Hope Street (39 page)

“You’re right,” she said, pushing away from the table. “Things didn’t work out well. Thanks for pointing that out.”

Before she could stand, her mother had clamped a hand over hers. Wanda’s hand was hard, her joints knobbed with arthritis, her skin freckled with age spots. But her palm was warm and she held Joelle tightly. “Don’t go running off, honey,” she murmured. “You’re hurting. I’m hurting for you. Seems to me there are worse things in this life than having a man who lives with you, gives you a nice home and good children, pays the bills, doesn’t drink and doesn’t like to open up. Men can be that way.
I’ve known a whole lot more of them than you have, Joelle. They’re like clams. They could have a pearl inside—a whole damn pearl necklace—but God help ’em, they won’t open up and let you see the good stuff.”

Just the touch of Wanda’s hand was enough to thaw the knot of anger inside Joelle. Her words turned that thawed knot into a warm rush of tears and gratitude. “He doesn’t love me, Mom,” she said in a wavering voice. “That’s the bottom line.”

“He doesn’t love you? What are you, nuts? He’s crazy about you.”

She shook her head. A few tears slithered down her cheeks, and she pulled a napkin from the plastic dispenser and wiped her face dry. She didn’t want to weep. She didn’t want to believe her situation was bad enough for tears. Yet here she was at her mother’s house, hundreds of miles from home, hundreds of miles from Bobby.

“I’ve seen him with you,” Wanda said. “He looks at you like a teenager checking out a centerfold. It’s all he can do not to drool.”

“That’s lust, Mom. Not love.”

“Don’t knock it.” She loosened her grip on Joelle’s hand, then patted it gently. “Lust’ll get you a lot closer to love than you realize.”

Not close enough,
Joelle thought. The last time she and Bobby had made love was the night after they’d told Claudia the truth about her conception. Bobby hadn’t reached for Joelle that night. She’d initiated their lovemaking. And afterward, Bobby had warned her that the wall they were perched on was about to collapse and hurl them down.

Lust couldn’t get her to love. If anything, it demonstrated just how far from love she and Bobby were.

June 1998

B
OBBY GAZED AROUND THE
interior of Our Lady of Lourdes and decided he could survive an hour in church. He’d gotten through both his sons’ christenings without melting down—he’d missed Claudia’s christening, thanks to ’Nam—and he could get through today. The church was just a place, after all. Just a building.

Before Mike’s christening, the last time Bobby had been in a church he’d been twelve. St. Mary’s in Holmdell had been a dreary church in the best of times, with dark stone walls and stained-glass windows depicting the most gruesome scenes in the life of Jesus. That day when Bobby was twelve, all those fractured images of Christ with is head wrapped in thorns, and Christ dead on the cross and Christ bleeding in his mother’s arms, had served only to magnify Bobby’s misery.

A coffin had stood in front of the altar, smooth and polished, shining like a freshly waxed car. His father had said, “That’s your mother in there,” and Bobby had wanted to kick things. Instead
he’d held Eddie’s hand and let their father lead them down a hall to the priest’s office.

“Let me talk to the boys alone for a minute,” Father Paul had said, ushering them inside.

The room had smelled of cedar and cigar smoke. Eddie had been too small for the chair next to Bobby’s; he’d had to shift forward so his legs wouldn’t stick straight out in front of him. His face had been blotchy red and damp. By Bobby’s calculation, Eddie had been crying pretty much nonstop for four days.

Father Paul had sat behind a huge desk, facing them. He’d been old and balding, his face as round as a volleyball. He’d seemed to have no neck, just his clerical collar. It kept his head from rolling away, Bobby had thought.

“Do you boys know why your mother died?” he’d asked. Eddie had given his head a vigorous shake, but Bobby had remained still, staring at Father Paul, daring him to come up with any possible justification for such a tragedy. “She died because God loved her so much. He wanted her in heaven with him. He knew that was where she belonged.”

Eddie had sniffled. Bobby had pulled a Kleenex from the box on Father Paul’s desk and handed it to him. Doing that had kept him from saying what he was thinking: that God must not have loved Bobby and Eddie very much if he would take their mother away from them.

“Your mother is an angel,” Father Paul had told them. “She’s an angel among angels, in God’s kingdom, where God wants her to be because He loves her so much.”

Bullshit,
Bobby had thought.

“Now your father is all alone, and he’s suffering,” Father Paul had gone on. “It’s very important that you boys mind him. You don’t want to increase his suffering. So whatever he tells you to
do, you do it. Don’t disobey him. Don’t talk back. Don’t give him a hard time. He’s lost his wife, and your job from here on in is to be obedient, well-behaved boys and do as your father says. Whatever he asks of you, you do it. Do you understand?”

Eddie had been blubbering openly by then. Bobby had nodded, because he’d figured agreeing with Father Paul was the fastest route to escaping from the stuffy office.

