Hope's Angel (30 page)

“Have I scared you away?” Her heart pounded in fear at how he might
answer the question. They were two houses away from the duplex, and she was
afraid he might be changing his mind about joining her at the party.

Greg shook his head but kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

“My folks are just really religious,” she said. “And old-fashioned.”

“You don’t have to explain.” He looked troubled, and Connie’s hopes
plummeted.

“I love you, Greg,” she said, squeezing his arm once more as she
watched his profile.

“I love you, too. Is that Paul?”

Connie turned to follow the direction of his gaze. Several people, some
with small children, were leaving the Cefalus’ house on the far side of the
duplex, coming down the front porch stairs, crossing the short yard to the cars
parked along the curb. Greg’s red Mustang sat beneath the streetlight in front
of the duplex, and two young men had come over to admire it.

Connie’s heart skipped a beat as she peered at the familiar silhouette.
“That’s his brother Chris. The other one’s his sister’s husband.”

“Why are they at your grandma’s?”

“They’re not. His grandparents live next door.”

Greg turned to her, his brow furrowed. “His grandparents live next
door? You never told me that.”

Connie shrugged, her eyes still on Chris Cefalu. She had never noticed
before how much his build resembled Paul’s.

“Is Paul there?” Greg’s gaze had returned to the men near his car.

They were almost to the duplex. The narrow basement windows beside the
little sidewalk were glowing with light; family who had driven back from the
church were already in the downstairs kitchen.

“I have no idea,” Connie said. She was anxious to keep it that way, and
so she nudged him to the right in an effort to let the house block them from
view.

“Hey, Connie. Merry Christmas.” The shrill female voice took Connie by
surprise, and she turned toward the sound. Paul’s sister Anne stood roughly
thirty feet away. She had joined the men beneath the streetlight, but her attentions
were on Connie, not the Mustang.

“Merry Christmas, Anne.” Connie forced a smile she didn’t feel and
nodded to the men. “Todd. Merry Christmas, Chris.”

“Paul will be out in a minute, Connie.” Anne’s voice was loud and harsh.
“I’m sure he’d like to wish you a Merry Christmas.” Her eyes shifted to Greg,
and she looked him up and down with undisguised disdain. Her gaze moved back to
Connie. “I hope you’ll at least give him that much.”

Todd took hold of his wife’s upper arm as if to pull her away, but Anne
shook him off, her eyes glued to Connie’s face. “He’s given up a lot for you.”
A hint of a sneer curled her upper lip. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

A jolt of fear shot through Connie.
Paul had told his
sister their story?
She tightened her
grip on Greg’s coat sleeve and lifted her chin to make sure Anne couldn’t see
the effect of her words. “Everybody’s waiting for us.” She held Anne’s gaze
with her own. “Wish him a Merry Christmas for me. And your family, too.”

She leaned into Greg once more, encouraging him to move toward the side
of the house. They needed to distance themselves from Anne as quickly as
possible.

Anne’s words rang sharp and clear. “My family doesn’t want anything to
do with you! Or your
puttana
of a sister!”

Connie stiffened at the reference to Gianna, and Greg’s gloved hand
came across to grip her arm where it crossed over his. His voice was low and
firm. “Whatever she said, let it go.”

She willed herself to keep walking, and Anne’s voice called out again. “You’re
a disgrace to the neighbor—ow!“

Connie turned in time to see Paul spin his sister around from behind. Anne
stumbled into him, and he grabbed both of her arms to keep her from falling,
his face fierce as it came within inches of hers. He never looked toward
Connie, his eyes locked on his sister’s, and Connie quickly turned away and hurried
Greg along until they were out of sight, shielded by the duplex. She was
shaking and on the verge of tears when they reached the back end of the house
and the silent expanse of snow-covered gardens.

Greg pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face against the
rough wool of his coat.

“I take it that was Paul’s sister,” he said into her hair.

Connie nodded and kept her face pressed into the shelter of his
shoulder.

“She was pretty pissed,” he said.

Connie waited until she felt under control, then stepped back and drew
in a deep breath, her eyes focused on the dark fabric of his coat. Paul’s
image—the look on his face—kept crowding into her mind. “They’re a close
family.”

“Aren’t you all.”

Connie met his eyes; they weren’t smiling.

“She said something nasty about Gianna,” he said, watching her.

