by Mary Campisi
Angie wished she could curl up and stay in her room until the pain went away, but what if it never left? What if it took up residence in her heart and every single time it beat, she felt the pain? It would be unbearable. It was unbearable now, but the damn thing kept beating.
“It will get better.” Sasha squeezed Angie’s hand, worked up a smile. “It will; you must believe that.”
“And if it doesn’t?” She expected the woman to tell her thinking like that was ridiculous, life could only get better, love would be waiting around the corner.
But she didn’t. Instead Sasha’s silver eyes glittered with sadness when she said, “You will find a way to survive.”
Those words and the sadness in her eyes told Angie the woman had known her share of grief. Had she lost someone? A child perhaps? A husband? Angie didn’t ask because Sasha didn’t seem the sharing type, and she wasn’t about to force the woman into a lie. “I guess I’ll have to.” She swiped a hand across her cheeks. “I love him, Sasha, like I’ve never loved anyone in my life. And now I’ve lost him.”
***
Miriam scrubbed at the glob of red paint that had congealed on the top of The Bleeding Hearts Society’s meeting table. She’d told Candace to take care with her brushes and paint, wipe the brush on the inside of the can to get rid of excess paint. Drips happened if you weren’t careful, and the colors could leach onto the table, carpet, clothing… But of course, Candace had her own plans and her own way of doing things, and that didn’t include following rules. Why had Candace decided to dabble with oils when she’d told everyone the renderings were watercolors? What did she care when she was only pretending to paint, and Miriam was doing the actual renderings? Had her sister followed one rule since she set foot in Magdalena? Taken care to keep secrets safe and therefore not damage relationships, blow up entire families? After the initial fear that Miriam would tell Angie the truth, Candace relaxed, and when she became Angie’s confidante and spokesperson after the breakup with Roman Ventori, she grew careless and too secure in her position.
Candace flitted around the room, her stacks of beads and bracelets jangling to the rhythm of each step. “You know, I understand why you love it here. Oh, indeed I do.” She sighed, let out a small laugh that danced across the table, landed in the smear of paint Miriam was scrubbing. “There’s something about this town, these people, they make a person feel welcome.” Pause, followed by a rush of emotion. “They make a person feel whole, and I haven’t felt that way in a very long time.” More giddiness, more laughter. “Angela likes me.” Candace’s eyes lit up, her voice turned soft, filled with the wonder of a miracle. “Who would have ever believed things could turn out like this?”
Miriam scrubbed harder, worked the red into a pink smear. “Yes. They’re special.” She did not want to discuss the town or its ability to make strangers feel as though they belonged. Why would she give her sister any reason to stay here one second longer? There’d already been enough close calls that could have exposed Miriam’s secret and Candace was a living, breathing threat who needed to leave Magdalena as soon as possible.
“I’m thinking of inviting her to New York City; maybe we could attend a show. I don’t think she’s ever been to the city. Imagine what I could show her?” Candace smiled, let out a soft laugh. “It would be like seeing New York for the first time. Oh, but it would be wondrous. Maybe I’ll invite her to the grand showing of ‘small-town life’. Wouldn’t it be something to have her present? You know how everyone loves it when the artist attends her own show.” Her expression shifted, wiped away the excitement with her next words. “But what happens until then? Once she leaves here, who knows how long it will be until I see her again. I don’t want to think about it.”
Miriam recognized the desperation in her sister’s words, spotted it on her face. Oh, she knew what that felt like, the panic, torment, and hopelessness of a parent who longs to be with her child, dreads the time and distance of separation, dreams of the second they will reunite and the parent can breathe again. A full, clean breath, one that speaks of a love so pure it is worth any amount of sacrifice, even if that sacrifice is oneself. Was Candace willing to do that? “Candace?”
