Love In Plain Sight

by Jeanie London

  He didn’t reply, but he was no longer so impressed with her, which was fine by Courtney. Any distance between them would be greatly appreciated. She couldn’t imagine why he worked so hard to keep his distance from his family, but the problem was all his. That much she knew. What that problem might actually be...well, she didn’t have a clue.

  And didn’t want one. She shouldn’t be expending this much energy conflicted and concerned with this man.

  After printing out the address and map, she shut down her laptop. If he got in the car, fine. If he didn’t get in the car, fine. In fact, she hoped he didn’t. She would enjoy a break after spending most of their waking moments together all week.

  Courtney liked the idea of a break so much that she ran to her house to freshen up without even saying goodbye. Blessed, quiet moments without the man’s gaze on her, without his selfish nonsense, without her thoughts racing as she reacted to every word out of his mouth.

  But her break was short-lived. When she reemerged from the house, she found him standing beside the car.

  Why wasn’t she surprised?

  Without a word, she got in the car. So did Marc. He didn’t say a word, either. Each second ticked by as if a dare. The ride became a silent power struggle as she drove to the fresh foods market.

  Courtney wheeled into a parking space in the busy parking lot and battled the urge to speak. She didn’t invite him in, either. He had two legs if he wanted to join her—they worked well enough to make it into the market.

  Marc broke first. As she was about to slam shut the car door, he asked, “Will you pick up some flowers and a bag of licorice? The black kind.”

  She nodded. She’d buy him anything as long as he stayed in the car. He did, and she took her time inside, deliberating on what kind of licorice to buy—prepackaged or bulk kind, which was more expensive. She mentally calculated how many bottles of wine to bring, then debated whether to buy a mix of reds and whites. She settled on five bottles of her favorite red table wine.

  Then she headed to the flowers, where she inhaled hothouse roses, and ultimately decided on an autumn bouquet with orange mums, yellow roses and bright purple statice.

  And only when she couldn’t stall any longer or risk missing dinner, she returned to the car.

  Marc had tilted the seat back and rested his head against the door. If not for the way he’d tried to awkwardly stretch out in the confined space, he might look as if he’d be content to wait there all afternoon.

  He wanted to miss dinner, of course, and the thought annoyed her, as if she had played right along with his master plan. She continued the silent treatment while situating the bags in the backseat.

  “Here, I’ll hold the flowers,” he said.

  She passed him the bouquet, and he glanced at the wrapper. “What’d everything cost?”

  That question required a verbal response. No way around it. “Receipt is in one of those bags.”

  Marc tracked down the receipt and surprised her by stuffing cash in the car console. She’d gotten used to footing the bills lately and wondered why he was suddenly shelling out cash for hostess gifts for the family he didn’t want to visit.

  Courtney pulled into traffic and ignored him some more, bullying her attention on the neighborhood as she drove past.

  New construction coexisted with old all over the city. Lots still sat vacant and overgrown even after all these years since the hurricane. But the terrain didn’t hold a candle to the man beside her, staring out the window as if the world passing by had nothing to do with him.

  It should have everything to do with him.

  What was it about him that made him such an enigma? He was clearly selfish and ungrateful. Any man with a family that cared as much as his did should be thankful. Even her own close family was nothing compared to the DiLeos, who shared life in such big ways, cheering one another on.

  They looked out for one another, too. When Anthony built the location for his automotive repair business, he’d shared the wealth by incorporating extra square footage for Damon’s martial arts studio and Mama’s hair salon.

  They’d all rallied around Marc after the accident. Mama and Vince had hopped on a plane. They’d brought him home to ensure he was well cared for. But Marc fought against all that caring as if it was the very last thing in the world he wanted.

  What was wrong with this man?

  Was he so self-absorbed he didn’t realize how many people in the world yearned for a smidgen of the love he took for granted? And how had Mama, probably the most generous person Courtney had ever met, spawned this unappreciative son?

  That was a total mystery.

  But Mama had apparently missed him during this past week, judging by the way she cornered Marc in the hallway.

  “What beautiful flowers.” She maneuvered around the bouquet to hug him. “How have you been—oh, Marc, is that what I think it is?”

  Courtney hung back and pulled the door shut quietly.

  When Mama stepped back, she held the bag of licorice. “I am hiding this bag so I don’t have to share.”

  “No one wants it, Mom,” Marc said. “You’re the only one who eats the black kind.”

  “I know you say that, but it always vanishes.”

  “That’s because you eat it by the handful.”

  Courtney watched them, all her frustration with Marc draining away in the face of the adorable display he and Mama made. These two people cared so much about each other. There was simply no missing it. Mama stretched up on tiptoe to pinch Marc’s cheek, and he skillfully deflected all that love at each turn.

  “You’re my favorite,” Mama told him. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He pulled a face. “Today.”

  She dragged him down to plant a kiss on his cheek, then winked at Courtney. “Hello, honey. Come on in. Thanks for bringing this one with you.”

