Conviction of the Heart

by Alana Lorens

And Suzanne heard the unspoken corollary that accompanied that—‘you need a husband.’ “Mother!”

  “Can I help it if I want to see you happy?”

  Suzanne's woolgathering was interrupted by the girls shouting, “Turn here! Turn here!” She got a ragged glimpse of Perryville’s charming main street with the double-globed streetlights as Nick’s tires squealed, barely staying in their lane as he took the corner much too quickly. A couple of miles out of town, the roof of her parents' house came into view over the top of a hill. The butterflies in her stomach did the lambada as they pulled into the driveway. Nick came around to open her door, but the girls didn’t wait, leaping out to romp with their grandmother's Airedale in the six-inch layer of snow.

  “It's not a big deal, just turkey and pie,” Nick said low in her ear as they walked together up to the house.

  “I know. It’s just that I haven’t brought anyone here like this since John. It seems so—official.”

  “Really?” He smiled broadly. “I suppose I should be more honored then. Maybe I should have worn a tux.” He squeezed her elbow and winked broadly. Idiot. Despite his teasing, or maybe because of it, she felt much more comfortable.

  They climbed the porch steps and Suzanne launched into the mechanics of proper introductions, letting the formal protocol trump her nerves. “Mom, Dad, this is Nick Sansone. Nick, these are my parents, Maureen and Paul Young.”

  “A pleasure to meet you both,” Nick said. He shook their hands like they were visiting heads of state.

  “Come inside, come inside,” her mother said. She patted each of them on the shoulder as they came past her into the kitchen. The girls raced upstairs with their overnight bags since they were staying the weekend. Nick offered to be the porter, but Maureen shushed him with a quick wink of a sparkling brown eye.

  “No, no, you’re a guest here, Nick! Let Paul show you his masterpiece.”

  Nick and Paul detoured into the living room, their voices covered by the drone from the television. Suzanne frowned. “Masterpiece? What masterpiece?”

  “You know men, honey. That entertainment center your father built is always a talking point when they get together.”

  “Entertainment center. Right.” Suzanne rolled her eyes and continued into the kitchen, which smelled of sage and garlic, a trace of cinnamon lingering as well. Pumpkin and mince pies sat on racks on the spotless counter. The wooden cabinets around the walls were polished to a shine, and the area around was orderly and clean, even in the midst of dinner preparation. Such a neatnik, her mother—clearly genes that hadn’t been passed to Suzanne, whose organizing skills were strung out on life support.

  The scent brought back memories of other holidays, when her mother’s table had buoyed up Suzanne, made her feel whole again when her life was out of control. As independent as Suzanne liked to be, something about being back in her mother’s kitchen allowed her to let some of her worries go. Even if it was just for the hours she remained there.

  “He’s nice looking, your lieutenant,” Maureen said, a twinkle in her eye as she poured them both a cup of coffee and set out the cream. “So tall.”

  “Yes, he certainly is.” Suzanne read her mother’s face, seeing only approval. “Just what the fortune teller ordered.” Tall, dark and handsome, wasn’t that the usual lingo?

  “You went to a fortune teller?” Maureen gasped.

  “No, Mom. I didn’t go to a fortune teller.” Suzanne laughed. “I’m teasing you. I told you Nick was a nice guy. He’s very thoughtful. Believe me, he wants to look out for us in every sense of the words. It’s his job, you know.”

  “Of course. Is work going well?”

  Maureen gave Suzanne her cup and a spoon, then sat at the oak table, still bare but with the cloth and dishes to go on it piled at one end. The girls’ footsteps sounded overhead, then Suzanne heard them come downstairs to join the men in the living room.

  “I’m staying busy.” A nice, safe answer. Her mother didn’t need to hear about any dangers inherent in Suzanne’s work. She had enough to worry about, managing her husband’s blood pressure and the farm, too.

