All these years I’ve carried this secret around, too ashamed to tell, I suppose. Even after Joe was dead and buried, I never told a soul. Not my cousin Annabelle; not Charlie. Especially not Charlie. I couldn’t stand it if he looked at me in that sympathetic way people do when they see a homeless person hunkered down in the doorway of some old building.
I was luckier than the Briggs girl; I had Daddy DeLuca to go to bat for me. The only one Tracy Briggs has looking out for her is me, and right now, I’m doing a terrible job of it. I know you’re thinking this part doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it would if you knew what happened before Daddy DeLuca told Joe he was expected to do the right thing.
Joe and I were dating steady for a little over six months when I missed my period. At first I thought it was just a fluke, a lack of something in my diet or maybe not enough exercise, but when the second month passed and my breasts became so tender it hurt when he fondled them, I knew what it was.
That Saturday night, I told Joe that instead of going to the movies, let’s go somewhere and talk. He said The Bridge on the River Kwai was playing at the Rialto, and he absolutely had to see it. We argued for a while, then finally compromised, going to the early show and then taking a stroll down by the lake.
The whole time I watched that movie, I was on pins and needles, wishing that bridge would hurry up and get built. When the movie was finally over, we went for our stroll, and I told him I was pregnant.
“We’ve got to do something,” I said, figuring he’d propose right away.
He didn’t. He turned to me and said, “We?” as if he didn’t have a thing to do with it.
I cried a bucket of tears that night, but Joe didn’t budge an inch. He said he had plans for his life and wasn’t anywhere near ready to settle down. I thought, given a day or two to see the reality of things, he’d change his mind. But a full month passed by, and he didn’t even telephone.
In the third month, I started getting morning sickness, and by my fourth month, I couldn’t even look at a piece of red meat. That’s when Mama figured it out. She told my father, and before noon he was over at the farm, talking it out with Daddy DeLuca.
That evening, Joe telephoned me and said now that he’d had time to think it over, he’d come to the conclusion it would be best if we got married right away. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and honestly didn’t know if it was worse to be having a baby all by myself or to be marrying a man who didn’t really love me.
Of course, you know the end of that story. Joe and I got married and stayed married until the day he died. We had a lot of heartaches, but we also had our share of happiness, happiness that never would have come about if it weren’t for Daddy DeLuca stepping in.
Dominic is a lot like Joe. Even though he’s thirty years old, he still doesn’t know what’s good for him. I do, and it’s up to me to see he finds the kind of happiness that can carry him through the ups and downs of life.
I won’t quit. Somehow, some way, I’ll figure out how to get Dominic to do what’s right. He may not appreciate it now, but in the years ahead, he will.
That’s what I’m counting on.
20
Later That Evening
It was close to nine o’clock when Dominic saw Celeste pull into the gas station. She looked good, like she was ready to party again. He stepped outside the office and stood, smiling, as she trotted across the parking lot.
After a quick kiss on the cheek, she pulled the keys from her tote and playfully jangled them in front of Dominic’s face.
“I bet you’re glad to see these again.”
Dominic impulsively reached into his pocket and felt for the keys. When the bulky orange fob wasn’t there, he eyed her suspiciously. “Where’d you get those?”
“You left them in my room last night. Didn’t you get the message?”
“What message?”
“I told your grandma to let you know I had the keys and would—”
“You talked to my grandmother?” Dominic cut in.
“Yeah, I talked to your grandma. You got a problem with that?”
Catching her caustic tone, he said, “No,” but then nervously asked what it was she’d said.
“I told her you left the keys in my room, and I’d give them to you tonight.”
“You didn’t tell her who you were, did you?”
She huffed an exasperated sigh. “She asked, so, yeah.”
“Oh, shit!”
Tossing the keys on the desk, she started toward the office door. “I don’t know what kind of a problem you’ve got, but if your grandma is telling you who to date, I’m not about to stick around.”
“Wait!” Dominic grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with you, it’s my grandma, she . . .”
Celeste turned and eyed him with a look of disbelief. “Your grandma? You’re a grown man! What are you afraid of?”
“Afraid? This is not about me being afraid!” He dipped his head and grimaced. “It’s my grandma . . . she . . . she’s dying. It’s a bad time . . .”
Celeste’s expression softened. “I’m really sorry to hear that. But I don’t see what it has to do with . . .” Her voice trailed off, but the agitated look remained.
Dominic pulled her into his arms, and the rigid resistance he felt at first eased a bit when he trailed a line of soft kisses along her bare shoulder.
“Let’s go back to your room, and I’ll tell you the whole story,” he suggested.
Celeste scrunched her nose and shook her head. “I’m not in the mood. If you wanna go have a drink, then maybe . . .”
Dominic glanced at the wall clock. It was barely 9:25. Too early to close, but Celeste was not the type to stand around and wait.
“Yeah, a drink sounds good.” He grabbed the keys from the desk, snapped off the light, and locked the door behind them as they left.
