When Truth Takes Flight

by Sandra McGregor

  My Dearest Sadie,

  Your agreement to marry me has made me the happiest man on earth. I’ll be down to get you this Friday. Be ready and we’ll go to the Justice of the Peace and take care of business.

  This one was signed the same way.

  Hannah chuckled. “Does he think it’s romantic to refer to getting married as ‘taking care of business?’ ” Well, since she didn’t marry again, it must have been written by her father, but that didn’t sound like the considerate, loving man her mother described.

  At least now she had something belonging to her deceased father. She clutched the notes to her chest and closed her eyes, cherishing the moment—an interrupted moment when her belly growled.

  “Okay. Okay.” She patted her midsection

  Hannah put the macaroni and cheese on low to warm, then mended the coat and rehung it in the closet. She put the sewing box back on the shelf and slipped the notes into her treasure box.

  After supper was usually spent listening to the news on the radio, but she didn’t bother to turn it on. Despite the war being over and American soldiers being back home from France, most of the news reports were still depressing.

  With the living-room light turned off, the furniture slowly became recognizable silhouettes. Was this what life would be like now that her last relative had died? With the loss of her mother, the future was hazy—out-of-focus, dark, and scary. Would the darkness gradually fade and allow her to see life again as she’d once hoped it would be?

  Or will I always be alone?

  Chapter Three

  “I’ll have you at the boardinghouse in nothing flat. Just relax, and I’ll point out some of the city’s more interesting sites along the way.”

  John leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and blocked out the driver’s running monologue. His mind was in turmoil. The new job at Hughes would begin in two days and nothing—not his mother, Vince, or anyone else—was going to be a distraction. This was his big opportunity. Now, if only he knew whether or not he’d gotten the job on his own merits and not after a call from Vince, things would be perfect. He’d probably never know for sure.

  The thought of Vince lying to him brought back memories of Sister Mary Margaret at school. The nuns had been very strict about cheating and lying—not only because bearing false witness was a sin, but to the good sister, lying was a personal pet peeve.

  It still chafed that his stepfather’s mob connection had been kept from him for so many years. Even after figuring out the truth, his mother had tried to deny it. That had been the one and only time he’d screamed back at her. He still cringed at the memory of calling her a liar right before slamming out of the house and riding his bike down to the river where he slung rocks into the water until his arm ached.

  From that day until he graduated high school, his mother had never mentioned Vince to him again. The way he saw it, she had kept secrets, just like Vince said he’d done with his first wife before they were married.

  Lies on top of lies.

  He firmed his lips into a straight line while his breaths became shallow and closer together. Lies made life a holy mess when the truth finally came to light.

  John shoved a hand through his hair. It rankled that he’d be committing Sister Mary Margaret’s unpardonable sin by hiding the truth from Vince’s daughter. Even if he didn’t outright lie to her, he’d be holding back facts and going behind her back to keep her father informed. His frown deepened as he made his decision, instant and final. He would tell the don nothing unless a problem arose that he couldn’t handle himself. Period.

  How had Vince gotten him to agree to do this—especially after his mother warned him? She’d said it would start with a seemingly innocent, little favor that appeared harmless, and then the big man would set the hook. He should have listened to her and turned down his stepfather’s invitation for a celebration in New York. When he returned home to Alabama, he didn’t tell her about being trapped into helping Vince. He even waited two days before mentioning he’d acquired an apartment.

  His teeth clenched as he shook his head. More lies.

  He squared his shoulders, finished accepting things from Vince. The round-trip airplane ticket to New York had been a graduation gift, but thankfully, he’d sold enough text books to underclassmen to afford the ticket to California, with some money left over for a rainy day.

  Vince and mother would never do anything to intentionally hurt me, but they’re a couple thousand miles away. From now on, I’ll make my own decisions and pay my own way.

  Still, thoughts of Vince brought Hannah Giovanni—or rather, Montgomery—to mind. What would she be like?

  “Here we are, sir.”

  The taxi driver pulled to the curb and hopped out, heading to the trunk to unload the two cases while John stepped out onto the sidewalk and stared up at the row of buildings lining the street.

  The Hannigan Boardinghouse, no doubt a formerly handsome building, now carried the gray hair and wrinkles of an aged classic. Crammed between two identical buildings, a wooden sign, faded from years of intense Southern California sun, hung over the door to distinguish it from its neighbors.

  Down the street, a corner market boasted its presence with a small neon sign that some might think gaudy, while others would think progressive. Functional. That’s how he saw it.

  “I think you’ll like living here,” the driver continued as if no time had passed since his last comment. “Lots of famous Hollywood stars lived at Hannigan’s in their beginning years—you know, before they made it big.” He set the mismatched cardboard cases on the sidewalk and then turned his full attention on him, lifting his lips into a wide smile as he pocketed the fare and generous tip. “Thank you, sir, and good luck.”

  John nodded and turned away. After the long flight from Alabama, the relative silence surrounding him now was a welcome reprieve from the driver’s endless chatter. With a leather satchel over his shoulder and a suitcase in each hand, he hesitated for another glance at the boardinghouse, wondering what tales the two-story building would tell if it could speak.

