Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a gorgeous backyard. She remembered Santino chasing her from room to room their first morning after moving in. Remembered the echoes of laughter then the fierce, crazy lovemaking that had followed. They’d christened every room on that first day, making their final stop in the room they’d hoped would be a nursery.
Even though she was busting her ass in law school and hoped to land a good job at a firm, they’d been actively trying for a baby in her final year. She’d never allowed a man into her body without protection before him. The marathon sessions were hot, messy, and so much fun, right up until things fell apart as things do.
The door to that still-empty room was usually kept closed. That way, she wouldn’t have to be reminded every time she passed it. Longing curled in her chest and her belly for those babies that would never be. And honestly, she no longer cared about any of this furniture, any of the material things that hadmattered so much back then. Looking at them only made her feel as empty as that room.
The only thing that had helped her get through the tougher times was filling the space with music. Her favorite album by her favorite artist,ALove Song for Loss.
Maybe, if this trip with Scott solidified things, she’d finally have everything she really wanted, more than walls to decorate and rooms to fill with stuff. A loving man, a family of her own.
She was ready for all of it. But was Scott the right one?
Circular, restless thoughts clouded her head. She decided to make herself a cup of tea, hoping it would soothe her but was disappointed when she discovered she was out of jasmine, her favorite.
“The fuck. I thought I had at least one left.”
Now she was annoyed with herself for forgetting she was out. Settling for peppermint, she put the loose leaves in the silver infusion ball and took it back to the living room to let it cool enough for sipping. Looking at the small table next to the couch, she touched Belle’s photo. Belle had been her favorite aunt from either side, her favorite person, really. She was Vanessa’s confidante, never judging, always making time for her when every other adult was busy. Belle’s picture was close by so Vanessa could “check in” when she had a dilemma to think through. In this shot, Belle’s hair was in long purple dreads. She’d enjoyed keeping Vanessa guessing about what color they would be when she saw her.
“Am I rushing things with Scott?” Vanessa asked her softly.
Belle’s pecan-colored eyes gave her a knowing look. That look had been her trademark when Vanessa was about to make a questionable decision, especially as a teenager.
“Never mind him. What about Bobby? I’m not a very supportive sister, am I?” she asked. The eyes again. “You’re right. I’m a bitch. Fine.”
She retrieved her phone from her purse and sent Bobby a text: “Congrats on the award. Lots of brains in that big forehead of yours!”
“Not bigger than yours, Fivehead. Soon, we celebrate. We gon tear that town UP!” he wrote back.
She grinned, already feeling better. “You know you’ll be asleep by 9, sucka. Love you.”
“Love U 2.”
4
KEEP HER
SANTINO
Acouple days had passed since Santino heard the disturbing news about Scott Malone. He was there for Vanessa’s routine in the morning. Same stop to smell the flowers, same hesitation to go inside her office, this time stretching another minute. She’d gone inside eventually, and he’d come to work.
Even though they’d moved to Westchester, Santino hadn’t wanted to switch to their fire department even though he knew and liked the crew that worked there. Anne’s Harbor was still home to him because of Nona Greta. In fact, he’d taken over Greta’s apartment so he could still have a city address to comply with city rules. Never mind if he was slightly bending them.
At the station house, Santino mumbled hello to everybody and went to the top floor where the bunk room was to stretch out for a moment of quiet. The others joked that the words “Santino” and “quiet” had never been used in the same sentence, but a lot had changed in the past three years. First was the leave of absence until he could function like a fucking humanbeing again. Then there was that period when he’d come back to work, finally, but had brought with him a new recklessness on calls. He’d gotten through that phase, but everyone else still remembered.
Now he had to work twice as hard to prove he was steady, reliable. That he had his shit together. But when he was in one of these moods, they steered clear until it improved.
The day was slow, if you counted a restaurant kitchen fire as “slow.” Only one person was hurt from smoke inhalation. They considered it a win that it wasn’t worse. They ran some drills when they returned to show a rookie how he should have handled a situation. Then it was Santino’s turn to do stove duty around five o’clock.
“Alright, I’ll get started.” Shaking off the last of his funky attitude, Santino went to start cooking.
The meal he made wasn’t especially hard to make. It was a simple vat of spaghetti and some raw meatballs he’d stored in the fridge that morning, made from Nonna Greta’s recipe. Admittedly, she hadn’t been as good a cook as their nonna in Italy, but she and her food had been his favorite. Santino knew he’d been her favorite, too. He sometimes wondered if she’d be proud of him. At least the act of cooking made him feel better than he had when he first came in.
When the sauce was simmering in the pot, he rinsed off the fruit and salad and put them on the long wooden table in two big bowls.
“You and this fucking health kick you’re on,” Mitch moaned when he passed by to peer at the grapes. “I miss the donuts. Can’t you ease down and get us some fucking donuts?”
“I’m getting old. I need to stay in peak shape,” Santino said, running his hands down his flat stomach. Never mind the sandwich he’d had earlier.
“Old? Fuck outta here. You won’t even be thirty for another two years,” Garret chimed in from the kitchen table, his light-brown face creased with mock disgust. He was older than Santino and Mitch by a good twenty years. “Talk to me when your hair starts fuckin’ falling out.”
