by James, Sandy
Joy had brought him back and made him feel when he thought he would never feel again. Despite her assurances, he knew he had taken advantage of her. They hadn’t known each other long enough to even consider making love. And he’d been so rough, so damned inconsiderate, but he’d needed her so badly he thought he would have died if she would have refused him.
But she hadn’t refused him. And she said she had no regrets.
Lucas had regrets, but he wasn’t about to tell Joy about any of them. He regretted that he wasn’t the type of man she deserved. He regretted that he had nothing to offer her for a real future except dealing with the baggage weighing him down. And he regretted that, even knowing it was the wrong thing to do to her, he needed her anyway.
“Lucas?”
“It’s all right,” he replied, trying to let her leave without breaking down and weeping at the emptiness he’d feel when she was gone. “Go on. Go back home.”
* * * *
Joy tried to sneak in the door and make her way up to her apartment unseen. She didn’t realize that she never stood a chance.
When she opened the door at the top of the stairs, her parents were sitting on the couch, waiting for her. The drawings of Lucas had been ripped from the wall and sat in a pile on the coffee table. With his face ruddy and his expression pinched, Bela looked like he was ready to explode.
Shit, I didn’t want him to find out like this.
The time had come, and Joy dreaded what would pass between them. But she had no choice. Hurting her parents was the last thing she would ever have wanted to do, but it couldn’t be avoided. As much as she loved them both, she realized that Lucas needed her. And there would be love between them someday. She just knew it. Praying that she could make Bela and Illona understand, she took a deep breath and braced herself for the coming storm.
Bela picked up one of the sketches, stared at the paper for a moment, and then glanced up at her. “Ki az az manusz, Jozsa?” he asked in a whispered voice that ripped through Joy like a shout. “Who is this man?”
“You met him last night, Papa. That’s Lucas,” she replied in as calm a tone as she could manage considering the way her legs trembled at the prospect of the explosion she expected from her father. She didn’t have to wait too long.
Bela stood up, crumpled the drawing in his fist, and began to bellow at her in Hungarian. “You are shameful!”
Watching him destroy the picture felt like a stab to her heart. Joy tried to hold back her threatening tears and chose to continue the conversation in her father’s native tongue as a sign of respect. “I’m not shameful, Papa. I’m not.”
“We are Romungro,” Bela stated in one of those fatherly voices that demanded her assent. “We must stay Romungro.”
“Papa, I’m know I’m Romungro. Grandpa was Romungro. Grandma was Romungro. You and Mama are Romungro. But I’m also American.”
Her father’s dark eyes flashed fire as he tossed the ruined portrait at her. She almost bent to pick it up but knew the action would only make him angrier. The crumpled paper rested at her feet, her father’s indictment against her character.
“You’d turn your back on all of the suffering of our people,” Bela snarled.
“No, Papa,” she said, barely above a whisper as she tried to contain the hurt that flowed through her like a raging river. “Never. I’m more gypsy than...than any of my brothers. I keep the traditions.”
Bela picked up another one of the sketches and frowned. His cheeks had flushed. His lips drawn thin in anger. He was working himself up into one of his tantrums, and Joy knew there was little she could do to stop it now. These fights always took the same course and arrived at the same impasse. The only difference now was Lucas.
She knew her father would use him as a lightning rod, that he would see Lucas as the catalyst for what he obviously believed was her fall from grace. But Joy knew Lucas was nothing of the sort. She had always resisted her father’s well-laid plans for her life, even before her heart had found Lucas.
Bela angrily ripped the picture and crumpled the pieces with his hands. He threw them at Joy. She flinched. “Then you’d turn your back on Tamas. He’s Romungro. Your children will be Romungro.”
“He’s American too,” Joy insisted, trying desperately not to shout because of her own strained emotions. “How many times do I have to tell you that I won’t marry Tamas? And I don’t intend to have children with him. I don’t love him.”
