Baby V (Chianti Kisses #1)

by Tara Oakes

He sits back in his chair looking slightly fatigued from trying to win me over.

  “Listen. Why don’t we give this a shot? A trial? Let’s see what you can do, just testing the waters. I want to plan a benefit. I’ll put you in charge. Give it your all and I'll give you carte-blanche. Total freedom to handle it however you think best. If you love it like I think you will, you’ll stay on. If you don’t I’ll handle John myself and you’ll get a glowing letter of recommendation to take with you to another company. I can’t do much better than that.”

  Yes. Of course I want to do this. If only for the summer. Then I can use the experience to help me land an internship somewhere else, move into a great apartment with Steph, and really start to make something of myself. Something without my last name being the deciding factor.

  “I’ll think about it, Dom. Give me a few days.”

  He knows he’s already won. But, he’s gentleman enough to let me pretend it’s my decision.

  “Fair enough, V. You can let me know by Monday. That’s a week, enough time, I think. I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon to handle something in Miami. I’ll be back Sunday night. You’ll have no pressure from me or anyone else.”

  We both know who anyone else is.

  “Do you have to head back now? I have something to do and I really want you to come with me,” he asks.

  Cautiously, I weigh my options. I can go home and hang around with three older ladies for the night, I could go see Tony, or I can go with Dom on his mystery errand and suffer the flames of my burning lips in agony while he tortures me some more. I check my phone. It’s four-twenty. Surely Tony will be leaving soon to go tend to his very pregnant wife. Dom can see me mentally weighing my options.

  “Fine, I’ve got nothing better to do tonight.”

  He dramatically pretends he’s been shot in the heart, clutching at his chest. “Ouch! That’s brutal!,” He laughs as he walks over to me and holds out his hand. “Come on, Baby V. I’ll make it worth you while and buy you dinner.”

  I grasp his hand as he pulls me up. I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking into my eyes. Or, maybe I’m afraid to look into his. I slip past him as he stands in front of me.

  “Damn right, you will!,” I call behind to him as I leave his office, waiting for him to catch up.

  Ellen bids me farewell as we make our way past her desk. I stop to give her a kiss on her cheek and notice that she has taken out one of her earrings. Ha! Nothing wrong with a little corroborating evidence.

  Dom pauses at least half a dozen times on our exit path, checking over documents from passing employees, wishing good night to almost every worker in earshot and reminds someone named Matt to remember to watch the Mets get“beat bad”tonight.

  When we finally make it out of the building and into the waiting car, the driver has barely finished shutting the door behind us when Dom’s phone buzzes. He looks mildly apologetic as he reaches for the call.

  “Dom here. Hey, yeah, we just left. I’m bringing her with me to the hospital to check on Stanson. Four-thirty out of JFK. Yeah, how was the doctors appointment? You gonna be a dad anytime soon, or what, man? It’s been like a year already. Yeah, send my love.”

  He laughs as he hides the phone back in his inner jacket pocket.

  “Tony wants to know why you hate him,” he explains sarcastically. “He saw us leave and you didn’t even stop by to say hi to him. Keep it up and they might reconsider making you the Godmother.”

  I haven’t officially been asked to bee the Godmother to Tony and Cecily’s baby, but I’ve heard from multiple sources that it’s inevitable.

  “Where are we going, Dom?,” I want to know. “Who’s in the hospital?”

  Dom suddenly loses all trace of humor and takes off his jacket, tilting to turn to me with an all-too-serious expression suddenly crossing his face.

  “Last Wednesday night, one of our trucks was hijacked after it left the loading docks. The driver was beaten after he wouldn’t willingly unlock the cargo doors for the thugs. So, they put him in a coma and left him on the side of the road while they drove off with the truck. He was unconscious for three days. Couple of broken ribs, a cracked skull. Not pretty, V. He’s barely twenty-five and has a wife and a daughter. He’s been with us for four years and has an exemplary record. When he woke up, he asked about his wife, daughter and then cried because he thought he would loose his house if fired for letting them take the truck. NYPD found it the next day in a parking lot picked clean.”

