“Okay, then. We can still catch breakfast at Brennan’s or there’s the jazz brunch at the Court of Two Sisters.” He let the door swing shut behind them and stepped down onto the street. “The wait might not be so long there.”
“If you need to get back to work, she’ll understand. We can grab muffalettas in the French Market and then hit Café Du Monde. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. She’ll just like being together and soaking in the atmosphere.”
Nic considered that. He felt rushed to make up for lost time with his daughter. As much as he wanted to go big and impressive with the impromptu celebration, he’d lost half the morning with this trip to the notary. Not to mention the visit to his mother’s house earlier. The pit stop at the garage to drop off Anthony. The trip to see Big Mike.
“All right, why don’t we do this?” he suggested. “We’ll pick up Violet and do lunch in the French Market. A minicelebration. Then we’ll decide where we want dinner, and I’ll make reservations. Someplace decent. Antoine’s or Commander’s Palace maybe. How does that sound?”
Megan flashed a smile, the very same high-beam smile that had once punched him in the gut with its blinding intensity. “Sounds like the perfect plan.”
“Okay, then leave the Jeep and we’ll take my car. I’ll bring you back.”
He was about to unlock the car when his cell phone vibrated. Sliding it from his belt, he glanced at the display.
“What—weird. I never get these.” He fumbled with the buttons, his fingers too big to work the keypad easily, but finally got the thing to open to read the text message.
From: Violet
Are you coming to get me for lunch or should
I text Mom and have her bring me to you?
For a second, Nic stared at the display, surprised. Then it dawned on him. Megan had been running interference in his daughter’s life since the beginning, had been making all the choices. Now that he knew about Violet, was officially acknowledged as a parent, it was time for him to establish a place for himself in her life.
Teenagers liked to text, and his daughter was a teenager, after all. He read the message and scanned the display. After depressing the reply button, he typed back: We’re on the way.
Granted, he had a few misfires because his fingers were too big, but all in all he was pleased with himself when he pressed the send button.
He’d just shut the phone when it vibrated again.
Another text message: You and Mom?
He hit Reply again and typed: Yes.
This time he didn’t bother closing the phone and, sure enough, within seconds she’d fired back another text: Kk. C U ;-)
“Everything all right?” Megan asked from where she was still standing on the curb, waiting for him to unlock the car.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. My first text from Violet. She wanted to know if I was picking her up.”
Megan nodded, didn’t seem surprised, which added another piece to the puzzle. Texting must be a normal form of communication for them.
Unlocking the car, he opened the door for her. She slid in, a lean, smooth motion he should not be noticing.
“You two text a lot?” he asked as a distraction.
“It’s convenient. A lot of times we can text when we might not be able to take a phone call. Like when I’m in a meeting or she’s in class. I like having that sort of instant access to her. Saves me from getting gray hair.”
Nic might not text and his niece and nephew might not be old enough to have their own cell phones yet, but he did read. He knew all about the technology-savvy teens nowadays. Couldn’t count the number he’d brought in during his years on the streets. Confiscating a cell phone was the equivalent of chopping off an arm. Handy little devices, too, for investigations. Cell phone records didn’t lie.
“Speaking of gray hair…is that how Violet contacted you when she was on her way here? Just curious.”
Megan scowled. “She was three texts away from a police escort picking her up at the airport. I’m serious.”
He snorted. No question. “I didn’t even know my phone could get text messages.”
“If you don’t have a text plan, you should let Violet know. You’ll spend a small fortune at a quarter a message. She’s a maniac. Averages upward of two thousand texts a month.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, stunned. “What does that cost?”
Megan grinned. “Eleven ninety-five for unlimited.”
“Guess I will have to look into getting a plan.”
“Probably a good idea.”
They fell silent as he battled traffic the few blocks to the shop. “I’m guessing Violet was busy running around here this morning.”
“That is one big building.” Megan stared through the window. “So when did all this take place? Must be convenient for everyone to work together.”
“Especially since my mother doesn’t drive.”
“Still?”
Nic nodded. “Forces everyone to chauffeur her around.”
“Got it.”
Anthony’s compound was a huge commercial property that occupied a lot with great exposure. His garage took up most of the lower floor. The salon was around back with separate parking, and a staircase leading to Damon’s dojo.
“I thought my brother was crazy to go so big his first time in business. Thought he should start smaller and grow, but he knew what he was doing. He and his father-in-law are like car kings. And this compound gave my mother and Damon opportunities that would have been difficult otherwise.” He nodded in approval. “Anthony’s got a good head on his shoulders for business.”
“Must be much more comfortable for your mother. Wasn’t she doing hair in the house way back when?”
“For years, until we converted the garage.”
The very mention of the garage made silence fall between them like fog off the lake.
There were memories in the apartment above the garage. The garage where his dad had worked on cars when Nic had been little. After his dad had died, they’d used some of the insurance money to renovate the upstairs into an apartment, which they rented to make ends meet. But after a particularly difficult situation with renters, his mother had refused to rent it again.