  Maybe some things are better left untold.

  “Oh my goodness.”

  The words, simple and not spoken with much volume, held a degree of exasperation.

  He slid his gaze toward a young woman standing a short distance away, her eyes closed, chest heaving, and her feet apparently rooted to the spot. While he watched, a deep sigh slipped out as she opened her eyes then stooped to grab at the food scattered at her feet.

  An orange scooted along the sidewalk, bouncing slightly as it tripped over a crack to roll to a stop against his shoe. He glanced down, then refocused on the slender girl wearing a flowered dress and low-heeled shoes as she slowly straightened, a tomato in each hand. Dry spaghetti noodles still lay scattered on the sidewalk. Furrowed brows scrunched over stormy eyes told how she felt about the ripped bag and her food landing on the cement.

  Aching muscles from cramped airplane seating were forgotten as he watched dark hair swing forward to shield her face when she squatted again to corral more vegetables. Without taking time to analyze the increased thumping inside his chest, he set down his luggage and reached for the orange before closing the distance between them. Not waiting for permission to help, he knelt on one knee and began to gather the sticks of dried pasta. She rose and took a step back, drawing his gaze up to meet hers.

  Un colpo di Fulmine.

  As the thought struck, actual words stuck in a suddenly-dry throat. He swallowed once, then again. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly rose, holding the spaghetti in one hand like a bunch of flowers. Now what?

  Something about the whole scene drew out a soft chuckle. “Um, sorry.” He leaned to pick up the ripped bag and wrapped it around the noodles then glanced toward the boardinghouse before reconnecting with her gaze. “I’m here to see Hannah Montgomery.”

  Her smile gradually appeared and eventually reached her eyes. “I’m Hannah.”

  Gentle, soft.
His stomach tightened. “You’re not what I expected.” Had he really voiced that thought?

  She arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking to one side. The silence stretched. He’d seen her picture, but she was no longer the skinny kid in the five-year-old photo.

  “I thought you were—older.”

  “Have I met you before?”

  “No.” He mentally chided himself for being careless. She must never know why he’d been sent. “I called about the room. You sounded…more mature, um, I mean…older.”

  Her laughter drifted toward him on the gentle afternoon breeze. His heart stuttered and dropped a beat before resuming its normal rhythm.

  “Then you must be John. Nice to meet you.” She shifted the second tomato into her left hand and reached out to shake.

  Her skin was soft, like kitten fur, but her grip was firm. The smile remained, though her gaze shifted to take in every feature, as if sizing him up. He’d seen an analyzing look before and only hoped he passed the test.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She laughed out loud now. “Please, just call me Hannah. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel—well, like the woman you apparently expected to meet.”

  “Okay.” He lifted the bag. “Sorry about your food.”

  “Thankfully, it is mine.”

  When he only stared, confused, but not wanting to possibly embarrass her by asking her to clarify, she flushed a becoming pink and quickly continued.

  “I shop for a few of the elderly tenants who have a difficult time getting down the steps and walking. I’m just glad it wasn’t for one of them.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, let me get my bags and maybe you can show me to my apartment?”

  “Sure.”

  With the orange stuffed in his suit pocket and the spaghetti bag in the other, he slung the satchel strap higher on his shoulder. After hoisting the two suitcases, he followed her up the steps into the boardinghouse and then on up to the second floor. He kept his gaze trained on her ankles, noting her small, low-heeled black shoes while he fought to avoid lifting his focus to her backside that swayed slightly in his line of vision.

  “Let me drop this food in my apartment and get a key for you. I’ll be right out.”

  He set down the suitcases and reached into his pockets to retrieve her spaghetti and orange. With the items now safely in her hands, he leaned against the wall to wait.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Sure, he had to live somewhere, but he planned to stick to his decision not to report to Vince about his daughter. He was still shaking his head when Hannah stepped out into the hall.

  She stopped a few inches away, frowning slightly. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no.” He could feel his neck flushing at being caught. “I was just thinking about…something.”

  Hannah nodded, her lips tipping up into a smile that almost instantly disappeared before she moved past him to cross the hall and unlock the door to another apartment. He glanced toward the ceiling and asked for divine help in not doing anything else to make himself look more stupid.

  With a discreet distance between them, he followed her into the room. Considering the building’s obvious age, the apartment was a pleasant surprise. He set the suitcases down and surveyed the over-sized living room with its large window that looked down on the street below. The narrow kitchenette to his left had a black and white, square-tiled floor and black tile accents against the antique-white painted walls. The narrow, four-burner stove/oven and small refrigerator looked almost new, as did the white tablecloth covering the small dinette table.

  Impressive.

  “The bedroom is that way.” She pointed but remained standing near the door as she stretched out a hand to give him the key. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to come over or leave a note under my door.” She stepped out into the hallway, but hesitated and turned back. “I work during the day, but I’m home by six most evenings.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure everything will be fine. Have a good evening. Oh,” he added, stopping her exit, “is there a coffee house or restaurant near here so I can get a little supper? I haven’t been to the store for groceries yet.” He shrugged, giving her a sheepish grin.