As they entered Murphy’s, Broom was standing at the bar and waved, but Dominic avoided eye contact and steered Celeste toward the back.
“I think your friend was trying to get your attention,” she said as she slid into the booth.
Yesterday she’d moved across to the far end of the bench, leaving Dominic room to sit beside her. Tonight she sat square in the center. With no alternative, Dominic slid in on the opposite side. He smiled, and she smiled back. Not in the same way she had yesterday, but friendly enough. She was the kind of woman he liked—stacked, hot, and fun to be with—so he wanted to keep the fling going.
“You want a martini with two olives?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not tonight.”
He ordered two beers instead, and they sat passing bits of idle conversation back and forth for several minutes, him hopeful she’d move on and forget their earlier discussion about his grandma, her obviously growing more impatient with his procrastination.
She was the one who finally broke the ice. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or not?”
Dominic tipped his glass, drained it, then set it back on the table.
“My grandma’s upset because I had this thing with a girl from town. It was ages ago,” he said, “and we weren’t even married . . .”
He slid the empty glass aside and leaned across the table. “I don’t usually talk about it, but seeing as how we’re getting close . . .”
Celeste’s chilly expression didn’t change.
“It happened almost seven years ago. I had a job offer in Philly, and Tracy, the girl I’d been dating, said she’d like to come along. With me trying to be a nice guy, I couldn’t just say no, so she came. Next thing I know, she’s pregnant and claiming the kid is mine.”
“Was it?” Celeste asked.
Not anxious to explain away the truth, Dominic gave a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. Truthfully speaking, I think Tracy may have been fooling around with someone else. If that’s the case, the kid might not be mine, so why should I—”
She glared at him, her brows pinched ti
ght and a frown of suspicion narrowing her eyes.
“I know, it’s a mess,” he said, trying to look adequately despondent. “I’m not in love with Tracy and never was, but because of the kid, Grandma believes we need to get married.”
“Why can’t you just take responsibility for the kid?”
Dominic hesitated a moment, then said, “I wish it were that easy. I love my grandma, but she’s a hard woman. Once she gets an idea in her head, it’s set in stone.”
When there was no response, he continued. “With Grandma practically on her deathbed, I don’t have the heart to disappoint her, so I’ve been avoiding the issue.”
Celeste’s dubious expression was growing tighter by the second. Finally, she slid out of the booth and stood.
“I’ve had a raging headache all day,” she said, “and it’s getting worse. I’ve got to go back to my room and get some rest.”
Dominic followed behind as she headed for the door. “Maybe I could massage your neck and help you get settled into a warm bath . . .”
“Afraid not,” she said. “This is the kind of headache where I need to be alone.” She tucked her tote bag under her arm as she walked.
“Okay, then, we’ll catch up later,” Dominic called out. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure,” she answered without turning around. By then, she had one foot out the door.
21
Broom’s Advice
After Celeste left Murphy’s, Dominic felt a letdown. He’d expected the evening to go differently. He’d expected to go back to the motel with her for a repeat performance of the previous night. Instead, here he was, alone. It was too early to go home and too late to go back to the gas station. He moseyed over to the bar and stood alongside Broom.
Broom leaned his elbow on the bar and turned his back to Dominic.
“What’s your problem?” Dominic asked.
Broom looked across his shoulder with a dark-eyed sneer. “My problem? You blow past without even a nod, and I’m supposed to like it?”
“Maybe not like it, but at least be understanding. You saw I was with somebody.”
“Yeah, I saw.” Broom turned to face Dominic. “So what happened to your friend?”
“She had a headache.”
Broom laughed. “Sure she did.”
“Shows what you know,” Dominic grumbled. “She’s staying in Magnolia Grove just ’cause she wants to be with me.”
“In your dreams,” Broom said and sniggered. “Looked to me like she was pretty eager to get out of here.”
“You’re wrong, buddy boy. She might be ticked off because of what my grandma said, but that’s all it is.”
Broom raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No way. I know your grandma, and she ain’t one to be causing trouble.”
“Whatever.” Dominic turned and signaled the bartender. “Gimme a bourbon on the rocks.”
If it was another time, a time when he didn’t feel quite so in need of a friend, he’d have turned his back to Broom, but tonight he needed to talk. Talking was a way to rid himself of the thoughts bouncing through his mind.
“Grandma’s dying,” he blurted out.
The petulant look on Broom’s face disappeared. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not,” Dominic said. “That’s why I came back here. She claims we’ve got things to settle up.” He lifted the bourbon, took a drink, then set the glass back down. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known this was about me marrying Tracy.”
Even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. He’d have come anyway. He’d have come simply because she asked him to. She was the one person he couldn’t say no to.
“Tracy?” Broom scratched his head for a few seconds, then grinned. “Oh, yeah, Tracy. She’s the one who took your car and ran off to—”
“That’s her,” Dominic cut in. “Grandma thinks I need to marry her because of the kid.”
Broom let out a long whoosh of air and shook his head.
