by Beth Ciotta
“I can’t accept your offer,” Nick says while standing. “But if it makes you feel better, consider your conscious clear.”
I sit frozen, stunned and rattled by his rudeness as he walks off and out of sight.
Chapter 26
“I’M…” WHAT? SHOCKED? Sorry? Embarrassed? I don’t know what to say to Sylvia. Part of me wants to run after Nick. To make sure he’s okay. But how can I desert his poor grandmother who’s trying her damnedest to blink back tears?
“It’s all right, dear,” she says while gathering empty plates. “Given our strained phone calls, I assumed this wouldn’t be easy.”
No sign of Nick doubling back, so I grab two bowls of leftovers and follow Sylvia into the house. “Maybe he needs a moment to blow off steam,” I say.
Honestly, I’m clueless. In all the months I’ve known Nick, I’ve never seen him lose his cool. Not with drunken hecklers. Not with obnoxious salespeople. Not even with the driver who cut him off three times on the autostrada.
“I don’t blame Nicky for holding a grudge,” Sylvia says while we clean in tandem. “He thinks I acted selfishly. In truth, distancing myself from that boy was the hardest thing I ever did. I don’t know how much my grandson told you about our history, but there’s a lot of friction in the family.”
“That little I know,” I say.
“I’m afraid my daughter and I haven’t always made the best choices. Maybe if I give you some background it will help you to understand Nicky’s bitterness.”
Curious and suspecting she’s in need of a compassionate ear, I merely nod.
“I’ve always been a resourceful woman. When my first husband died, leaving me to raise our twelve-year-old daughter on my own, I was bereft, of course, but I didn’t panic. I dug in and created a new life—a new happy life as a single mother. Unfortunately, Valerie lacks my self-reliant verve. That girl craves the stability of the status quo.”
“She wanted you to remarry?”
“She wanted the life we had before my husband died. Trust me, if I could have snapped my fingers and created another Stan, I would have. But I couldn’t. I refused to remarry for anything less than love. In hindsight, I suppose I was selfish.
“I wasn’t surprised when Valerie married right out of high school. She’s a conventional sort. I just wish she’d chosen a better partner.”
“Nick told me his father abandoned them when he was a toddler.”
Sylvia nods. “Valerie was devastated. She lacked the confidence and means to raise a child on her own, so she moved back in with me. I told her we’d be fine, but she struggled with the idea of having to rely on me again. She was obsessed about the lack of a father figure in Nicky’s young life, so finding a new husband became as time-consuming as her new, full-time job. In her efforts to ensure a better life for her son, she became an absentee mother.”
“So you became Nick’s primary caretaker.”
“I didn’t mind. He was a joy. Valerie and I, however, knocked heads. Instead of preaching academics as the end all, I supported and encouraged his creative tendencies. She saw this as sabotaging his future as a responsible, strong man.
“Anyway,” Sylvia says on a huff of air, “after several short-lived relationships, my fretful daughter finally remarried and her new man—a controlling straight arrow—deemed me an interfering nuisance. He said a ten-year-old boy didn’t need a babysitter and he groused every time I paid a visit.
“As tension escalated in their household, Mr. Straight Arrow accused me of manipulating my grandson’s loyalty. He said I was a bad influence because I’d encouraged Nicky’s artistic side and that it would make him queer. God forbid Nicky prefer music to sports.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s what I said. But Valerie worships Ron, or at least the security he affords her.” Sylvia’s face goes red as she mumbles the next line. “She begged me to bow out and to get my own life so she and her husband could bond with their son.”
I bite my tongue, but my brain vents unchecked. Nick told me that Valerie chose Ron over him during his freshman year of high school. I don’t know what that entailed. Nick didn’t say. But obviously Valerie’s attempt to forge a meaningful relationship with her son was short-lived.
I look over my shoulder then crane my neck and peer out a window. Still no Nick. Did he take the car? Is he driving angry?
