A Family Affair: Summer: Truth in Lies, Book 3 Page 15

  “And who was the lady that died?” Lizzie asked in a loud whisper.

  “The one who lived here?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  Lily leaned close and said in an equally loud whisper. “That was Aunt Gloria.”

  And just like that, Lily made sense out of the confusion and chaos of a blended family and even more difficult, she gave Gloria a place in that family.

  ***

  Christine took in her uncle’s jeans and chambray double-washed shirt, definitely not the sophisticated, dapper Harry Blacksworth style she’d associated with the man. Had she ever seen him in anything as casual as jeans? His sweat outfits were only for exercise, but other than that? No, she didn’t think so, and the mere fact that he stood before her, looking as out of place as Nate in a tuxedo, made the sight endearing. “Uncle Harry, you look so,” Christine paused and hid a smile, “comfortable.”

  He attempted a frown, but it caved. “Not a word, Chrissie girl. Not a damn word.” Then he stepped closer and muttered, “Next she’ll have me wearing friggin’ flannel and corduroy.”

  The “she” being Greta. Uncle Harry was all bluster these days, because they both knew he’d wear overalls and work boots if his wife asked him to do it. That’s what love did to a person. “I think I’d like to see you in flannel and corduroy. Don’t be surprised if your goddaughter doesn’t get them for you next Christmas.”

  He shook his head and swore. “What the hell ever happened to style? Come to think of it, what the hell happened to me? Greta’s got me wearing these damn jeans around the house, said she got tired of the holes I made in my trousers. How the hell was I to know a pair of gabardines wouldn’t hold up on a jungle gym? The damn things cost enough.”

  Christine’s lips twitched. “I don’t think that’s what the designers had in mind.”

  “Huh.” He grinned. “Don’t tell Greta, but the damn jeans are actually comfortable and I buy the high-end ones so they fit well and if paired with the right shoe, say an Italian loafer, look pretty sharp.”

  “No tennis shoes for you?” This time she could not keep the humor from her words.

  He rolled his eyes and scowled. “Not unless I’m in the gym. I’m serious about that one. I love Greta and the kids, but I do have standards.”

  “You’re happy, aren’t you, Uncle Harry?”

  “Damn straight I am.” His voice dipped, turned rough. “Happier than I have a right to be.” He cleared his throat and met her gaze, his blue eyes bright. “Who would have ever thought this could happen to me, huh, Chrissie girl? A wife, kids, shit, a damn two-wheeler in the garage…and who would have thought I’d be so damned happy about it? I guess miracles really do happen.”

  There was much about the trip that Christine would remember with a certain nostalgia, but there was also a good deal she’d just as soon forget. It was one thing for Nate to hear about her other life, her other home, how she grew up, the privileges she enjoyed. But it was something else to sit at the long table, passing food from china that cost more than most of his men made in a week, touch the coolness of the marble in the hallway, stare out the back window at the landscaping that would be a horticulturist’s haven.

  Nate was silent as they lay in her old bed that first night, surrounded by her childhood and too much wealth. He hadn’t said much since they’d gotten here, but she could tell by the way his gaze narrowed and his head tilted that he was taking it all in, every last cornice, every tapestry and chandelier. Was he picturing her here, thinking about how her life was and how it could have been? Was he having regrets?

  The last possibility shot through her brain, burst, and sent a ripple of panic to the rest of her body. “Nate, what are you thinking?”

  He stroked her back through the soft cotton of her T-shirt, his breath fanning her hair, and murmured, “I’m thinking it’s a good thing I didn’t see all of this before.”

  She lifted her head and tried to see his face in the semidarkness. “What do you mean?” Of course, she already knew what he meant, but she wanted him to say it, so she could make him see exactly how wrong he was.

  He sighed and his hand stilled. “I always knew we were from different worlds, but walking into your world is a real eye-opener. If I’d done that before I touched you, we might never have happened.”

  Christine sucked in air and tried to keep her voice calm. “How can you say that? Do you know how much that hurts?”