  “I worry about you, Suzie. I know you’re one of these new liberated women who can take care of yourself and handle everything.” Her dark eyes searched Suzanne’s face, emotion intensifying as she continued. “Last year, when I almost lost your father, I learned that we all need to love and be loved. Facing the prospect of being alone scares me to death. You’re human, too. Your children love you, but not in the way each adult person needs, love, support, understanding? No man is an island—and no woman, either.”

  Silence hung for a few seconds in the kitchen, then Suzanne’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out to look at it. A text message from Maddie. “Excuse me a minute, Mom.”

  She selected the message. He’s taken Katie!

  Irritation prickling through her skin, Suzanne apologized with her eyes and stepped into the pantry for some privacy, dialing Maddie’s number. When she answered, Suzanne said, “When did he take her?”

  “She must have slipped out this morning. I thought she was studying in her room, but she’s gone.” Maddie’s voice cracked with the effort of holding back tears.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Not yet. I called you first. I don’t believe he’s doing this! He knows the children are the only thing I care about.” The sobs tore loose, and Suzanne heard a loud clunk, as if the phone had been dropped, then anxious voices.

  “Maddie?” A growl of frustration escaped her. If Greg had broken into the house, someone should call the police. Do something. “Maddie?”

  A moment later a scrabbling noise on the other end of the phone and then a relieved Maddie. “She’s here. She’s back. Joshua took her for a walk, but she told him she wasn’t going to Greg’s.” The hint of a smile in her voice. “I’m so sorry for disturbing your holiday. I promise I won’t call again.”

  “Don’t be silly. If you call, I’ll be there for you, Maddie. That’s what I’m here for.”

  Maddie said goodbye and Suzanne held the blank phone in her hand a moment, glad the pantry door was closed. Maybe she could stall off her mother’s persistent nagging a little longer. Or at least formulate a coherent response.

  She only wants to see you happy. By her definition, that is. A happily married woman, at home, caring for her man.

  Suzanne shuddered. No, thank you. She enjoyed her independence and intended to keep it.

  The door opened suddenly, startling her. She nearly dropped the phone as she took a step back, ramming her shoulder into a thick shelf of canned goods. “Ouch!”

  Nick studied her curiously. His broad shoulders blocked the kitchen from her view. “What are you doing in here? Did your mom put you in time-out or something?”

  “I had a phone call.”

  “Suz, I thought—”

  “And I thought you weren’t going to interfere with my work. I don’t tell you how to handle perps, do I?” The edge in her voice was intentional. He’d better take the hint.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was just making sure you weren’t living the life of a football widow.” He stepped out of the doorway, turning to give her mother a friendly smile. “Anything I can do?”

  “No, dear. Suzie and I can handle it. Here, let me get you some fresh coffee.” Her mother poured him a cup, and poured a second one, too. Suzanne thought at first it might be for her, but her mother handed it to Nick. “Give this to Paul, would you?”

  “Of course. Thank you.” He carefully held the full, steaming cups in front of him and headed for the living room, pausing a moment to wink at Suzanne.

  Slick, Mom. Very slick. Suzanne bit her lip, feeling a little sheepish and definitely torn between her responsibilities. Her mother looked at the old black and white clock on the wall by the stove. “Dinner is in about half an hour. Let’s set the table.”

  The two women laid out the white linen tablecloth that had belonged to Maureen’s mother
, the one used only for special occasions. Even with infrequent use, the cloth had acquired certain stains that would only have come out with bleach too harsh for its aged threads. Suzanne recognized the mark left when a too-eager Riviera had decided to serve everyone blueberry cobbler one Easter Sunday when she was much younger. Coffee and tea alike had left traces over the years, and somewhere she remembered a blood stain left from some rare roast beef. A quick scan didn’t reveal it. Perhaps time had removed it from view, just as time tended to cover over memories, letting them fade away.

  She laid out the Fiestaware plates, alternating their assorted shades of green around the table, then the salad bowls and cups and saucers, while Maureen placed real silverware at each setting. Suzanne remembered the wooden box that had been carefully carried to America by one of her great-great aunts, inside enough silverware to set a table for sixteen. Every year the utensils must be rubbed with the anti-tarnish cream before they were used; now the forks and knives gleamed with the polishing Maureen had surely given them the day before. A special occasion indeed.

