He kept telling himself that it couldn’t get any worse, but it always did. Thirteen-year-old girls wrote in their journal about the latest teen pop star or the boy they want to kiss. They did not write about their mom’s friend copping a feel when her back was turned. Or waking in the middle of the night to find a different man snapping pictures of her while she was sleeping.
There were stupid people who didn’t know any better, and bad people who knew and didn’t care, then there were people like Lucy’s mom, the kind who fed off other people’s pain.
He’d taken a couple of psychology courses in college and he recognized the characteristics of a sociopath when he saw them. No one with a conscience would treat their child the way Lucy’s mom had treated her.
Pure evil. That’s what she was.
He thought of all the times he’d complained to Lucy about his family and felt utterly disgusted with himself. His childhood—his entire life—had been a freaking utopia compared to what she had been through.
She’d left home at seventeen and moved in with a friend. She’d been so full of hope that things could finally be better. But it wasn’t long before the friend got a little too friendly one night, and when Lucy wasn’t cooperative, she was out on the street. She seemed to drift through the next few years, moving around a lot, making new friends but never really connecting.
Heartbreaking. It was the only way to describe her life. Every time something good happened, five other things would blow up in her face. It seemed as though bad karma had taken a hold of her and wouldn’t let go.
Then she’d met Tony.
Though it had been more than a year, the memory of that night, of seeing her behind the bar that first time, was scored in his memory.
Refreshing, that had been his first impression. She was young and vibrant and so pretty in her own natural way that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Apparently the feeling was mutual. A surprise to him considering they barely spoke the first half dozen times he came in. But according to her journal, it wasn’t for a lack of interest. The way she told it, he was some sort of Greek god or something. She’d written one entire freaking page about his eyes. Just his eyes.
She’d done an amazing job of hiding it because he’d never had a clue. And when he’d asked her out, she’d told him she didn’t date customers. The journal told a different story, that she thought he was too handsome and too nice, and therefore too good to be true. But gradually, over the next few weeks, he’d worn her down. That was the time when the tone of the journal really changed.
It was a bit like watching a flower unfold on time-lapse film. She’d gradually begun to open up, to trust him. To fall in love. She’d given him a gift. A window into her soul. And she was right. He would never look at her, or himself for that matter, the same way again.
Seeing himself through someone else’s point of view was intriguing and frightening, and brutally painful. But mostly just painful. A year of therapy couldn’t compare to this slap-in-the-face, deal-with-it approach.
He considered it a miracle that after everything she had been through, all the hurt and the lies and the broken promises, she had opened up to him. She’d trusted him.
The responsibility of that knowledge was beyond overwhelming, and he was nearly 100 percent sure he hadn’t deserved it, but he would never take trust for granted as long as he lived.
He heard a key in the lock, and looked up from the computer, his vision fuzzy from too much time reading the journal, to see the front door open. It was Lucy, her hair mussed from the wind. He was happy to see that his mother was not with her.
She stopped short when she saw him, looking surprised. “Are you sick?”
Did he look sick? “No, why?”
“It’s six and you’re still in your pajamas.”
That meant he’d been sitting there riveted for almost seven hours. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, or for that matter lunch. He hadn’t even gotten up to use the bathroom. “I’ve been reading.”
She blinked. “Oh...good.”
Why did she not seem so sure of that? “That was a long shopping trip. Where’s all the stuff?”
“Neither of us had the energy left to carry everything upstairs.” She shrugged out of her jacket. “She said we can come by for dinner tomorrow and pick everything up. Except of course all the stuff that’s being delivered.”
Delivered?
“She bought furniture,” Lucy said, looking pained. “I resisted, but there was nothing I could say to stop her.” She paused, chewing her lower lip, facing him, but not actually looking at him. “So, how much did you read?”
“Enough.” Almost all of it.
“I have no idea where we’ll put it. The furniture, I mean. You know, if we still...”
“What kind of furniture?”
“Baby furniture. It’s maple, very gender neutral, and the crib turns into a toddler bed, which I assume is a good thing. It’s a five-piece set.”
“Well, I think that settles it, then,” he said.
“Settles what?”
“Our living arrangements are going to have to change.” He paused for dramatic effect, and he could see her holding her breath. “We need a bigger place.”
“We as in you and the baby?”
“We as in all three of us.”
“Like an apartment.”
He shook his head. “Too impractical.”
“Condo?”
“Nah. I think we need a house.”
Ten
Lucy exhaled, then sucked in a lungful of air, feeling as if she hadn’t actually taken a full breath since she left the apartment that morning. Then she took another, to try to stop the dizzy feeling in her head. “You want us to get a house? Together?”
