Chapter 17
Cat’s house was an imposing Victorian right in the old center of town, with a wide wraparound porch, an enormous corner tower, and a wooden front door that looked original. Three bikes that were strewn across the front steps had knocked over a couple of pots of chrysanthemums. The house was painted a faded green, and the white trim could use a touch-up.
It was where Kane and his sisters had grown up, where their father and grandfather had been born. It frowned down upon Ellen from the moment she pulled up in Kane’s car. “Park near the street,” Kane said beside her. “We’ll need the driveway for basketball.” He grabbed an armful of flowers and her bag of groceries from the back seat.
Ellen balanced the pie she’d brought with a bottle of wine and followed Kane’s long stride. He ignored the front porch, instead following the driveway around to the rear of the house. Here was more evidence of children: a basketball hoop, balls scattered around the yard, a jungle gym.
Kane took the steps up to the deck two at a time, as he had obviously been doing all his life, and flung open the back door. She followed a little more slowly, telling herself just to keep breathing.
“Mi famiglia!” he called, and was greeted by “Fratello mio!” from someone inside the room. Ellen stepped in behind him and was immediately wrapped in the delicious smells of a kitchen in full Thanksgiving-meal-preparation mode, and by the sight of five heads turning to her as one. Kane was being hugged by a man almost as tall as him, but heavier-set, with short, curly black hair and a gigantic smile. Over Kane’s shoulder the man’s blue eyes twinkled at her. At the stove was a tall woman, her dark hair pulled back into a charming loose knot on top of her head. Three boys sat at the counter, potato peelers in their hands and a bag of mini-marshmallows spilling in front of them. One had a pair of headphones on that was playing so loudly she could hear it from the door; he was the only one not looking at her.
Another woman, smaller and thinner than the one at the stove, had hands covered in flour, but rushed up to Kane anyway, who held out the bag and flowers in his hands to block her. “Wait, wait!” he laughed, but Megan—it had to be Megan—got a fine handprint right on his sleeve, craning around the flowers to kiss his cheek.
“Which ones are mine?” she demanded, and took her bunch and the grocery bag from him so she could hug him properly.
“Where are mine?” the man said, still smiling. His Italian accent was still noticeable, but softened after fifteen years of marriage.
“In the bag,” Kane answered, and Antonio found a six-pack of Peroni, which he clutched in ecstasy. “And a case in the car,” Kane added. “Hi, sis.” He went over to Cat, who had hardly taken her eyes off Ellen, and she offered her cheek for him to kiss.
“Little late,” she muttered. “Still.” She took her flowers; didn’t say thank you.
“Dinner’s at three, Cat. I think we’re fine. House still needs a coat of paint, I see. Come meet Ellen.” Then he was back at her side, his arm slipping around her waist, and Ellen was drawn into the group.
Cat nodded at her as if it hurt to do so. Antonio danced over to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Piacere.”
“Piacere,” Ellen replied, instinctively reverting to receptionist mode. Antonio beamed; Cat scowled.
“Just plain old English for me, please,” said Megan, enveloping Ellen in a hug. “How youse doin’?”
She was easy to smile back at. “I’m wicked ahsome,” she said. “How ahh ya?” Megan whooped, and the two boys at the table that could hear them burst out laughing.
“Please,” said Antonio, gesturing to them, “come and meet my boys. Paolo, e Matteo. And this is Jacob.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the boy in headphones and used his other hand to pull one side off Jacob’s ears. “Jake, there is a beautiful lady in the room. Say hello.”
Jake didn’t smile, and his eyes barely flickered toward her before going back to the potatoes he was supposed to be peeling. “H’lo,” he managed. Ellen glanced at Cat, but she had her back to the room again, stirring something on the stove as if it was concrete she had to soften.
“You’ll meet Thea in a minute,” Megan said. “She’s nursing. Is that pie?”
Ellen gave it to her; she took it by unceremoniously dumping Kane’s flowers on the nearest surface.
“Mom?” said one of the boys; Ellen had forgotten which was which already. “Now Uncle Kane’s here, can we go play football?”
“Did you finish the sweet potatoes?” Cat said without turning her head. The boys groaned and rolled their eyes and gazed imploringly at their father, whose eyes they had inherited. But Antonio just pointed to the counter and drew Ellen away from Kane’s arm.
“Come through, Elena, and get a drink. Where did you learn Italian?” Leaving Kane’s side brought on a little panic, but she was curious to see the rest of the house, and to meet the famous Thea, for whom Kane had gone to so much trouble.
The front hall was wood-paneled, with old-fashioned wallpaper above and a gorgeous curved staircase, though the stair treads and trim around the doorways were scuffed and dented. Antonio brought her into a library, which, she was happy to see, had books in it that looked like someone read them, and then through to a family room, also wood-paneled, with a big old fireplace along one wall and a giant TV set above it, already showing a football game.
She accepted one of the Peronis Kane had brought and chatted with Antonio in Italian until Kane came in. It was very pleasant to feel her reaction to Kane, to know that he was there in this big, noisy family, that he was hers to take home whenever she wanted. Well, not quite, but the principle was the thing.
He flopped down onto the couch between them. “You okay, buddy?” Antonio said. “You don’t look so good.”
“Nah.” Kane scrubbed his hand over his face, which just made him look more rumpled. “I caught a cold somewhere in New Hampshire. Or maybe it was the looks your wife’s been giving me. You gonna drink all those Peronis, honey?” he said to Ellen.
“Maybe I should make you a hot toddy instead,” she said, but Antonio had already, reluctantly, handed over the beer.
“Hot toddy!” Antonio said. “Sounds like I should leave, huh?”
“That’s totty, Antonio,” she reassured him. Kane looked bewildered. “Toddy is a drink, whisky and lemon and honey, for when you’re ill. Totty is... Well, it’s your old girlfriends,” she finished with a big smile at Kane. Antonio laughed aloud, and then stood up, saying something about Cat probably needing help.
