by Mary Campisi
“I’d say destiny had something to say about that.”
“Yes, I believe that’s true.” She would not have thought Ramona Casherdon believed in destiny, but apparently the woman did. Maybe they had more in common than Miriam thought. “Charlie was the kindest, gentlest, most tormented soul I’d ever met. He was grieving the loss of his younger sister who’d died from cancer and questioning so many things: his life and purpose, the reason his sister had to die, his inability to follow his own path.” She blinked hard. “I wanted to help him find peace, but I couldn’t, not when duty and responsibility weighed so heavily on his soul.”
“He was not a strong man,” Ramona said in a quiet voice. Before Miriam could lash out at the cruel remark, the other woman held up a hand. “I can say this because I loved an equally weak man. He wanted to be with me, said he’d help raise Cash, but I refused. I had responsibilities to my nephew and this man had a whole world of opportunity waiting for him. Oh, but he had such dreams. How could I tie him down and keep him from achieving those beautiful dreams?” She shrugged, her dark eyes glittering. “I couldn’t so I let him go and when he was certain I wouldn’t change my mind, he left. It was a horrible time. A few months passed and the pain of missing him wouldn’t stop, nor would the memories of him begging me to give ‘us’ a chance. I started to think he might be right; maybe we did belong together. I decided to call and tell him I’d changed my mind.” She settled her gaze on the salad bowl and said, “I called but he wasn’t home.” Her voice dipped so low Miriam had to lean closer to hear. “He was at his engagement party. Seems those words he spouted were recyclable.”
“Oh, Ramona, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Miriam laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder, her brain swirling with so many questions, ones she had no right to ask. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“Thank you.”
“You must have really loved him.”
She nodded. “I did, even when I learned he was engaged and later, that he’d given up on his dreams for money and power.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
Ramona’s dark eyes misted. “Sadly, yes. But I didn’t recognize him.”
The way she said that told Miriam she wasn’t talking about the man’s physical appearance, but rather, the person inside. “It would have been better if you hadn’t seen him.”
“Yes, but the wondering wouldn’t have stopped. So, is it better to know a truth you’d rather not know, or just keep pretending?” She cleared her throat and unwrapped a piece of Pecorino Romano cheese. “Sometimes you can’t pretend anymore, but most people don’t like to acknowledge the truth.” She grated the cheese on a paper plate, creating a mound that reminded Miriam of the snowdrifts outside. “Not us, though. We look it straight in the eye.” Her lips curved into a faint smile. “We’re more alike than we care to admit.”
Miriam wasn’t so sure about that, but there were some similarities. She and Ramona were both strong-minded, independent, loyal, nonconformists. “I guess we do share a few traits.”
Ramona nodded, creating another pile of cheese with the grater, while Miriam transferred the first pile into the cheese container using a large serving spoon. “And our one true loves were not our husbands.”
“You were married?”
“Oh, yes. A lifetime ago.”
“I had no idea.”
“There are days I forget that part of my life existed. And then something happens, a word, an item of clothing, the look on a person’s face, and it all comes back.” She sighed. “The pain, the loss, so fresh and sharp it suffocates me.”
Miriam should not ask her to explain. It wasn’t her business, not any of it, and yet, she doubted Ramona had spoken about this to anyone in years, if ever. Perhaps it would help to tell someone who wouldn’t judge her, who had married a man she ended up detesting. “If you want to talk, you know I’ll never repeat what you tell me.”
“I know that about you, Miriam. That’s another way we’re alike.” When she started on her third mound of cheese, she also began to talk. “I was twenty when I married. He was much older, with children a year or two younger than me. He promised to take me to Florence and Paris, where we’d sleep on satin sheets, drink champagne, and eat crepes. For a girl from Buffalo, New York, this was a fairy tale. Of course, it never happened.”
