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Seated on the sofa in the cabin, Ethan finished playing the mandolin and smiled at her. It was sweet, and she could see how much joy he’d derived just from that small amount of playing.
“Do you want to try it?” he asked, holding out the instrument.
She shook her head and rose. “Sorry, no. I should get going.”
Nineteen
Kate looked at the selection of wines lined up on the shelves in front of her, their labels a variety of styles and designs. Should she get a bottle of Italian wine? The selection wasn’t too bad, but she knew little enough, having always left the matter of choosing wine to Giancarlo. Perhaps a French or California wine would be better.
She sighed. Maybe she was better off taking a six pack of beer, like she would have done ten years before, when Mark drank only Coors. And Bunny, what would she drink? Cocktails? A Coors would have sufficed for her back then, too, because that’s what all of the football team drank.
She thought of her brother and thought for a moment she might call him and ask him what he thought. He would have a better idea than she would, she was certain of that. Or maybe even her father, though the moment the thought entered her head she threw it out. He was getting weaker, she knew, and even though they’d moved him downstairs to a purpose-built hospital bed, he was needing his pain medication more and more often. She knew he didn’t always sleep at night, either, though he would insist he was fine for her to go upstairs to her own bed rather than use the couch downstairs. But for her, sleep was fitful at best, and the few times she’d talked to Giancarlo she’d been testy and sharp with him.
She looked at the wine selection and sighed again. What did it matter if she took the wrong wine? She would get a wine she would enjoy, because she knew she’d need as much of it as possible if she was to get through this dinner.
* * *
Kate could hear the voices the moment she entered the kitchen, setting the bag of groceries on the counter beside the back door, along with her keys and wallet. She frowned, curious to know who’d come over to see her father. A few neighbors stopped by about once a week and Stokey and Phil called regularly. In fact, Phil had promised to come up this weekend. But it clearly wasn’t a neighbor, or Phil or Stokey. And Tom was at the furniture store. But there was something familiar about the voice that filtered through to the kitchen. Something that made a tight knot form inside her.
She made her way out of the kitchen, her Converse sneakers squeaking a little on the wood floor that led down the short hallway to the archway that opened to the living room. Taking this path gave her time to collect herself and confirm what she knew, the louder and more distinct the voices became. She took a deep breath and entered the living room, a bright smile painted on her face.
“Giancarlo,” she said, her voice breathless, surprised.
Giancarlo, seated on the faded dark sofa, near her father, rose. Neither his Armani suit nor the crisp white shirt beneath it showed any signs of the journey from Italy. His hair was immaculately styled, and there was only a shadow of his dark beard showing on his face. His dark eyes glittered as she moved toward him, around the scarred and stained coffee table. They exchanged the three kisses on opposing cheeks, a custom that now seemed almost alien to her. Their gazes locked a moment, and she saw the puzzlement on his face.
Max, suddenly aware of her presence, scrambled up from his place behind her father’s chair, and came over to her, giving a small bark of hello. She leaned down and patted his head, conscious of Giancarlo stiffening beside her. She’d never seen him around dogs before and it never occurred to her Max would be a problem for him.
“Kate,” her father said, his tone filled with false joviality. “I was just about to call you to see where you were. We’ve got quite the surprise here with Giancarlo turning up.”
She gave him a weak smile, taking the seat beside Giancarlo on the sofa. He took her hand and held it on his lap. The dog resumed his place behind her father’s chair.
“It’s great to finally meet Giancarlo,” her father continued. “And to have him deliver the wonderful news.”
She stilled, understanding what was coming.
“You’re engaged!” Her father studied her closely and she looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “He tells me that you were waiting for him so that you both could tell me together.”
The words he didn’t speak hung in the air. The words that made it a lie. It was clear she didn’t know he was coming. No plan had been made to accommodate his arrival either in sleeping or meal arrangements.
She tried to smile as she glanced over at Giancarlo. His expression was closed, unreadable. But still, she was grateful that he’d invented the subterfuge, if only to save them both some level of embarrassment. It was all her fault, though. Why hadn’t she worn her engagement ring? It wasn’t that intrusive on her daily tasks, and there was no real risk, not really.
She jumped up and pasted a wide smile on her face. “I’ll just go get the ring, Dad, now that you know. It’s beautiful.”
Her father gave her a close look. “Come, let your old man give you a hug first. And while you’re getting the ring, we’ll have a glass of champagne. Your fiancé was kind enough to bring a bottle. We can use your mother’s glasses. They’re in the top cabinet by the basement.”
She nodded, rising, and made her way over to him. He leaned forward as she bent over him, circling him with her arms. His frame was nearly skeletal, so frail, and she fought the tears that rose at the back of her throat.
His lips were at her ear and she heard him whisper. “Are you okay? Is there something you want to talk about?”
Her breath caught at his words and the tears spilled over. She pulled away slowly, wiped the tears from her eyes and forced another smile on her face. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
* * *
“We will go to a hotel,” said Giancarlo.
They were standing in her room, its size and decor suddenly pressing in on her. Her hastily made single bed, shoved up against a scuffed yellow wall, still clad in posters that dated from ten years ago, seemed incongruous against Giancarlo’s custom-fit clothes, shoes, and perfectly styled hair. He followed her glance that was now caught by the faded old desk on the wall by the window that sported ink stains and digs from the many times she’d used it for her homework, not to mention the old laptop computer that still sat closed upon it. The sweatshirt and Henley she’d worn the day before were still draped across the back of the pine chair that was pushed into the desk. She resisted the impulse to grab them and shove them in the closet. A closet she would never let him see if she could help it.
The suitcase containing the designer clothes she’d brought with her from Italy was propped up by the chest next to the closet door. She’d long removed any of the items she wanted out of them and had zipped it up to better tuck it out of the way.