  That task complete, her mother surveyed the kitchen, tapping her finger to her lips. “The salad is tossed, and the service bowls set out.” She opened the refrigerator and closed it. “I’ll have your father come mash the potatoes in a few minutes.” She turned to Suzanne and smiled as a roar went up from the other room. “I think I’ve got everything else under control. Why don’t you see what trouble they’re getting into?”

  In the living room, she found Nick ensconced in a recliner chair, focused as closely as her father on the football game. They waved their fists at the television almost in unison as a play ended and the girls broke into excited discussion.

  “He didn’t make it.”

  “It was too a first down!”

  Paul pointed to the screen. “They’re bringing out the chains.”

  Suzanne snorted. “Chains? Are they dragging someone to the dungeon? I didn’t think they could do that for a penalty.”

  All four turned to her with a deadpan look of disbelief. Hope finally said, “Mom. Don’t be an idiot. They’re measuring.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Suzanne shrugged a bit, chastised. She leaned on the back of Nick’s chair, watching her family as much as the broad screen in front of her. After a few moments, she felt the touch of Nick’s hand on hers, on the far side of the chair from where her father sat. She glanced at him and found a warm smile sitting on his lips. She let herself return it. Everything will be all right.

  Even once they all sat at the table for the meal, Nick mesmerized the group, handling the conversation with deft expertise. He discussed politics and farming with her father, then home repair and the preparation of perfect gravy with her mother. He went on to tease Riviera about her new boyfriend, and Suzanne wondered how he’d gotten ahead of her on that.

  “Your boyfriend?” she asked her daughter. “When did that happen?”

  Riviera turned three shades of red. “He’s not my boyfriend. I mean, he’s a boy, and he’s a friend, so…I mean. Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

  “Right,” Hope said. Her eyes twinkled with a sarcastic glint. “Nothing at all.”

  Riviera elbowed her sister. “Shut up.”

  “Where did you meet this boy who’s a friend?” Suzanne’s mother asked, taking over the interrogation. Suzanne knew from years of experience that it was impossible to escape her mother’s determination. Maureen was much more stubborn than her sweet face would lead one to believe.

  Apparently Riviera knew, too. “He goes ice skating on Saturdays down at the rink. He was just showing me some moves, that’s all. Then we started talking online. He’s really nice.” She stared down at her empty plate. “Isn’t it time for pie, yet?”

  Suzanne’s mother laughed. “It must be. You girls clear the plates and bring in the pies, will you? The whipped cream is in the refrigerator.”

  The girls did as they were asked, even bringing the adults the coffee pot, which they passed around, emptying it into their four cups. When the pie had been served and eaten, Nick offered to help with the dishes.

  Suzanne’s mother shook her head. “Suzie and I have a routine, Nick. You and Paul go relax, and we’ll have this cleaned up in no time.”

  “Are you sure? I take orders pretty well, or at least Suzanne thinks so.” He winked at her again, and she knew he referred to the day she’d done her fall cleanup. But it did him no good.

  “No, no, you go on, dear. Have Paul show you his workshop.”

  The men left the kitchen, quickly followed by the girls, retreating to the living room to catch the end of the game. Suzanne cleared the table, pausing before the window over the sink to admire the view. As dusk set in, the moon appeared, hanging just over the horizon, reflecting off the snow in a silent and peaceful landscape.

  Her mother wiped and stacked the dishes for Suzanne to dry, methodically moving from soapy water to rinse, a ritual that was the product of fifty years’ practice. The two worked in silence, washing and wiping, until the kitchen was restored to its normal sparkling appearance. “The girls seem happy,” her mother remarked. “Like normal sisters. You never had that problem—or the joys of sisters, either. I always regretted that we couldn’t have another child. Everyone should have a sibling.”

  Suzanne dried her hands on the damp dish towel and hugged her mother. “I’m sure I did just fine without, Mom.”

  “You’ve done well, honey.” Maureen held her close. She whispered, “I like him.”

