Chapter Nine

The plane flight was long and tiring, not to mention bumpy. John ate right before boarding, which ended up being a mistake. Even now, as he stood to exit the plane, he rested a hand over his stomach. A few minutes later, the intense, Alabama heat slammed into his face, tightened every muscle in his body, and churned his stomach like a witch stirring her brew.

Once outside the plane, he hesitated a moment at the top of the metal stairs to breathe in the humidity-laden air. Across the tarmac, his mother stood waving, a smile stretched across her face as if he’d been gone a year instead of a couple of months.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, his stride ate up the distance between them. “Hi, Mom.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged. She smelled of vanilla and Ivory soap. It never failed to surprise him what could bring back memories. He smiled down into her upturned face, but guilt overshadowed the moment. He owed her so much.

“You look good, son.”

He chuckled. “What did you expect? I’ve only been gone for the summer.”

John chose to remain silent while they made their way through the airport, navigating around slower-moving people. Giant ceiling fans disturbed the air, making it tolerable, but once outside, the sweltering heat of late summer was still enough to wilt flowers. The humidity had sweat running down his sides under his loose-fitting, blue shirt, but at least the heat was only in the mid-eighties versus nineties or above.

The drive home in his grandfather’s old Ford was a little better, but he knew his mother was only biding her time. She rarely talked when she drove, choosing to concentrate on the road and other cars, but soon, she’d start with the questions, and he’d tell her the truth. His mother would be disappointed about his involvement with Vince and Hannah, but hopefully she’d understand. With luck, she might even help with suggestions on how to tell Hannah about her father—once she stopped yelling about him agreeing to help Vince.

He rolled his eyes and counted the miles to their small, wood-sided home. There were still patches of green, but things looked drier this year—signs of excessive heat and limited rain. Nothing new.

The neighborhood hadn’t changed much in the years he’d lived in Mobile. People moved into town and others left, but most folks, like his grandparents and probably his mother, lived in the same house until they made their final journey at death.

“Here we are, and I have a nice pitcher of tea waiting in the icebox.”

“Great.”

At the door, he allowed his mother to enter first and took a moment to toss the satchel on his bed before joining her in the kitchen.

“Have a seat. It’s probably cooler in here since the sun is setting on the other side of the house.”

He drank deep, letting the cool liquid relieve his parched throat. With the chair slid back slightly and both arms resting on the table, he wrapped his hands around the cool glass and stared at the few chunks of ice floating in the sweet drink.

“Son, something’s been on your mind since you landed. Want to share it?”

She sat across from him, a frown wiping away the pleasant smile she had sported since leaving the airport.

“Yes, but you’re not going to be happy, so I’m going to ask that you not voice your opinion—I already know it—and just help me come up with a solution.”

Her frown deepened, but he knew she’d listen, tell him what she thought—hopefully with less ranting than usual—and then she’d try to help.

“You warned me about Vince—and you were right—but not about what he wanted.”

“He didn’t want you to join his family business?”

The frown had changed slightly. She now looked leery of his next admission, and he couldn’t blame her.

“No. He said I didn’t have the temperament for that line of work.”

“Well, amen. I raised you better than that,” she said, reaching out to run a warm hand down his arm.

His stomach clenched. Her words rubbed salt in an already raw wound. He’d let her down by agreeing to Vince’s request. Her faith in him would be shaken.

“Don’t put anyone on a pedestal yet, Mother.”

Her face relaxed, all expression gone as she lifted her chin and waited.

“When I went to New York, he asked me where I planned to apply for work, and I mentioned Howard Hughes Aviation. He offered to put in a good word, but I turned him down,” he added quickly. “Then he offered to at least help me get a room at a boardinghouse. I felt the suggestion was harmless, so I agreed. Only then did he mention that his daughter manages the place and…”

“He knows where his child is living?” Her eyes widened and brows rose, but just as quickly, she wiped all expression from her face and waited.

“Yes. It’s a long story that I can tell you later, but since I’d agreed to let him get me a room, he asked if I’d be willing to keep an eye on her, and let him know if she needed anything.”

“He asked you to spy on her?”

The narrowed gaze followed closely by pursed lips quirked up on one corner told him how his mother felt about the entire situation. He didn’t blame her, but, hopefully, she’d keep an open mind. This wasn’t the time for a tirade.

He breathed in slowly, held it for a couple moments, then quietly released it before continuing. “Technically, but not like you probably think. He asked me to let him know if, for instance, she lost her job and couldn’t afford food. That kind of thing. I don’t report weekly on her comings and goings or anything like that.”

“Is that why you offered to pay for food and she cooks for you?”

“No,” he answered, chuckling. “That was self-preservation.” He was encouraged to see her smile and nod. “But agreeing to let him know if she got into dire straits has backfired.”

“How’s that?” She was frowning again, but this time with curiosity, not anger.

