Nick had been surprised at that—she’d still been reeling from Mills’ death when his mother had called her. But, typical of Beverly, she’d been happy to help, and now she was deep in the bosom of his family. She’d spent more time on Caravel Road in the past two weeks than Nick had in probably the past two years.
As he was scanning the crowd, getting a bead on his guys, Beverly shifted, leaning away. “Sure, I’ll take her,” he heard her say.
He turned back to see Carmen and Theo’s daughter, Teresa, dressed in a tiny lavender dress, in Beverly’s arms. Adele was easing out of their pew and moving up one. She must have asked for help with the baby. And then he met his mother’s eyes, and she smiled.
He smiled back, shaking his head. That woman was wily, he’d give her that.
Teresa was a beautiful, quiet little girl, with big, blue eyes, lots of black hair, and a pretty little rosebud of a mouth. She was—Nick counted quickly—six months old but looked quite a bit younger because she’d been born ten weeks premature. And that was another hurt to lay on the pyre of their war with Church: Carmen getting shot when she was seven months pregnant. At Nick’s father’s funeral.
It seemed a selfish thing to consider bringing a child into a world where such things could happen.
The music started, and the bridesmaids began their procession. Nick knew that was happening and that almost everyone was watching the aisle. He, though, was watching Beverly as she settled Teresa in her arms and let her play with the new bracelet dangling from her wrist.
His mother needn’t have conspired to put a baby in Beverly’s arms where he could see. He already wanted this, and he supposed he was selfish, because was undeterred by the dangers of his life. But he didn’t want to rush her. The summer had been excruciating for her, and he wanted to be sure she was truly back and strong.
Seeing her now, cooing quietly at the sweet child in her arms, not minding at all that Teresa was sucking on $15,000 worth of diamonds and pearls, Nick was overrun with a need he could only think of as homesickness.
He wasn’t sure he could wait much longer to have everything he selfishly wanted.
~oOo~
Though the wedding had been surprisingly formal, the reception was on the beach. His cousins did everything at the beach. Two big pavilion tents had been set up on Carmen’s stretch of sand, near her cottage. John lived there now.
Nick wasn’t especially comfortable on the beach. To him, the beauty and power of the ocean was in its solitude. The beach on a late-summer Saturday afternoon was anything but solitary. Especially when a few hundred people were all gathered together to celebrate.
Beverly was enjoying herself, however, and he enjoyed that. At the moment, she was down at the waterline, standing in the surf, talking to Luca’s wife, Manny. She was wearing a simple but beautiful one-piece bathing suit that was the exact blue of her eyes. It wasn’t one he’d seen before; when she did laps, she wore a basic Speedo.
She’d tried to coax him into wearing swim trunks, but that was not his way. He was a strong swimmer, and he’d have been happy to do laps with her in the pool if didn’t mean he’d have to give up watching her from above. But he didn’t splash in the surf. Or play volleyball. Or otherwise behave like a child or a drunken college boy.
He was in jeans. And she’d convinced him to unbutton his shirt and take his shoes off. That was beachy enough.
The spread was both casual and sumptuous. In one of the tents was a dinner buffet with tables arrayed around it—all the standard New England beach fare, stepped up a couple of notches. The other tent was an open bar. Most people were milling about in the sand, occasionally going into one tent or the other. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Nick stood at a remove from the crowd, drinking a bottled lager from the Quiet Cove Brewery, watching Beverly while she moved lazily through the water, chatting with Manny. Every now and then he scanned the edges, making note of his guys.
“What is it you do for fun?” A wry female voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Carmen grinning at him, her own bottle of lager now at her lips. She was wearing a bright red bikini. Blushing bride, indeed.
He grinned and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Carm. Best wishes. You look happy.”
“Thanks. I am. You should try it. It’s pretty great.”
Ignoring her gibe, he sent her one of his own. “Where’s your man? You lose him already?”
She punched his arm lightly. “Changing a diaper. How come you’re off here in Siberia?”
“You know this isn’t my thing.”
“Fun, right. Not your thing.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. Carmen teasing him about not being able to have fun was pretty fucking rich. Guest of honor or not, she hated these things almost as much as he did. On more than one occasion, they’d sat together on the outskirts of gatherings like this. “You’re feeling pretty saucy today.”
“I am. My life is as it should be. I’m thirty-eight years old, but I finally figured it out.” She knocked his beer bottle with hers. “What about you?”
At her question, Nick looked back across the beach to Beverly.
Carmen laughed. “I like her. And everybody else looooooves her. I’m sure I will, too, once I get to know her better. She’s sweet.”
To Carmen, ‘sweet’ wasn’t exactly a compliment. Nick turned and gave her a sharp look, ready to defend his woman.