Dominic groaned. “Tell me about it. Grandma says she’ll leave me the farm so we can live there happily ever after and the kid can inherit the place when I die.” He emptied the glass and set it on the bar with a clunk.
“If she’s dying anyway, just tell her you’re gonna marry Tracy and let her be happy about it.”
“I was planning to do that. Then Celeste called and screwed everything up.”
“Too bad,” Broom said. He signaled the bartender and ordered another round. “Maybe your grandma isn’t too happy about you not marrying Tracy, but she’s still gonna leave you the farm, right?”
Dominic turned with an angry glare. “You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t want that crappy farm. Grandma’s the only reason I came back. Once she dies, I’m out of here for good.”
“Don’t be an ass. You don’t have to live on the farm; you can sell it.”
“The house looks like it’s ready to fall down, and the fields are growing weeds. You think anybody’s gonna buy something like that?”
“You’re even stupider than I thought. It’s a house! It don’t matter if it’s in bad shape—you can still get ten, maybe twenty thousand for it.”
Dominic gave a snort. “You’re crazy if you think anybody’s gonna—”
“You’re crazier if you think they won’t. Butcher Fenway bought a house out there, in the new development that’s a few miles from your grannie’s place, and he paid upward of a hundred thousand for it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Broom said and downed the last of his drink.
Once the thought of the property being worth that much settled in Dominic’s head, he began to see things in a different light. He knew for sure his grandma wanted him to have the farm.
All he had to do was come up with a story believable enough for her to buy into. She already knew about Celeste, so he couldn’t say he’d been with Tracy. He’d have to come up with something new.
He and Broom sat there at the bar, drinking and plotting a dozen different scenarios to get around the issue. Finally, coming to the conclusion that Alice wasn’t as concerned about Tracy as she was with Lucas, Dominic decided he had to create a plausible story to convince her Lucas wasn’t actually his. After two beers and six bourbons, he’d worked through a tale Broom thought believable. Of course, by that time, Broom was nearly as drunk as Dominic.
When they staggered out of the bar laughing, they were both confident the plan would work.
Dominic knew his grandmother was a woman of habit; she found a measure of comfort in the everyday routine of doing things the same way each time. When she stacked cups in the cupboard, the handles were always turned to the right. When she did laundry, the first load was always the whites and the last load always the ink-colored work pants. She rose each morning before the cock crowed and in the evening went to bed early, said her prayers, and snapped off the bedside lamp at precisely ten o’clock. It had been that way since the day Dominic came to live with her.
He pushed through the front door and groped his way along the darkened hallway. Before he reached the staircase, the living room lamp clicked on.
“Dominic?” Her voice was crystal clear, not groggy or sounding of sleep. She’d been sitting there in the dark, waiting for him.
Startled by both the light and sound, Dominic stumbled and tried to collect his bearings.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”
His thoughts were jumbled and poorly strung together, but he knew she would catch the smell of bourbon if he moved closer.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
“Now? Can’t it wait until the morning?”
“You sleep all morning, so yes, it needs to be now.”
There was no way out of it, at least not without hurt feelings.
“Okay,” he said. “I need to use the bathroom, but I’ll be right back.”
Trying not
to be obvious, Dominic ran his hand along the wall to steady himself as he walked past the living room toward the powder room. He was hopeful there’d be some toothpaste or cologne, anything to mask the smell of alcohol.
The small powder room held only the bare necessities; no toothpaste, mouthwash, or cologne. He rinsed his mouth with several handfuls of water, then splashed more on his face. In the medicine chest there was a tin of menthol cough drops; he took one and popped it in his mouth.
“Dominic?” she called. “You’ve been in there a long time; are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he answered. “I’ll be right out.”
He swished the cough drop around in his mouth, ran his tongue over his lips, then opened the door and stepped into the hall. He saw her walking toward him.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” he said.
“I do, but I thought I’d fix some tea and we could sit in the kitchen.”
“Oh. Okay.” He turned and headed for the kitchen, walking ahead of her.
Keeping a fair bit of distance between them, Dominic passed by the chair he usually sat in and went to the far side of the table. He watched as she set the kettle on to boil, then, trying to hide the slur in his voice, said, “No tea for me, Grandma.”
She turned and smiled. “Coffee, then? I’ll make a pot.”
He started to shake his head, but by then she’d begun to fill the pot with water.
She left the coffee on the stove and sat across from Dominic. For several moments, there was only the popping sound of the percolator; then she sighed.
“I hope you know how much I love you, Dominic. You’re just like your granddaddy, and I loved him, too. He was a good husband and lived a happy life, but it might never have come about if it wasn’t for your great-granddaddy. Daddy DeLuca’s name was Dominic, same as yours. When you were born, I begged Dorothy to name you after him because he was the finest man I’ve ever known, and I was hoping you’d turn out the same . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and they sat there listening to the pot sizzle and then sputter to a stop.
A Year of Extraordinary Moments (A Magnolia Grove Novel) Page 7