voice was familiar.
“I’m in here,” he yelled, anxious to see his visitor, hoping against all hope it was Cate.
Okay, so yeah, he had been somewhat rude, but those eyes of hers, those big, dark, wonderful eyes were even more fantastic than he had remembered. He had searched for some compassion in them, but there wasn’t any, so he simply lashed out. Probably not his best move, given the circumstances.
And the way her bottom lip curled when she got angry. Perfect.
He sat up straight, ready to apologize, ready to bear his soul, to discuss the past in a more reasonable tone, when some other woman turned the corner into his living room.
“What a dump!”
At first Rudy didn’t recognize the round, middle-aged woman in the bright-red coat and matching red scarf. Then, as his memory spun back several years, ten to be exact, he knew precisely who was standing in front of him.
“Hello Aunt Flo,” he quipped. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Florence Adriana Lucille Del-Veccio as Aunt Flo, and Rudy was no exception.
“Little Rudy Bellafini, as I live and breathe. You, of all people. I never thought I’d see your face in this part of town again. What on earth are you doing here?” she asked while holding on to her Marilyn Monroe beaded handbag. Aunt Flo’s nose and cheeks matched the color of her outfit, bright red, causing Rudy to grin despite her somewhat rude remark.
“Hey, Aunt Flo, it’s good to see you.” He shifted his weight to his other hip, wincing as a shooting pain went from his shoulder to his right big toe. He could actually feel pain in his big toe. He wanted to rip off his shoe and rub it, but thought better of it as he stared at Aunt Flo’s contorted face, obviously already disgusted by the condition of the house. “I’d get up, but as you can see, I’m somewhat indisposed at the moment.”
“I don’t know about the disposal part, but you’re a mess. For all your money, and I heard you got a bundle, what are you doing sitting all alone in this rat trap? Are you here to make things right with my niece?”
“Well, I…”
“You don’t gotta say any more. I can tell that you got other reasons.” She put her gloved hand over her mouth and drew in a loud breath, “Did that Allison clean you out and now all you got left is this dump?” She gasped.
“Aunt Flo, relax. I’ve got plenty of money.”
“Well, at least that’s something, but for a man who says he’s got plenty of money, you sure are peculiar. You look skinny. Pale. You should eat something, you’ll feel better.”
“Thanks, but…”
“Come on out with me. We can talk and you can buy me a nice hot meal with all this money you still got.” She started toward him.
Rudy wanted to join her. He tried to get up from the dilapidated chair, but with each movement the recliner seemed to engulf him.
“Tell you what, I got my mobile phone. My Cate got it for me last Christmas. She’s a wonderful girl, that Cate. You shoulda never done what you did, but we’ll talk about that later.” She smiled, but Rudy didn’t exactly like the look on her face. “She’s beautiful and generous and good-hearted, not like some of them loser women you run with. A good-looking boy like you shouldn’t…”
She dug through the Monroe purse. “Where the heck is it? I only use the thing for emergencies, all that talk about brain tumors and stuff. Your dad thought Betty caught a brain tumor from the mobile phone. Even took her to the Mayo Clinic because she was acting so mean all the time. Turned out she was going through the change, but still, you can’t be too careful these days.” She pulled a checkbook, a notebook and an industrial-size wine opener out of her purse, peeked in and shouted, “There it is, way on the bottom.”
She plucked out the shiny red phone and showed it to Rudy, cradling it in her hands as if she were presenting it for purchase. Aunt Flo had worked at Marshall Fields ever since she was sixteen years old, and probably still did. Back when Rudy knew her, she had always prided herself on her sales abilities. “An important man like you should get himself one of these. This is the Superturbo F720k. Great little phone, even takes pictures. I haven’t quite figured out how to use that feature yet, but a smart man like you could probably figure it out without the directions.”
She went on about some of the other features while Rudy thought about his aching big toe, the absurdity of the situation he found himself in, the pain in his hip, his leg and, most of all, his neck.
Then, sometime right before he was about to let out an earth-shattering moan, Aunt Flo sat down next to him on a rickety chair. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she told him in a vanilla voice. “Let’s see now,” she said. “I know just the person to call to come get us out of this hell hole.”
4
“MARRY ME . Tonight. Make all my dreams come true.” Henry yelled from the dining room as he set the dark-walnut table for eight, something Cate did every night. She liked being prepared for inevitable company. “A woman who can cook, these days, is a rare find. Be mine and you can cook for me every night.”
How could a woman refuse such an offer?
Cate plunked the wooden spoon she held into the tomato sauce and wiped her hands on her apron. “No, thanks, Henry,” Cate yelled back from the kitchen. “I’m not ready to get married tonight. I have to wash my hair. But thanks for asking…again.”
It had been the third proposal that week. They were coming faster now. The only reason Cate could think of for the sudden surge was that Henry was turning fifty soon. Maybe he was on a self-imposed deadline to remarry, and she fit the job description:
Wanted: desperate female who can cook and likes to be around dead people all day. Will marry for food.
Just as Cate walked into the dining room carrying a plate of ricotta-filled canolli, Henry’s favorite dessert, and picturing the ad in the Sun Times personals, Gina burst into the house along with an amazingly strong gust of wind off the lake.
The wind toppled Henry’s towering floral centerpiece. Lilies, pink carnations and roses blew across the table, and the lovely pea-green vase that Henry had brought over from his funeral home the previous week cracked with the fall. Cate turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen for a dish towel.
“Hi, Henry,” Gina said. “Too many roses, Henry. Cate hates roses. Where is she? I think we broke her ex and we need her to get the pieces out of the car.”
“What’s the matter?” Cate asked, as she walked back out of the kitchen. She tossed the dish towel to Henry, who just stood there staring at the mess on the table. His face almost always had that startled look to it, as if he lived in a constant state of surprise. Perhaps it was the way his jet-black eyebrows arched above his cobalt-blue eyes, and the contrast of his thick, totally white hair, and the way his nostrils flared like he was desperate to take in air, or maybe it was that last face lift.
“Cate, it’s not my fault,” Gina insisted. “The guy doesn’t listen to reason. He’s more stubborn than Dad. I told him not to get into the back seat.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s stuck,