“Very well.” Father Paul had stood, which had given Bobby and Eddie the freedom to stand, as well. “Be good boys, now. Don’t make your father’s life harder than it is. Do as he says. I don’t want to hear about you giving him a hard time.”

“Okay,” Eddie had mumbled, and Bobby had echoed him.

Out in the hall, Eddie had collapsed against Bobby. “Do we have to do whatever Daddy says?” he’d asked plaintively.

“Nah. That was a crock. You steer clear of Dad as much as you can. I’ll take care of things.”

He wasn’t sure he’d done a particularly good job taking care of things, but somehow, thirty-plus years later, he was standing at the back of a church, sunlight streaming in colored shafts through the much cheerier stained-glass windows of the Catholic church in Gray Hill. The pale oak pews were filled with people, among them Eddie and his partner, Stuart, and Louie, the man Father Paul had ordered Eddie and Bobby to obey. Joelle had arranged the seating so that Louie was positioned at the end of a pew, Joelle’s mother next to him and Eddie and Stuart on Wanda’s other side. After all these years, Louie DiFranco hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that his younger son was gay.

Coming to terms with things wasn’t one of Louie DiFranco’s strengths. He was much more adept at mouthing off like a fool and drinking like a fish.

He was sober this morning, at least. Eddie had assured Bobby of it. Eddie and Stuart and Louie were all staying at a hotel in Arlington, and Eddie, who had rented a car, had volunteered to chauffeur Louie wherever he had to be. “You’re the father of the bride,” Eddie explained. “You’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll babysit Dad.”

Father of the bride. God, how had that happened? Bobby shook his head and grinned.

Mike and Danny looked spiffy in navy-blue blazers, khaki trousers, white shirts and burgundy ties, each with a red rose boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Claudia had decided they didn’t need to wear tuxedos just to be ushers. Lucky boys, Bobby thought. Wearing a tux made him feel as if he ought to be trick-or-treating. He, Gary, Gary’s father and the best man had all gone to a tuxedo-rental place in Arlington, where they’d agreed on the least frilly, fancy style available—plain black with black satin lapels, straight black trousers, pleated white shirts and black bow ties. Bobby had struggled a bit with the shirt’s studs, but Joelle had gotten them all fastened and tied his bow tie so it lay smooth under the weird stand-up collar and didn’t resemble a fat butterfly too much.

She was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the bride. She’d sewn her own dress, a simple thing of flowing blue silk that fell to midcalf, with a blousy jacket over it. It was the same color as her eyes, the same color as the prom dress she’d sewn for herself so many years ago. Bobby still remembered that day. He remembered the pang he’d felt when Drew Foster had shown up—looking ridiculous in a matching blue tux, as Bobby recalled—and Joelle had looped her hand through the bend in his elbow and gazed at him with adoration.

Bad memory. Bobby shook his head again, then stepped aside
as Claudia’s bridesmaids began their procession down the church’s center aisle, leaving clouds of perfume in their wake. Claudia inched closer to him, her dress rustling. Joelle had sewn Claudia’s dress, too. It had taken her two months, and it was a work of art, panels of ivory silk with a gently curving neckline and a sweeping skirt that trailed behind Claudia. Rather than a traditional veil, she’d pinned a scarf of lace into her hair. In her hands was a bouquet of red, pink and white roses.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he teased as they watched her bridesmaids march down the aisle. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Claudia whispered back. “If I marry him, will you still be my dad?”

“Forever and ever.” He wasn’t joking anymore.

Her smile was so real he knew she wasn’t joking, either. “Good,” she said, then tucked her hand around his arm and led him through the doors, into the church.

T
HE RECEPTION WAS HELD
at a country club in northern Fairfield County. Gary’s parents were members, and they’d made the arrangements, even though Bobby had insisted on paying. The venue was damn expensive, although Gary’s father had informed Bobby that because he was a member of long standing, the place had offered them a generous discount.

Discount? Bobby would hate to think what the undiscounted price was.

But he could afford it. If this was what Claudia wanted, she would have it.

The club was pretty, at least. The room they were in was bright, afternoon sunlight flooding through the French doors that lined one wall and opened out onto a fieldstone patio. The
tables were draped in linen, the bartender was filling orders nonstop in one corner of the room and a three-piece combo played mellow music. Claudia and Gary had considered hiring a deejay, but they’d gone with a band instead, for which Bobby was thankful. Not that they showed any flair for playing Doors and Jimi Hendrix songs, but at least they weren’t playing hip-hop, or that deafening heavy-metal junk the boys were listening to these days.

Claudia was in her element, circulating among the guests, dancing with Gary, laughing, hugging, kissing and showing off her ring set. The wedding band had diamonds in it, and the engagement ring contained a rock so big Bobby needed sunglasses to stare directly at it.

Joelle glided over to him, holding a glass of white wine for herself and a club soda for him. The sense of dislocation he felt in this ritzy room, hosting this ritzy reception, was replaced by an even greater amazement that a woman so elegant and confident could be his wife.

