by Marin Thomas
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I’m sorry.”
A gasp. A wail.
“We did everything we could to stop the internal bleeding, but the bullets had done too much damage.” The keening grew louder, so the doctor raised his voice. “If you’d care to see your son, follow me.”
With a hand on their arms, Joe escorted his parents out the door, and the others lined up to follow. Across the room, Anna’s gaze connected with Ryan’s. Fat teardrops leaked from her eyes. His own throat swelled. He motioned for her to follow the group.
The door closed, leaving Ryan alone. He sank onto a chair and rested his head in his hands. This friendship thing with Anna was a hell of a lot more than he’d bargained for.
GRAY. COLD. WINDY. The weather a perfect complement to the way Willie’s life had ended—ugly.
There was nothing beautiful or warm about putting a fifteen-year-old in the ground and throwing a pile of dirt over his head. Ryan studied Willie’s final resting place. The cemetery was old and decrepit, and on the corner of a busy road. Noise and exhaust. Hardly the peaceful plot depicted in movies.
Ryan had bowed out of the visitation at the funeral home last night. He hadn’t cared that he’d been the lone person at the station who hadn’t attended. He’d seen his share of dead faces during 9/11. He refused to add Willie’s to the group that haunted his dreams.
He hadn’t wanted to attend the funeral service at the church this afternoon, either, but Anna and her sweet-talking ways had convinced him to accompany her. He’d picked her up at noon and driven her there. They’d listened to the pastor drone on about God’s mercy and forgiveness.
After the service, he and Anna had waited in the parking lot for the casket to be loaded into the hearse. Other family members had cleared the flowers from the church and put them into a car that would transport them to the grave site. His was among the bunch. The biggest. The gaudiest. He didn’t know any other way to express his regret over a senseless death, except for the flowers and the obscene amount of money he’d contributed to the station’s collection to help the Smiths pay for the funeral expenses.
Now friends congregated, a dark cloud of misery among the masses of funeral flowers, and awaited the arrival of the hearse and the family. Graves with the names Fleming, Hallstead, Murray, Parker, Becker eavesdropped on the gathering from the shadows. For Willie’s sake, Ryan hoped his new neighbors were nice, caring people.
The crunch of gravel announced the arrival of the hearse. In silence, the pallbearers removed the casket and carried it to the grave site. A second car drove up and the Smith family got out.
Forming a human chain, the parents, Joe and his two younger sisters approached the grave. Joe’s father, already ill from a past stroke, withered right before Ryan’s eyes. The younger girls wore heavy eye makeup and thrust their chins in the air, determined to appear tougher than the world around them. The mother’s empty eyes bothered Ryan the most.
The family sat in chairs in front of the casket and studied the dark hole in the ground. The pastor from the church service recited several Bible verses that glorified death—a bunch of bull, in Ryan’s opinion. Death wasn’t glorious. It was horrible. And it was permanent.
Ryan closed his eyes and blocked out the religious words. He attempted to retreat to a place in his mind where no one died. No one got hurt. No one got divorced. No one’s parents abandoned them. But his conscience refused to grant an escape from the cruel, hard world he lived in.
The brisk wind picked up, whipping hair and coloring noses red. Finally, Willie’s mother stood and reached for a handful of dirt from the mound at the foot of the plot. Her bony fingers clung to the soil as if each grain was a piece of her child. The black cloud held its breath, waiting for the brittle white knuckles to release God’s newest soul. Joe stepped forward and placed his hand over his mother’s. The dirt fell, pinging against the steel casket. The onlookers exhaled, turned and drifted away, leaving the family alone in their final moment of despair.
“I DIDN’T EXPECT to hear from you so soon again,” Ryan’s grandfather said, after answering the phone.
Ryan shouldn’t have called, but he yearned to hear his grandfather’s voice. Needed to determine for himself that the old man was alive and well. “I went to a funeral this afternoon.”
Silence, then a quiet, “Oh?”