She paused, sucked in a breath, and pushed on. “He’d built a home in Florida, said it was for me because I was his rose and this was my garden. Imported marble, crystal chandeliers, murals, the greenest lawns you ever saw.” She shrugged, stared at the dwindling hunk of cheese in her hand. “What did I know? I believed him.” Another pause. “The hitting started two months after we were married when he spotted me talking to one of his business associates at a dinner party. He said the man was a lecher and I was flirting. After, Carlo apologized with a diamond bracelet and three dozen roses, claimed it was the drink that made him crazy. The second time, he broke my nose when he caught me talking to the gardener. He had a great passion for flowers, especially roses, and I wanted to surprise him with a new hybrid. But men who hit their women rarely believe the truth.” She touched the bump on her nose. “He was always so remorseful afterward, promised it would never happen again. Until it did. It went on for months and then one day, I learned I was pregnant.” She cleared her throat, opened her mouth to speak, but only silence followed.
“I’m so sorry.” Nick Desantro had left his own brand of scars on Miriam, and while they weren’t visible, they were deep and painful.
“We were so excited. Carlo became the perfect husband. Oh, but we had plans. He wanted a boy, but I only wished for a healthy child. We called in a designer to help with the nursery… Carlo thought I was having an affair with the man, called me all kinds of horrible names and threatened me. When he grabbed a poker, I ran. I made it to my car and took off.” She stopped, blinked hard. “I didn’t see the red light; never saw the other car until a second before it hit me…”
Miriam clasped Ramona’s hand. “I can’t imagine.” But in a way, she could. She’d suffered miscarriages and the birth of her daughter, Anna, who only lived a matter of hours.
“I lost the baby, ended up in the hospital with a concussion and a broken collarbone. Carlo left me alone for a few months, but he always had his eye on me. One day he told me he wanted another child and I knew I couldn’t do that, to myself or the baby. I waited until he left for his weekly massage, grabbed three hundred dollars from his study, and told the cook I had a hair appointment. I left the car six blocks from the bus stop and found my way here.”
“He never came after you?” A man like that did not seem the type to give up what he thought was his.
Ramona shrugged. “He wouldn’t have known where to look. Carlo didn’t want me to maintain ties with my family and I didn’t mind leaving them behind. When I look back, I see how eager I was to pretend I wasn’t the product of two alcoholic parents from a less-than-reputable family. I thought money would replace self-esteem and self-worth.” She sighed and said in a quiet voice, “How wrong I was.”
“What happened to your sister and her husband?” The ones the town had wondered about since the day they left Cash with Ramona and never returned. Most believed they’d suffered a tragic end. Why else would parents stay away? “Did they die?”
“No, they didn’t die, at least not then. I have no idea if they’re still alive or where they might be. Teresa and Slim, nickname for Randy, got tired of parenting. Too constricting, they said, not ‘fun’ enough, and since they’d given me safe harbor, they said I owed them.”
So, they’d simply grown tired of parenting. “I’d say Cash was lucky to have you.”
“I love that boy as if he were my own. Sometimes, I forget he’s not.”
“Birthing a child doesn’t make a person a parent. It’s the day in, day out, being there no matter what, that counts. And that’s what you did for Cash, Ramona.” Miriam’s voice dipped. “You’re his real mother.”
> Ramona’s expression softened with Miriam’s words. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot. Enough about me; what else can we do to help Lucy?”
“How about talk to her father and try to make him see this isn’t his decision?” Lucy was as strong-willed as her grandmother had been and if Anthony didn’t stop pushing, he’d cause more damage to the bruised relationship with his daughter.
Ramona looked away, picked at a piece of dried cheese on the grater. “I tried but I think it only made things worse.”
“You talked to Anthony?” Ramona didn’t talk to anyone who wasn’t a customer or family, and Anthony Benito was neither.
“I did.” Pause. “He came to my house.” When Ramona met her gaze, Miriam saw the truth in those dark eyes, a truth she was certain this woman had never shared with anyone else. Anthony Benito was the man Ramona had loved and lost.
***
For years after, the town would talk about the Christmas Eve a truck carrying snow blowers hit a telephone pole and took out the power, casting Magdalena in complete darkness. No twinkling lights, no sparkling decorations, no trains circling the tree. Nothing but candles and flashlights providing illumination to a town known for its strength and grit, a town that would not be kept down by an inconvenience like the loss of power.