  I’m sure the horror on my face is clear, but Dom looks to finish quickly as if to purge himself of the gruesome details.

  “I mean, the man was almost killed. KILLED, for Christ’s sake. And he’s worried about some cargo? That’s what insurance is for. The least I can do is go apologize to him for everything that’s happened. I want you to come with me so you can see the kind of thing that I was talking about in my office. He nearly sacrificed everything, and he was worried he wouldn’t have a job....”

  So that was the story behind the phone calls I overheard. Ugh. My stomach turns while mentally reviewing the list of injuries the man had sustained. I think I’m going to be sick. Dom must see what I’m feeling, as he opens the window to let some fresh air in.

  “V... it’s OK. He’s alright now. His doctors are optimistic he’ll make a full recovery... it will just take some time,” he reaches out and holds my hand in his.

  I start to feel better and nod over to him. I’m not out of the woods yet, and if I open my mouth to speak I’m afraid I might be sick. Two or three minutes later, I feel almost back to normal as Dom keeps an eye out, looking for any changes.

  “I’m OK, Dom. Do... do things like this happen very often?,” I wondered.

  I remember some of his phone call through the door from last night and I get the distinct impression that this wasn’t an isolated incident. He squeezes my hand.

  “V. Things happen. Let’s not give this more thought, OK?”

  I nod again and look out the window. We sit the rest of the ride in silence.

  ~*~

  Stanson is on the third floor, in the ICU. We are allowed to go up and visit, but the large woman behind the information station informs us that only one person can be at his side at a time. We are given visitor badges and make our way to the third floor. A young woman with red, tired eyes, sits in the waiting area staring at a little girl playing on the floor.

  Barbie dolls are spread around the girl who looks to be around six years old. As we make our way to their portion of the room, the woman looks up suddenly, frightened. Dom lets go of my hand and extends it out toward the seated woman.

  “Mrs. Stanson? I’m Dominic DiBenedetto. This is Vincenza Lombardi,” he nods over to me. “We’ve come to see your husband if that’s alright, and to see if there is anything else we can do for you.”

  The woman gets to her feet after Dom makes our introduction and takes his hand between both of hers. Tears begin to well in her eyes.

  “Mr. DiBenedetto. I am so thankful for all you’ve done for my husband, and for us,” she turns to the child still playing on the floor by her feet. “Tricia... come meet Daddy’s boss. This is the man who helped Daddy get better.”

  She leans down to Tricia’s height as the child stands to face us. Now that she’s standing and I can see her better, I think she might be around seven. She has big brown eyes and light brown hair tied back in a braid with a ribbon on the end.

  Her jeans and t-shirt are slightly wrinkled as if she’s been wearing them for quite some time. Mrs. Stanson speaks softly into Tricia’s ear before the child herself speaks up to Dom.

  “Thank you for helping my Daddy. He says his head doesn’t hurt him that much anymore.”

  Oh my god! Such a raw innocent comment from such a small little girl having to cope with something far too intense for someone her age to ever have to endure. Mrs. Stanson starts to break down a bit after hearing Tricia’s remark. The young girl looks up at her mother as if she’s done something w
rong to make her mother upset.

  I step in and take Tricia’s small hand. “Hi Tricia. My name’s V. I’m a friend of your daddy’s boss. I’m glad he’s feeling better. You know what? I’m hungry. Would you keep me company while I go to the cafeteria and get something for everyone to eat. It’s almost dinner time. Mommy can stay here with my friend Dom, until we get back. You would be a big help.”

  Tricia looks up at he mother for permission. Mrs. Stanson nods, silently giving that permission while trying to control her suppressed sobs. I’m able to get Tricia to the elevator before her mother breaks down into Dom’s arms.

  Hospital cafeterias are all the same. They have the same smells, the same food. Even the same person working behind the register- an older person in a neatly pressed uniform looking to make small talk, to take their customers minds off the burden of why they’re here in the first place.

  “Oooh, V! Look! Ice cream! Can I have some, please?”