John sent a silent thank you winging heavenward. “One night over dinner, she told me about her mother and father.”

“She knows about Vince?”

“No. Her mother gave her a fantasy father. A policeman who died a hero.”

“Oh my.” She pulled the hankie from her dress pocket and wiped perspiration from her face.

“For over a month, I’ve known the truth, yet not told her. And to complicate things,” he stated, glancing down at his hands before lifting his gaze to connect with his mother’s, “I think I’m in love with Hannah.”

“Goodness. That makes this more difficult, doesn’t it?” She lifted the glass and took a swallow. “If you tell her the truth, she’ll think you’ve been intentionally lying to her all this time.”

“True, but worse than that, I’ll be making her deceased mother a liar. She idolizes the lady.” Just the thought of causing her that kind of pain made his stomach churn. How had he ever let himself get into such a mess?

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. So, what are you going to do? You have to tell her.”

“I agree.” He ran fingers up through his hair before releasing a deep sigh. “I do have to tell her, but as the saying goes, no one loves the bearer of bad news.”

She shrugged. “True. So, like I asked before, what do you plan to do?”

“If I didn’t care, I could just tell her and let the chips fall where they fall, but that’s not the case.” He ran his hand along his tea glass, watching the condensation trickle down the side to puddle on the table while he fought to find the words. He raised his gaze and looked toward his mother. “I don’t know what to do. Is there a better place or time to pull the rug out from under her feet when I explain how her life has been filled with one lie after the other?” He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. His next words were spoken softly. “Is there ever a good way to break a girl’s heart?”

His mother sat staring at him for long, silent moments before she spoke. “Son, this isn’t my decision to make, but you know I didn’t raise you to lie to people—especially people you care about. I’d suggest that you tell her the truth right away and apologize for your part in the scheme.”

“But I’m not part of anything,” he pleaded.

She only raised her eyebrows, remaining silent.

“Okay. Technically, I’m a part of it, but, believe me, I’ll never report on her unless her life is in danger.”

“Then tell her that part also.”

He nodded, knowing she was right.

I just need to find the right time to tell Hannah the whole story.

“How did I ever get into this mess? I’ve never wanted anything from Vince.”

“Except money for an education.”

Her words slammed into him like a slap to the face. True, he’d needed the money to have had any chance of achieving his life’s goal of designing planes, but at that time, it never dawned on him the man might someday ask for anything in return.

He forced his face to remain neutral, hiding his inner turmoil while he watched his mother process their discussion.

Finally, she blinked several times, sighed, and shrugged, a sad grin transforming her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching across to touch his arm. “That was rude. There was no reason for you to refuse his offer. He owed you that much, but in the future, please be more cautious. That’s all I’m saying. He was always very fond of you.”

His relief was palatable. Her anticipated ranting about Vince was quailed by concern for him and Hannah.

He squeezed her hand, leaning forward until he looked directly into her eyes. “Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never agree to do another ‘little favor,’ as he put it.”

She hesitated, but when he didn’t move or speak, she finally nodded. “Okay. You’ve left the nest, and although it seems that truth has boarded one of your planes and taken flight, I trust you to straighten this situation out and make things right.”

“Thank you.” He squeezed her hand, then released it. “So, how about filling me in on Vince’s history. Maybe it will help me when I explain things to Hannah.”

She looked more resigned than happy, but she nodded and relaxed back in her chair. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her brain while she ran a finger around the rim of her glass, like a race car traveling slowly around a circular track. She, no doubt, was trying to decide how much to tell him, and what he didn’t need to know. A frown flashed but was quickly erased in an attempt to hide his irritation at the thought of her holding back possible important facts.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning—or at least as far back as you know.”

Her gaze dropped to a point in the middle of his chest, even though he could tell her mind was a million miles away—or maybe only fifteen hundred miles north. He sat quietly, patiently waiting for her to start. He had learned the ability to remain calm and silent while he weighed facts and considered alternatives. Although it had started out as a way to keep from sassing his mother and thus staying out of trouble, he learned over the years that it worked well when he wanted something the other person was reluctant to give. He simply outwaited them. Once the silence became uncomfortable, they usually gave in. It was a harmless strategy that had worked before—and was working today.

She finally lifted her gaze to connect with his, her stare direct, but her voice cautious. “You were about nine, and I was working nights at a café here in Mobile. One Thursday evening, Vince and two men came in for coffee.”

A gentle smile softened her mouth and eased the tension around her eyes. It also confirmed what he remembered from his childhood, but what he now knew was love. His mother had loved Vince with a passion.

“By the time they left, I had a date with him for the next night, and within three months, we were married.” A slight smile softened her face. “He loved you from the moment he met you. He called you his ‘Little Man.’ ” Her features suddenly grew hard. “But you weren’t his son, and I refused to allow him to take you around his men. I didn’t want you mixed up in all that mess.”

