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Tess’s father cleared his throat and everyone stopped fidgeting and slurping their tea. “We ain’t doing nothing to destroy this day, boys. Leave your sister alone. What happened between me and her is business, not of concern to the family.”
Tess lowered her head. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was so angry at his words or relieved she wouldn’t have to slug it out over Easter dinner. Lifting her head, she stared defiantly at a cream-colored camellia in the flower arrangement.
“Feels like it’s more than business, Dad,” Joseph said, tossing down his napkin. “It’s damned uncomfortable is what it is.”
“Well, it’s not your concern. Tess is my daughter. I’m her father. Nothing changes that.” Frank set down his fork. He hadn’t eaten much, either, which was very unlike him.
Granny B’s sharp eyes took in all that went on at the table. “What’s he talking about? Of course she’s his daughter. Stubborn enough, isn’t she?”
Maggie inhaled and blew out a sigh. “Everyone looks ready for dessert. Who wants cannoli?”
Tess ignored her mother, jerking her gaze to meet her father’s. “He’s right. Nothing changes that.” Tossing her napkin down, she scooped up her plate and headed toward the kitchen.
Maggie followed, picking up the empty roll basket. Tess knew her mother hated conflict at the table but could do nothing about it. Her stupid brothers were responsible for the discomfort.
The older nephews and twin nieces sat at the kids’ table in the kitchen and all turned wearing guilty expressions, when she and Maggie entered the kitchen.
Maggie took one look at the uncovered plate of cannoli sitting on the granite counter and jabbed a finger at Conner. “I told you to stay out of the dessert.”
Conner wiped the cheese from the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Gee.”
“Flattery will get you another cannoli,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes, but softening. The woman was a sucker for her grandchildren. “Sorry, Tess. I told Joseph not to say anything. You know how he hates everything wrinkled.”
“Well, too damn bad,” Tess said, scraping her plate into the trash. Joseph’s twin girls, Margaret Ann and Meghan, gasped. “Sorry, girls.”
Conner and Holden grinned, obviously enjoying the strong language—a family argument couldn’t compare to middle school where naughty language wasn’t so much colorful as the norm. Tess wasn’t so old she didn’t remember how an eighth grader rolled.
“He’s trying to smooth out wrinkles in a world that’s not his. He chose to be a doctor. Frankie chose to be a lawyer. And maybe God chose Michael, I don’t know, but none of them are involved in the company outside of hanging out in our float stand during parades or showing up at an occasional ball, so they aren’t involved in this.”
“They’re members of this family, and that is enough.”
Tess set the plate in the sink and winced as it clattered against a soaking pot. “Dad said this isn’t about the family.”
“You and I both know differently.” Her mother shot a frown at Holden, who wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Napkin, Holden.”
Holden and Conner rose in silent communication, grabbed a few cannoli, and headed out to the yard.
“This isn’t the time or the place, Mom,” Tess said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, eyeing the two girls watching them with rapt attention.
“You’re just like him. That’s the problem.”
Tess opened her mouth to deny her mother’s declaration, but the doorbell rang.
Maggie made a face. “Who could that be?”
Tess shrugged. The family was there, so had to be a neighbor or a friend dropping by.
“Girls, help Auntie Tess with the dessert. I’ll see who’s here and find out who wants coffee and cannoli.” Maggie tucked her fading auburn hair behind her ears and headed toward the foyer.
Margaret Ann and Meghan cleared the table before coming to stand beside the stove. Tess located the serving spoon and uncovered the other plate of cannoli, eying the chocolate and pistachio coating. Her appetite hid behind the cold wall between her and her father, but surely she could summon enough enthusiasm to have her mother’s Easter cannoli?
She’d just started serving when she heard his voice.
His voice.
Graham Naquin.
The spoon clattered to the tiled floor. “Shit.”