“I’m going to tell her,” she blurted out, her silver eyes glittering. “I know it won’t make sense at first, and she might be upset, but think what I can offer her.” Candace blinked hard, clasped her hands against her chest. “Can you imagine? So many opportunities, a life she doesn’t know exists, a world where anything and everything is possible.” The words swirled around Miriam, gripped her neck, tight, tighter until she gasped for breath. “Angela will have an open invitation to my world. Clubs, restaurants, boutiques, salons, vacation homes.” Her next words burst between them. “She’ll have everything.”
Everything and nothing. Miriam looked up, held her sister’s gaze, fell back decades to the time Candace wanted a dog and used the same logic to attempt to convince her parents she was the only one who could rescue the animal, care for it, and love it. She’d continued until their parents gave in; Candace brought George home and on day six she went to a birthday party with her friends and left the tray of chocolate macadamia nut cookies with raisins they’d been eating in her bedroom. When she returned, the tray was empty and George was dead.
Just because Candace could provide Angie with a privileged life of no worries, money, fame, and connections did not mean she should, not if it stripped the poor girl of everything she believed. Couldn’t Candace see that? “If you tell Angie the truth, it will destroy the life she knows. She’ll find out her mother didn’t die but gave her up, and her father kept the truth hidden. Do you really want to do that to her?”
Candace pursed her lips, frowned. “Of course not, but I have a lot to offer. Why should she be deprived of what I can provide?”
Oh, her sister was not going to like what Miriam had to say, but it needed saying. “Do you think money and prestige is going to make up for deserting her? Does Angie seem like the kind of person who would care about that? And what about her father? Are you going to damage their relationship by telling her he lied about you? A lie he told to protect her, and probably to protect you as well?”
Candace thrust her hands in the air, jangled her way toward Miriam. “This is about you and protecting your secret, isn’t it? If I tell Angela who I am, then she’ll find out who you are, and that would be a problem for you, wouldn’t it?” Her perfect face wrinkled in disgust. “Your son wouldn’t handle knowing his mother had deceived him, kept him from his own family, and why? Because you wanted to pretend that life had never been you? That you weren’t one of us? Well, you are, Miriam, and no matter how many loaves of bread you bake or sheets you hang on the line, you’re still a Prescott.” She lifted her chin, crossed her arms over her small bust. “And you’ll always be a Prescott,” she said. “You can try to pretend you didn’t eat caviar by the time you were twelve or have servants draw your bath and fix your hair, but you did, and you know what? Those memories are never going away, no matter how many times you tell yourself they didn’t exist.”
Miriam bit her lower lip, squeezed the wet rag. “If you tell the truth, you’ll destroy Angie.” She paused, sucked in a breath, and let the words spill out. “She’ll feel unwanted and no amount of money will change that. Her relationship with her father will be damaged. She won’t trust anyone, and she’ll never have a chance at a decent relationship.” She cleared her throat, kept her voice steady. “It’s not always about winning, Candace. It’s about doing the right thing for the people we care about, even if it means sacrificing our own happiness.”
The glare said she did not agree. The words that followed confirmed it. “Of course you would say that. You want me to go away and let the great and generous Miriam Desantro reign in Magdalena. And what about me? I’m supposed to return to a place that doesn’t feel like home and forget about Angela?” She didn’t give Miriam a chance to answer before she went on. “I see that look on your face and I know what y
ou’re thinking. I did it before, right? I handed her over the second she was delivered and never asked about her again.” Her voice rose, cracked. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? That’s what everybody thinks happens when you give up a child, but they don’t know about the guilt, the torment, the desperation, the hopelessness…” The words drifted between them, snuffed out in the wet folds of the rag. “And the regret. So much regret.”