Shoulders caving, Sylvia perches on the edge of a chair. “The thought of fading to the edges of my grandson’s life broke my heart. That said, Valerie deserved a second chance with her son. I respected my daughter’s wishes and stayed away for an entire month. I was miserable and lonely and I realized two things. One: Ron was right. I had been monopolizing Nicky’s attention. That kid and I meshed like peanut butter and jelly, unlike me and my daughter. And two: Valerie was right. I had no life to call my own.
“Frank Manachetti had been courting me on and off for two years,” she rushes on. “He surprised me by offering his hand in marriage and asked me to retire to Tuscany with him. Accepting seemed wise for everyone concerned. I wouldn’t be able to visit Nicky on a whim if I lived across the ocean. I wouldn’t miss him as much if I built a new life with a new husband in a new home with new friends. I told myself it was for the best. I told myself I deserved Frank and the life he offered. As you might have guessed he did well for himself. I suppose you could say I sold out.”
I drop into the seat next to her, touched by all I’m hearing. “But you didn’t marry for money, Sylvia. You loved Frank deeply. You’ve said so several times.”
“And it’s true. But that love grew out of friendship and fondness after we said our vows. Once that love rooted and flourished, the more I focused on Frank and our golden years.”
I’m scrambling to link both sides of the story. “Nick said after you moved you fell out of touch.”
“Valerie convinced me that she and Ron would never get anywhere with Nicky unless I cut ties for at least a year. I made it eight months before buckling. How could I not send my grandson a birthday card?
“After that, I called a few times but conversations were awkward. Nicky was acting out. My attempts to maintain even minimal contact backfired. I wanted my daughter and grandson to be happy. I wanted to be happy. So yes, I cut ties. I told myself that in time we’d reconnect and build our relationship back up.”
In her silence, I acknowledge the obvious. “But that never happened.”
I think about how infrequently I visit my own parents. How little I correspond with my siblings. How life speeds by in the blink of an eye. When it comes to nurturing relationships I’m no prize. So I get it.
But Nick doesn’t.
I scrunch my brow. “Did you ever tell Nick about how your daughter and her husband considered you a complication? That she begged you to get your own life?”
Sylvia shakes her head. “It would have undermined Valerie’s relationship with Nicky. I didn’t want to ruin whatever chance they had to bond.”
“Oh, Sylvia.”
I’m riveted by her side of the story—empathizing with all parties—but I’m astonished that the situation has gone unresolved for this long. It’s like a bad reality show—lives hinged on misunderstandings and questionable judgment.
“I appreciate your candor,” I say, “but you have to share these details with Nick if you want to make him feel better about the past.”
She shakes her head. “Valerie and Nicky’s relationship is strained to this day. I don’t want to contribute to the tension. And it will only open a can of worms.”
Could there be more to this story?
I brace for more family dirt, but Sylvia’s drifting. Truth told, I’m frazzled, too.
Where the hell is Nick?
“I would have left well enough alone,” Sylvia blurts, “but when Frank died, time stopped. My memories caught up to me in one dizzy rush. With my own days numbered, I reached out to my grandson hoping to atone for bumbling our relationship. The least I can do is gi
ft him with the best part of me. This farm. I know it’s a lot to ask, Megan, but, I’m hoping you’ll play mediator.”
My heart bumps to my throat, like it did when I took a headlong leap off the Bloukrans Bridge in South Africa. My first and last bungee jump.
Sylvia squeezes my hand and smiles. “Together we can give Nicky what he’s always craved and never had. A steadfast family and a joyful home.”
Chapter 27
NICK IS STILL MIA. Sylvia’s claiming a headache. And I’m wondering how I got into this mess. In a moment of weakness, I swore to keep Sylvia’s story to myself.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something for the pain?” I ask.
Permission to snoop in her medicine cabinet might provide clues as to what’s “numbering her days.” I can’t bring myself to ask her straight out. I like Sylvia. She’s a little scatterbrained, but I sense a heart of gold. No wonder Nick was so bewitched as a child.