  Tricia skips over to the ice cream machine to inspect the pictures of the choices the machine has to offer. I’m not sure how her mom will feel about me loading her kid up with sugar. But, I’ll take the risk rather than disappoint Tricia.

  “OK. But, you have to eat some dinner first. What should we get? Sandwiches, salad, chili? What does you mom like to eat?”

  Tricia is still staring at the ice cream machine as I speak to her. “Ummm. My mom like ice cream...,”

  She makes me laugh. This little lady has a one track mind. “OK. We’ll get a little of everything. We’ll have a picnic upstairs. Help me put things in our basket.”

  We pick a wide variety of foods, unsure of what Mrs. Stanson will be able to eat, if anything. Tricia won’t let me forget to stop by the ice cream machine on our way out. By the time we make it back to the waiting area, Mrs. Stanson looks calmer, but worn. We set our bags on the table and begin to unpack, when she breaks the silence.

  “Your boyfriend is very kind, Miss Lombardi. He’s done so much for us since this nightmare began. More than he needed to...,” she trails off, loosing he train of thought and stares out into nothing.

  I hold her hand, bringing her back to reality. “Oh, that’s how Dom is. Where did he go?,” I try to keep her attention. I didn’t think it was necessary to tell her than Dom wasn’t my boyfriend. There are many more important things on the woman’s mind than my social life, right now.

  “He went to speak with my husband.”

  She is fighting to stay alert, so I think it best not to pressure her to talk any further.

  “Tricia... come help me show mommy what we’ve got for our picnic,” I start to open up containers and hand out napkins. We’ve just begun to eat as Dom walks back into the room, joining us.

  “Hey... better late than never. Grab a sandwich and join the picnic,” I hand Dom a chicken salad wrap and a diet coke.

  We sit and eat our dinner together, trying to keep light conversation. When we’re finished with our meal. Tricia gladly accepts her ice cream and briefly looks like your typical seven year old, eating a sundae without a care in the world. That’s how it should be. She should be eating ice cream and playing with her friends and doing her homework. Not sitting in a hospital waiting to find out if her father is going to live. Dom walks away to take a call while I clean up the mess from our meal. When he returns, he speaks to Mrs. Stanson.

  “Your sister has just landed. I have a car bringing her here. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

  Mrs. Stanson, who I’m sure has aged these last few days, sitting in this waiting room fearing the worst, shakes Dom’s hand once more. “You’ve done so much already. I don’t know what I would’ve done...”

  She shakes my hand next. Tricia sees us getting ready to leave, and comes running up to give me a hug.

  “Bye, V! Thanks for the Ice cream!,” she then returns to her dolls.

  We leave the Stanson family as we found them, huddled in their corner of the lounge, waiting. That’s the only thing to do at a time like this... wait for something. Anything. While somewhere deep in your subconscious, you try to prepare yourself for the worst, without actually acknowledging that unlike what everyone is telling you, it might not be alright in the end. Tricia is far too young and delicate to have to endure that wait. Seven years old is just too young, I should know.

  Dom keeps pace with me, two steps behind as I mindlessly exit the hospital entrance and enter the car. I can feel his eyes on me, but am too exhausted to mind. My attention is aimed in a blank stare out the car window as we head home. I don’t even think I’ve blinked, just drifted off into the depths of myself. I must be making him feel uncomfortable.

  “V. You OK? You haven’t said a word, and that was pretty intense,” I hear his words echoing slightly, bringing me back from the void I’m longing for.

  “Hospitals still smell the same. That cold, sterile, alcohol stench.”

  His eyes widen as I speak my words.

  “I’ll never forget that smell. I wonder if she’ll remember it...?,” my eyelids finally begin to function again, providing relief to my hypnotic state,

  Dom breathes so deeply then, that I instinctively turn to watch him speak. “Jesus! I didn’t think. V... I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot,” he pulls me in close, holding my shoulders against his chest, my head resting in the hollow of his neck, and places his chin protectively over me.

  I take in his scent as I breathe him in deeply. That familiar musky earthiness soothes me.