After dropping off Anna at her apartment, Ryan had declined an invitation to come inside. He’d wanted to return to the safety of his self-imposed prison in Manhattan. To an environment he could control. Alone with his thoughts, he’d contemplated his grandfather’s mortality and the aging man’s number of days left on earth.
The funeral had forced Ryan to admit, with some bewilderment, that he’d been dependent on the McKade patriarch his entire life. He couldn’t recall a time or circumstance that he hadn’t turned to his grandfather for advice or reassurance. The man had been and remained the steadying force in Ryan’s life.
“The funeral was for the teenager that had been involved in a gang.”
“I’m listening.”
“Willie told the gang leader he was quitting. So they shot him.”
“I’m sorry, Ryan.”
“Grandpa, I can’t do this any longer. I tried. For you, I tried. But it’s no good.” Like Willie, Ryan wanted out. His eyes burned and he cursed Willie and the funeral for leaving him emotionally gutted.
“You want out of what?” his grandfather asked.
“My life lesson—the job at Parnell Brothers. I’d intended to keep my distance and do my time, but no one’s leaving me alone. Anna’s got me messed up, and I’m playing on their basketball team, and now Willie’s dead and I—”
“Hold on, grandson.” Ryan clung to the authoritative note in the old man’s voice. “Anna who?”
“The company’s second-in-command. She’s determined to drag me into everyone’s life, including hers.”
“And that’s bad because…?”
“It’s not bad, it’s…well, it’s hard, Grandpa.” Becoming involved with Anna and the men at the station had made Ryan vulnerable to his emotions—emotions that he’d stowed deep inside him now bubbled to the surface. He couldn’t figure out how to process all the feelings, and in truth didn’t care to, not when he understood only pain.
“Does the woman who’s caused this strife have a last name?”
“Nowakowski.”
“Quite a mouthful.”
“She’s a mouthful, all right,” Ryan muttered.
“Good kisser, eh?”
Ryan ignored his grandfather’s chuckle. “Her kisses are beside the point.” How did he explain that Anna’s beautiful smile and her laugh caused him pain? Reminded him of what he didn’t deserve, what would never be his to cherish?
“Then what is your point, Ryan?”
“She wants us to be friends.”
“Friendship is a good place to start.”
Did he dare admit it? Once spoken, there was no turning back. “I feel more than friendship for her, Grandpa, but I’m worried.”
“Of what, my boy?”
“That I’ll fall in love.” And then I’ll make a wrong move or events beyond my control will take her away from me. Or worse—Anna won’t love me back.
“You’re putting the cart before the horse. Enjoy her friendship and don’t worry about the future. Trust your heart.”
Right then, Call Waiting bleeped. “I’ve got to get this, Grandpa.”
“Stay the course, Ryan. All rough seas eventually calm.”
His grandfather hung up and Ryan clicked over to the incoming call. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Anna.”
His heart stumbled. Had her ears been ringing the entire time he’d discussed her with his grandfather? “Hey,” he managed to say.
“I wondered if maybe you’d go out to dinner with me Thursday.” Pause. “Tomorrow.”
He hadn’t caught his breath from the funeral and Anna was back in his face. Tell her no. Make up an excus
e.
“If you’re busy, that’s okay. But I—”
“I’ll go.” What happened to no? “Should I drive my car in tomorrow?”
“The restaurant’s right around the corner from my apartment. We can hop a bus after work.”
“Okay.”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for rescuing me. I couldn’t have made it through the funeral without you,” she whispered, her voice catching.
Rescued her? His last attempt at playing Mr. Superhero had resulted in upending his life. And saving someone else’s. He hadn’t considered the consequences of reentering the World Trade Center on 9/11. He’d heard a scream and he’d answered it. The rest was history.
“You’re a good friend,” she insisted.
He winced at her reminder of the damn friendship clause in their relationship. “See you tomorrow.” He hung up. Dinner with a friend. He craved more, but did he really believe he could manage an affair…a fling or a one-night stand with Anna, then walk away?