“Isn’t that what married people do? Have babies, buy houses. Live happily ever after. Stuff like that.”
“You still want to marry me?”
“Isn’t that what you do when you love someone?”
A giddy lightness settled over her. “I love you, too.”
He pulled her into his arms and held her so tight.
Don’t ever let go. “I really thought that reading my journal would change the way you feel about me,” she said, her voice muffled in his robe.
“It did change the way I feel. You were my best friend, my confidant, the woman I love.” He tipped her face up so he could look in her eyes. “Now you’re my hero.”
She blinked. “Me? Someone’s hero?”
“Lucy, you are by far the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m still not the person you thought I was.”
“No, you’re not. You’re better.”
“Better?”
“Yes, better, and I couldn’t love you more. Your past is what made you the person you are now, and she is the woman that I love.”
“But...my background, my family...why would you want to be associated with that?”
“You are not your family, Lucy. And as far as I’m concerned, you never have to see that pathetic excuse for a mother ever again. In fact, I insist.”
“She never wanted a baby,” Lucy told him. “She was only interested in the child support check she could con out of some unsuspecting man. She hadn’t counted on him dying so young.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t have more children to get more checks.”
“She got an infection after I was born and they had to do a full hysterectomy. You could say that they shut down the baby factory before it could really get started.”
“Divine intervention?”
“Could be.” She laid a hand on her belly. “God forbid he takes after my side of the family.”
“Lucy, if our child is anything like you, he’ll be smart and strong a
nd brave. He’ll have real integrity, and a generous heart, and gifts that he will use to do beautiful, amazing things.”
His words stole her breath. “Is that really how you see me?”
He touched her face. “When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”
“Wow. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“It’s about time someone said it. You have gifts, Lucy. Though I get the feeling you’re not aware of a single one.”
“I make a mean margarita.”
“You listen to people. And I mean genuinely listen.”
“I like hearing their stories. That’s not really a gift.”
“It is to the people telling the story. But you know what I realized after reading your journal? It’s always someone else doing the talking. You have a voice, Lucy, and I know for a fact that you have an awful lot to say.”
“What if I talked and no one listened?”
“Trust me, they’ll listen.”
“I’m not sure what it is you expect me to say.”
“I’m going to suggest something that you’re probably not going to like, but just hear me out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I think you should publish your journal.”
Was he insane? “Publish, as in, make it available to the public? Do you have any idea how hard it was to show you? And you want everyone in cyberspace to read it.”
“No, that’s too limited. I think you should publish it in print.”
She stepped back from him. He had to be joking.
“Hear me out, okay? What you went through...” He shook his head, as if he were refusing the images access to his mind. She knew just how he felt.
“You’re not the only one. You could help people.”
“How?”
“By showing them that they aren’t alone. By using the voice that I know you have. Wasn’t that the worst part for you? Feeling isolated and alone? Like no one could possibly understand? You can show people that there’s hope.”
She had never really considered that before.
“Despite it all, you made it, Lucy. You survived. Not everyone does.”
She knew that better than anyone. “But...I’m not even a writer.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“You really think so?”
“You have a gift, Lucy. Don’t hide it away.”
“Where would I even start?”
“I’ve got a friend from college, he’s a literary agent. I’d like to send it to him, see what he thinks.”
“I don’t know, Tony.”
“You could change people’s lives. You’ve sure changed mine.”
The idea of all those people reading about her life, especially Tony’s family, terrified her. There were people who would identify, but also people who wouldn’t. They would accuse her of exaggerating, or flat-out lying just for attention. Did she really want to open herself up to that kind of criticism? Or was it her obligation as a survivor, to help others in similar situations? Or for all she knew it could be a big flop and no one would buy it.
She didn’t know what to do. “Let me think about it.”
“Of course. I can call him Monday, see what he thinks. Oh, and by the way, please do not feel bad for Alice.”
Wow, he really had gotten far in her journal. “I can’t help it. I feel bad for her.”
“It was a business arrangement, nothing more. No one walked away hurt. Not in the way you might be thinking.”
“Even so, it had to be humiliating for her. Although it was nice of you to let her keep the ring.”
“It was a small price to pay. That reminds me,” Tony said. “I have something for you. Something I’ve been hanging on to for a long time. Just wait here. I’ll go find it.”
Exhausted from what had been, by far, the most eventful week of her entire life, Lucy collapsed on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and put her aching feet up on the coffee table.
Tony must not have been able to find what he was looking for because he came back a few minutes later empty-handed.
