Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “I will,” Ella said with a smile. She was glad the story was over. Done. They could move on. It had been charming, very sweet. But she could only take so much singling out at the family table because she wasn’t married.

  “Mama,” cried Ella’s mother, “why would you not want your own daughter to hear the love story of her parents?”

  Oh, no. They were to go on, apparently. Hank caught Ella’s eye. He was worried about her, and it warmed her heart. She smiled at him. I’m fine, she tried to say without speaking.

  Nonna Sofia lifted her chin. “Because you might think me foolish.”

  “Why would I?” Mama asked.

  “I turned down the rich man and married the poor.”

  “Why would I think that foolish?” Mama asked. “I believe in love. And without you and Papa together, I would never have happened!”

  “We will discuss this later,” Nonna Sofia said in a hard tone, her mouth thin, her brow drawn low.

  Something shifted in that moment. A feeling passed between Ella and the feminine members of the dinner party silently and faster than the speed of light. It occurred to her immediately, and she could see the same thing happening to all the grown women in the room—her sisters, her mother, her aunts, and to Nonna Boo, whose eyes widened—that Nonna Sofia was suggesting Mama’s paternity was in question.

  Nonna Sofia must have slept with the son of the vineyard owner before she married her Giuseppe!

  Ella was rocked. To the core.

  But imagine how poor Mama must feel!

  Mama laughed, but it sounded almost like a cry, which broke Ella’s heart. “You’re not saying, Mama…”

  Nonna Sofia looked at her. “Later.” Then she turned to Nonna Alberta. “See what happens when you take my story away from me and tell the whole family?”

  “Why did you bring it up in front of the whole family?” asked Nonna Alberta. “Because deep inside, you wanted it to see the light!”

  “No,” said Nonna Sofia.

  “You were playing with fire,” said Nonna Alberta, “and you knew it, and you were tired of carrying this secret.” She frowned at Nonna Sofia. “It is why we are here, to prove that Maria is indeed Giuseppe’s daughter.”

  Oh, my God, Ella thought, her heart racing. Every single adult in the room stiffened.

  “Of course, I’m Giuseppe’s daughter!” Mama slapped her hand on the table, her bosom rising and falling rapidly. “How could you have kept this from me all these years, Mama?”

  To Mama’s left, Uncle Sal wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Hush, Maria, no need to be upset. This changes nothing. We are family—you and I are brother and sister, united forever by blood and through love. As you are with the rest of the family.”

  Mama blinked back a tear. “Thank you, Sal,” she croaked out.

  Aw, Uncle Sal! Ella couldn’t cry, even though seeing Mama cry made her feel terrible. She was simply too stunned, and she wanted to stay strong for Mama.

  Nonna Boo sat on Mama’s right. She reached over to Mama’s flattened palm on the table and wrapped her gnarled fingers around it. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “Don’t you worry, my daughter through marriage. Mine forever,” she added fervently, which touched Ella’s heart too.

  She and Hank exchanged a look again. I’m here for you, his eyes seemed to say. And she was glad, so glad he’d come with her today. She lifted her half-full glass of red wine to her lips and downed the rest of it, thankful that he’d bought it, not only to honor her family but because he so obviously wanted to please her, however much he’d denied it earlier at Harris Teeter.

  He’d brushed off his effort because of her, because he knew she would spurn his reaching out to her through thoughtful gestures. He’d been right too, and she wondered now why she’d been so willing to turn away a loving action. Of course, it was because she was afraid to get hurt by him again.

  But look at her now. Alone, and hurting. No matter what, pain would come to her life. How much control did she have, really? How much should she try to exert to keep the hurt at bay, or was it part and parcel of loving? Of being in relationships?

  “Thank you, Nonna Boo, for your sweet words,” said Mama, “but of course, I must worry.”

  “No,” said Nonna Boo. “This changes nothing.”

  Nonna Sofia sighed. “You were born five months after we married, daughter. We were never sure. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t.”