  “Happy to share the wealth.”

  “More than happy, I’d bet.” Mama chuckled. “Dinner won’t be long. Hope you’re hungry.” Motioning Courtney to step around Marc, they preceded him into the kitchen.

  “You holding up?” Mama asked.

  What did Courtney even say to that? She wondered if Mama referred to the search. But she knew her high-maintenance son better than anyone, surely guessing that he had been running Courtney ragged. “Work’s going well.”

  “Glad to hear that.” As soon as they were out of earshot, she whispered, “Hope he’s being helpful.”

  “Wouldn’t stand a chance without him.”

  Mama smiled, obviously pleased. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Courtney emerged in the kitchen, which was filled to overflowing as usual, and she had no sooner said hello than her niece slid off a bench and broke away from the table, sparkly heels clacking over the floor.

  “Toni beans, my little peanut. How are you?” Courtney asked as she was caught in a full bear hug.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. You have to help me and Dad make a plan for the wedding in case Mom can’t go.”

  This beloved child, with a head full of wild red hair like her mother’s, looked so worried that Courtney gave another reassuring squeeze.

  “You’re right. We need to come up with a plan, so Mom can share in the fun.”

  “Come on and sit with me and Dad. We’ve got to plan.” Toni caught Courtney by the hand and pulled her toward the table.

  She caught sight of Marc watching her from the doorway as she squeezed onto the bench beside her baby brother, another man with sleepless smudges beneath his eyes.

  Mac planted a kiss on the top of her head and whispered, “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

  “Your wife has too much time on her hands.”

  “Speaking of,” Mama said, coming up behind t
hem, running interference to save Courtney from her brother’s scolding, “how is Harley holding up?”

  Mac knew exactly what Mama was doing. He narrowed his gaze at Courtney, a promise that they would continue this conversation at another time, then he launched into an update about Harley’s condition. There were questions, well wishes and promises for prayers from all around the table.

  And above all, so much love. Everyone in the room spread their affection around as if caring transmitted on their smiles, their laughter, their hugs. They could afford to be generous. They were all living their lives filled with...well, life.

  They were planning weddings and having babies, nurturing loved ones and stretching young wings. They were reveling in the highs and being consoled through lows. Even those who might not want to be consoled were dragged along anyway. Like Marc. Cared about against his will. They were giving and taking and laughing and loving and living.

  Not Courtney.

  As she watched Mama direct traffic to make room for Marc to sit at the end of the table, Courtney was struck by just how much she hadn’t been living her life. She had hidden the truth from her brother, and had only reached out to Mama in desperation, a step she’d felt so guilty for taking. She’d been shocked by the way life had come to a crashing halt because she had nothing to fill her days. Because she had been sitting on the sidelines of life, watching the action.

  Like the man now seated at the end of the table, the leg stretched out before him only the latest in a long line of excuses to keep everyone at a distance. A man she found herself drawn to against her will.

  Was it any wonder?

  She wouldn’t have believed until this very moment how alike they were.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “ARE YOU TELLING me you’re not here to ask about Araceli like those FBI people?”

  One look at Blanca Calderone’s wizened face, the arched eyebrow over features creased with age, and Marc knew this woman shouldn’t be taken lightly.

  She might be half his size—four feet nine, maybe ten if she stood up straight. He could have probably exhaled hard and blown her over. He knew she wasn’t that old, but she hunched as if her frail bones weren’t doing the job of holding her up.

  But she was sharp.

  So Marc had to choose between sticking with his cover story—immigration article—or shooting straight with the lady.

  “We’re not the FBI,” he said. “But we’re probably here for the same reason—to find out about the Ruiz-Ortiz family.”

  She eyed him narrowly. “Why is everyone all of a sudden interested? Those official people wouldn’t tell me anything. I mean, something is up. Why else would anyone be asking after all this time? If they wanted me to be straight with them, you’d think they would return the favor.”

  Marc wondered how forthcoming Mrs. Calderone had been. But however the FBI chose to run its investigation was its business. Courtney should at least be pleased the agent in charge seemed to have finally gotten around to asking about Araceli.

  Courtney stood a step behind him in the narrow hallway, her smile—hopefully—lending him credibility so they weren’t lumped in the same category as tight-lipped government agencies. “We’re here because Araceli is missing. We’re looking for her.”

  “I knew something was wrong. Knew it right here.” Mrs. Calderone stretched big-knuckled fingers over her heart. “I’m sure sorry to hear that. The girl wasn’t in any trouble, was she? Running with a bad boy or into drugs?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  Courtney leaned in closer and said, “We won’t stop looking until we find her, but we really need your help.”

  Then she sidled up against him until they were side by side, and her arm pressed against his, a closeness that felt a lot bigger than an accidental touch. His body came alive, so starved for attention that he noticed this woman, even when he shouldn’t, impacted against his will. His well-honed self-control gone. Another unexpected side effect of his new circumstances.