  “I’m sorry. How rude of me not to think of that.” She hesitated, then continued, “I’m going to make spaghetti. It’s nothing fancy, but if you’d like to come over in about half an hour, you can join me. I’m not the best cook, but it’s passable.”

  John hesitated, mentally vacillating between not wanting to impose and wanting the opportunity to get to know this woman better. How else could he convince himself that the first reaction to her—the feeling of having his legs knocked out from under him—had been just a fluke?

  “That would be very kind. I’ll be over later. Thanks.”

  She nodded, linked her fingers, then cleared her throat and relaxed both arms to her sides before nodding again and quickly backing from the room. She raised a hand to wave, then smiled quickly and reached out to pull the door closed between them.

  John stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door. Had he really made her that nervous? He smiled, then chuckled, and then laughed out loud. Had she also felt something when they’d met?

  “Good.” He didn’t really have time for a relationship right now, but she’d been cute when she got all flustered and beat a hasty retreat.

  John tried to put Hannah out of his mind over the next half-hour, but the very thought of seeing her again and sitting down across from her for dinner had his heart rate elevated. He forced himself to concentrate on hanging his clothes in the closet and putting his toiletries in the tiny bathroom off his bedroom. Unfortunately, he was finished within fifteen minutes, leaving too much time to analyze why he felt excited yet a little apprehensive about spending the evening with such a beautiful woman.

  Vince’s daughter.

  The thought grabbed his stomach and twisted it into a knot. Like a flag flapping in the breeze and suddenly going limp, he sobered, imagining Vince’s reaction if he knew what was going through his stepson’s mind.

  Dinner—just a polite, neighborly gesture. Right?

  By the time he knocked on Hannah’s apartment door, John had considered several ways Vince might react if he found out his stepson was having dinner with his daughter, and the consequences of each scenario. In the don’s world, men had probably disappeared permanently for less.

  The thought made him shudder.

  The door opening swept away thoughts of Vince and focused all of them on Hannah.

  A lovely name for a lovely woman.

  She still wore the flowered dress, but she now had on crocheted slippers, much like his mother wore at home. The shoulder-length, dark hair hung in soft waves that swung toward her face when she turned her head and moved back to allow him to enter.

  “Hi, come on in.”

  “It smells good in here. What can I do to help?”

  “Everything is ready. If you’d like to take a seat at the table, I’ll dish up the food.”

  He nodded, wishing she’d keep talking. The soft-spoken words made his taunt stomach muscles relax—an effect that brought back long-forgotten memories. It wasn’t the words, but the soothing tone, like his mother’s voice in the middle of the night when he’d been a child and sick. He frowned slightly, shaking his head as if erasing the thoughts. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

  “I’d like to thank you for coming to dinner tonight.” She sat a bowl of spaghetti on the table before she lowered her gaze and turned away to get a salad and bowl of dressing from the refrigerator. “Sorry,” she said, laughing gently as her gaze darted from the food to meet his stare and then away. “I just hate eating alone, and since my mother passed a few months ago, I haven’t had anyone… Anyway, thanks for taking pity on me,” she ended with a soft smile while lifting the pitcher to fill their glasses with water.

  “Who’s taking pity here?” He chuckled, hoping to ease the tension, but unable to check the
sudden sympathy for the obviously lonely woman. “I was expecting to sit in a restaurant alone since I haven’t shopped for food yet. Of course,” he added with a shrug, “I can’t cook a decent meal even if I have food. I think it’s sweet that you took pity on me.” Man, he loved it when she laughed.

  “Okay then, we’ll call it even.” She lowered onto the chair and spread a cloth napkin on her lap before closing her eyes and bowing her head.

  Silence continued for several seconds before he realized she expected him to ask a blessing on the meal. He hadn’t prayed since leaving Catholic school. Well, maybe a few times, but certainly not out loud—or in public.

  His heart pounded, and sweat warmed his forehead. “Lord, please bless this food which we are about to receive and use it to nurture our bodies. Amen.”

  Hannah moved her hand in a cross over her chest before she opened her eyes and glanced at him. “Thank you.” She smiled and reached to pass him the spaghetti.

  The only noise in the room for the next fifteen minutes was utensils scraping against plates as they ate. He frowned, his mind whirling on a possible reason—other than just having met—for being uncomfortable around each other. Had she really wanted to invite him to dinner, or had she just felt obligated?

  Only one way to find out.

  She looked up from her plate when he cleared his throat. “You know, if we don’t talk, we might as well both be eating alone in our own apartments.”

  She stared at him—as if his stating the obvious had taken her by surprise. Her eyes twinkled in the soft light of the lamp at her back. Then she smiled—an innocent widening of her lips that transformed her from attractive to stunning.

  “You’re beautiful.” Without thinking first, he’d spoken the words, not as an endearment, but merely an observation, but he instantly knew he owed her an apology. Her neck and cheeks flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze to the table. He’d overstepped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable.”