  “I thought babies took nine months to bake,” said one of the nephews under age ten.

  “Some babies take less,” said his mother.

  “Then why were you going to tell Ella?” Mama asked her mother.

  “To get it off my chest before I die,” said Nonna Sofia, “and not to burden you. Ella can take it. Especially if she never marries and has the additional worry of a family of her own.”

  Ella’s heart hurt hearing herself spoken of that way. A quick glance around the table showed her that other people were taken aback by the bluntness of Nonna Sofia’s remark too. But Ella, chagrined as she was at being so casually written off as a possible singleton for life, was also oddly touched Nonna Sofia found her competent to handle her personal secret.

  “But we can find out the truth,” said Nonna Alberta to Nonna Sofia, “and I want to before I die. The family of Giuseppe, my beloved son, deserves to know if all of his long, illustrious line carries his blood. We have brought strands of his hair I saved from his favorite comb. Sofia, you may also have artifacts that could aid us.” She shot a laser look at Mama. “If tests reveal new facts, we are still family, bonded at the heart, child. No need to be upset.”

  A tear trickled from Mama’s eye and she pushed up from the table. “I am far from being a child,” she said. “I am much too old for this.”

  No one knew what to say. Ella jumped up from her chair too. She went to her mother. “It’s all right,” she tried to soothe her, and put her arm around Mama’s waist.

  But Mama ignored her. She was far too distressed to accept comfort. Even so, Ella squeezed her closer. She caught Hank’s eye. You’re doing the right thing, he said without speaking. Hang in there.

  “This family doesn’t need this sort of upheaval,” Mama said. “Look at you, all in shock. And the children…”

  “We’re fine, Nonna Maria!” cried one nephew. “We don’t know what’s going on. But we don’t like it if it makes you cry!”

  “Nonna Maria!” Little Margaret said, her voice cracking.

  Mama’s smile trembled. “Don’t cry, sweet Margaret, I am fine,” she said to her youngest grandchild and to everyone at the cousins’ table. She then seemed to notice Ella. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “You go sit down, preziosa.”

  “All right, Mama,” Ella said, and kissed her cheek.

  “We can have this resolved within the week,” said Nonna Alberta. “We simply need you to cooperate, Maria, with the testing. And Sofia must be supportive, as well.”

  Mama squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “So be it,” she said.

  Ella’s sisters, her aunts and uncles, everyone at the table, including Hank, felt for Mama. It was evident in their drawn brows, the deepening lines on either side of their mouths.

  Poor Nonna Sofia. She was swallowing hard, trying to keep from crying herself. “All right,” she said to Nonna Alberta, “we will cooperate, but you could have told us what you were up to before you flew across the ocean to wreak havoc in our lives.”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted us to come,” Nonna Alberta said stoutly. “And it was meant to be. You yourself brought up the shoe story, in front of the entire family. It was meant to be.”

  And that was that. The proclamation from the Sicilian matriarch, age ninety-two.

  “Let’s have dessert,” said Uncle Sal.

  “Yay!” the children all shouted.

  Hank met Ella’s gaze once more. He gave her a little nod, a discreet wink of encouragement. She was rattled to the core, but she had to be brave for Mama and
the children. She had to carry on as if everything was the same—because it really was, if they wanted it to be. It really was.

  Love didn’t care about paternity tests.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “That was more dramatic than any movie scene I’ve ever filmed,” said Hank in the car. Ella let him drive. He grabbed her hand without asking. Squeezed it tight. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I think so. But poor Mama. I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling. Did you see her helping the girls scoop out the tiramisu? She kept praising them, acting as if nothing had changed. Which is good, because really, nothing has.”

  “Right,” Hank assured her. “She’s still your mother. And Sofia’s daughter. And Giuseppe’s daughter, whatever the test results are.”

  “But she was under such stress,” Ella said. “I’m sure she wanted the gathering to end. But she stayed and acted cheerful for everyone.”