  The woman sized up Courtney for a long moment. “Tragedy what happened to that family. Such nice people, raising their kids right. They should have let that child stay with me. I told them. She was miserable.”

  “Who’d you tell?” Marc asked. “And when?”

  “Protective Services. When they came to get her. After her mama was hauled off by Immigration.”

  “But they didn’t listen. They just packed Araceli up and took her with them, didn’t they?” Courtney asked quietly, apparently familiar with the drill.

  The woman nodded, features sharpening in the well-worn creases of her expression.

  “Was that the last time you saw her?” he asked.

  Mrs. Calderone shook her head and surprised them by saying, “Ran into her during the hurricane evacuations.”

  He could feel Courtney’s excitement. Her muscles tensed, and that slight contact between them conveyed so much when she asked, “The Superdome, or another shelter?”

  “Superdome. Before the craziness. That poor child begged me to keep her with me. She just wanted to be with familiar people. That’s not a crime.”

  “No, of course it’s not,” Courtney whispered.

  Marc steered these two back to the pertinent again. “Did you let her stay?”

  Mrs. Calderone eyed him slyly, as if he was trying to trick her into admitting something that might have repercussions.

  “All this happened a very long time ago, so don’t worry about consequences,” he said.

  “We’re not the police or the FBI or Immigration,” Courtney said in that voice that commiserated. “But we need information to figure out where Araceli might be. She’s sixteen, and too many horrible things can happen to a girl that age.”

  Marc had to give Courtney credit—she didn’t miss a beat. She imparted just the right amount of information without tipping her hand. She understood people, read them easily, an ability that made her handy to have beside him.

  “You’re right about that,” Mrs. Calderone finally said, clearly reassured. “Which is why that girl should have gone with her mama. Or I would have gladly kept her with me, and if I thought it would have been in her best interest, I would have hung on to her during all that craziness.”

  Courtney’s expression softened as she watched the older woman. “You didn’t think that was best for her?”

  “Protective Services already told me there was no way Araceli could stay unless her mama went before the judge and gave permission. I knew Gracielle wouldn’t come back. If she had money for that trip, she would have sent a plane ticket for Araceli. That little girl was everything to her. But Immigration just whisked her off. It’s a crime what they do, arresting people when they walk out their doors, tearing families apart.”

  She spread those gnarled hands in entreaty. “Protective Services would just come back and collect her as many times as she turned up. Araceli was going to have to make peace with her new home whether she wanted to or not, so I brought her back. I didn’t want her to get lost. People were crazy during that storm. No one was safe. Especially not a little girl. I knew I was doing the right thing, but it broke my heart.”

  Mrs. Calderone stared up at them, worry clouding those small, bright eyes. “Did I make a mistake? Her family was so good to me. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t make the right choice for that child.”

  Courtney opened her mouth to reassure the woman, but Marc cut her off at the pass. The doubt was unexpected.

  “What makes you think you might have made a mistake?” he asked.

  “The FBI people were asking all sorts of questions about whether Araceli looked abused. Would I have brought that child back to people who were abusing her? Honestly. The girl wanted to be with people who loved her. What child wouldn’t? But with the way things were during the
hurricane...you could feel trouble brewing with so many people crowded together, all worried and scared. I had a hard enough time hanging on to my daughter’s children. Not a place for a child alone.”

  “You didn’t make a mistake.” Courtney couldn’t resist. “You did what was best in that terrible situation and got Araceli to safety.”

  Which may or may not have been true, according to Rosario and her stories of tears and bullying.

  “Did Araceli tell you why she was so unhappy?” he asked.

  “She missed her mama and baby brother. She was scared she would never see them again, and they would forget her. I told her that would never happen. She said that’s what her foster people said, too. They really seemed like decent people, and nothing that child told me made me think otherwise.”

  “What happened when you brought Araceli back to them?”

  “They were relieved. They didn’t yell at her for running off. I would never have left Araceli if I thought she would be hurt. Protective Services shouldn’t have, either.”

  “They should have protected her.” Courtney exhaled raggedly, a sound that filtered through him in the thick air. She visibly withered, seemed to feel the reprimand as if she alone was responsible for this missing kid. She wasn’t. But what she knew and what she felt were clearly two different things.

  “What can you tell us about Araceli’s real family?” Marc wanted more information, wanted to give Courtney something to hang on to right now, something that would erase the tight edges of fear from her face. “We know her father worked on the docks and died in an accident about six months before her mother was reported for working illegally, but we don’t know much beyond that. Anything you can tell us might be helpful.”

  “They were a nice family. Gracielle would help me with my grandchildren. She would bring food or get them to school when I visited the doctor. Silvio took the children out for Halloween every year. I always knew they would be safe with him. He was a good provider. He worked every day to care for his family, and so he could send money home to Colombia.”

  “He was able to do that on what he made working at the docks?” Marc asked, surprised. Two-plus-two were not adding up.