Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  She’d caught Maggie going over and over her patients’ charts the other day. Obsessing about ways she could help them better. Worried she might have forgotten to do something important. And Bella knew she was taking work home where she could do the same thing later, too.

  “I don’t want to take drugs, Bella. I took tomorrow off, and I scheduled myself a little lighter this week. I’ll be fine.” She added, “But if I’m not, I’ll be sure to call her next week. Okay?”

  Bella hugged her. “I know you’ll be fine. But don’t be ashamed to ask for help.”

  Maggie laughed. “I say that to people all day long.”

  Bella shrugged. “And sometimes you’ve got to say it to yourself, right?”

  “I’ll be fine. See you at MacNamara’s tomorrow, for your date.”

  Bella walked her to the door, making a mental note to bring Maggie some lasagna tomorrow. She was too thin. A shame, because all Bella had to do was look at a pound of cheese from across the room and the calories seemed to magically migrate to her hips.

  At the same time the door shut, pounding sounds arose from the direction of the abandoned office space next door. Bella had no idea who would be banging around after hours, but she hoped it would be short lived. She entered the waiting room, where she began to arrange chairs in a circle. Boom, boom, boom. Their diplomas on the wall closest to the door rattled in their frames as the hammering became incessant.

  What on earth was someone demo-ing at seven o’clock at night? The place next door had been a flower shop, and the florist had taken most of the shelving with her when she’d moved out. What could possibly be left to tear down?

  Bella put on a pot of coffee and took the tiramisu she’d made last night out of the back refrigerator. She’d found over the past couple of years that food made people more comfortable, and comfortable people talked more. Besides, in a place like Mirror Lake, her clients were also her neighbors, and she was as likely to see them on the street or in the grocery store as in her office. Being neighborly never hurt.

  The office door opened. “Well, hello, dear,” a white-haired woman in pink sneakers and a bright floral sweater said as she gave a little wave. Everyone in town knew Effie Scofield, matriarch of the Rushford clan. She was accompanied by her best friend, Gloria Manning, a woman in a tidy tweed suit and lovely red hair the color of Prince Harry’s, a fact that she loved to mention, as she was a great aficionado of all things royal. The two of them looked back at a third woman with bold glasses and very black hair who was carting a big flowered satchel.

  “We brought a friend,” Effie said, taking the new woman’s coat and hanging it on a hook near the door.

  “Hi, ladies,” Bella said, greeting them by handing them coffees. “Gloria, I love your new haircut.”

  “Thank you for noticing, dear. Who do I remind you of?” Gloria turned her head this way and that.

  “Um, I’m not sure, but it’s lovely.”

  Gloria pulled out her phone and showed Bella a photo.

  “Oh, Princess Diana!” Bella said. “Same cut. Of course!”

  The new woman held out her hand and said her name. But Bella had to ask her to repeat it due to all the hammering.

  “Bella,” Effie began, then corrected herself. “Er, Doctor D’Angelo, I should say—and by the way we are very proud of that PhD you earned—this is our friend Alethea Panagakos. She’s from Greece.”

  Bella shook her hand. “Hi, Alethea. Welcome to the group.”

  The frames of Alethea’s glasses were dotted with faux jewels, and she was wearing a bright-red sweater with black tights and a chunky statement necklace.

  “I’m so nervous being here,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m not one to confide in strangers, you know? And also I’m fifty-five.” She lowered her voice and whispered to Bella, “I’m not really a senior.”

  “If you could get an AARP card, you’re a senior,” Effie said loud and clear.

  “I think you’ll find that everyone here is very friendly,” Bella said, deflecting the age comments. “What’s said here, stays here.” She hoped. Knowing these ladies’ penchant for good gossip, sometimes she wasn’t so sure, even though she did remind them at the beginning of each session to keep their mouths shut. Not in those exact words, of course.

  “Most of the people in this group are looking for companionship,” Gloria said, patting Alethea’s hand. “Except since I’ve remarried, I share an entirely different set of challenges. It’s like being a newlywed again.”