“How are you holding up?” she asked as she handed him his drink.

“Fine. You?”

“I don’t know.” Her smile was bittersweet. “I’m not old enough to be someone’s mother-in-law.”

He chuckled and glanced toward his own mother-in-law. Wanda was seated at a table with some of Gary’s relatives, blathering about something. As mothers-in-law went, he supposed there were worse. Over the past few years, she’d started acting as if she liked him, or at least respected him. He supposed she had to be nice to him, as long as he and Joelle were helping her out financially. And since she lived in Ohio, he didn’t have to see her too often.

“You’ll be a great mother-in-law,” Bobby assured Joelle.

“And you’re a wonderful liar.” She reached up to adjust his collar. He’d untied the bow and unfastened the shirt’s top stud a while ago, which had undoubtedly destroyed the odd shape of the collar.

He eased her hand away from his neck and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then he studied her ring. So plain, so thin. It had been all he could afford twenty-seven years ago. At least it was fourteen-carat gold.

“I should buy you a diamond,” he said.

She was in the middle of a sip of wine, and she coughed a couple of times. “A diamond? Why?”

“Your daughter’s walking around with the Rock of Gibraltar on her hand. That stone could cover the boys’ tuition costs when they go to college.”

She stretched out her arm and inspected her wedding band. “I like this ring just fine.”

“It’s cheap.”

“It’s priceless,” she said, then rose on tiptoe and kissed his lips.

He closed his eyes and sank into the kiss, astonished that he—Bobby D—could be lucky enough to have this woman as his wife. When someone seated at a table near them whistled softly, he chuckled and pulled back. And immediately frowned when he spotted his father at the bar again.

How many drinks had the guy consumed? At least four, and the formal dinner hadn’t begun yet. There weren’t enough appetizers in the entire country club to absorb all the booze he’d been swilling.

If his father got drunk…Hell, he was already drunk. At this point, the only question was whether he’d get drunk enough to start breaking things.

Bobby cursed softly and handed his club soda to Joelle. “I’ve got to head Dad off at the pass,” he said, squaring his shoulders and working his way across the room. It wasn’t easy. Too many people had to stop and congratulate him. Who were all these folks, anyway? He and Joelle had very small families, but they’d invited neighbors, friends, a few of Joelle’s fellow teachers, a few of Bobby’s colleagues and associates from work. Bobby’s first boss in Connecticut, the cousin of his physical therapist. Suzanne, the woman Joelle had lived with while Bobby was in ’Nam. A goodly portion of Claudia’s classmates from high school and college. It seemed as if every single one of them had to stop him and offer congratulations, or share some anecdote about Claudia, or reminisce about some silly thing Gary had done years ago.

By the time he reached the bar, his father had already been served a highball glass full of Scotch. Glenlivet, expensive stuff—wasted on Louie. At this point he’d probably think motor oil tasted great, as long as it had a high enough alcohol content.

Louie turned from the bar and wove toward a table. Bobby swooped down on him, slung his arm around the old man’s shoulders and said, “Let’s take a walk.” Before Louie could muster any resistance, Bobby had him through the room’s door and out into a chilly, air-conditioned hallway.

“What’s going on?” Louie asked.

“You and I could use some fresh air,” Bobby said, steering him down the hall, past the pro shop and the restrooms, through the airy lobby and out the front door. The patio that bordered their reception room ran the length of the building, but in front of the main entry it extended outward into a broad stone stairway that descended to a plush lawn and a circular driveway. Meticulously pruned arborvitae lined the driveway. Blossoming rhodo
dendron flanked the patio. Not bad, Bobby thought. DiFranco Landscaping could do better, but the view was attractive and the lawn was extremely green.

“I don’t need fresh air,” Louie groused, wrinkling his nose as the summery evening wrapped around him. Like Bobby, he’d loosened his tie. His shirt and the jacket of his suit were wrinkled. Bobby wondered when he’d bought the suit, and where. It looked old, but his father never gained weight. He might have bought it when Bobby was a kid. Lapel widths came and went, and Bobby had no idea which width was considered fashionable when.

“I think you do need fresh air,” Bobby said quietly. A bluebird alighted on the stone ledge bordering the patio and then flew off. A couple of pink-faced men in casual apparel, with golf bags slung over their shoulders, emerged from the building, nodded a greeting at Bobby and Louie and then headed down the steps to the driveway.

“A flipping golf club,” Louie muttered. “Since when did you get so fancy?”

Bobby chose to laugh off his father’s implicit criticism. “It was what Claudia wanted,” he said, his gaze settling on the glass in his father’s hand. Was there a tactful way to get it out of Louie’s grip? A way that wouldn’t cause Louie to snap?

“You spoil that girl rotten, Bobby.”

Anger bubbled up inside Bobby, but he swallowed it back down. He wasn’t going to let his father goad him, not today. “It’s her wedding. The only wedding she’s ever going to have.”