“I just need to rest my eyes for a while,” she says as she shuffles toward her bedroom. “Don’t worry about me. Nicky’s the one who needs you now.”
“Right. I’ll, um, track him down.”
After Sylvia closes the door, I zip down the hall and into our room. I unplug my phone and skim messages.
I ignore a voice mail from my agent and two from Ben. My unemployed status and midlife crisis are the least of my immediate worries.
I pull up a text from Nick.
SORRY I STORMED OFF. WALKING THE PROPERTY & THINKING.
I received it twenty minutes ago. Nick could be walking and thinking for another two hours for all I know.
Suddenly I’m furious.
I get that he’s dealing with a cesspool of emotions, but storming off in a huff is immature. Nick left me to keep up our ruse on my own for an extended period with a woman I barely know. His blood. His problem.
And just when I thought he was damn near perfect.
Not that a man’s not allowed to have faults. But still.
I blow out a breath then sink onto the edge of the bed. My phone blips with a new message. It’s an e-mail from my mom, responding to the one I sent this morning.
Daddy and I just want you to know we love you.
No lecture. No I-told-you-so. No pressure to talk immediately. Are they mellowing with age? Or—like Sylvia—giving their daughter room to right her own ship?
I e-mail back:
Love you, too.
I’m feeling emotional and distracted so I force myself to focus on the problem at hand. One family’s dysfunction at a time.
Instead of returning Nick’s text, I call him. Hearing his voice doesn’t ease my mind or cause my stomach to flutter. It stokes my anger. “I need to talk to you, Nick. Where are you?”
“On the far side, the eastern end of the olive grove. I’ll start back—”
“No, stay there. I’ll come to you. I need to burn off some of that food and wine.” Along with my temper.
“If you want to save time, you can cut straight through instead of taking the path around. No pressure either way,” he says, then relays visual landmarks.
“See you in a few,” I say. “Happy thinking.”
I hang up and put the phone in my rear pocket. My sarcasm was petty, but I’m seriously upset that he left me in the lurch. If he hadn’t stormed off, maybe Sylvia wouldn’t have burdened me with her story and yet another “joint” mission.
“Provide Nick with a steadfast family and joyful home, my ass.” Grumbling, I swap my flats for walking shoes. “Definitely not in my Weekend Wife role description.”
Sylvia expects me to sway Nick into accepting the deed to her farm and to somehow mend the rift between them without revealing the truth behind her desertion.
Even if I pull those two miracles out of my butt, then how will Nick and I address the marriage deception? Will he expect me to play his pretend wife and to live here until Sylvia dies? I’m not even convinced she’s ill. Not that I want her to be, of course, but…
Is it possible Sylvia’s “dying wish” was a fabrication to get Nick to visit? If it was, how can we even be angry at her? Our lie is just as big.
I sail down the stairs and out the back door. As I stalk toward the grove, I rehearse my plea. I have to convince Nick to come clean with Sylvia about our sham of a marriage. Maybe our honesty will prompt her to fess up about Valerie.
Lying and avoidance aren’t helping.
“This,” I mumble to myself, “from a woman who dodged speaking with her parents about her termination and iffy future.”
Chapter 28
I MAKE A beeline through Frank’s beloved olive grove. I don’t pause to count, but I’ve passed at least twenty of these unique trees with their gray-green leaves and twisty, gnarled trunks. I race through the thick of it, my heart pumping and mind churning. By the time I close in on my destination, I’m primed to launch into my rehearsed plea.
But instead of finding Nick brooding under a tree, he’s in a lively discussion with a man in a field. Every now and then, the stranger pauses to throw a ball for his barking golden lab. The dog fetches and returns. Rinse and repeat.
I unclench my fists and try to shake off my tension. I can’t reason with Nick until I pull him away from the man.
He looks to be in his forties. He’s dressed for a country walk with his dog and, as I get close enough to hear, he sounds American.
Nick spies me and waves me over. “Meg, this is Jim Quest. He and his wife, Elsie, own this property.”