That’s when it had become sort of a clubhouse for each of the kids in turn. Marc had rehearsed with his band. Anthony had followed in their father’s footsteps and reworked old cars. Damon had tried to become Bruce Lee. Vince had housed strays until he could find homes for them. Frankie had holed up there because it was the only quiet place she could find to hear her muse while she was writing. Nic had been the least imaginative of the crew—it had been the private place where he’d brought his girlfriend, the place where Violet had been conceived.
Was Megan remembering, too?
But he refused to even glance her way, didn’t want to see recognition on her face, not shock, not sentiment. The silence was a good buffer between them, and he had no intention of disturbing it.
He didn’t have to because just then Violet burst through the door, as if she’d been waiting and watching for them to arrive. Circling the car, she swung the back door wide and slid in saying, “OMG! This place is totally amazing. I got to see all Uncle Anthony’s cars and the Harley, too. And Uncle Damon’s dojo is so cool.”
“Sounds like you had a good morning.”
“The best.” Violet rested her head back and closed her eyes, blissful. “I’ve been invited back whenever I want, too. Grandmama’s going to teach me how to shampoo and Uncle Anthony is going to teach me how to change a tire, jump a battery and do an oil change. And Uncle Damon’s going to teach me to defend myself so I don’t get raped.”
His mother was definitely going to be down a son as soon as Nic got a hold of Damon. The idiot.
Violet grinned. “Thought you’d like that, Mom.”
Megan didn’t miss a beat. “Knowing how to defend yourself is a very good thing.”
Suddenly, Violet leaned through the open divider, straining against
the seat belt. “Do you have a copy? Can I see it?”
Megan shook her head. “Snail mail. Four to six weeks.”
Violet slumped, clearly horror-stricken. “Four to six weeks? That’s so lame.”
“We listed your father’s address, so he can send us a copy as soon as it arrives.”
Nic was about to offer an express service to be helpful, but never got the chance. One glance in the rearview mirror and he knew Megan had said exactly the wrong thing no matter how conciliatory she’d hoped to be. Violet huffed and stared out the window with an expression that Nic recognized as pure rebellion.
He may have only been a father for little more than twenty-four hours, but he knew teens, having assisted his mother in rearing quite a few.
“We’re heading into the Quarter for lunch to celebrate your new name,” Nic said, hoping to deflect the oncoming mood.
“I thought we were having lunch.”
Megan frowned, clearly not missing the implication.
“We are,” he said, a diversionary tactic. “In the French Market. All kinds of good stuff to eat there.”
The short duration of his official father status seemed to have earned him a grace period because Violet smiled and said, “Cool. I’m starving.”
He didn’t think for one second that she didn’t know what he was up to, but she’d decided to play along. Goodwill that obviously didn’t extend to her mother at the moment.
“I don’t want to go home until I get my new birth certificate,” she informed her mother matter-of-factly.
Had one of his brothers made that kind of demand of their mother, Nic would have had something to say. But Megan rallied fast, all the hurt hidden away behind a sudden warning expression. And there was no question it was hidden. It hadn’t vanished. Not a chance.
“I understand you’re disappointed, Violet,” Megan calmly acknowledged Violet’s feelings. “But give this some thought. Do you really think this is the best way to address the subject? Or the appropriate time for that matter?”
“Whatever.” Folding her arms across her chest, Violet stared out the window again. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
“We’ll make time to address the issue later.”
Didn’t take an experienced parent—or a rocket scientist, for that matter—to figure out that as far as Violet was concerned, the subject wasn’t up for discussion.
But Violet didn’t say another word, and as luck would have it, they arrived.
“Here we are, ladies,” Nic said.
Violet seemed to have shaken off her mood. Toward him, anyway. She walked between him and Megan, chatting happily as they made their way toward Central Grocery, firing off questions about the places they passed.
St. Louis Cathedral…
“Are you Catholic like we are? Do you go to church?”
Steamboat Natchez…
“River cruises and bayou cruises? Is that something you like to do or is it only for tourists?”
Café Du Monde…
“Do you go there when you want coffee or Starbucks?” Central Grocery…
“What’s a muffuletta?”
“It’s your lunch,” he explained. “And it’s pronounced—muff-u-lotta.” He stretched each syllable slowly. “Muff-u-lotta. Try it.”
“Muff-u-lotta.”
“That’s it. You got it. Can’t have you sounding like a tourist. Bad for the family image.” Since she was obviously hanging on to his every word, he took it a step further. “Wouldn’t do for the chief’s daughter to be walking around saying, New Or-lee-ans.”
Even Megan winced at that.
“How do you say it right?” Violet asked eagerly.
“It’s all in the drawl,” Nic explained. “N’awlins.”
“N’awlins.”
“Wow. You’re really good at this. How are you at speaking foreign languages?”
She feigned a yawn. “Puh-leeze. Couldn’t live in some of the places we’ve lived if I didn’t pick up the language fast.”
Nic wasn’t surprised. Megan had always had a knack for languages, too. They’d met when she’d been assigned as his Spanish tutor. Since he’d waited until the last minute to fulfill his language requirement, failing even one semester meant he wouldn’t walk with his class.