“Candace—”
“No. You hear me out.” Her silver gaze burned into Miriam. “You think it was easy being the one left behind? You didn’t care what they said; you did what you were going to do and to hell with the rest of us. I had nobody to turn to, nobody to listen to me. I was seventeen when I spotted Frank Sorrento cleaning out the garden beds in the summer home, his dark skin glistening in the sun. I knew he could show me what it was like to feel wanted, maybe even loved.” Her eyes filled with tears, spilled onto her cheeks. “What did I know about life? About consequences?” She sniffed, swiped at her cheeks. “When he found out I was pregnant, he wanted to get married. Imagine that? For a half second, I considered it, thought maybe I could be the wife of a man who worked with his hands for a living. We’d rent a tiny apartment and I’d fix his supper, take the laundry to the Laundromat, and scrub the grass stains from his jeans and socks.” Her voice shifted, turned low and so sad that Miriam swiped at her own cheeks. “We wouldn’t have a television but a radio would provide enough entertainment for us, and besides, who needed a TV when we had each other? Oh, we had plans, so many of them.”
“What happened?”
Candace lifted a shoulder, attempted a smile. “Mother and Father happened. Frank and I told them about the baby and our plans, and do you know what they said?” She stared at Miriam but the glazed look said she was somewhere else, remembering that day, that pain. “They didn’t raise their voices, didn’t speak in a harsh manner. They didn’t even look at Frank, acted like he wasn’t there. Mother played with that pearl necklace she always wore, sighed, and told me my wardrobe wouldn’t fit into an apartment. Father said I couldn’t cook an egg, how was I going to make spaghetti sauce? On and on they went, crushing my dreams. Did I know what a Laundromat was? A radio? How was I going to give up my favorite television shows? Or the new car in the garage and the summer vacations?”
Miriam reached out, clasped her sister’s hand. “I am so sorry.”
“They never said a word about the baby, and when Frank asked, they tried to ignore him, like he was part of the floor. But he wouldn’t have it. That was one thing about Frank Sorrento; he wasn’t intimidated by people with money. Mother said it would be taken care of and at first I thought she meant the baby, but when I looked at her face, I knew she meant the situation would be taken care of, as in they’d have me get rid of the baby. Frank went crazy, said no baby of his was going to be killed. That’s when he grabbed my hand and told me it was time to get out, that we didn’t need their blessing or their permission.” Her shoulders slumped and she buried her face in her hands. “I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”
“You were so young; it must have been very hard.” Miriam ached for the teenage girl who’d been forced to make an impossible choice.
“Frank wouldn’t leave until I promised not to get rid of the baby. He said he’d take it, move away, and raise it. Mother and Father didn’t like that idea.” Her voice turned hard and she bit out, “You know how they hated to lose at anything, no matter if they wanted it or not.”
Yes, sadly Miriam did know that about her parents. “I remember.”
“Frank told them if I gave up rights to the baby, we’d never hear from him again. But he said if I didn’t agree, he’d make sure everybody knew he’d gotten me pregnant.” She sniffed. “I know it was just a threat so Mother and Father wouldn’t try to pull anything, and I didn’t blame him for it.”
“Did they ever change their mind about the baby?” Had they been as unforgiving with Candace as they’d been with her?
Her sister shook her head. “They sent me to Father’s Aunt Chloe in Michigan until the baby was born. I returned to New York six weeks later and we never spoke of the baby or what happened again. They never even asked if it was a boy or a girl.”
“Oh, Candace, I am so sorry.” Miriam pulled her sister into her arms, stroked her back, murmured, “So very sorry.”
Candace’s shoulders shook as she whimpered, “That’s why I can’t let her go. Please try to understand. I can’t walk away from my baby girl again.”
Chapter 15
Pop had just about enough of the commotion going on in Magdalena. He’d given the situations time to right themselves, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen, so he was going in for an intervention. He’d take care of this problem first, and then he was headed straight for Roman Ventori’s. Sal said his son refused to say anything past commenting about how things didn’t work out. What was a person to do when he was so close to seeing his son happy and maybe getting a grandchild, only to have it blow up in his face and never know the what or the why? Pop had no patience for that kind of noninformation and that’s why he planned to ask his own questions.