  “I’d never hurt you.” He said this with a fierceness that spoke of truth and conviction. “I still would have been dying to touch you, and I was half in love with you the first time I saw you, but if I had come here, seen you in a life I couldn’t begin to understand? I don’t think I could have asked you to give it up.”

  There was fear and uncertainty laced in the breath of his words, uncomfortable and unfamiliar feelings in someone like her husband. Nate was a proud man who made commitments and choices based on integrity and doing the right thing. Fear and uncertainty had no room in his life, and yet, here they were. She kissed him on the mouth, trailed her lips along his jaw and murmured, “Even if I wanted to give it up? Even if Magdalena became my true home? You would let me leave and never know the happiness and love—” she kissed his mouth again “—and sheer joy of life with you?”

  His voice turned rough. “I would want to do the right thing.”

  “And you have, Nathan Desantro.” She sat up, slipped her fingers beneath his boxers and smiled into the semidarkness. “You most certainly have.”

  ***

  The surprise of the visit came the next day right before dinner. Greta and Nate were in the kitchen finishing up the last touches for the stuffed chicken-mashed potatoes-gravy-and-string bean dinner. Christine had just fed Anna and Jackson was asleep. AJ, Lizzie, and Lily were playing hide and seek in the basement. It was pretty much a day that would never have been permitted when Christine was growing up. When the doorbell rang, Harry answered it.

  “Christine,” he called from the foyer. “Someone to see you.”

  The someone was a beautiful young woman with dark hair and hazel eyes, dressed in a plain navy blouse and jeans. “Christine?” Her eyes lit up as she approached and offered a hand.

  “Hello.” Christine shook her hand and said, “How may I help you?”

  “I’m Elissa Cerdi. I used to cook for Mrs. Blacksworth,” she paused, “And then I became her companion.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t, not really. “You took care of my mother?” This was the girl her mother had referred to in her letter. Was she with Gloria when she died?

  Elissa Cerdi’s smile spread. “I like to think we took care of each other,” she said in a soft voice. “What a wonderful woman she was, but you know that.”

  Well. What to say to that? “Were you the one who mailed the letters?”

  The young woman’s eyes glistened with tears. “She gave me very specific instructions not to mail the letters until she was gone.” She sniffed, swiped at her nose. “I wanted to tell you when she was…when she was…”

  “When she was near the end?”

  She nodded. “But Mrs. Blacksworth wouldn’t permit it. Was I wrong to listen to her?” Her voice caught, filled with grief and sadness. “Would you have wanted to say a proper good-bye to your mother?” The girl glanced at the fireplace where the bronze urn rested. “I helped her pick that out. It was so sad.”

  “Thank you for being there for her.” Christine didn’t know what she felt right now. Her mother was dead, and even though Gloria had created untold turmoil and pain, she had still been her mother. But what kind of mother hires a woman to seduce her daughter’s husband? What was the real reason Gloria hadn’t wanted to see Christine before she died? Oh, she’d mentioned in the letter that she hadn’t wanted to cause any more inconvenience, but that didn’t sound like the woman who had driven Uncle Harry from The Presidio after her fall. Or the one who had insisted Connor Pendleton was the perfect choice for the perfect gene pool. Or the one who hired Natali
e Servetti to seduce Nate, so Christine would “wake up” and get a divorce. Or the one who slept with her brother-in-law…They said people can change, but could they really? And if so, how much?

  “I’m so glad to meet you.” Elissa Cerdi beamed. “Mrs. Blacksworth told me all about you. And she said you married the most handsome man and you were very much in love with him and even had a baby.”

  Christine stared. “My mother said that?”

  The girl’s smile faltered, but she worked it back into place. “Well, not exactly. I was the one who said your husband must be terribly handsome because you are so beautiful, and that you must be very much in love.”

  “Ah. And what did my mother say to that?”

  “It was toward the end and it was hard for her to speak.” She blinked back tears and said in a soft voice, “But she smiled. It was just a faint tilt of her lips, but I saw it.”