  “You’re not a newlywed. You’ve been married six years,” Effie said to Gloria, then turned back to Bella. “She and that nice retired doctor of hers are as happy as two peas in a pod. She just likes to come and visit with everyone.”

  “And I feel that I have a lot to offer,” Gloria said proudly. “After all, I never thought I’d be one to ever remarry after I lost my husband at thirty-one. I would hope my story offers encouragement to others, that anything can happen, you know?”

  Anything can happen. Bella wished she could believe that. She was so ready for something to happen. And not with a certain man who happened to be a blast from her past, either. Not that she was thinking of him at all, of course.

  “If you could find a man after all those years, maybe I can, too,” Alethea said.

  “Bella’s thirty-one and she could use one, too,” came a familiar voice. Bella looked up to see her very own Aunt Francesca walk in. Nonna had died earlier this year, and Frannie had finally retired from her job as a grade-school librarian, both of which had left her free to come to Mirror Lake for an extended visit. In the past few weeks, with her father’s back surgery, Bella was more than grateful to have her around.

  “I’m twenty-nine, Aunt Francesca,” Bella said.

  “Soon to be thirty,” she said.

  Oh no. If left to her own devices, Aunt Francesca would be spewing forth Italian platitudes and dropping juicy tidbits of Bella’s private life in no time. Bella would have to make sure that personal comment she just made would be her last. She could feel the professional caliber of the group declining at the speed of light.

  She should have made Maggie take this group. These women would soon be all over Bella’s love life like a vulture on roadkill, but they’d never stoop so low as to prey upon a respectable widow.

  “What are you doing here?” Bella asked Aunt Fran, hoping by chance she was just stopping by with some goodies. Fat chance, as she’d never just dropped by her office before.

  “I brought cookies,” Aunt Fran said, handing over a big platter.

  Bella took the platter, because, well, she had to. “And?” she asked her aunt, blocking the entrance into the office with her body.

  “Well, this is the support group for widowed or divorced seniors, right?”

  “Welcome to the Three Ds—Divorced, Desperate, or Dead,” Effie said. “The dead is not for anyone personally. It’s if someone you loved died.”

  “It’s really called the Divorced or Bereaved Senior Support Group,” Bella said quickly. She didn’t want anyone to think that the group was a joke. Although sometimes she wasn’t sure, what with these characters showing up and bringing their friends like it was senior happy hour.

  “I’m not divorced or widowed, but I’ve been single forever.” Aunt Fran tilted up her elegant Italian chin and gave Bella that special look that only her aunt was capable of leveling on her. “Never married. And I’m tired of it. Plus I’m thinking of moving permanently to Mirror Lake. I thought I’d come and check out the group. Besides, I helped my niece make that tiramisu and I want some.”

  “Okay, fine. You can stay,” Bella said. “But this is a professional group.” She leaned over and whispered, “Absolutely nothing about my personal life. Okay?”

  “Got it,” her aunt said, looking around at the waiting area. “Oh, this is a very pretty office, Bella. But where are the men in the group?”

  “No men so far,” Effie said. “Only women.”

  “Aw, that’s
a shame,” Aunt Fran said. “I was hoping to maybe meet a nice man so I wouldn’t have to do online dating.”

  Oh Dio. Bella tried not to roll her eyes.

  “I was hoping to meet a nice man here, too,” Alethea said. “I keep thinking I’ll meet one through church, but all the volunteer groups are full of women. Maybe I’m going to have to try that new online dating app, Tender.”

  “You mean Tinder,” Gloria said.

  “Did you say Timber?” Effie asked.

  “No, Tender,” Alethea said. “Ten-der. You know, where you can meet a tender partner. That name makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “No, dear, it’s Tinder,” Gloria said. “Tin-der. Like something that catches a spark.”

  “Oh.” Alethea looked a little disappointed. “A spark. I think I understand. But I like Tender better.”

  “There’s a lot of young men who use that app, ladies,” Bella said.

  “I have nothing against young men,” Alethea said.

  “Not me,” Fran said. “I want a mature man. One who’s grown up and knows what he wants.”