“Bah! Love! I should have arranged this marriage when you were a child.” He glanced at his wife over his shoulder. “Then we’d have none of this nonsense.”
Her father shook his head in obvious frustration. His face had grown to such a bright shade of red it frightened Joy, and she worried she was causing him pain. But it couldn’t be helped.
“You don’t understand, Jozsa. It’s up to us to keep the culture alive. To keep the blood pure.”
“I do understand, Papa. I honor my ancestors. I keep the traditions. I follow the customs. You know how much I love being a Romungro.”
Bela’s face calmed some at her statement. He brushed the rest of the sketches of Lucas off the table and onto the floor. Joy didn’t think he even noticed when Illona bent to pick them up one by one to look at them, study them, and then stack them back on the coffee table.
“Then be with Tamas. You’ve known him your whole life. You know he’s a good man. He’s one of us. Marry him,” he said, his voice calmer, more controlled. “Stay with our kind. Don’t let us be wiped from the face of the earth. They tried to kill us all. If Grandpa Bela hadn’t escaped—”
Joy knew what was coming next and decided that she didn’t need to hear the same tale for the millionth time. “I know the story. I know about the Holocaust. About the Germans and the Hungarian government, about how they tried to get rid of us. You raised me on those stories, remember? I haven’t forgotten them, Papa. They’re in my heart. They’re a part of my soul.”
“So you remember, so you keep them close to your heart.” He shook his head as the edge returned to his voice. “Yet you still choose against your family, against your race. I am ashamed of you.” The naked condemnation almost brought Joy to her knees to beg for his forgiveness.
She tried to quash the tears that formed in her eyes. She was tired of bearing the responsibility for all of the deceased Romungro. She was tired of feeling like it was her personal responsibility to make up for the sins that had been committed against her people before she was even born, before her parents were even born. Didn’t her father see her as anything other than a way to preserve the past? Didn’t he see that her life was her own? Didn’t he want her to be happy?
Clenching her fists at her side, Joy refused to give in to the desire to weep. “I still choose to be me. I choose to make my own way in life.”
Bela would not be swayed. “You would choose that...that...boy over your own heritage. You would choose that boy—”
Joy resisted the urge to hit something in frustration. “I’d choose to find love where I can. Please, Papa. Don’t do this,” she begged, knowing he would never change his mind. She knew she was shouting, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t lay this at Lucas’s feet. He has nothing to do with this. I don’t love Tamas, Papa. I don’t.”
Illona interrupted the increasingly heated discussion. “Bela, Jozsa, enough. I cannot bear to see you two fighting again.”
Taking a stride toward Joy, Bela began to pound his fist on the back of the chair that separated him from his daughter. “It’s your turn, Jozsa. You and Janos are to have this restaurant. All of our children in pairs. You’re supposed to marry Tamas, one of our own kind.”
Joy watched her mother try again to calm the discussion. Covering the distance between her and Bela, Illona placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Maybe we should discuss this another time.”
“No!” he shouted loud enough that Joy figured everyone downstairs in Gypsy had heard him. “We will discuss this now!” He slammed his
fist against the chair again.
“Janos and I never asked for the restaurant,” Joy scolded. “I love that you want to make my way in life easier, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It worked for my brothers, but not for me. I want to be an artist, Papa. I’ll help with the restaurant, but I want to go to art school.”
Bela scowled at his daughter. “You’d draw for a living?” The repugnant look on his face told Joy just how distasteful the idea seemed to him. “How can you expect to support a family making pictures? My daughter wants to be a starving artist when her father would give her a good life,” he shouted over his shoulder toward his wife. “The restaurant is profitable, and Tamas knows how to run it. She would only have to work when she chose to. She could be a good mother to their children.”
Joy tried to reach out for her father’s arm, but he jerked angrily away the instant she made contact. She tried to stop the tears from falling from her eyes, but they came nonetheless. “Papa, I love that you want to make things easier for me. I love that you and Mama want Janos and I to have a Gypsy just like our brothers.” She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to control the anger and the pain. “But did you ever think we’d want to walk our own path, make our own way in life? I can respect my culture and still be an artist.”