If he hadn’t seen the antique portraits hanging on her apartment walls…But he had and they’d touched him. He wanted to both thank and curse Anna’s pretend family for forcing him to acknowledge that his emotional state wasn’t a pile of cold ash but smoldering cinders waiting for the right moment—or the right person—to stoke them back to life.
That rainy afternoon in Anna’s apartment, Ryan had recognized her need to belong to a family. Since his divorce, he’d suffered from occasional bouts of loneliness but nowhere near the depth that had driven Anna to assemble pretend relatives. He realized the men at Parnell Brothers and their loved ones were as close to a real family as Anna would ever have. Whether or not he wished to admit it, Ryan wanted to be a part of that family, too.
But at what cost?
Chapter Eight
Thursday, October 25.
Anna had risen at 6:00 a.m. Made herself breakfast. Caught the bus to the station. Now she waited at her desk for Ryan to shower and change clothes for their dinner date.
But today wasn’t just another ordinary day. Eighteen years ago on this very date Anna had given birth to a daughter and had named her Tina. She’d held the baby girl in her arms and had promised to love her for the rest of her life, even though strangers would raise her.
Eyes closed, Anna pictured her daughter’s face when she was born—red, pug nose, rosy lips. And eyes so blue the ocean would have been envious. The baby’s hair hadn’t been Anna’s blond color but her birth father’s black. Anna had put Michael’s name on Tina’s birth certificate in case her daughter chose to search for him. Maybe Michael had made a career out of the marines. She hadn’t heard from or seen him since she’d informed him he’d gotten her pregnant. Anna had included medical information in Tina’s adoption file, as well as a letter from her—the fourteen-year-old mother.
Eighteen years had both flown by and dragged by at once. Not a day had passed when her daughter hadn’t been in Anna’s thoughts. What had Tina asked Santa for this year? What school did Tina attend? Was she a safe driver? Was she an honor-roll student? Did she plan to attend college next fall after she graduated high school this year? A million questions—but Anna had given up the right to answers eighteen years ago.
Her daughter’s first few birthdays had been difficult for Anna, still a teenager struggling with her own life in foster care. She’d walk around malls, searching the faces of infants and small children, wondering if one of them was Tina. The little information the social worker had offered Anna was that a family living somewhere in NYC had adopted Tina. Anna had been comforted in believing her daughter was nearby.
Not that her daughter’s location mattered as much now. Tina could be halfway around the world and it wouldn’t change the fact that her daughter’s image and the sound of her cry remained nestled in Anna’s heart. She remembered 9/11 and the panic she’d experienced, wondering if Tina or her parents had been caught in that disaster. Anna had phoned the social worker who’d handled her daughter’s adoption and begged her to find out if Tina was okay. The caseworker had called back the next day with the news that Tina and her family were fine and hadn’t been anywhere near the Twin Towers.
That tragic event had convinced Anna there would never be a moment in her life she wouldn’t worry or wonder about her child. Giving birth to a child was an event you couldn’t put behind you. An experience you couldn’t pretend had never happened. Tina would always be a part of Anna. Because of that, Anna decided that tonight she would tell Ryan about her daughter.
If Anna hoped to pursue a long-term relationship with Ryan, there could be no secrets between them. After Willie’s funeral Anna had decided that she didn’t want to go through the rest of her life always being available to other people but never depending on anyone. For the first time in forever she’d reached out, and Ryan had been there for her. He’d made her realize she didn’t always have to be the strong one. That it was okay to lean on another person.
Her heart insisted she could make him happy. He could make her happy. But first she had to risk everything and tell him the truth about Tina.
Ryan had lost a child of his own, but that hadn’t been his fault. No, a cruel act of nature he couldn’t have prevented had stolen his child from him. Would Ryan understand Anna hadn’t had any choice in giving up her baby? Or would he believe she’d taken the coward’s way out?