  “Good. So do I.”

  Maureen let go and put the last few plates away. “He’s more educated than I thought.”

  “Well, you never know when a police officer will need to quote Shakespeare on the beat.” Really? After the entire dinner conversation, that’s what her mother noticed?

  Mother and daughter sat at the kitchen table again, and Suzanne felt the presence of ghosts of déjà vu. This table had hosted marathon nights of canasta, neither willing to quit until the other was thoroughly beaten, the planning of Halloween parties in the big, dark wooden barn, shared confidences, The Talk about sex, worrying over her dad’s health.... But always a very safe and peaceful place, compared to Suzanne's daily life of telephones, emergencies and court calendars.

  Maureen took a sip of her cooling coffee. “So we’ll bring the girls home Saturday night?”

  “That will give us time to get homework done. Sure, thanks.”

  The group in the other room broke into cheers. Apparently their team had won. A few moments later, Nick came into the room, one arm around each girl. Hope and Riviera seemed ecstatic. Paul shuffled in behind in his worn slippers. “Nothing good ever came out of Detroit,” he muttered.

  “What a nice looking family,” Maureen said, her eyes fastened on man and girls. Paul came up behind Suzanne and patted her on the shoulder before leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

  “Don’t let this one get away, okay?” he warned her.

  Et tu, Dad? “Right.” She looked at Nick, feeling tears sting her eyes. It was a nice looking family. Maybe one of these days…

  Nick cleared his throat. “Suzanne, the Weather Channel said something about more snow later. We’d better—”

  Saved! “Right. We’d better.” She got up quickly, careful not to run the chair over her father’s instep. Riviera and Hope gave Suzanne hugs and kisses, and then, to Suzanne’s amazement, did the same to Nick before they returned to the television. Odd to see them treat Nick like a father.

  His approval rating seems to be unanimous. Why am I the only one who’s reluctant?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nick entered the month of December delighted with his life. Despite the attempts of Jojo Washington to get under his skin, he’d navigated the retirement dinner without losing his temper. And he’d Met The Parents. They really seemed to like him, too. He couldn’t ask for anything more in his life.

  What an irritation, then, halfway through that first week of the month, when he g
ot hauled into Reickert’s office for a dressing-down.

  The summons was scrawled on a pink message slip on his desk when he returned from an investigation of a theft in mid-afternoon. Having his problem children on temporary assignment might make the squad room more pleasant, but it also left him shorthanded. He found himself on the streets more than he’d been in a few months. It felt good to get out, work hands on, instead of juggling paperwork all day like the rest of the bureaucrats.

  But when the chief called, you went.

  He stuck his head into Reickert’s office. “What did you need, Chief?”

  The old man didn’t get up. “Take a seat, Nick. And close the door.”

  Well, that wasn’t a good sign. What the hell… Nick did as he was told, suspicion making him hyperaware of everything going on around him. It was just the chief, no one from Internal Affairs. So it couldn’t be a mistake he’d made on the street. So what then?

  Reickert seemed to be fumbling for words. Not one to waste time, Nick leaned forward, hands on his knees. “What’s going on?”

  The old man cleared his throat. Twice. “Nick, I’m getting some pressure here. You know I’m not one to bow down to city hall, but…” He trailed off, his expression one of helplessness.

  Was Reickert in some kind of trouble? Nick had never seen him like this. “You want me to talk to someone, boss?”

  “Actually, we’d all be better off if you quit talking to someone.” Reickert had the good graces to look embarrassed as Nick guessed the subject of the discussion.

  “Seriously? This is about Suzanne Taylor?” Even the thought of Morgan stooping this low raised his blood pressure.

  “Now, Nick, I’m sure she’s a fine woman, and you have every right to see who you want to see,” the chief sputtered. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, but—”

  “Damned straight you’re not.” Fury gave way to disbelief, then segued to a sort of morbid curiosity. “What is it Morgan said exactly?”

  The chief stiffened as Nick used the councilman’s name. “I didn’t tell you that’s who it was.”