Illona went to Joy’s side and put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “But, Joy...”
Joy put her hand over her mother’s. “No, Mama. No. I love that you’d do this for me, but I’m an artist. It’s who I am. Just as Romungo is what I am.” She turned back to her father. “I’m going to college. I’ve been accepted to an art school. It’s too late now for me to go this fall, but I want to enroll in the spring.” She knew that each semester she waited became an opportunity lost, but knowing how her family would feel, she just hadn’t been brave enough to take the final step. But she would. One day.
Her father’s reaction came, loud and furious. “Bah! Throw your life away. Turn your back on your own kind. Let them destroy us.” Bela stormed out of the room. She could hear him stomping down the stairs. The sound was followed closely by the slamming of the door that led to the kitchen.
Joy scrubbed her tears away with the heels of her hands. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel guilt. She wouldn’t stop being what she was just to please her father. But it stung to know that she was hurting him so much by turning down his offer to set her up with the restaurant. Perhaps she was being cruel. She’d known what had been planned for her and for Janos the moment her father chose the location, but it had been easier to ignore what was happening, to ignore what her father had in store for her future. Now, her disregard had come back to roost.
Illona reached out, caressed Joy’s cheek with cool fingers, and spoke to her in English. “Jozsa, you need to think before you burn a bridge that cannot be rebuilt. Think before you push Tamas aside. Is this man, this Lucas Mitchell, worth losing all your family can give you?”
Joy looked deeply into her mother’s eyes, hoping she could make her understand. “Lucas didn’t make me do this. He didn’t make me decide.”
Her mother dropped her hands to her sides and sighed. “He is the only thing we see as changing. Before he came into your life, you were happy at Gypsy.”
“That’s not true, Mama. I worked at Gypsy. Just as I did at each new one we created. I’ve moved from place to place, just like a gypsy, when you and Papa made the restaurant for Stephanos and Jakab, and the one for Nicolae and Andras. But my heart wants something else. My heart wants to create. I’m an artist, Mama. I want to go to this school some day.”
Her mother’s eyes told Joy that she understood. “And your heart wants this man.” It was a statement, not a question.
Joy walked over to the pile of sketches and quickly shuffled through them. When she found her favorite, the one that showed the torment in Lucas’s eyes, she held the portrait up to show her mother. “Yes, Mama. My heart wants this man.”
Illona took the picture from her daughter and considered it for a few moments. Joy saw the acceptance spread across her mother’s face.
Putting the picture down, Illona turned back to Joy and hugged her. In the soothing, motherly voice that Joy so loved, Illona said, “I’ll try to talk to your papa. But remember, Joy, if you take this path, there may be no turning back. Your Lucas will not be allowed into the circle.”
“I know, Mama,” Joy replied. “I know.”
* * * *
Lucas tried to work on the floor with the little time that remained in the afternoon. He was so distracted recalling what had happened between him and Joy that he couldn’t do anything right. After using the wrong measurement on the fourth board, he abandoned the home improvement and got ready to go to the track.
On the drive in, Lucas stopped at the fork in the road that held two choices, two very different destinations. If he went left, the road would lead him to the track, to his job, and to the life he knew well. Sam and Brian would be waiting for him. Seth and Katie would be there too. He could pass time with them and keep pretending that he hadn’t changed in Iraq. That life promised stability, normalcy. But it was killing him. Lying to his family and friends about all he’d gone through chipped away a little more of his soul every day. He hadn’t realized how bad things had gotten until Jozsa had opened his eyes.
If Lucas turned right instead, the road would lead him into town. To Gypsy. To Joy.
She had saved him. She’d brought life back into his world. She’d restored his heart when he had thought it was impossible. Lucas wanted to tell her everything, and he wanted to hold her again.