  “Mature but not old,” Effie said. “Like good wine.”

  “That’s what we could use,” Alethea said, scanning the table where the dessert was. “Some wine.”

  At this point, so could she. “Okay, ladies,” Bella said. “How about if we go sit down?”

  “I’m sort of glad there aren’t any men here yet,” Gloria said. “We can talk about woman things without feeling like we have to censor ourselves.” She wrapped an arm around Aunt Francesca’s shoulders and led her to a seat. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  Bella guided them into the waiting room, which was stylishly decorated, if she could say so herself, in soothing colors of aqua and tan and black. The ladies settled into the comfy waiting room chairs she and Maggie had picked out themselves. A few nice lamps and throw pillows made the waiting room a quiet, serene place. So did the watercolor paintings her good friend Samantha Spikonos, an art teacher, had painted.

  Effie took an Italian wedding cookie and her coffee and settled in. “I can go first,” she offered.

  Bella poured herself some coffee but decided to wait on the dessert. Anything could come out of these women’s mouths, and she had to be on her guard. “Sure, go ahead, Effie.”

  “I went on a date last week with a neighbor from assisted living, and all he talked about was how many medications he was on. He told me how hard it was to keep track of them all. Then he asked me how many years I was a nurse. I think he wanted someone to help keep them all straight.”

  A murmur went up from the other ladies. “I’m sorry about that,” Gloria said. “Seems like some men our age just want someone to take care of them.”

  “I took care of my husband, Hercules,” Alethea said. “I did everything around the house, all the cooking and cleaning, plus worked as a bookkeeper in my family’s olive oil company. And do you know what he did? He fooled around on me. Marriage wasn’t a good experience for me.”

  “Then why do you want to try it again?” Fran asked.

  “For a long time I thought it was me, that I just wasn’t cut out for living with a man. That maybe I drove my husband to cheat. But my girlfriend in Greece told me Hercules just divorced his third wife. It occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t all my fault. Maybe it was his, too.”

  “How was your sex life?” Effie asked.

  “That’s awfully personal,” Bella said quickly. Effie was like a train. She was fine if someone kept her on the tracks, but the slightest slack in vigilance and she’d head straight off the cliff.

  Alethea waved her hand dismissively. “We’re among friends. It was terrible.”

  “Did you try any K-Y, dear?” Effie asked.

  “Effie,” Bella warned. Dear saints in heaven, she needed dessert. And wine.

  “Honey,” Effie said, “I’m a nurse. It’s okay for us to be a little medical. You handle the head stuff, and I’ll handle the body stuff.”

  And who would handle the bouncer stuff? Because Bella was about to eject Effie from the group, orthopedic tennies and all.

  “It was nothing like that,” Alethea said. “Our sex life was full of inhibitions and no communication. I disappointed him. I thought for a long time I would disappoint anyone. But then I read one of those romance novels Samantha left lying around the house. Those people have great sex. And the men are very considerate of the women.”

  And book boyfriends didn’t usually annoy or talk back. Or if they did, it was usually followed by great sex. Definite pluses.

  Aunt Francesca covered her eyes. “I prefer when they close the door.”

  “My point is,” Alethea said, “Hercules never cared about what I wanted, only his own pleasure. For years I blamed myself, but now I have a new perspective. I’m ready to try and find someone new.”

  “That’s why you should try Tender,” Effie said.

  “That’s very brave,” Francesca said. “Not the Tender part. The putting-yourself-out-there part.”

  “Thank you,” Alethea said. “Is it time for dessert yet?”

  “We haven’t heard from you yet, dear,” Effie said to Francesca gently. “What’s your story?”

  Bella almost spoke up and told Fran she didn’t have to tell her story. Truthfully, she didn’t know Fran’s story. Aunt Fran had been single for as long as she could remember. And while she was always willing and eager to hear everything about the rest of the family, she tended to deflect questions about her own life.