I look back to the grove. “I thought—”
“It’s an endearing quirk about this region,” Jim says, “that we don’t use fencing to divide properties. It’s slight, but technically you’re a foot or so into the grounds Elsie and I bought two months ago. Our villa is beyond that copse of trees on the next slope over.”
His dog bumps my hand.
“Meg, meet Tilly,” Nick says.
I scratch her floppy ears.
“She likes you,” Jim says. “You must have pets.”
“Just a tree. A bonsai,” I clarify. “I travel too much to have pets.”
“Oh, hold on,” Jim says. “You aren’t…You are…” He smacks a palm to his forehead. “Megan Rooney! My wife and I used to watch your show all the time.”
I smile even as my brain latches onto the “used to” portion of Jim’s compliment.
He looks to Nick. “Didn’t mention you married a celebrity.”
My back goes up. Why did Nick say he was married at all? I thought our ruse was just for Sylvia. “I’m not that famous,” I say, giving Nick’s hand a hard squeeze. Let’s go.
“Jim kindly agreed to check in on Sylvia now and then after we’re gone,” Nick says.
“Our pleasure,” Jim says. “Mrs. Manachetti was one of the first people to knock on our door with a welcome basket. She’s something else.
“Hey,” he says while tossing the ball for Tilly. “Why don’t the three of you join us for dinner tomorrow night? We’re in the process of renovating so the place is out of sorts, but it’ll give us a chance to show off our venture to someone in the tourism field,” he says to me. Then he turns to Nick and says, “And it will give us a chance to tighten our friendship with your grandmother.”
I shift. “Oh, I don’t—”
“We’d love to,” Nick says.
“Great. Around five? You have my number,” he says to Nick, then trots off with Tilly.
I ball my hands at my sides. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask in a harsh whisper. “You just complicated things.”
“It’s dinner, Meg. Jim seems like a nice guy. I’ll feel better knowing he’s checking in on Gram.”
“Or you could take her up on her offer, move in here, and look after her yourself.”
“I’m not moving here.” He takes my elbow and nods toward the grove. “Come on. Let’s get out of the sun.”
I’m burning up, all right, but it has nothing to do with the midday heat. Once we hit the shade, I shake off his hold.
“We have to come clean with Sylvia about our relationship.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a lie.”
“You knew that coming in.”
“But things are different now. I’ve met her. I like her.”
“So do I.”
“You have a strange way of showing it,” I say while pointing toward the scene of his snit.
Looking contrite, Nick drags a hand through his shaggy hair. “I know I reacted harshly to her peace offering. I know she meant well. But listening to one story after another pertaining to her exciting and joyful life with Frank pushed a lot of buttons. I know it’s petty, but…”
“What?”
He works his jaw and glances off. “Never mind.”
I want to scream. “Fine. Don’t tell me, Nick. But talk it out with her. Get answers. Get closure. Make the peace you came here to make and, at the very least, consider her offer.” I sweep my arm to the house and the rolling hills beyond. “Look at this place. It’s heaven on earth. And she’s gifting it to you. Who turns down paradise?”
“A man who has a life back in the States.”
A two-bedroom apartment and a gig at the corner pub? He could live in this glorious house on this beautiful property and serenade tourists in a Tuscan wine bar.
Then I think about his incessant texting. What am I missing? Who is he so attached to? Jealously wells and I squash it. “I thought you wanted more. Not fame and fortune, but something beyond what you have.”
“I do.” Nick gives me a look that steals my breath. “I want you, Meg.”
Chapter 29
I’VE HAD MORE than my fair share of adrenaline rushes. But none compare to what I’m feeling right now.
Nick grasps my shoulders, steadying me as he pulls the earth from beneath me. One confession at a time.
“I fell for you the moment I met you. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you rock baggy cargos and a pair of worn Chucks. When you told me you hosted a travel show, I was even more intrigued. I wanted to see you in action so I tracked down past episodes…and fell even harder.”