed to get up to the house and into clean, dry clothes. He watched the others as they moved away from him. They were all chattering and laughing now, enjoying the rush of relief that follows an averted disaster.
He didn’t realize that he was hoping Angie might pause and look for him—until she did, at the top of the path.
She stopped. And she waited.
He stared up at her, those feelings he couldn’t deal with rising within him: lust and yearning. Possessiveness. Fear.
It wasn’t good. It wasn’t…the way he’d planned for it to be.
And how the hell long was he going to stand here, dripping wet with soggy sand between his toes, staring longingly at his wife like a lovesick, hopeless fool?
Brett swore under his breath, turned, scooped up his shoes, and hurried to catch up with her.
Well after midnight, when everyone finally went home, Angie and Brett sat out on the deck in the cool darkness, listening to the occasional explosions of illegal firecrackers down by the river and the faint strains of music from the town hall, where the merchant’s association was putting on their annual Fourth of July dance.
Angie shivered as the night breeze found its way under the sweater she’d thrown over her shoulders. Tugging the sweater closer, she tried to figure out where to begin. How to tell him she loved him in the way she’d promised that she wouldn’t.
How to get him to see…
What?
That it would be okay? That they would work it out? That there was nothing wrong with loving someone as passionately and completely as she loved him.
That all she wanted in the world was to find a way to bridge this strange distance that yawned between them, scarily wider every day?
He said, “It was a good party.”
She said, “Yeah. They all had a great time.” She added dryly, “Even if Matthew did almost drown.”
He stared off into the middle distance for a moment. Then he muttered, “Your aunt Stella took me aside.”
Surprise, surprise. “Let me guess. About having our marriage blessed by the church.”
“She says it’s important and you need to talk to Father Delahunty.”
“I know. I will….” Brett, I love you. In the way I told you I wouldn’t love you. But I can’t help it. I do—and really, what is so wrong with that? To me, it feels like a good thing, the greatest thing….
He stood. “Ready for bed?”
Her courage deserted her. Which was just more proof of how bad things had gotten. By now, it seemed forever ago, those lovely faraway days when she’d felt that she could tell him anything, that he would listen, and no matter what she revealed, he’d understand.
Maybe, she found herself thinking, tonight wasn’t such a good time, after all. Maybe some other time. Maybe tomorrow.
She got up and followed him in.
In bed, she cuddled up close to him. He kissed her on the top of her head and whispered, “Good night.”
An hour later she was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking how they hadn’t made love in over a week. They couldn’t go on like this: not really talking, not making love, just kind of moving through their lives by rote, kind of getting through the days.
Together—and yet, in all the ways that really counted, so far apart.
And maybe, the more she thought about it, that was what scared her the most. That they could go on like this.
That nothing would change.
The following Monday at the diner, once they’d gotten their drinks and given Charlene their order, Glory announced, “Bowie’s left town.”
Angie took a moment to digest that stunning piece of news. Then she asked carefully, “You mean, like…for good?”
“Well, let me put it this way. If he comes back, it’s not gonna be for a long time. He came over to the B and B last night to say goodbye to me and Johnny—and Chastity, too.”
“I shouldn’t ask….”
“Oh, go ahead.”
“Well, was he…?”
“Drunk? Nope. He was stone-cold sober. He’s been sober for over a month, believe it or not. Long enough, he told me, to start thinking more clearly about everything that’s not working in his life. Did you know he’s been going to AA meetings down in Nevada City?”
“No—but that’s good. It’s a big step.”
Glory nodded, her eyes misty. “He told me he needs a new start. I can’t say I blame him….”
Angie reached across the table to brush her sister’s hand. “You miss him already.”
Glory dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Yeah. I guess I do. But you know what? I think it’s a good thing, the right thing, for him. He’s a little like Buck, you know?”
“Yeah. I do know. Bowie needs to get out in the world, to start over in a new place where his reputation as the craziest Bravo boy doesn’t dog his every move.”
Glory caught her lower lip between her teeth. “And, Angie, there’s more….”
Angie had the strangest, sinking feeling. She gulped. “What? Tell me.”
“Well, I’m thinkin’ a fresh start sounds pretty good to me, too.” Her sister leaned closer. “I’ve talked to B.J. Did you know she had her baby? A little boy. Joseph James. B.J.’s got a big-time career. She needs a nanny, someone she can count on to love little Joey like her own….”
Angie’s mouth felt so dry, as if she’d stuffed a wad of cotton in there. She gulped to ease that dryness. “New York City? You and Johnny are moving to New York City?”
“Angie, try to understand.”
“Oh. Well. Of course, I understand.”
“You don�
�t look like you understand. You look like you’re about to cry.”
Angie swallowed again. Hard. “Well, I’m not.”
“You have to see. It’s a good thing for me. I’ll get a big salary, and I’ll have minimal living expenses, since I’ll be moving in with B.J. and Buck. Johnny and I will get full medical. And Buck and B.J. are going to pay for me to take college courses online. By the time Johnny’s old enough for kindergarten, I’ll have myself a real career….”
It was a good deal. No doubt about it. “You’re right.” Angie forced a smile. “It sounds terrific. And I know you and B.J. are best friends. You’ll have someone you can talk to….”
“I’ll be with family. I mean, think about it. Joey and Johnny are cousins.”
“That’s right—and, um, you surprised me, at first. But the more I get used to the idea, the more I see what a terrific opportunity this is going to be for you.”
Glory braced her forearms on the table, laced her fingers together and looked down at them. “Mamma and Aunt Stella will have a fit. All of them will. I can just hear Great-Grandpa Tony now, yellin’ at me, calling me a damn fool….”
Angie spoke briskly. “You gonna let that stop you?”
Glory glanced up, a naughty gleam in her eyes. “Heck, no. I see my chance and I’m takin’ it.”
“Good for you.”
Glory reached across the table again and squeezed Angie’s arm. “As far as going, I’m sorry for one thing and one thing only. That’s having to leave you. I know how much you need me now, with all the confusion in your poor mind and heart. I know, since you came back to town, that I’m the only one in the whole family you can talk to.”
Angie opened her mouth to argue that she wasn’t the least confused. She shut it before one lying word got out. “You’re right,” she confessed. “You are the only one around here I can talk to.” Now that Brett and I are hardly speaking, that is.
Married in Haste Page 11