  Fran shrugged. “My family didn’t approve of the man I loved when I was young,” she said. “And he didn’t have the patience to wait. He went off and found someone else. I was heartbroken for years, but then I accepted that I was never meant to be married. But recently, something happened. I never thought this could happen at my age, but when I was in Italy last spring caring for my great-aunt before she died, I met someone. A doctor. With royal Italian blood.”

  “Italian royalty!” Gloria exclaimed. “How wonderful. Maybe he’s a Medici.”

  “A doctor.” Alethea said. “Even better.”

  She shrugged. “Not so wonderful. He lives in Palermo. My aunt died, I had to come home, and that was that.”

  Bella looked thoughtfully at her aunt, whom she loved dearly. A fiercely private person, she’d always been kind and loving and the voice of reason to Vito’s bursting and sometimes unreasonable passion.

  But Fran, librarian and book lover that she was, had a reputation in the family for being a master storyteller. Her father told Bella that when Fran was a teenager, she’d come downstairs dressed for church on Monday nights and tell her parents she was attending the novena. As soon as she was out of eyesight, she’d take off her skirt and roll down her pants and meet her boyfriend down the street. To avoid being fixed up with a boy from the village she didn’t like, she pretended to have the measles and got caught when the rash she’d drawn on herself with a lipstick got all over the sheets.

  It was difficult to mesh the image of this rebellious Fran with the by-the-books, deeply religious aunt who dutifully cared for her ailing mother for years. Yet Bella herself could understand how enough heartache in life could wash the fight right out of you. Was there a doctor in Palermo? She hoped so, but who knew?

  “Oh, we’re sorry, dear,” Gloria said, patting Fran on the knee. “Very sorry.”

  “I want to put myself out there a little,” Fran said. “Maybe get my hair done.”

  “Brenda at the Curli-Q on the square is one option,” Gloria said. “She’ll make you feel like a million bucks. I highly recommend her.”

  “Change is good,” Bella said, “but sometimes it might only require a change of attitude, not a makeover. A makeover from the inside out, so to speak.”

  There was a sudden loud thunk followed by the sounds of crumbling rock exploding into the room, along with a hefty male curse. A floury cloud of dust enveloped the wall adjoining the next building. When it settled, a sizeable hole in the wall g
aped.

  “Didn’t you just remodel, dear?” Aunt Francesca asked.

  Bella stood up and ran to the area of damage, cautiously stepping around the debris until she could look through the hole to the other side. The walls of the old flower shop were stripped down to bare wood and a bright single-bulb work lamp hung from a cross beam by a thick orange cord. No person in sight.

  “It’s a hit-and-run,” Effie said, right behind her. In fact, all the ladies were crowded around, eager to check out the excitement.

  “I’ll be right back,” Bella said, heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Aunt Fran asked. “Don’t go by yourself. He has a hammer, for God’s sakes.”

  Bella threw open the outside office door to a lungful of cool September air and six feet two of annoying male perfection poised to knock. Roman Spikonos wore jeans and work boots and an untucked blue plaid flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Bella sucked in a breath. This hot-construction-worker version of Roman was just as gorgeous as the naked-chest-in-the-lake version and the wearing-a-suit-and-tie version from the wedding. Let’s just say that if he were featured on a calendar, he’d have every month covered.

  “You,” she said on an exhale.

  “It’s a man,” someone said behind her.

  “A hubba-hubba kind of man.” That had to be Effie. For sure.

  “That’s Roman Spikonos,” Fran whispered—loudly.

  “Lukas’s brother?” Alethea said, perking up. “Tell him to come in right now.”

  “He’s too young for us,” Effie said.

  “But not for Arabella,” Fran said. “They had a thing.”

  “Fran!” Bella warned. It didn’t stop all the whispering and tittering, as if she were surrounded by a group of silly schoolgirls instead of mature women. Or deter the tall man in front of her, who stood with his arms crossed over his big chest surveying all the ladies with a little smirk on his face.

  Bella ignored the flashing red lights and the dinging of warning bells inside her head, like there was a train coming and she’d better move off the tracks now. She was coming to realize that these were the usual sensations she felt when Roman Spikonos was anywhere nearby.