  Or maybe the girl saw something that wasn’t really there because she wanted to see it. “Was there anything else you interpreted for my mother that she didn’t actually say?”

  There was a split-second hesitation and then a quick nod. “There is one more thing. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  Christine remained calm and asked in a casual voice, “What was that?”

  “The part in the letter that said Lily should come here.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I kind of wrote that.”

  So, Gloria had not invited Lily to Chicago. No surprise there. “Kind of?”

  She shrugged. “I copied Mrs. Blacksworth’s writing and wrote real light so it looked old.”

  “You had me fooled. You’re a very good copycat.”

  “I’m sorry. I meant no harm. It just seemed like Lily should see where her sister grew up.”

  Christine nodded. “Thank you.” And then, because she really was grateful and because there might be more snippets she should know that could help her determine if Gloria’s professed “epiphany” were real or just another guilt trip, she said, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  ***

  “Mrs. Blacksworth was a very kind woman.” The girl’s big eyes teared up. “So gentle and caring.”

  Harry almost spit out his drink. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stared at Elissa Cerdi. “Are we talking about Gloria Blacksworth? Blond hair, small, spent her life making herself look young?”

  “Harry.” Greta shook her head and cast him a look that said, “Respect the dead, even your sister-in-law.”

  “Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “It’s just that we never really saw that side of Gloria. We were always treated to a bit harsher and unforgiving part of her.”

  The young woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “She donated much of her clothing to a center for displaced women who are forced to start over due to a divorce, or a spouse’s death, and find themselves in need of a job. They don’t have money to buy clothing for interviews or even to go to work. Mrs. Blacksworth was very generous.”

  “I’ll bet all that satin and silk will come in handy at the copy machine.”

  “Harry. Please.” This from Greta.

  He shrugged but went on. “Seriously, these women are wearing thousand-dollar outfits to interview for a minimum-wage job? Am I the only one who thinks this picture is whacked?”

  “It’s the intention that counts, Harry.” Greta sipped her wine and said in a soft voice, “That counts for a lot, even if the outcome isn’t what we expect.”

  There was a message for him, buried somewhere within that German accent, and from the way Harry’s expression softened, he understood it. “Okay, Gloria Blacksworth was a saint, how about that?”

  Nate wanted to add a thought or two, but he’d keep his mouth shut. Maybe Christine needed to believe her mother had changed, but Nate wasn’t buying it, not the sad letters, the “I’m dying but I don’t want to bother you” routine, not even the clothing giveaway that probably had more to do with dumping last year’s styles than donating to the needy.

  Gloria Blacksworth’s former cook-turned-companion glanced around the table, taking all of them in before saying, “She loved all of you. Every last one.”

  Harry sputtered. Nate coughed. Christine held her breath. But it was Lily who spoke. “And we loved her, too.”

  That comment carried them through the remainder of dinner and dessert and still hovered over Harry and Nate as they shared a drink later that night.

  “What do you make of all this?” Harry waved a hand and arced the air.

  “This? As in the crystal and chandeliers? Or this.” Nate held up his glass and saluted Harry, “As in some of the finest whiskey I’ve ever tasted?”

  They were sitting in the living room, drinking whiskey and enjoying the quietness of a house that an hour ago had been bursting with activity and noise, lots of noise. Laughter, chatter, foot stomping, running, baby fussing, and the occasional delighted shriek. It was hard to discern if the shriek had come from Lizzie or Lily. Most likely both. They’d certainly become quick buddies, which put AJ on the outs, but Harry had pulled him in with talk of golfing and a half-promise to take him to Magdalena for a visit. Did Greta know about that or had Harry just pulled it out of his parental “bag of tricks” to make the kid feel better? Nate hoped it was the first, because telling a kid something you didn’t mean to carry out was a quick road to distrust and if Harry hadn’t learned that yet, he would soon.