  “It’s alright, Dom. How would you have known? I mean, I can’t believe I’m actually jealous of a little girl. At least her father will live.”

  He doesn’t admonish me for my crazy thoughts, or try to cure my sudden case of mourning. He simply begins to rock back and forth slowly, listening... it’s clear I’ve shared all I will about that time long ago when I was the one waiting in that room.

  “I know, V. I miss him, too,” he whispers as much to himself as to me.

  It’s not even eight o’clock when we head up the tree lined drivetoward my Tara, where the porch lights are on, waiting for us. This is the breaking point for me, and I begin to cry. Dom gently soothes my hair, allowing me to cry into his shirt for what seems like forever. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just lets me finish exorcizing the dark shadows that have been silently building for the past week.

  When I am empty of tears, and my breathing has calmed, Dom eases me from the car and through the porch into the house. He keeps his support around my shoulders as we climb the stairs, entering my bedroom. Finally letting me go, I falter on my own as he peels back my bed covers. He lets me lean on him again as I take my shoes off, one at a time and then creep myself onto the mattress, pulling the blankets up over me. I can’t tell exactly when he leaves, but he does it quietly.

  I feel purged, emptied, yet somehow anew as I start to piece myself back together. My bedroom door opens slowly and I watch Momma register my condition. She approaches my bed, lays next to me and holds me until sleep comes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I wake to the dark emptiness and struggle to find my sight, making out the shapes around me. I’m in my new bed, alone, still in my green dress. The clock on my nightstand reads eleven-thirty. I turn over to the space my mom had been just a few hours ago. She must have left after I’d fallen asleep.

  I stretch my arms and sit up on my back elbows. It’s only eleven-thirty? I feel like I’ve slept for days. I could lie down again and try to drift off, but I know it’s useless. I’m wide awake and need to get up... do something other than just mope.

  I swiftly change out of my outfit into a pair of flannel drawstring pajama pants and a tank top. After removing my makeup and placing my hair in a high ponytail, I grab a pillow and head downstairs.

  Dom’s office is at the bottom of the stairs to my left. Against the pitch black around the closed door, the light from inside forms an outline running along the floor. There are no other lights on beside his and the muted table lamp set
on the round table in the middle of the foyer. I walk past, light on my feet, careful not to disturb anything that will alert him to my presence. When I feel like I’m in the clear, I relax my stride and glide softly down the foyer past the dining room and into the large family room at the other end of the house. I reach for the light switch and dim the lights low. It is almost midnight after all, and I don’t need to wake the whole house.

  I fumble in a large leather tray for the remote control, using it to turn on the gigantic screen hanging on the wall. With the volume low, I channel surf until I settle on The Notebook playing on some sappy romantic movie channel. The movie is only twenty minutes or so in, and it will definitely do the trick right now.

  Cuddled up on one of the large sofas facing the television, I relax while watching the film for what must be the fifth time. Theresa and I had gone together to see it in the theater on opening night. The next three months were known as the “Ryan Gosling” period. I was in love, infatuated, and obsessed with him. How could any girl not be? The movie had sung to my soul, and set the bar so high for any future boyfriend that no boy other than Ryan would do. He was partly to blame, I think, for my er... lack of “experience”.

  The movie plays on through all of the familiar scenes. When Noah drives to Ally’s empty house only to find the love of his life gone, my eyes water.

  “Hey, I thought I heard something in here.”

  I swirl around with my bloodshot eyes to see Dom striding in. He sees me crying and looks worried. “Oh, V. Are you still upset?”

  My attention is torn between Dom and Noah. I shake my head.

  “No... it’s just- The Notebook,” I point to the giant screen, proving my point.

  Dom laughs, relieved.

  “Oh no, not this damned movie! Theresa wore her copy out and I had to buy her another one. What is it with chicks and this movie?,” he makes his way around the sofa and takes a seat next to mine. I sniffle my drying tears and prepare to defend my Ryan.

  “First of all... we are not chicks. Second, you should watch and learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady. That...,” I point to the close up of my teenaged obsession, “...is a real man.”