He laid down the frame and joined me on the lounger. “You have one more present.”
“Hmm—would it happen to be waiting in our bedroom?” I asked, anticipating where he was going with this. But, to my surprise, he said no.
“Come on,” he said, pulling at my hand.
I sighed, “I’m so full I don’t know if I can move.”
I could see the cocky response getting ready to pop out of his mouth when I reminded him that it was still my birthday and that he wasn’t allowed to make any comments about what I had eaten.
“I was going to offer to carry your chair,” he smugly replied.
“Oh.”
I rose up and he picked up the lounger and headed for the music studio.
“The song?” I had almost forgotten that he said he wanted to sing for me weeks ago.
He placed the lounger in the center of the floor and then slipped into the control room, grabbed the remote, and a stool, and came back out to where I was waiting. When he didn’t sit next to me I understood that he was really going to sing; none of this business of whispered words in my ear. His face was blushing slightly as he hit the button and the music began to play. I had heard this before, but I couldn’t remember the song until he began to sing. He was timid as the first words came out of his mouth, but then his confidence grew as he continued, his voice becoming stronger. My husband could sing—and sing beautifully as the words to “Amazed,” flowed from his lips—and the tears flowed down my cheeks.
“Every time our eyes meet, this feeling inside me is almost more than I can take. Baby, when you touch me, I can feel how much you love me. And it just blows me away… I don’t know how you do what you do. I’m so in love with you. It just keeps getting better… Every little thing that you do, baby, I’m amazed by you…”
When he finished the final chorus, he was singing as loudly as if he was on stage and I was an entire audience. “Happy birthday,” he said, lowering his voice as the music faded away.
And it was exactly that; the happiest birthday I’d ever had.
CHAPTER eight
For the next several weeks it felt like we had literally become bums. All we did was lounge around together and soak in the happiness of wedded bliss and baby expansion. And our little guy was really expanding. I was almost eight months pregnant and the doctor estimated that our little boy was approximately five pounds and nineteen inches long. I was up to a hundred and twenty-eight pounds, so I had only gained twenty three pounds over the course of time, but Dr. Kannova said the greatest weight gain would be over the next several weeks. She was estimating our little guy would come in right around eight and a half pounds when he finally said hello to the world.
We found something that we liked in the home plan magazine, but it would need to be extensively reworked simply because we wanted room for at least two more children after baby number one and several bedrooms for guests. We hired a fencing contractor who went out and was in the process of putting up six foot chain-link fencing all the way around the property so that it would be secure when a contractor broke ground. Our last decision was where on the property we wanted to build our new home. And finally, we were planning a big family picnic. We wanted to get everyone together and show them what Micah had fallen in love with when he took an unexpected turn down a country dirt road.
“How about having the picnic on our anniversary?” I suggested as I stretched on the comfortable sheets after enjoying a little afternoon relaxation. August fifteenth was still, as far as I was concerned, our anniversary date. There may have been an annulment and a remarriage after that, but that date would always be the place in time when we made our true commitment to be together forever.
“Sounds good to me, baby. I talked to a contractor who is willing to work from whatever plans we bring him, and he has great references. If we order those plans, then get someone to redo them.”
“I know just the guy to call. You’ll like him; he is an architect from Italy and—”
“Italy? How did you manage to meet someone from there?”
“At the bookstore when I was buying the home plan magazine. And then we literally ran into each other in the parking lot,” I laughed.
“So that’s where the streak of gray paint came from?
“Yeah—I was wondering why you didn’t ask me about it.”
“I was actually worried that you had a tiny fender-bender, and I knew you’d be mortified over having me know that happened—especially with your ability behind the wheel.”
“I felt like it was my fault,” I admitted, “but he assured me it was his, and, in all honesty, I’d forgotten about it.”
“So call him and we’ll go to his office and—”
“He doesn’t have an office here—well, at least he didn’t back in June. I guess he hasn’t been in our country too long. Your few words of Italian came in handy, by the way.”
Micah was getting that concerned look on his face, “How old is he?”
“I don’t know. He’s young, maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight, somewhere in there. Why?”
“I don’t like the sound of this guy that you just happened to bump into—he sounds like mafia.”
“That was my first impression, too, until he started spouting of stuff about types of homes and Tuscan architecture. I think I had a little racial profiling going through my head when I first saw him, but I can’t go through life thinking every Italian is a hitman in disguise,” I laughed as I laid my cheek against the inside of his arm and allowed my hand to slip across his bare chest, pausing for a moment on the scar at the edge of his tattoo.
“That isn’t funny. You can call him, but we’ll meet him together some place neutral.”
I was about to open my mouth when the baby decided to start a soccer game in my stomach. We started laughing as we cuddled firmly against each other so that Micah could feel the strokes against his skin. He liked placing his hand on my tummy, but he really enjoyed it when we were stomach to stomach.