“Easy, fella. I meant that nicely. She’s obviously not a doormat, or you wouldn’t be so googly-eyed. If she can handle you, then I have no doubt that she has a spine of steel. But the grannies adore her. I’m pretty sure Aunt Betty has names picked out for your first eight children. I’m just saying you might have found the perfect woman if she’s that interesting and has your mother planning a remodel of the upstairs bedrooms into kids’ rooms. Usually she’s staring daggers at the backs of your blondes.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I am not. Aunt Angie and Aunt Betty were muttering about interior decorators the other night while they were putting together those silly party favors for the kids. They shut up quick when Bev came in the room.” There were a lot of kids at this reception. Each one got a plastic bucket filled with beach toys. Each bucket had been hand-painted with Carmen and Theo’s names. Apparently not Carmen’s idea—which Nick would have guessed. That had Angie and Betty’s fingerprints all over it. They’d probably seen it on Martha Stewart or something.
He didn’t need his mother’s approval—or Carmen’s or anyone else’s, for that matter—but he liked the thought of her preparing her house for grandchildren. She had wanted a large family and had been cruelly thwarted from that dream. He was her only hope for grandchildren, and he was nearly forty-six. She’d all but given up on him, and he’d encouraged her to give up. Until Beverly, he’d been sure he’d never be a father.
He took a drink of his beer. “Teresa is beautiful.”
“Thanks. Found a new level of love when she was born.” She paused. “You know, I’m just gonna ask. Are you thinking about it?”
He was, but Carmen was not the woman he needed to talk to. “You know I’m not gonna tell you something like that. Not your business.”
With a laugh, she said, “You’re right. I’m snooping. Ignore me.” Aunt Angie stepped out of the food tent and waved emphatically at Carmen. “Oh, God. Must be cake time. If Theo shoves it in my face, this is going to be a very short marriage.” She kissed his cheek. “Smile, Nick. The sun is shining.”
~oOo~
As dusk came on, the tone of the reception changed. People covered up their bathing suits, lights were strung, and a floor was laid out on the beach for a live band and dancing. Nick was surprised that it was a combo playing Big Band Era classics. Not what he would have expected at the beach. But vastly preferable to what he would have expected.
He was sitting in an Adirondack chair with Beverly on his lap, and it was the best time he’d had at the wedding. Luca and Manny were next to them, sitt
ing together in similar fashion, and they’d all been chatting comfortably, but now Luca and Manny were making out.
The band had started playing, and the music soothed him.
Beverly had pulled a long, knit skirt and a zip hoodie over her bathing suit. She’d taken off the bracelet when she’d changed out of her dress—a prudent move, even though he hadn’t told her the cost of the piece, and wouldn’t. The sun pendant, though, she never took off. As she snuggled against his neck, her hand running lightly under his still-open shirt, over his bare chest, he played his fingers around her sun.
“Do you dance? I don’t even know if you dance.” Her voice was low, as if she were sleepy.
“Is that important to know?”
She shrugged. “Seems like something to know.”
“I don’t dance, no. But if you want to, I’ll go up there with you.” He kissed her head. “Or I’ll sit here and watch. I like to watch you dance.”
She sat up. “When—oh. That night at Neon. You watched me?”
“I did. You were beautiful, dancing for the joy of it. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I wanted you.”
“Oh. I wanted you long before that.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Bella, you weren’t exactly subtle.”
She laughed. “I know. Chris told me I might as well have been wearing a…” She trailed off and put her head back on his shoulder. “Never mind.”
She was doing well overall; strangely, Mills’ death seemed to have restored her, her grief finally breaking through whatever dam she’d built up in her head. She mourned the friend she’d lost. The secret of Chris Mills’ death would die with him. Nick’s part in that death was business, and she didn’t want to know about his business. Knowing that had made him rest easier with his secret. But her loss was no less real and alive.
Holding her close, thinking about the day, the way she’d become a part of his family, the way she made him more a part of his own family, the way she made him more a part of his own life, he decided he couldn’t wait.
“Marry me, bella.”
Her hand had been caressing his chest again. Now it went still. She didn’t move or speak. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “This isn’t an impulse. You know I’m not impulsive. I’m having a ring made already. But I don’t want to wait to ask. I love you. Marry me. Sposami.”
“Nick…”
That wasn’t the word he’d wanted coming out of her mouth at that moment. He put his thumb over her lips and shook his head. “Don’t tell me no.”
She pulled her head free of his grasp. “I don’t want to tell you no. But I feel like our whole relationship has been about me healing. Do we even know each other? I didn’t even know if you can dance. I don’t know your middle name.”
“That’s not important. Those are things you can learn with one word. No, I can’t dance. Gavino is my middle name. What we know about each other is deeper than that—because of what has happened since we’ve been together.”