  Harry pointed to Nate’s glass. “That’s good stuff. I’ll send you a case.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you don’t need it, and if I told you what I paid for it, you’d choke. So, when it arrives at your doorstep in a few weeks, accept it graciously.” He paused. “Besides, it’s Chrissie’s favorite.”

  “Right.”

  Harry grinned. “I thought it would make it easier to accept if I said my niece loved it.”

  Nate shook his head and sipped his drink. Smooth, full, with just the right amount of burn. Maybe he would accept that case after all.

  “You think this is all some kind of bullshit to get us to feel sorry for her?” Harry shook his head and sipped his whiskey. “This ‘welcome to my house and remember the good times’ reeks of it. I knew Gloria a hell of a long time and she never once did anything that didn’t benefit her or her causes.”

  Nate had only seen his dead mother-in-law twice, but she’d left a trail of lies and destruction behind that almost killed his marriage. That he wasn’t about to forget or forgive anytime soon. Maybe in twenty or thirty years, then again, maybe not. And he had a feeling the notebook she’d sent Christine that currently rested on the top shelf of their closet would create more havoc if and when his wife decided to read it. “She never struck me as the Mother Teresa type.”

  “Nope.” Harry downed the rest of his drink. “Just talking about her makes me need another drink.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “I cut way back on the drinking.” He shrugged. “Keeping up with three kids is a shitload of work and this mellows me out too much. Besides, laying off the booze makes Greta happy.”

  Nate sighed and downed the rest of his whiskey. “The things we do for our women.”

  “Damn straight.” Harry snatched the bottle from the coffee table and refilled Nate’s glass, then his own. “If drying a dish every now and then makes them smile, why not?”

  “Or making sure the toilet seat is down.”

  Harry nodded. “Just being polite. They think you’re a friggin’ prince.”

  “Control the belching.”

  “Eat the damn Brussels sprouts.”

  Nate laughed. “And the overcooked rolls.”

  “Pleasure them until—”

  “Hold it.” Nate pointed at Harry and said, “We are not going to discuss sex with my wife.”

  Harry sat up straight. “Good God, no. That’s my niece we’re talking about.”

  “Or maybe you were talking about your wife.”

  Harry sighed and set his dr
ink on the table. “Greta would clobber me with that marble rolling pin of hers if she heard me talking like that. Okay, let’s rewind that last part and say we’re willing to do just about anything to keep our women happy.”

  Nate nodded and sipped his drink. “Damn straight.”

  “You’re all right.” Harry grinned and eased back in his chair. “I had my doubts about you at first, but you’re good for her. I see it. And you’re a hell of a lot better than that asshole Connor Pendleton. He was more interested in getting into bed with her portfolio than with her.”

  Nate set his glass on the table and scratched his jaw. “Harry, what’s Greta going to say when she sees you with a black eye in the morning?”

  “Huh?”

  He kept his voice low and calm. “Say one more thing about my wife in bed with another man and that’s where this is heading.” He scowled. “Fast.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I love Christine like she’s my—” he stopped, paled.

  “What?” When Harry didn’t respond, Nate repeated, “Like she’s your what?”

  The pale bleached out the tan on Harry’s face. “Daughter,” he said. “Like she’s my own daughter.”

  Chapter 13

  Cash pulled two beers from the fridge and made his way into the living room. Nate was in the barn checking on inventory but he’d be in for a quick beer before he headed home. He’d returned from Chicago last week and wasn’t in town an hour before Cash was at his door, telling him they had a few things to settle. Cash hadn’t missed the smile on Christine’s face or the frown on Nate’s when he led him onto the deck—to the very same spot where Nate had told him to straighten up and stop acting like a jerk. Hard to admit you’re being one when you’re pure miserable and bent on making everybody around you miserable, too. Even the ones you loved. Hell, especially the ones you loved. But Cash had owed him an apology and he delivered one, which, of course, wasn’t good enough for Nate Desantro. He wanted to know the why, the when, and the damnable how that changed Cash’s mind, even though he already knew it started and ended with Tess.