“She called her a slut.”

His eyes softened as he reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Are
you okay?”

“I will be in a minute.”

Greg stood silently waiting, his gaze never leaving her face. Finally
he said, “What did Paul give up for you? Going into the marines with his
friends?”

Connie drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. She needed to tell him
the truth, to get it off her chest and out in the open. She forced herself to
not look away as she said, “He took the blame for something we did together. He
lied for me.”

Greg’s eyebrows knit in a look of confusion. “Something illegal?”

“No. Something…” Connie struggled to say the word. “…immoral.”

His face paled. “You slept with him?”

A profound sadness overwhelmed her; she was about to hurt him and
possibly drive him away. “No. But close.”

“Closer than anything we’ve done?”

Connie avoided his eyes as she nodded, miserable with the knowledge
that he would figure it out.

“How did he take the blame? He said he forced you?”

Connie stared past him at the naked grape arbor standing gray and
skeletal in the snow.“He said it was somebody else. The person who saw us
couldn’t tell that it was me. So he named someone else. But then that made everybody
see him as the bad guy who cheated on me when he really didn’t.”

 “And that’s why you’re still hung up on him.”

Connie’s heart was heavy as she turned to look up at his face. “I’m not
hung up on him, Greg.”

His wan smile did not hide the pain in his eyes. “You should have seen
your face just now, when you were telling me what he did. And damn if he didn’t
just do it again—defend you against his family.”

Connie’s voice broke as desperation overtook her. She reached up to
rest her palm on his cheek and turn his face toward hers. “That doesn’t mean I
love him, Greg! Not like I love you! He’s special, yeah. So is Nino, the guy
who’s in Vietnam now. But he’s not you. Neither one of them is.”

Laughing voices interrupted them as two young couples came around the
corner of the house. They balanced armloads of boxes wrapped in mixed patterns
of Christmas paper—her cousins from Pittsburgh. The women’s faces lit up with
delight when they saw Connie, but they quickly realized that they had intruded
on a bad moment. Connie forced herself to perk up, giving them a wide smile as
she took Greg’s arm and turned him toward the house.

“Merry Christmas! Greg, these are my cousins Marianne and Lucy and
their husbands, Bob and Ron. This is Greg. It’s great to see you guys! We were
just heading in!” Before Greg could protest, she pulled him toward the house, relying
on him not to embarrass her. He held the back door open for her cousins as they
entered, then silently followed Connie inside. She tried not to let herself
dwell on the vacant look in his eyes as she led him down the stairs to the
basement kitchen and the family waiting within.

Chapter
Twenty-one

Wednesday, December 25

Connie crawled on her hands and knees to reach for the bits of wrapping
paper that lay beneath the lowest branches of the Christmas tree. Behind her,
Gianna stuffed discarded paper, ribbon, and bows into a large brown grocery
bag. Even though it was almost noon, both still wore the red flannel pajamas
and matching slippers they had received as gifts from their parents.

Connie handed the retrieved scraps of paper to Gianna and sat back on
her heels to survey the room for more. The family had opened their gifts to
each other around four a.m., then crawled into bed, leaving the mess for later.

“Thanks for taking Greg home,” Connie said, looking up at her sister.

“We had to. He was in no shape to drive.”

Connie nodded as she pushed herself to her feet. “It’s a good thing he
ate as much pizza as he did. That old bottle of wine Tony found was practically
grappa
.”

Gianna pulled a ribbon from beneath the couch and added it to her bag.
“I hope he’s okay to come get you for dinner. We left his car keys on his
dresser.”

Connie smiled at the thought that her sister had been in Greg’s bedroom
before she had.

“He should be here soon,” Gianna continued. “Maybe you should get
dressed.”

Connie nodded and immediately grimaced as a sharp pain glanced through
the top of her head. “I wish Teresa hadn’t brought that bottle of Galliano.” Her
mind went back to the night’s activities, and she suddenly had a revelation.
“David didn’t drink any alcohol, did he?”

 “Nope.”

“And neither did you.” Connie sighed. “You guys do everything right.”

Gianna kept her back to Connie as she moved to the end of the couch.
“Hardly.”

“Yes, you do. My life is so messy. Yours is so neat and precise. You
meet a guy, you fall in love, you get engaged. You don’t drink. You take care
of other people who
do
drink. You take care of everybody. So does he. You’re the perfect couple.”