“Ready?” Ryan stood in the doorway, wearing khaki slacks and a black crew-neck sweater, his leather bomber jacket slung over one shoulder.
With a little effort she found a smile for him. He deserved that and more for agreeing to dinner tonight. The afternoon Willie had died, Anna had noticed a change in Ryan. He talked less. Joked less. Smiled less. Little by little he was withdrawing from her and the men. Anna had already lost so much in her life—her parents, her daughter, Bobby’s brother, Willie, and now Ryan was slipping away.
“You look nice,” she commented as she approached. And you smell good, too. He’d splashed cologne on in the locker room and the earthy scent made her want to rub her big nose against his clean-shaven cheek and inhale until she was high on Ryan.
Ever the gentlemen, he retrieved her coat from the rack by the door and held it up so she could slip her arms inside. “I hope you enjoy Italian.”
“Mimi’s again?” he asked.
Mimi’s was too loud for the talk she planned to have with him. “DiRisio’s. They have a wonderful wine selection and their spaghetti and meatballs are to die for.”
As they walked the two blocks to the bus stop, Ryan grumbled, “I should have driven my car into the city today.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like buses?” She grinned at his eye roll. When they reached the bus stop, she checked her watch—three minutes to fill with conversation. “How did Joe act today?”
“Kept to himself.”
Bobby had encouraged Joe to take as much time as he needed before coming back to the job. But Joe had arrived bright and early this morning. He’d insisted he had to get out of the house—away from his mother’s crying and his father’s silence.
“I wish Joe would seek grief counseling.” Anna’s social worker had forced her to submit to counseling after she’d given Tina away. The first few sessions Anna had been angry and sad and had refused to talk. Then one session the nice lady had handed Anna a picture of a baby wrapped in a pink blanket and Anna had believed that baby in the photo was Tina. She’d burst out crying and had sobbed in the woman’s arms the entire session. When the tears had dried, she’d talked. Talking hadn’t chased the hurt away, but Anna had learned the importance of dealing with her emotions rather than keeping them bottled up.
The bus crawled alongside the curb. They hopped on and chose a seat in the middle. A teen in front of them blasted his iPod. A baby cried in the back and two men nearby engaged in a heated debate about the New York Giants football team. As the bus drove away from the curb, Ryan threaded his fingers through hers and held her ha
nd against his thigh.
Today had been difficult for everyone at the station. More than ever, Anna appreciated the warmth of Ryan’s touch. A block from the restaurant they got off the bus. “DiRisio’s is right around the corner,” she announced.
Hand in hand they arrived at the small family-owned restaurant.
“Anna, my love, where have you been?” Isabella DiRisio hugged Anna as soon as she and Ryan walked through the door.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Anna consoled the older woman with iron-gray hair. “Isabella, meet Ryan Jones. He works at Parnell Brothers.”
Ryan offered his hand, but Isabella brushed his fingers aside and clasped his face between her meaty fingers. After kissing both cheeks, she smiled. “It is good that Anna has a man now. Come. I take you to the back.”
They followed Isabella to a table in a dark corner. Isabella lit the candle in the centerpiece, then scurried off. A minute later she appeared with a basket of warm bread and a carafe of red wine. “No menus tonight. Enrico will prepare a feast.” She kissed her fingertips and waltzed into the kitchen.
“A feast?” Ryan remained starry-eyed. Isabella had that effect on people.
“Enrico is Isabella’s husband and the chef.” Before Anna could add anything else, the couple appeared at the table.
“I told you.” Isabella patted Ryan’s shoulder. “Our Anna has a date tonight.”
“Hello, Enrico. May I introduce you to Ryan Jones. Ryan…Enrico.”
The men shook hands, then the rotund chef announced, “I will prepare a meal for the lovers.”
And so the evening progressed, with Isabella delivering food and refilling their wineglasses and Enrico stopping by their table every ten minutes to inquire if they enjoyed each dish. Anna had lost count of the number of times she and Ryan had to restart their discussion.