“What is a muffuletta?” she asked, pronouncing it perfectly. “Am I going to like it?”
“You’re a DiLeo, so you definitely will.” Nic laughed. “It’s a sandwich, a Sicilian sandwich. The guy who opened Central Grocery a million years ago made it to feed the truck drivers. Now it’s famous all over the world.”
“We’re Sicilian!”
He nodded. “Good memory. That’s a DiLeo thing.”
She beamed, clearly liking mention of family connections.
Megan didn’t say much as they strolled along, obviously recognizing that silence was the better part of valor right now. When they arrived at Central Grocery, he held the door for them. They gave Violet a chance to glance at the menu, but she just said, “Muffuletta, please. And water.”
“They’re pretty big, Violet. Do you want to split one with me, so we’ll have room for beignets at Café Du Monde?”
Violet nodded, still giving Megan the silent treatment, and Nic placed their order. She stayed with him as they waited, but Megan wandered off, entertaining herself by looking around the grocery.
After they got their order and found a free table, he expected Megan to rejoin them. When she didn’t, he glanced around and found her thumbing through Central Grocery’s cookbook.
“She’s looking at a cookbook,” he said to Violet.
“No surprise there,” she replied, dropping into a chair.
“She cooks?”
Violet nodded, grabbing stuff off the tray and starting to arrange the table.
“I didn’t know that,” Nic said more to himself than Violet, who was clearly uninterested in anything having to do with her mother. Back in the day, Megan’s interests ran to more academic and charitable arenas. Tutoring at school. Youth group activities with church. Honor Society. Service Club.
“I hear you like to cook,” he said when he reached Megan.
She smiled benignly. “Who knew? I had no clue until I actually had to learn. Now I try out local recipes from wherever we live, and by the time we move on, we’ve decided what we like and I’ve mastered them. Violet and Marie are my guinea pigs.”
And she obviously knew her audience because the muffuletta was a hit with Violet. So were the beignets. And by the time the newly established Bell-DiLeos sat at Café Du Monde, sipping hot coffee and brushing powdered sugar off themselves and every surrounding surface, Nic finally felt as if he might finally be moving past the shock that had mentally paralyzed him since walking through his office door yesterday morning.
But if he was finally regaining his senses, then he also had to ask himself why he was sitting here as his daughter lobbied to learn to drive Anthony’s chopper—an event that wouldn’t be possible for another year and was solely prompted by the Harley shop next door—unable to stop wondering how Megan felt.
Obviously Megan and Violet were close, really close from what he’d witnessed. He understood that the relationship between mothers and daughters could get volatile during these teenage years. His mother and baby sister, Frankie, had been living proof. Still, there was a part of him that felt the urge to ease the tension between them, which was entirely stupid. Even if he had a clue about what he might do—which he didn’t—it simply wasn’t his place.
They might be connected, but they weren’t a real family in any sense. While they were playing nice to work things out right now, as soon as Megan took off, Nic would be flying solo in the parenting department.
Not that much parenting was left to do. Megan had kept that part all for herself. No, he needed to establish himself as Violet’s father. That was the only realistic thing he could do. But it was his impulse to fix things, probably because he’d been doing it for so long with his own fa
mily.
Still, as he sat at the patio table, roasting his ass off in his dress blues in the Louisiana spring, he couldn’t deny that it bothered him seeing Megan this way, excluded and hurt. She didn’t show it outright, but he apparently still knew her well enough to know she was. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Violet knew she was hurting her mother. Retribution for the secrets, maybe.
Megan handled the situation gracefully, a caring adult, not guilting Violet or bullying her. No, Megan seemed to have stepped back, recognized that she wasn’t going to accomplish anything by engaging their daughter. Yet, she’d been quick to establish boundaries and hadn’t let Violet abuse her. She’d simply tabled the topic of dissension and forced Violet to go along.
Nic respected that process, liked that Megan seemed to give Violet the opportunity to make choices about her actions, holding her accountable in a constructive way.
But he also knew that he shouldn’t be so impacted by the sight of her so quiet and withdrawn right now, by his own need to set things right between these two.
He must be ambushed by memories.
Yes, that had to be it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MEGAN UNLOCKED THE FRONT door to Nic’s family home and quickly crossed the foyer to input the security code to shut off the system. She tried not to think about how she was suddenly privy to intimate DiLeo family details, such as this security code, deemed trustworthy by Nic’s mother even though she hadn’t done a thing to demonstrate she deserved such consideration.
Except for giving birth to Nic’s daughter.
Forgiveness. Second chances. Redemption. These were all concepts she’d learned during an active upbringing in church. These were all concepts she’d made a career of working with nonprofit organizations. Funny how a few days and a loving family could turn concepts into realities.
And that’s exactly what they were. No longer concepts but action. Fifteen years after the fact, without any explanation whatsoever, she’d been accepted by Nic’s family. They weren’t holding her past decisions against her even if they didn’t understand them. They seemed to trust that she and Nic would figure things out. Violet was Nic’s daughter. Megan was Violet’s mother. They were part of the family. It was that simple.
Then There Were Three Page 11