Gianna crossed the room to search for discarded wrap around Papa’s
recliner. “I thought maybe Greg would pop the question.”

“I’m not ready yet. He knows that.”

Gianna glanced at her. “I think he did, and you said no.”

Connie scowled at the thought that Greg had been so indiscrete. “Did he
tell you that?”

“No. But I guessed. He wasn’t himself last night.”

 Connie fussed with the antimacassar on the back of the couch.“I told
you, my life isn’t neat like yours.”

Gianna turned to face her. Her eyes were solemn and her voice
accusatory. “That whole thing about Paul being with Tina DeMarco was a
cover-up, wasn’t it? Tony saw
you
the night you came to tell me about it.”

Connie looked away, the pain in her head compounded by an aching tightness
in her chest. Paul’s face as he confronted his sister the night before wouldn’t
leave her mind. He had known Connie was thirty feet away, holding onto Greg,
and he had never looked at her. But she had seen his underlying expression, and
it wasn’t anger; it was a deep sadness.

“Who said it was Tina—Tony or Paul?” Gianna asked.

Connie avoided her eyes. “Paul. He didn’t think it would go beyond his
nonna.”

“And now you’d consider going back to him?”

Connie held back an urge to cry. “I don’t know. I just can’t stop
thinking about him. About how much I’ve hurt him for all the wrong reasons.”

Gianna’s voice was stern. “How many people do you think
he’s
hurt?”

Her judgmental statement jarred Connie out of her malaise. “What are
you talking about—a bunch of superficial relationships when he was a teenager?
It’s part of the deal. Yeah, he was a heartbreaker, but that was more about him
being super cute and a bunch of girls falling all over him! Any guy would take
advantage of that!”

Gianna held her course. “If you really believe that, why were you so
quick to believe he was cheating on you? You never even questioned it.”

Connie had no answer. Would she react the same way if someone told her
Greg was sleeping with someone else? Or would she give him the benefit of the
doubt, disbelieving until she knew differently?

 “I’d better get dressed,” she said, turning toward the doorway to the
kitchen.

“I never told you what David said about how he knows the LaCroixs,”
Gianna said.

Connie stopped partway to the door and looked back at Gianna. Her
sister’s expression was grave, and Connie held her breath. “What did he say?”

“He knows Ethan from Alcoholics Anonymous.”

Connie let out a sigh of relief. “So, David’s a counselor or
something?”

 “He’s a recovering alcoholic.”

 Connie stared at her.  
David?
“Did you know that before?”

“No.”

“He never told you?”

“He was planning to, but I asked him about the LaCroixs first.”

Connie wondered how that felt. “Does that bother you?”

“That he hadn’t told me? Or that he‘s an alcoholic?”

“Both.”

Gianna drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “He was going to
tell me before he asked me to marry him. And yeah, it scares me a little, but…
I believe in him.”

 “Okay. So that means Mr. LaCroix’s an alcoholic, too.” Connie pondered
that for a moment. “And David was his mentor, or whatever they call it?”

“Sponsor.” Gianna bit her lip, her face troubled. “And, no. Ethan is
his.”

Connie was taken by surprise once more, her preconceived ideas being
torn away one by one. “Since when?”

“About two years ago. Ethan’s the one who got him the job at the
museum. He knew people there because he brought them skins from animals that he
trapped.”

“And Mr. LaCroix told him about Angie?”

“No. One day they realized they both knew Father Ianelli, and when
David found out where Father was, he made the trip down here to see him. Father
was the one who told him the story about Angie and the LaCroixs and us.”

Connie feared the worst as she asked, “
Is
that why he introduced you to each other?”

“Sort of.” Gianna splayed out her left hand and smiled down at the
diamond on her finger. “I was walking to choir practice one day last summer,
and they were sitting outside on the patio at the rectory, and Father pointed
to me and said that I was from the family that took Angie in. And then he told
him I was single and asked David if he was interested in meeting me.”

“That’s cool,” Connie grinned.

“Actually, it wasn’t. He said no. But Father talked him into it anyway.”

“Seriously?”

Gianna looked up at her. “Can you blame him? I was this awkward, super-conservative
white girl. And then, when he took a chance and asked me to come see the
museum, I did exactly what he expected and said no.” She gave Connie a warm
smile. “You’re the one who brought us together.” But her smile quickly waned. “
Now you need to do something for yourself. You need to come face to face with
Paul once more and figure out once and for all which way you want to go.”