She studied him, and he willed her to say the word he wanted. Anger and disappointment were crowding in at the edges of his mind. He’d expected her answer to be yes, quickly and unequivocally. She loved him. She wanted him. She’d just said that she didn’t want to say no. Why would she hesitate?
“What…what about family? We’ve never talked about that. We haven’t talked about where to live or whether to have kids or anything we want about the future. Those aren’t one-word answers.”
“So we’ll talk about that. We’ll talk about it all. But you can answer my question with just one word. Please, bella.” He was not a man who begged, but he said it again. “Please.”
Though night had fallen, he could see tears in her eyes. They glittered in the shine of the party lights strung around the beach. She wasn’t going to give him the answer he needed.
“I can’t answer yet. I need to talk first. I’m sorry.”
Nick knew hurt in that moment greater than he could remember since he was a boy. The hurt brought a wave of anger surging behind it, more than he could safely contain if he let it come on fully.
So he turned it off.
“Okay. It’s time to go.” He set her off his lap.
“Nick, wait.”
“Get your things, Beverly. It’s time to go.”
~oOo~
That night, Nick left Beverly in her apartment and returned to his own. For the first time in months, he would sleep in his own bed. Alone.
He knew she wanted to marry him. If she thought they didn’t know each other well enough, then she was stupid. After all his patience since the attack at the diner, after everything he’d tried to do to help her, she didn’t trust him enough to answer his question in the way they both wanted.
He felt exposed, and he didn’t like that feeling one bit.
It was too early and he was too agitated to sleep, so he took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of sweats, and poured himself a scotch. Then he went out onto his balcony and watched the night ocean. He lit a cigarette and thought his dark thoughts.
Though he lived outside of Quiet Cove, the night was fairly still, and he could hear the faint sounds of Carmen and Theo’s reception—music and laughter carried over the sand. Carmen had teased him for not having fun, but he’d enjoyed the day. He simply wasn’t someone who played. He never had been.
But that wasn’t true. He’d been a pretty normal kid, he thought. Until he was fifteen.
He took a long draw from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke. Maybe Beverly was right to hesitate. He was dark, she was light. She had had fun today, laughing and mingling, playing with the kids, chatting with his family. Loving him had almost doused her light, but she’d gotten it back.
He’d left the balcony door open behind him, and now he heard a knock at his front door. He stubbed out his cigarette, finished his scotch, and went back inside. He checked the peephole, saw who he expected to see, and opened the door.
Beverly was wearing one of the long t-shirts she slept in. She’d been crying.
He’d done that.
“I’m afraid to sleep alone,” she whispered, her voice soft with sadness.
He’d done that, too.
“Bella.” He pulled her close.
They slept in his bed that night.
~ 22 ~
Lady Catterley jumped up onto the desk and stretched out over Bev’s laptop. When Bev looked up from the file drawer, the Excel spreadsheet she’d been working on was going haywire.
“Cat! Ugh!” She pushed the cat onto the floor. “Get out of here, you walking hairball!”
Feeling instantly guilty for yelling, she changed her tone. “I’m sorry, Catty.” The cat turned and, with a flick of her tail, sauntered off into the stacks.
Bev undid the chaos the cat had wrought in the spreadsheet. And then went back to staring at the chaos that had already been there.
Chris had been a terrible record-keeper. How he’d avoided being audited, she had no idea.
“I found eight boxes in the corner of the side stockroom that look like they were stuck back there and forgotten. There was half an inch of dust.” Standing in the office doorway, Katrynn, the new manager of Cover to Cover Books, whose serendipitous last name was Page, brushed her hands together, making a little cloud that illustrated her point. “Did you call me?”
“No. I was yelling at the cat. She plopped on the keyboard and put Excel into a seizure.”
Katrynn was definitely not a wiseguy. Bev had hired her own manager—a college graduate with a degree in English. She’d been in town for the Farewell Summer Festival over Labor Day weekend and had seen the poster Bev had put up in the front window. Katrynn had no more management experience than Bev had—zero—but they’d both done their time in retail. Katrynn had even worked in a bookshop before.
And Nick’s cousin Luca was helping Bev learn the higher-level business stuff, so she thought she’d
be okay.
Now that she was in Chris’s records, she didn’t think she could do much worse than he had. It was like he had put effort into not making money.
That made perfect sense, in fact. Chris had liked his shop, and he’d loved spending weekends combing through estate sales. Bev had been on scores of Sunday road trips going through people’s old belongings. Though he’d kept new stock, too, his real love had been used books, the kind that people had read and loved already. The shop was just a way to fund his estate sale habit. And feed himself. He hadn’t wanted more than that. Thinking of her rumpled friend, she smiled. It was getting easier to remember him as the friend she’d thought she had without thinking about what he’d kept from her. That revelation mattered less every day.
Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) Page 29