“You mean the mafia?”

She hesitated for only a moment before she nodded. “I didn’t understand at first what he did for a living. There weren’t too many gangsters coming in for coffee down here in Alabama. Know what I mean?” When he nodded, she continued, “By the time I realized what he was involved in, we were already married, and I loved him enough to stay. Well, at least as long as he kept you and I out of his racket. I didn’t want you to someday have to watch over your shoulder and never know when a bullet might have your name on it.”

John was pretty sure of the answer, but he had to ask. “I remember him taking me out to lunch when I turned twelve. There were a couple other men there. They were his bodyguards, if I remember correctly. Is that why we left a few days later?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes.” When she opened them, her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I still loved him, but I loved you more.”

The heaviness in his chest was unexpected. His mother never spoke about Vince, but her admission explained the nights he heard her crying after the lights were turned off. He reached over and placed a hand on her arm, squeezed gently, and then waited. His chest barely moved as he forced his breathing to remain shallow, but there was no stopping the blood that pounded in his ears. After years of wondering, would the truth set him free, or would he regret knowing?

She sucked in a deep breath and allowed it to escape in a loud huff. “I was young and head-over-heels in love.” Instantly, her face closed in, eyes glaring and lips compressed. “Love,” she spat. The single word resonated like an oath, forced through gritted teeth. Just as quickly, the tension was gone and her face relaxed. “Sorry,” she whispered, a shrug easing her shoulders.

“Take your time.” Guilt at putting his mother through this turmoil almost had him stopping the discussion, but maybe getting her to talk about the past might mean he could share her load, ease her concerns, and eliminate some of her stress.

She nodded, turning her tea glass in circles within her hands. “At first, I thought he headed an import-export company. He kept the truth from me for almost two months. Talk about naïve.” A sheepish grin rested on her face for a moment before it disappeared. “You had started school up there, and I didn’t know what to do. He had a nice home and cars, and he bought me presents. I’d never had anyone—a man—buy me presents. And he spoiled you. You were so happy when he came home each evening.”

When a shroud of silence fell, he sipped his tepid tea and waited. His patience paid off.

“Then, just before you turned twelve, you started to ask questions. Seems kids at school were talking, and you came home wanting to know if Vince, the man who took you on picnics and went to all your baseball games, was a mafia boss and killed people.”

He nodded. “I remember that happening a few days before he took me to lunch for my birthday.”

“That was the final straw. I bought the train tickets, and we headed back south.”

“I enjoyed the train ride, but as time passed, I realized we wouldn’t be going back. I remember telling you—often—that I wanted to go live with Vince. I’m sorry.” It was his turn to feel sheepish, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on all the other hurtful things he had said to her when she refused him his heart’s desire.

“That was a long time ago.” She reached out to brush a hand softly across his.

Her smile reminded him of the statue of Mary at the church. Compassionate and forgiving.

“So, you left him because of me?” He hadn’t seen her as unselfish then. No, he’d resented her—not caring how upset or angry she got when he talked incessantly about Vince or recited the man’s virtues and threw all his support in the man’s corner.

She shook her head, raising her glass and swallowing some tea before she scowled and set it back on the table. “No, not entirely. When you got home from the restaurant, you were bubbling over with everything you’d seen, including the other men. Later that night, Vince and I had a huge argument. We both said things.” She hesitated, but then continued, “He let it slip that he had a daughter that he’d never seen, except in pictures. I was stunned.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about Hannah before you were married.” Why had Vince paid so much attention to him and yet not cared enough about his own daughter to even visit her? He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. “But you knew he’d been married before.”

Her eyes were focused on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth while she slowly nodded. One short fingernail traced the edge of a red square, once, then again before her hand stilled and she looked up. “Yes, I knew he’d been married, but I wasn’t allowed to mention his first wife.”

He frowned.

But before he could speak, his mother continued, her words tumbling out in her rush to clarify her statement. “Don’t get me wrong—Vince was always good to me. He never laid a hand on me in anger, but I pressed him once about her, and his temper—well, let’s just say that when he told me never to mention her again, I knew to keep my questions to myself.” A wry smile accompanied her shrug.

John had no desire, and certainly no need, to know any more about Vince’s first wife. As a kid, he had always liked his stepfather…even loved him. Over the years, after his mother moved to Alabama, and despite coming to realize Vince was a mafia don, he had always respected the older man.

Silence weighed heavily on his shoulders.

After a minute of them both staring at their hands, his mother shook her head, as if erasing the subject from her mind, and dredged up a timid smile. “So, when do you have to leave?”

He knew she’d hate to hear the answer, but after all, this was a business trip. “Early tomorrow morning.” He held his breath, waiting for her to react, but she remained calm. Her gaze held his while he counted the seconds.

With only a nod, she stood. “I’ll make supper.”

She left him staring after her. How could she make him feel guilty without even trying?