Connie grimaced. Facing Paul was the last thing she wanted to do.
Gianna stepped closer and looked straight into Connie’s face. “You talk about
hurting Paul. Well, you know what? Greg loves you, and you can’t keep hurting
him the way you are.”

***

Greg was noticeably subdued when he came to take her to his parents’
house.  Connie’s entire family was up by then, bustling about the kitchen and
living room, and he gave them strained smiles as he endured their ribbing about
his wine consumption the night before.

“How’s your head?” Connie asked when they were finally outside, heading
down the stairs.

“Pounding.”

“That wine was thirty years old, something Tony’s father made. It was closer
to brandy.”

Greg didn’t answer. Connie paused at the foot of the stairs and waited for
him to step down onto the sidewalk beside her. Five o’clock shadow darkened his
cheeks; he hadn’t shaved since the day before.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she slipped her arm into his. “You seem crabby.”

“I’m fine.”

Connie sighed and shook her head. She was about to go to dinner with
his less than amiable family, and she couldn’t even count on him to be
agreeable, much less supportive. Her own headache had gone into remission after
she took aspirin, but it was still there, lurking in the background, and enough
tension could easily bring it forward.

He left her to open her own car door, circling his Mustang to get in on
the other side, and maintained his silence as he drove them away from her house.
She had never seen him like this, and Gianna’s words about hurting him echoed
in her head. She glanced at his profile; his lightly whiskered cheek was close
enough to kiss. “I’m sorry about the wine.”

He declined to look at her. “You didn’t make me drink it.”

“No, but I made you stay when you probably didn’t want to. So you
drank.”

“Is that so?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t it?”

“And why were you drinking?”

“Because I like Harvey Wallbangers. And since they’re made with orange
juice, you think nothing’s happening so it’s easy to drink too much.”

Greg drove silently for a while, then said, “I had a good time,
actually. Your family knows how to have fun. What was that game with the dice
in the cigar box?”

“Liar’s Dice.” Connie thought about him sitting at the big table with
her extended family, joining in on the game-playing, eating and drinking,
conversing with her cousins and with David, interacting with everyone but her.

“Garrett and Emily won’t be there today,” he said, keeping his eyes on
the road. “They were at her parents’ house in Hartford yesterday and got snowed
in.”

“That’s too bad.”

Greg didn’t respond.

“Is this how it’s going to be all day?” she asked with another sigh.

“How’s that?”

“You treating me like dirt.”

He spoke without inflection. “I didn’t know I was treating you like
dirt.”

His behavior was more than she wanted to deal with.“Well, that’s how it
feels,” she said, letting her anger show. “And I’ll put up with it for now,
because I said I’d come to your parents’ house for dinner, and I’m not backing
out. But if you keep it up, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t need this.”

Greg continued to keep his profile to her. “Sorry. I feel lousy, and
I’m in a lousy mood. But you’re right. I don’t need to take it out on you.”

“Except—say it—
I’m
the reason you feel lousy!”

His jaw tensed. “I guess that’s my problem, not yours.”

His words stung. “Wow. Now I’ve gone from dirt to feeling like shit.”

Greg swung the car abruptly to the right and cut the motor in front of
a house she didn’t recognize. She looked out the side window in confusion.
“Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was harsh. “That’s the big question, isn’t
it?”

Connie turned to find him glowering at her, his irate face inches from
her own in the confines of the small car. Panic flooded her. They had had
disagreements in the past, but his irritation with her had never been so intense.
“Greg, what do you want from me? I was honest about Paul so we could get it out
in the open and then move on. At least I told you! You’ve never told me
anything
about your past!”

“You think I still care about Candy?” He practically spit out the
question as he glared at her.

“No— “ She faltered. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t. I never did. She was convenient and cute, and she put
out.” His eyes flashed with anger. “I wasn’t looking for anything more than that,
and I didn’t care about her. She’s nothing to me.” He narrowed his eyes, his fury
unabated. “I wasn’t looking for anything from you, either, until you wore that
damn mini-skirt, and all I could think about was getting under it. But then you
turned out to be a whole lot more than I expected, and suddenly I wanted to
protect
what was under it!”