I didn’t think about calling Jonathan until early in the evening after Micah left to pick-up Kimmy from a friend’s house. I still had the hundred dollar bill in my wallet as I pulled it out and dialed the number.
It was on the fourth ring and I prepared to hang up when a man with an Italian accent answered.
“Ciao.”
“Jonathan?”
There was a brief pause. “Who is this?”
“Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. It’s Leese. We met at the book—”
“Oh, Leese!” he responded enthusiastically. “Of course—did you get the paint removed?”
“Actually no, but that isn’t why I’m calling. I was wondering if you might be able to help my husband and me make some changes to some building plans?”
“Ah, so you are finally ready to start building.”
“Yup. We have a contractor and we chose some stock plans, but we want to do some expansion.”
“I would be delighted to assist you. Would you like me to come over?”
“I don’t have the plans, yet. I ordered them today and put a rush delivery on them, but my husband would like to meet you and ask a few questions. Do you have an office yet?”
“I am just moving into one this week. If you do not mind some place incomplete, we could meet there tomorrow, say nine a.m.?”
“Perfect. We’ll be there and we’ll bring the plan book so you can start getting some ideas.”
I wrote down the address and waited for Micah to come home so I could tell him about our appointment.
The next morning, he surprised me by coming out of the bedroom with a suit on. Then it clicked. “You’re not…” I stated and then went to put my arms around him to confirm my suspicions, but he backed away. “Micah Gavarreen! There better not be a pair of guns under that jacket.”
“Shhh!” he scolded, hoping that neither Mom nor Kimmy heard my statement.
“You promised,” I said in hushed tones.
“Baby, it’s only
a precaution. You might be right. This guy might only be an architect, but I’m not going to take any chances until I am certain he’s not mafia.”
I think I growled all the way to the downtown address.
He wasn’t kidding about his office not being finished. It was a ground floor unit in a six story office building just a block off Main Street. There were plastic sheets hanging like curtains, drop clothes, ladders, and gallons of paint sitting ready to be applied.
“Ciao! Leese. Please come in to my temporary nightmare,” he said leading us back to his make-shift desk. “My name is Jonathan Rossi,” he said, offering his hand to Micah. “You must be Leese’s husband.”
And the Italian conversation began.
I could see the complete surprise on Jonathan’s face as Micah spoke to him strictly in his native tongue. I hated it because I didn’t have a clue what they were saying. But I did notice that Micah never smiled and Jonathan’s smile slowly faded the longer they talked. I heard Micah say the word mafia and I could tell Jonathan was denying it. I was starting to feel bad as Micah grilled the guy.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. “This is rude!” I snapped, silencing them both, “Speak English or I’m leaving.”
“My apology,” Jonathan began, though it clearly wasn’t his choice to hold an Italian conversation. “Is there any reason we cannot speak in English in front of your wife?”
“Take off your jacket,” Micah commanded.
Jonathan’s eyebrows went up, “You cannot be serious.”
Micah undid his jacket and was reaching inside when Jonathan put up his hands defensively.
“Okay, you win.” He unbuttoned his jacket and began to slip it off.
My heart started to thunder in my chest as I saw what looked like a black harness against his dress shirt, but when the jacket was removed it was a pair of suspenders. I gave an audible sigh then did something that surprised Micah—I smacked his shoulder and told him to stop acting like a Neanderthal.
“Turn around,” Micah continued, ignoring my displeasure.
Jonathan was obeying Micah’s every request by this point as he turned around so that Micah could see there was nothing hidden in the small of his back.
“Micah, you’re going to give me an anxiety attack,” I breathed unsteadily. “Stop it.”
He finally turned and looked at me, “I’m sorry, baby, but Mr. Rossi here just doesn’t seem like the architect type to me. But,” he continued, “So far he is proving me wrong.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan said rather sarcastically. “I have had this happen a few times in Italy, but I never expected it here in America!”
Micah almost laughed, but refrained.
“I have a question for you, Micah,” Jonathan asked. “Since you were so bold, it is my turn. Are you in the mafia?”
“Yes I am,” rolled out of his mouth without hesitation. “Would you like me to take off my jacket?” The words were icy and a flicker of blankness flashed in his eyes.
“You leave that jacket on,” I warned.
“No, it is all right, Leese,” Jonathan continued. “I have designed homes for such men before and perhaps it is better to, how you say, to put all our cards on the table.”
The jacket came off and exposed his double Glocks, poised, loaded, and ready to slide out of the holsters at the lightest touch of Micah’s hands.
“Can we talk architecture now?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I announced and then crumpled into the cushioned chair, cupping my hand over my mouth.
Jonathan was quick to place the small waste can beside his desk next to my chair. “I have a restroom, if you can make it.”
I shook my head no, afraid that if I moved an inch everyone was going to get to see what I’d had for breakfast.