Lucas glanced down at his arm. When he’d risen from bed, he had put on a short-sleeved t-shirt without a second thought. She had made him forget his injuries. She’d made him accept his scars as nothing more than scars, not signs of his failure.
He looked up at the big fork in the road again.
Will Joy want me to go to her? She was so upset when she left our house.
He was afraid it was because of his thoughtlessness. He hadn’t considered what she wanted at the moment they had come together in that storm of emotion. All Lucas had felt was raw need. Nothing but pure selfishness that he would try really hard to make up to her. So swept away by feelings, something as important as birth control hadn’t even occurred to him. Joy probably hated him for being so damned inconsiderate of her.
He suddenly stopped his own train of thought when it dawned on him exactly what words had formed there only moments before.
“Our house.”
Lucas flipped his right turn signal and pulled out his cell phone. Hitting one of the speed dial buttons he waited for an answer. “Sam? Hi, it’s Lucas. Can you get by without me tonight? I’ve got something really important to do.”
Chapter 13
Lucas strode into Gypsy with a smile on his face. He saw Janos standing at the hostess station and was about to give a greeting when Janos strode over to him, grabbed his elbow, and pushed him right back out the front door.
“What the hell?” Lucas asked, jerking his arm away when they were outside.
“You can’t be here, Lucas.” Janos kept shooting worried looks through the enormous picture window of the restaurant.
“What do you mean? I came to see Joy. She was upset, and I needed to see if she’s okay. Why can’t I be here?”
Janos shook his head then splayed his fingers through his thick, black hair. “Go home. I’ll tell Joy you were here, but you have to leave. Now.”
“I’m not leaving until I see her.” Lucas stopped in his tracks and stubbornly folded his arms over his chest.
“Are you sure you’re not Hungarian?” Janos asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in a grin. “Because you’re every bit as stubborn.”
“I want to see Joy. Where is she?” Lucas asked in one of his don’t-screw-with-me tones he’d used on the green guys in Iraq.
Janos’s hesitant smile evaporated. “She’s working the private dining room. We’re doing a rehearsal dinne
r and Joy’s handling it.” Lucas reached for the door again, and Janos pushed his hand aside. “With our father.” The emphasis on the last word sounded too much like a judge passing sentence.
“So?” Just because Joy’s father didn’t like him, Lucas didn’t think that was good enough reason for her brother to try and keep them apart.
“I’m not kidding, Lucas. You really need to leave. Now.”
Lucas shook his head. “I’m here to see Joy. I have to see Joy, to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s fine,” Janos insisted. “I promise. If you walk right into Gypsy, my dad’s going to go off like pyrotechnics on the fourth of July.”
Resisting the urge to scratch his head in confusion, Lucas set his jaw and tried to look determined. “I’m going to see Joy, whether you and your dad like it or not.”
Janos’s gaze shifted from Lucas to the picture window and back again. “Fine. Go around back. I’ll let you into Joy’s apartment.”
“Thanks, Janos.”
“Don’t thank me. You’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into. If you were smart, you’d turn your stupid ass right around and walk away. Now. While you still have the chance.”
Lucas shot him a glare. “I’m getting really tired of feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. You know something I don’t. Care to enlighten me?” He’d wanted to sound determined, but he realized he’d resort to begging if he had to. Anything to help him understand Joy and her world.
“Not now,” Janos replied, throwing another concerned stare through the window. “Look, I’ll try to let Joy know you’re here. Go on. I’ll meet you out back.”
Janos slipped back into the dining room and whispered the news that she had an uninvited visitor in his sister’s ear. Her face blanched, but she gave him a nervous nod as she moved to put the plates of food she carried onto the table she was serving.
All Janos could think was, God help Lucas. The guy would need divine assistance because Janos was sure Lucas was in love with his sister. The haunted eyes, the anguished pleas that he had to see Joy. And Janos knew what Joy felt for Lucas, what she’d clearly felt for Lucas from the very beginning.