  “It was a massive shock, I’m sure,” Hank said. “It would be for anyone. It’ll take a while to process, don’t you think?” He released Ella’s hand, not wanting to take advantage of her wobbly emotions.

  “Yes,” Ella said, her voice breaking a little. “Mama is strong.”

  “She’s a real trouper,” Hank agreed.

  “I wish Papa were here to support her.”

  “You’re here, and all the family,” Hank reminded her.

  He hated to see her so upset, but what could he do? Nothing, really, except be her friend.

  “I’m counting on the test saying my grandfather Giuseppe was her biological father, and this whole crisis will pass.”

  “Of course it will,” he said, turning her car into the driveway to the carriage house. They passed the Wilders’ big house, the corner of it glowing under a street light, then moved into almost total blackness, save for the tiny porch light on the carriage house’s front step. “It will pass even if it turns out her biological dad is the son of the vineyard owner. Your mother will have lots of loved ones to support her.”

  “I hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “It won’t be easy,” he said, turning off the car engine. They sat in silence, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. “Change is hard. Especially, I’ll bet, when you’ve believed one thing for fifty years or more, and you find out you didn’t necessarily have all the facts.”

  Ella let out a gusty sigh. “I had no idea I was leading you into the lion’s den today. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Hank said, and dared to look at her. “I’m worried about you. Not only about how you’re feeling about your mother and her situation. What Nonna Sofia said about you not being married—it wasn’t an insult, but it’s obvious that you’re the odd woman out in some ways in your family.”

  Ella nodded. “I’m used to that. I’ve never been very traditional. But I think they’re proud of me for stepping out, getting Mancini women to think about their options. Not that I don’t want to be a wife and mother someday … I do—if I find the right partner. But marriage isn’t the only way to be happy. I want my little girl nieces and cousins and my youngest sister—the one who keeps kissing frogs—to realize that they can have a full, wonderful life on their own, with friends and family. And if they’re lucky, they might find a partner to lean on and love in return. So says the matchmaker.”

  She grinned and stole a glance at him.

  He put a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re amazing,” he said.

  She smiled shyly. A beat passed. “I know,” she eventually replied, and laughed out loud.

  It was a relief to hear her do that. He laughed too. “I’m glad you realize you’re the cat’s meow.”

  She shrugged. “It took a long time.”

  “It was my fault,” he told her. “When I left, did you think I thought you were lacking somehow?”

  “I couldn’t help but wonder that, yes,” she said.

  “I never did.” He tried to maintain eye contact with her, but she looked away. “It was all on me. I had issues. Not you. You were wonderful then, and you still are. Better than ever, in fact.”

  Yes, he was talking too much. But guess what? He had to stop thinking so hard and simply be who he really was, whether he got rejected or not.

  “We should go in,” she said quietly.

  “Okay.” He wouldn’t push it any further, and she obviously didn’t want him to either. “I wonder when Pammy will be home?” It was nine o’clock. Her date had lasted a good three hours.

  Pammy was a safe change of subject.

  “I don’t know,” Ella said. The house was dark. “But it must mean she’s having fun. And that makes me happy.”

  “Me too.”

  Things felt a little more normal, or at least less tense, between them. He wanted to win a second chance with Ella, but he hoped that somehow—if he maintained faith in what he believed they still had between them—she would move toward him too.

  When they got inside, Hank flipped the light switch in the living room, and a lamp turned on in the corner, casting a yellow beam over a worn leather armchair with a matching ottoman, scuffed from lots of shoes being put up on it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in a beat-up recliner with a couple of magazines or a good novel. He had plenty of downtime on movie sets, but he used those hours to call friends and business contacts, answer emails, and read scripts. He was usually in a trailer, which shouted temporary the same way a hotel room did.

  “You okay?” he asked Ella. “Should we do something like go to the Blind Tiger and play some pool?”

  She waved a hand. “No, thanks.” She put her purse by the door and plopped onto the sofa. “This is heaven,” she said, “Just sitting here. I love my family, but…”

  “But they suck a lot of energy out of the room. Like a tornado.” He tossed her car keys into her purse.