“I’ll get you some water,” Micah stated, stepping over to the water cooler and pulling off a tiny paper cup and filling it for me. “I’m sorry, baby, but I had to be sure,” he said as he handed me the cup.
My eyes were watery as I looked up at him, still seething mad over how he treated Jonathan, “Is this going to happen every time we meet someone Italian?”
“It is okay, Leese—he is just very protective over you and I can understand that.”
Micah’s eyes cut to Jonathan and then back to me.
“Please, put your jacket back on,” I asked. “Before someone comes in here and sees you like that.”
“I gave my remodeling crew a break, but I agree. They might abandon their work if they were to see your—your attire.”
Micah put on his jacket and we, under somewhat strained circumstances, talked with Jonathan about the house plans and what we wanted to do with them.
“You know many people do what you two are considering, expanding a house to include extra guest suites, but have you ever considered one or two guest houses instead? If you have someone staying with you for any length of time they appreciate the privacy of a guest house. You can make it like a small village for that extra sense of charm.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Micah agreed.
I nodded. “So you’re saying leave the main house no more than five bedrooms, which gives us one guest room in our home and then anything over one guest or couple would stay in a smaller residence?”
“Correct. It is better than one massive home, and you can use the pool area as the central courtyard.”
“I like that.”
“Me, too,” Micah added.
“So, I suggest you go back through this book and find one or two smaller homes that you like the layout and I will redesign the exterior to match the main house. And then we can meet again another time.”
I laughed unintentionally, “I can’t imagine you’d invite us back.”
Jonathan smiled, “Well, I do have an ulterior motive.”
Micah’s brow dropped low at that remark.
“This visit makes us even for clipping your car. I actually charge eight hundred dollars an hour for my services, so returning is totally up to you.”
Micah and I both smiled.
“Not a problem,” I said, rising up and extending my hand to him. I was expecting a handshake, but instead he drew it quickly to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
I watched the thermometer-red color run from Micah’s neck to his face.
“Micah, you have a lovely wife. I am glad to see you are a man ready to protect her.” And then he offered Micah his hand.
Surprisingly, he accepted the handshake and we left.
As soon as we closed the doors to the car, I came unglued. “Micah Gavarreen, I cannot believe what you did in there to that man! Or to me, for that matter!
Micah’s mouth opened, but he was not going to interrupt me.
“You are not trying to keep your promise. You told me you wanted to be someone different—you promised me that you weren’t going to kill anyone else, but if that man had been armed what would you have done?”
“I would have protected—”
“Some people legally carry concealed weapons. You know they make permits for those things, but that isn’t the point. You strap on those guns for one purpose and one purpose only. Yes, I know you wanted to check this guy out and make sure you could protect me, but you—you promised,” I cried. “The guns have to go!”
“No. I’m not going to kill any—”
“Stop it, Micah. I don’t want to hear it.” I dried my tears and turned my face as Palm Beach blurred past my window.
He didn’t say anything the rest of the way home until we pulled into the garage.
“Leese, I meant what I told you, but there might be times when I need them.”
“NO! Stop making excuses, Micah. If you were an alcoholic, do you think I would understand your need to carry a bottle of whiskey in your coat? If you were—were an abuser and what happened between us in Colorado hadn’t been due to drugs, would it be okay for you to threaten me with violence saying it’s better than beating the hell out of me?
“If you were an alcoholic, you’d drink from that bottle. If you were an abuser it would just make it easier for you to hit me the next time. But you aren’t those things. What you are is a man who has been trained to kill, either by command or by necessity. What’s going to happen if you keep carrying those guns?”
“But, baby—”
“No—no excuses. You and I both know if those guns don’t go, something horrible will eventually happen. Let me know when you decide to give them up. Until then,” I took a shaky breath, tears slipping down my cheeks, “I’ll be in the apartment.”
He just sat there in the car as I went sobbing into the house. I stopped in the laundry room and dug through the hampers until I found one of his white cotton undershirts and headed to the apartment. I still felt sick from how frightened I was when I saw that blank flicker in his eyes at Jonathan’s office. I thought that look was gone for good. I thought he had made a change, but today he was the man I knew before he married me. His voice still echoing in my head as he quickly and effortlessly stated he was in the mafia—not ‘I used to be,’ but a definitive ‘Yes I am.’
I loved him enough that I could turn my back on him when he needed to see how grave an error he made. Maybe I wasn’t always strong or wise when it came to decisions regarding Micah, but I would never doubt the good person I knew was inside him. I just couldn’t let the cold, blank, emotionless part take back over—and if those guns stayed, the empty Micah would never be too far away.
Once in the apartment, I headed for the bed. My cell was ringing before I could stretch out. It was Mom.
“Hey,” I snuffled. She was out grocery shopping and wanted to know if I had any special requests, but she picked up quickly on the fact that I sounded different and asked if everything was okay with the baby.
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