Ask Mariah (9 page)

"I came home to visit, not to work. I've bought a boat. I'm planning to open my own charter business."

Vincent shook his head. "No. You want to sail on the weekends, fine, but this is your business. This is where you belong. I'm not getting any younger. I want you and Frank to run the restaurant when I retire."

"You're not going to retire for a long time," Tony argued.

"This will be my last Christmas at the restaurant."

"Is something wrong?" he asked in surprise.

"I'm tired." Vincent waved his hands. "The customers are getting younger. They want new dishes. They don't recognize the people in the photographs on the wall. They don't talk about us in the
Chronicle
anymore. We're losing business. You and Frank can bring it back. Frank, he has the smart head. But you, you have the smile. The ladies, they will come to see you. Louis' son, Rico, will keep them here with his cooking, and Frank will make sure they pay the bill. It is the perfect solution."

Yeah, if he wanted to run a restaurant -- which he didn't. "I'm sorry. Papa, but I can't do this. I'm not cut out to be inside all day long. I hate that it's so dark in here. I like windows and wide, open spaces and the sound of the ocean and the birds as they dive into the water to search for dinner. I belong on the sea, not here in this restaurant."

Vincent's eyes filled with disappointment. "Those are the words of a young boy. You are a man now. I provided for you. I gave you a roof over your head, food in your stomach, clothes on your back, and you cannot do this for me? For your mother? For your brother? For the loving memory of your sister? We are a family. This is what the De Lucas do."

"Not this De Luca."

"You would turn your back on your family?"

Anger ripped through him. He damned his father for making him feel guilty and damned himself for letting it happen.

Fortunately their conversation was interrupted when Vincent's brother, Louis, stalked out of the kitchen screaming about the scrawny chicken in his hands. Suddenly Vincent and Louis were arguing about the cost of meat as they had done every day of their lives. Frank came into the middle of it, then his cousin Rico. They all shouted at the same time, each one determined to make his point.

Tony slowly backed away. He couldn't do this. He couldn't work in this restaurant and argue about chicken wings for the rest of his life. He couldn't spend his days in a room with no windows. He couldn't cook worth a damn, and he hated to budget. The only remotely good thing about the restaurant was the free booze.

He shouldn't have come home. They didn't understand him. They never had. Not even Michael really knew how restless he was.

He moved toward the kitchen door, sensing freedom. The door opened behind him, and a voice spoke in his ear. "The back alley is clear if you're looking for a way out," Kathleen Shannon said.

He scowled at her knowing grin. "Who says I'm planning to leave?"

"Your eyes. You have the look of a desperate man who's seeing the prison doors slamming shut one by one, until there's no possible chance for escape. I've seen that look before."

He wanted to question her cryptic answer, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank turn in his direction. Like a coward he fled through the back door into the alley, past the trash cans, and down the sidewalk until he hit the street, until he saw the bay in the distance, the marina, the flags on the boats, the Golden Gate Bridge -- freedom. He'd escaped. And damn that Kathleen Shannon for reading him so right. Nobody knew his private thoughts, and that's the way he liked it.

* * *

Caroline Wingate took a deep breath and opened the door to the den, her husband's private sanctuary. She could still see him sitting in the leather chair behind the desk, chatting on the phone as he smoked one of his favorite Cuban cigars, or asleep on the couch with a fishing magazine resting against his chest, gently snoring.

"Oh, Edward," she whispered, placing a hand to her heart. "Why did you have to die first?"

Because Edward had done everything first. He had taken the lead in every decision they'd made. A warm, spontaneous man who loved life with every breath, he had overwhelmed her at their first meeting. She had been working as a secretary at a law firm. Her boss and Edward were partners in a land deal. Edward had begun to stop by once or twice a week to drop off papers.

Quiet and shy by nature, she had never imagined that a man so full of vim and vigor could be interested in her. She didn't have much confidence in herself or in her looks. She'd barely dated in high school. In college she'd buried herself in books rather than face lonely Saturday nights.

After graduation her friends had spent time planning their upcoming weddings. She, on the other hand, had looked for a job. When she met Edward at age twenty-six, she had yet to receive even one declaration of love, much less a proposal.

But somehow, mysteriously, Edward Wingate saw something in her that he liked. He proposed to her one month after they met, and she accepted, thrilled beyond belief to finally be moving into the next stage of her life.

Although the marriage started off right, the babies she longed for didn't come. Six years of trying elicited nothing. When she turned thirty-two, she began to panic. The doctors told her to relax. She read what few books there were on infertility, but no one seemed to have any answers. She researched the best possible time of the month to conceive, and insisted that she and Edward have sex at just that time, regardless of whether she felt like it or not. Having a baby became her quest.

The world outside ceased to exist. All she'd cared about was the baby that she didn't yet have. She felt like a failure and withdrew from all her friends, refusing invitations to parties so she wouldn't have to explain why she and Edward didn't have children. Sometimes she'd blamed herself for their problem. Sometimes she'd blamed Edward. The silences grew longer, the space in the middle of the bed colder.

It was the worst time of their marriage. But finally a miracle happened, and Joanna came along. Joanna had pulled them back together with the force of her smile and the power of her love. Their family was finally complete. After that, she and Edward never talked about the early days, both content to enjoy the daughter they finally had.

The three of them had been inseparable over the years. Until two months ago. Until Edward had died.

Now she only had Joanna.

Joanna, who wanted to go through her father's papers.

Caroline couldn't allow her daughter to do that. She took another deep breath as she looked at the papers in front of her, not sure where to begin. Edward had done everything for her, paid the bills, invested their money, repaired the cars, repainted the house, and remodeled the kitchen. He'd made all the decisions, and she'd never questioned his wisdom.

When something didn't look quite right, she had simply turned away. Now she was afraid to look away, afraid that if she didn't face this particular task head-on, Joanna would, and God only knew what she'd find out.

Caroline had loved Edward with all her heart, and he had loved her; she was sure of that. But there were secrets between them. She was sure of that, too.