an Italian girl since he was in high school.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something else about the women he dated, but her two boys were avidly listening, so Nick figured she’d thought better of it. Jeez, he hated it when his family started in on him.
“Leave Nicky alone,” his mother said. “He’s only thirty-eight. He’s got plenty of time.”
Marie hooted. “Plenty of time! Jeez, Ma, you couldn’t wait for me to get married, and I was barely twenty-three!”
“It’s different for a girl,” Carmela said. Daintily, she cut up her meatball.
“Why is it different?”
Nick stifled a grin. Marie was getting mad, and it amused him. It took so little to fire up his sister’s temper.
“Because in spite of what lots of women think, it’s not so easy to have babies when you’re in your thirties. It’s best to have them by the time you’re twenty-five. That’s when you’re the most fertile.” So saying, Nick’s mother continued eating.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ma. Today women are having babies well into their forties.”
Carmela shook her head. “Not smart, in my opinion. Just think, if you wait till you’re forty to have a baby, you’re almost sixty before he’s out of high school.”
“So?” Marie said.
“So it’s crazy,” her mother retorted. “There’s no way I could cope with a teenager at my age.”
“Ma, you have more energy than me and Rich put together,” Marie said, nudging her husband, who nodded in agreement.
Carmela smiled.
Nick mentally rolled his eyes. His family was a constant source of amusement and frustration.
“Can we please change the subject?” Jay said. “Could we talk about something interesting? Like baseball.”
“Oh, you always want to talk about sports,” his wife Kathy said with a grimace.
Lost in the shuffle of his family’s good-natured bickering, Nick went back to planning strategy for when Lorna Hathaway came to town.
First thing he’d do was let her know he was on to her. And the second thing he’d do was update his résumé. But even as he thought this, he knew it would be difficult—if not impossible—to find another job in his field at his current level. The downturn in the economy had affected every business, and the food business was no exception. Even in the best of times, it wouldn’t have been a cakewalk to make that kind of change.
He was still thinking about this disturbing turn of events later that evening when he arrived at his Heights-area home. But almost immediately, his mood lifted. The house always had that effect on him. He’d bought the old Victorian as a fixer-upper five years earlier to the dismay of his family, who couldn’t understand why he wanted a house that was falling down around him.
“Nicky,” his mom had said, “why don’t you buy yourself a new house? You can afford it.”
“Because I like old houses, Ma,” he’d explained patiently.
“But why? Don’t you want a nice, big shower and modern plumbing?”
“I’ll eventually have those things.”
But she’d just shaken her head—although recently, she’d admitted she’d been wrong and told him the house was turning out to be beautiful.
It hadn’t been easy or cheap. Since the day he’d bought the house, every extra penny Nick could come up with had been poured into it. The house still wasn’t perfect, but it was slowly becoming what he’d envisioned it being the first time he laid eyes on it. He’d done most of the work himself, although his brothers lent a hand whenever they had any spare time.
Now the newly repaired wooden floors gleamed with stain and polish, and the walls were resplendent with fresh coats of paint and updated wallpaper. All the window glass was new, too, except for the stained-glass panels on either side of the front door, which had somehow survived the previous owners’ neglect. The only major work that remained was remodeling the kitchen, which still had its original chipped porcelain sink and a 1940s vintage Roper gas stove.
As he walked inside, Maggie, his year-old chocolate Lab, bounded down the hall to greet him. Kneeling, he rubbed her ears. “Have you been good while I was gone, Maggie, girl?”
In answer, she licked his chin.
He laughed. “C’mon, I know you want to go out.”
Tail wagging, she followed him to the kitchen. He unlocked the back door and let her out. Opening the refrigerator, he took out a cold bottle of beer. Then he leaned against the counter and slowly drank as he waited for Maggie to finish her business and ask to come back inside. His thoughts once more turned to Lorna Hathaway.
Damn. Why was it that things could never run smoothly? Someone always had to throw a monkey wrench into the works and screw things up.
Well, he knew one thing for sure. He might have to find another job, but he wasn’t going to go quietly.
And if Lorna Hathaway thought differently, she had a big shock coming, because he intended to give her one helluva fight.
“Careful,” Lorna cautioned, heart banging in alarm as the movers strained under the weight of her baby grand piano. She knew it might be a tight fit getting the piano into the living room of the bungalow she’d purchased in Houston, yet there was no way she was going to leave it behind.
She sighed. She liked the small house she’d bought in West University Place, only one block from where Claudia and John lived, but she hated saying goodbye to her house here—a gorgeous Victorian that she’d restored to its original beauty in the ten years since she’d purchased it.
With the house, she always thought in terms of “she,” even though she and her ex, Keith, had bought the house together and moved in as newlyweds. Keith, however, had never loved it the way Lorna did. He’d have preferred something new in one of the gated communities closer to Austin where up-and-coming executives lived.
He’d given in because it was Lorna’s money that enabled them to buy a house in the first place. But he had no real interest in their home, and she was the one who’d lovingly supervised the workmen, who’d replaced the faulty electrical wiring and the worn-out plumbing. She was the one who’d scrubbed and polished and painted on weekends and evenings when Keith was golfing or working late. And she was the one who’d haunted antique shops and weekend flea markets to find just the right pieces of furniture to create the tranquility and elegance she envisioned.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She was giving up so much to make the move to Houston. Again, doubts assailed her. She imagined most people would think she was crazy.
“Do you think I’m crazy, Buttercup?” she whispered. In answer, the calico cat in her arms made a sound halfway between a purr and a meow.
Just then a white SUV pulled up in front of the house across the street. Lorna smiled as she watched her sister-in-law Amy climb out and wave, then open the