  “You’ve described the Mancini clan well,” she said. “Usually, though, I come home feeling revived. The tornado picks me up and puts me on fresh green grass. But tonight? No. That’s not happening.”

  “Would a glass of wine help?”

  “Sure.” She sounded distracted, and no wonder. “I had plenty at Mama’s, but it’s one of those nights that another wouldn’t hurt.”

  In the kitchen, Hank opened a bottle of red wine—not nearly as good as what they’d had at Mama Mancini’s, but it would do. There was no TV, so everything was quiet. He realized they’d have to chat. Or play a game. Maybe Scrabble would take her mind off things. “You want to get out the Scrabble board?” he called to her.

  “Sure,” she said again.

  He could tell she wasn’t too invested in talking or being social.

  Under any other circumstances, Hank—who was used to tons of attention—might feel mildly insulted. But he couldn’t blame Ella for withdrawing. He wanted to comfort her badly. But he had to remember his boundaries.

  No flirting, he commanded himself when he exited the kitchen with two empty glasses and the open wine bottle. Ella was busy setting up the Scrabble board on the coffee table. He pulled up an armchair on the side opposite her, then poured them each a glass of wine. She pushed seven blank wood squares toward him, the letters facing down, and a letter rack to stand them on. She set her letter rack up too, an adorable squiggle on her brow.

  He’d been right to remind her of Scrabble. She could forget for a little while what had happened at her mother’s house that night.

  His phone vibrated and he looked at it. Date going well, Pammy texted him. Won’t be home tonight.

  Sure you’re not moving a little fast? he texted back.

  If you call taking the nine pm to six am shift at the homeless shelter’s front desk moving fast, she wrote. Reginald asked if I’d want to hang out with him, and I said yes.

  Good for you for volunteering, Hank texted. Can you take the day off tomorrow?

  I’m the master wood craftsman, so I make the rules, Pammy said. But I’ll probably come home, eat breakfast, and work until one.
Then crash.

  Sounds good, he texted, and sent her a thumbs-up emoji.

  She sent one back.

  And then he sent her the emoji of an eagle. Pammy loved birds of prey.

  She sent him a GIF of puppies.

  Pammy was being mischievous. She knew he wanted a puppy but had never committed to getting one. He could ignore her teasing, but it was much harder to ignore Ella, who chewed her lower lip as she moved her tiles around, looking like a pouty sex goddess. He sighed inwardly. She was oblivious to the illicit direction his thoughts were taking as she prepped to take him down. He was determined to do the same—to focus on annihilating her at Scrabble.

  Hah. Fat chance. Fat chance that he’d win—she was brilliant—and fat chance that he could stop thinking about her—

  With no clothes on.

  Yeah, he was a Neanderthal like that. Not that anyone would ever know. He was a sophisticated guy. A ladies’ man too, but a gentleman, above all. He was proud of that fact.

  “What exactly are you thinking?” She eyed him suspiciously.

  He had to come up with something quickly. “Words.”

  “What kind of words?”

  Luscious.

  Sexy.

  “Scrabble words,” he said. “Like ‘aardvark.’ ‘Meticulous.’ And ‘ostentatious.’”

  “Right.” She gave a short laugh.

  Okay, so she didn’t believe him. In fact, she saw right through him.

  Which sucked. The whole night dragged before them. It was going to be difficult to think about Scrabble words and not Ella’s beautiful form and her warm heart. Hank desperately wanted to bed her. But he refused to cave and admit that he was lusting after her. It was time to summon his best acting chops.

  “May I go first?” he asked, pretending he was chomping at the bit. “I’d really like to, if you don’t mind.”

  “Be my guest.”

  He saw that wary look in her eyes. He was almost positive it wasn’t about him being a horndog but about Scrabble. She wanted to win, and she was worried he had a really good word. Thank God she was so competitive.