Dusk had just settled in and wiped out the last bits of light from the late afternoon when the truck hit the pole. Harry and Greta Blacksworth’s guests covered the first floor, from the living room to the dining room, spilling into the kitchen as they sipped their drinks and munched on canapés, bruschetta, dips and veggies, antipasto, and fresh fruit. The smell of ham blended with the aroma of manicotti and sauce baking in the oven. A Blacksworth gathering was about food and more food, coupled with a good beverage and even better company.
Harry stood near the fire, sipping his scotch and taking it all in. The lights, the laughter, the squeals of the children; it was about friends and family. His friends. His family. When had he ever felt this content? Greta was in the kitchen with Miriam and Ramona, three sergeants in charge of cooking and setting out the meal, which made it awfully difficult to steal a meatball or two. He’d almost held back on inviting Ramona Casherdon to dinner because she wasn’t exactly the sociable type, but Pop said she was like calamari, the ones with the tentacles: intimidating until the third bite and then it’s a favorite. Doubtful she’d want to be compared to calamari, but Pop did have a point, and besides, who the hell wanted to eat alone on Christmas Eve? He glanced at the overstuffed chair where Pop was holding court, dressed in a candy cane sweater, red corduroys, and a Santa Claus tie. Lucy, Lily, Gina, and Ben clustered around him, all smiles and laughter. The old guy could do that to you, make you think about the good parts of life instead of the rotten ones that tried to seep through like too much balsamic vinegar on a salad.
Too bad Pop’s son didn’t have his father’s disposition. What was his deal anyway? Harry still hadn’t forgotten the night the guy strutted into his house as though Pop were an invalid and Lucy a baby and declared they were heading back to California with him. Right, as in not happening. Those were fighting words for Pop, and Lucy wasn’t far behind in her feistiness. Tony had been no match for the two of them, as he learned that night. Now the guy stood next to the Christmas tree, sipping his drink, studying the ornaments as if he’d never seen handmade decorations before. Come to think of it, maybe he hadn’t. Huh. He did seem intrigued by the construction paper chains and popcorn garland, though not as much as the dough handprints with the pictures of AJ, Lizzie, Jackson, and Lily on them. Harry had been pretty amazed several weeks ago when he came home and found Greta making decorations with the kids. The thought made his chest ache with remembering. Maybe he’d wander over and see if he could get Tony to loosen up a bit and enjoy the festivities instead of sulking because his father and daughter were staying in Magdalena. Though, if Harry were a betting man, he’d say the guy had bigger issues, and he’d guess the issues started and ended with Tony Benito and his how-can-this-be-my-life mantra.
Harry started to make his way toward Tony when the power went out, accompanied by a succession of buzzes, beeps, and dings. The only light in the room came from the fireplace and that was nothing compared to the wattage he’d had flowing through the house seconds ago. “What the hell happened?” Chatter filled the room, followed by a commotion of movement toward the light from the fireplace. What now? “Nate! Where are you?” If anybody could figure out why the power went out, it was Nate.
Someone whistled and the chatter died. “Take it easy.” Nate’s deep voice reached Harry from across the room. “We’ll figure this out, but you have to stay calm. Cash, light the fireplaces on the first floor. AJ, ask your mother where the flashlights are and bring one to me. I want everybody in this room. Ben, call Rudy Dean and see if he knows what’s going on. Harry and Tony, come with me.”
“What do you plan to do?” This from Tony.
“We’re going to rearrange the furniture so we’re closer together.”
“Shouldn’t we just go home?” Tony Benito asked.
Harry didn’t need extra light to tell Nate didn’t like the question, and sure enough when the boy spoke, his words were slathered with ticked-off annoyance. “Nobody’s leaving until we know the status of the rest of the town. If there’s no power, that probably means no heat.” He tossed a look in Harry’s direction and added, “Unless they’ve got a generator, which we don’t.”