The other issue had to do with Sasha Rishkov, better known as Candace Prescott. If that woman thought a gypsy costume and a few bangles around her wrist could fool him, she could think again. And he darn well knew the accent was fake, but he’d let her think she’d done a good job with it. You could only call a person out on so many things. He climbed the steps of the Towne Hall, made his way toward the second meeting room. Mimi had offered to help by getting Angie out of the building while Pop visited Sasha. It was a good plan, one he’d thought of late last night when he was pondering Roman and Angie’s predicament, and it still looked good in the daylight.
Pop spotted the woman sitting at a table in her fruit bowl colors, pencil in hand, writing away like she had some serious business going on. She didn’t hear him enter and when he said, “Hello,” she jerked her head up, shoved the paper under the table, and worked her red lips into a smile.
“Pop. So nice to see you.”
That was not a good accent. Pop bet he could do a better one, maybe give her a few pointers. But that wasn’t why he’d come. He had a mission and he wasn’t leaving until it was complete. Pop slid into the chair opposite her and said, “Are you enjoying our town?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Those silver eyes studied him. Study away, Sasha, or should I say, Candace? “Are you a mother, Sasha?”
“What?”
Would you look at the pink creeping to her cheeks? And how about those pinched lips? Hmm. “Are you a mother?” Pop repeated. When she nodded, he said, “Then you know once you’re a parent it isn’t about you anymore; it’s about the child. My Lucy and I knew that and we made some sacrifices for the sake of our boy, even let him head to California when our hearts were breaking. But what’s a person to do? Had to let him go and find his own path, right?” He didn’t wait for her to agree or disagree, but went on. “We thought many a time how nice it would be to have him over for supper or how we’d love to see our granddaughter every Sunday for spaghetti and meatballs.” He sighed, rubbed his chin. “It was a real sacrifice, but we had to do it because we loved our son.” Pop zeroed in on the woman. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Sasha?”
One dip of that bandanna-covered head. That’s all she gave him. Pop leaned back in the chair, steepled his hands together, and said in a low voice, “Good, because I want you to do the right thing and don’t tell Angie her mother isn’t dead.” Now he had her cooking… Sasha’s eyes grew wide, her mouth dropped open. Shock? Double shock? “I know who you are, and I’m gonna ask you to think of the girl and the life she’s had since the moment she was born. She believes her mother was some kind of saint, bursting with love for her. What do you think it will do to her when she hears that her mother’s not looking down on her but living in some fancy house with servants and more money than the state of Ohio
, and she plain didn’t want her?”
“How…how did you know?” The silver eyes narrowed, the mouth flattened. “Miriam told you, didn’t she?”
“Nah. Miriam didn’t tell me anything, didn’t have to, not that she would. I figured it out all by my lonesome.” He nodded, taking in the nervous twitch that had started on her left cheek. “You see, I know all about Gloria Blacksworth and her misdeeds. I’ve been expecting you, but I didn’t think you’d show up dressed like this.” He gestured to her hair and outfit. “Very clever. Good way to get close to the girl, make her relax, think you’re an artist. Bet you didn’t paint a dang thing. I’ll bet you coerced Miriam into that, and I’ll bet my prize basil plant you’ve been blackmailing her into doing whatever you wanted so you wouldn’t expose her true identity.” He shook his head, let out a big sigh. “For shame, Candace, for shame.”
“Please,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t call me that; someone could hear.”
“Yes, siree, someone could hear, and then what? They’d blackmail you? That’s not how our town works. We might have to cut our own grass and cook our own food, but we’re an honest bunch of people who look out for each other, like family.” He placed his hands flat on the table, leaned forward. “And family doesn’t blackmail family. Now the way I see it, you got two choices. You go apologize to your sister and you can stay on another week or two, spend time with Angie, but then you got to go. But you’ll go knowing you didn’t bring any more harm to that child, didn’t destroy the life she’s built, even though she’s going through a rough patch right now, and you didn’t damage the relationship she has with the only family she’s ever known—her father. Or, you can roll the dice and tell her who you are, expose your sister and Angie’s father as liars, and you’ll end up destroying that poor girl.”