“Unlike you, I don’t have a gift for words,” he said. “It seems like half the time the things I say come out backward. So I want to be very clear about what I’m going to say. No frills, just the truth.”
She was no expert, but she thought he was doing a pretty decent job already. Then he dropped to one knee in front of her and the air got stuck in her throat. Hold on, Lucy. You’re about to get everything you ever wanted in the whole world, but you are not, under any circumstances, going to cry again.
“I love you, Lucy.”
He was definitely off to a good start. “I love you, too.”
From his robe pocket he pulled out a small, green velvet jewelry box that had yellowed a bit with age. He snapped it open and she actually gasped when she saw the ring inside. In the center sat a huge princess-cut diamond that shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window. The diamond was surrounded by a ring of small rubies.
“Make my life complete, Lucy. Marry—”
“Yes!” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”
He laughed again.
She smiled and said, “No frills. Just the truth.”
“This was my great-grandmother’s ring,” he said, sliding it onto her finger.
“Your nonna’s mother?”
He nodded. “It’s been in the family for over 100 years.”
And he was entrusting it to her? She held up her hand. The diamonds glittered and the gold sparkled. She never imagined anything so lovely sitting on her finger. And it scared the hell out of her. What if she broke it, or God forbid, lost it?
“She died long before I was born,” he said, “But being the oldest grandson, her ring was left to me.”
“And you want me to wear it?” Her, not Alice.
“I put it on your finger, didn’t I?”
Yes, and it was a perfect fit. His great-grandmother must have been a small person, like Lucy. It felt almost as if it was destined to be. Or maybe that was her imagination running away with her good sense again.
And if it was, so what? She was happy. Really, truly happy for the first time in her life. She felt as if anything was possible. And if she was going to dream, why not dream big?
* * *
They told his parents the good news at dinner the next night, and of course Tony’s mom had to call his sisters. Precisely fifteen seconds later the entire family had heard the good news. Hell, maybe even the world. For almost two days after that the phone seemed to ring nonstop and the emails and cards began pouring in.
That would have annoyed him before, but Lucy’s journal had forced him to reassess his priorities. He needed to stop being so judgmental and be happy that he had a family who loved and supported him unconditionally—even if they were big and loud and certifiably crazy. He was finished blaming them for his decision to stay with Caroselli Chocolate, because it was just that. His decision. He’d been either too lazy or too scared to leave the nest. Not anymore. Now there was no question that it would happen. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.
First, though, it was important that he and Lucy and the baby were settled. That meant finding a house. But when he brought up the idea again she balked.
“You can’t deny we need the space,” he told her. Even with him back in his own bedroom, things would be tight. The baby would have to share an office with him. Or come to think of it, it was probably the other way around.
“Couldn’t we just rent a bigger apartment?” she asked.
After she’d spent years living in flux, moving from one place to the next, never putting down roots, he would have thought she would jump at the chance to have a home of her own.
“A house would be a sol
id investment.”
“And it would mean using the money that you’ve been saving to start your business.”
Is that what this was about? Money? “Lucy, don’t worry about where the money is coming from.”
“Of course I’m going to worry! I know it was rough after the recession. And I also know you’ve been trying to save money. I’m not going to let you blow it all on a house we don’t need.”
Clearly she had been making assumptions.
Wildly inaccurate ones.
“Lucy, do you have any idea what I make a year?”
She shook head and said, “Not a clue. But you drive a BMW, so I assumed you do pretty well.”
He’d been living so far beneath his means to save money, it was no wonder she was confused. And he had the feeling she was in for the shock of her life.
He told her his salary, and his estimated net worth. Though he had to admit, the look on her face was worth at least double that.
“Did you say, million?” she asked, her eyes like saucers. “As in, you’re a millionaire?”
“I thought you knew.”
“You did say million, right?”
“I did. So, now can we buy a house?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said, looking a little dazed. “Let’s buy a house.”
He called his real estate guy that afternoon, told him to start looking immediately. Within two days he had a long list of houses lined up to see over the weekend. Most were newish, with all the good upgrades.
Saturday wound up being a bust. Tony liked several of the homes, but Lucy kept insisting that they were either too big or too expensive—or both. And he couldn’t deny that most of them didn’t have nearly the yard space they were hoping for.
Sunday was shaping up to be another epic fail, until their agent got a call from his assistant about a house that had just been placed on the market.
“It’s a fixer-upper,” he told them. “In an up-and-coming neighborhood. If you’re looking for a good investment, this is it. They’re asking under market value, so I’m guessing it will go fast.”
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