Nate was never going to give up on that damn generator story. Harry had intended to order it from the information Nate gave him, even had the specs sitting next to the phone. But then he got sidetracked by the selection of ties and matching socks in the new clothing catalog he favored, and well, what could he say? Clothing accessories beat out a clunky machine. It’s not like Nate had said Harry absolutely had to have it this winter, as in immediately; he’d called it the best security blanket money could buy. Okay, but money could buy it next season, too, right? Only problem was, Harry needed it this season, like right this second.
Before Nate could make another comment about the lack of a generator, Ben Reed spoke up. “I just got off the phone with the chief and the whole town’s out. Seems a truck hit a telephone pole on Elderberry Road. No idea how long it’ll be out, but he said to stay off the roads.”
“So it looks like we’re camping out here tonight, Harry.” Cash laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “One big sleepover, just what you wanted.”
“We’re stuck?” Tony Benito made his way to Nate, disbelief coating his words. “That’s it? Can’t we at least try to get out of here so we can sleep in our own beds?”
Ben Reed stepped forward and said, “Did you hear what I just said? The power’s out all over town and the police chief wants people to stay put, and that means us.”
Tony was not going to let it go. “But surely you’ve been without power before. What are a few extra blankets piled on a bed to keep you warm? And Pop has a gas stove so we can cook, too. Frankly, I think we should all head home and hunker down in our own places.”
Cash Casherdon muttered something under his breath and said, “Well, frankly, nobody asked you. If the police chief says stay put, we’re staying put.”
“Listen to these boys, Tony. They’ll keep us safe.” Pop’s voice was gentle, but Harry doubted his son would appreciate a public put-down. Couldn’t the guy see that these men geared up for challenges that threatened their families and excelled at overcoming them? Harry would take Nate, Cash, and Ben to protect him any day, in any situation. Tony was trying to take control of something he didn’t understand and looking like ten kinds of a fool. Harry knew better than to start spouting off solutions; he preferred playing host and following instructions. A man had to know his limitations and a good bottle of bourbon could forgive a lot—like neglecting to order a generator.
“You sound like I did when I first moved here,” Harry said, intent on diffusing the situation with a half truth. “I wanted to get things done
fast, pay whoever I needed to in order to get the job done, and forget about waiting for anything, especially people or nature. But I learned fast that I wasn’t first in command.” He laughed and shook his head. “I wasn’t even second or third, and the best I could do was relax and trust the people who were.”
This seemed to appease Tony because he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “I’m not used to sitting around and waiting for things to happen. I’m usually the one making them happen.”
“Good.” Harry said. “Did you hear that, Nate? Tony’s one of your go-to men, so keep him included in the plans.” Massaging a guy’s ego always pumped him up, made him want to pitch in.
Nate turned toward Harry, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “Right.”
That could mean anything with Nate, but it was better to leave it alone and not ask for clarification.
“What about our presents?” Lily’s voice swirled around the room. “I made them special, and I’ve been waiting forever to hand them out.”
“I don’t know, Lily.” Nate’s voice turned soft as he talked to his sister. “Right now I want to make sure everybody stays warm, and then make sure they have food to eat, and maybe we’ll see about presents.”
“Okay,” she said, but Harry didn’t miss the tremble of disappointment in her voice. The child wasn’t asking to open a present, damn, but she wanted to give a present. If that didn’t represent love and giving, he didn’t know what did.
Harry could not stand that sadness in her voice and tossed out a salve, intent on making her feel better. “We’ll get it done, Lily girl. All of it, and then you can hand out your presents.”
“Right.” This from Nate again, one word, loaded with a warning for Harry to stop making promises he might not be able to keep. Nate was right, of course, but damn, it was hard to disappoint a kid.
Lily clapped her hands and said, “Thank you, Uncle Harry.”
“Yes!” Lizzie copied Lily with the hand-clapping. “Thank you, Mr. Harry!”
“Welcome,” Harry muttered, dreading the second Greta got him alone and began the lecture about responsible parenting and not giving in to whims. It was coming, like a white Christmas in Magdalena, and there was no way to avoid it.