Chapter Eleven

When Hannah heard the knock, she grabbed the match, struck it, and lit the candle sitting in the middle of the table set for two. “Perfect.” The spaghetti was almost ready. There was even fresh bread, a gift from Mable Wilson in 1-D.

With a big smile, she opened the door, prepared to share the excitement of her day. Her enthusiasm dimmed when she saw the somber face.

“John, what is it?” Was his mother okay? Did he get fired? “Come in, come in.” She took his hand and led him to the sofa where he remained standing, staring at her.

The chill dancing along her arms made her tremble. Was the world at war again? His face was ashen, his breathing shallow and more rapid than usual.

“Talk to me,” she coaxed, taking his hands in hers and rubbing her thumbs along the chilled backs.

He slowly sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day, and I’m tired. Can we save the heavy discussion for later?”

His gaze held a foreboding that the lovingly orchestrated evening would not go as planned.

Hannah was no longer hungry, but she pasted on a smile. “I’ve made spaghetti, and we have fresh bread. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.”

A weak smile stretched his lips, but failed to reach his eyes. She decided not to push. Before long, he’d share whatever had upset him. If he didn’t, there was no way she’d allow him to go home. Her mother had once said she’d given her daughter at least a couple of her traits—dark hair and stubbornness.

Well, sometimes that’s what’s needed.

Hannah slid her arms up around his neck and stepped closer, drawing him into her warmth. She held him, willing to remain as long as needed.

A couple minutes passed before she felt a shiver ripple down his back.

Almost immediately, he stepped back and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come tonight, but…” He turned enough to look over at the table where the candle flickered, casting a shadow against the closest wall.

“Come on. Sit down and let me serve dinner. Eating will help you feel a little better, and we can talk about what’s on your mind. Sometimes sharing with someone else helps gain insight from another perspective.”

His expression was guarded, tense, but he nodded, and sat down in his usual chair. She hesitated another moment before moving into the kitchen to take up their plates. Once she set them on the table, she sat down across from him.

“This smells really good. I missed lunch today.”

Like every other night, John blessed the food and they ate in silence for several minutes, but Hannah’s appetite was gone. She mostly moved the food in a haphazard pattern on the plate but still managed to consume a little more than John. His focus remained on his meal with little more than a token bite occasionally. She glanced several times at the clock, planning to give him fifteen minutes before she stepped in.

The minutes ticked by. Whatever was wrong, it drove his thoughts inward, leaving her alone outside his mental wall—a familiar place, but a place she refused to remain.

Enough was enough.

“Why don’t I make us each a cup of coffee, and then I’ll join you on the couch?”

John lifted his gaze, stared into her eyes, then nodded. While the coffee brewed, she watched him stretch out his legs where he sat, lean his head back against the sofa, then close his eyes as if intending to doze.

What in the world had him so upset, so quiet? She prayed she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. Maybe if she could get his mind off work or whatever had him in the dumpster, he’d cheer up.

Within minutes, she carried two cups to the coffee table and sat down beside him. Hope was renewed when he reached over and took her hand in his, linking their fingers. She forced her shoulders to relax as she leaned against him.

“Thank you for all the effort you went to for dinner. I wish I’d been hungrier.”

“There’s enough left over for another night, so you get a second chance,” she said, laughing softly.

His lips lifted a fraction, but his gaze remained focused on their joined hands.

Maybe engaging him in casual conversation would help redirect his thoughts. “Did you hear about the mob shooting in New York? The paper said two men were killed and several others injured. My mother used to say they all deserved what they got, and as long as they only shot each other, the police should stay out of it and let them kill each other off.”

His gaze slowly rose to meet hers, a frown marring his brow. “Is that how you feel?”

She shrugged. “I guess that opinion makes sense up to a point, but I hate all the killing. That’s not how civilized people should act.”

He nodded, glancing away before returning his gaze to her a moment later. “I’m sorry about not being very good company tonight. Something happened to make me realize I need to take a step back and do something I promised never to do.”

Something had happened. She hadn’t wanted to be right, but at least John was going to share it with her.

I’ll be strong for him. I’ll be strong.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “First, though, I need to give you a little history.”

She nodded, but remained quiet.

“I never knew my father because he left soon after he found out my mother was expecting me. She worked two jobs and long hours, but we were doing okay. When I was about nine, mother met a man at the coffee shop where she worked, and next thing I knew, we were moving from Mobile up to New York City.”

She brought her hand up to rest over her stomach. On the heels of the newspaper article and combined with the level of John’s turmoil, this didn’t bode well for a happy ending.

“We lived in New York for a few good years, and then my mother suddenly packed up and moved me back to Mobile. She refused to discuss my stepfather after that, but when I graduated high school, I got a letter from him offering to pay my way through college.”

“That was very nice of him.”

“My mother didn’t think so. She didn’t want me to have anything to do with him.”

“Well, that’s not unusual in divorces, right?”

He stared at her a moment before shrugging. “I guess so. I don’t have a lot of experience in that area. Anyway, I heard almost nothing from him for four years, but each year, the tuition was paid. Then when I graduated, I got a telegram saying that he’d purchased an airplane ticket for me to visit him in New York to celebrate.”

She couldn’t imagine where this story was going, but she wished he’d hurry up and get to the end of it. Maybe then she’d know what was going on—what had him so upset.

“My mother was furious, but I went anyway. She said my stepfather would try to get me to work in his business, and once I signed on, I’d have sold my soul to the devil himself.”

“That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?” Confusion overshadowed her curiosity. “Is that what you think? I mean, obviously Howard Hughes isn’t your stepfather since you’re close to his age, so you didn’t go to work in the family business, so-to-speak, right?” She laughed softly but sobered quickly when his jaw tightened and his index finger tapped a Morse-code cadence on his knee.

The clock ticked several times before he continued.

“Please let me finish this next part before you ask questions or jump to any conclusions.” It was almost a plea. When she shrugged and nodded, he continued, “I doubted my mother. She said he’d try to use me, but I couldn’t imagine Vince doing such a thing.”

A chill ran down her back even as a silent prayer winged heavenward that the wounded man mentioned in the newspaper wasn’t his stepfather. Vince Giovanni. She asked divine intervention that this wasn’t what had John upset. But she had to know. “W-was your stepfather one of the men shot in New York last night?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She leaned over and placed her free hand on his thigh. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” How horrible that his stepfather was part of organized crime and now injured.

The thumping in her chest began to ease, but John slid his hand from hers, leaned forward, and braced his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together. Again, ignoring her question, he continued.

“The problem is that my mother was right. He—Vince—didn’t exactly ask me to join his business, because, after all, my degree is in engineering and useless to him. But exactly like my mother predicted, he did ask me to do him a little favor. I saw no harm at the time, but now, I realize I can’t live with the arrangement as it is. I need to come clean and tell you everything.”

Me?

She leaned back slowly, one hand gripping the material of her skirt while reaching up the other to rub against her chest above her heart. “What do I have to do with this whole thing?”

“If your mother were alive, she could explain it better, but the bottom line is…”

John turned slightly and reached out to reclaim her hand, his skin warm and inviting as she released the cotton material and linked their fingers.

“…she married Vince when she was about twenty.”

His words slammed into her with enough force to render her helpless and leave her floundering. He had to be joking—but his eyes were serious.

Her breathing became shallow and fast as her mind raced with possibilities, silently screaming for her to run fast and far. She locked her jaws to stop them from chattering, but tightening every muscle in her body couldn’t stop the trembling—or the rest of the message.

“Honey, Vince Giovanni is your father.”

“No!” She jerked her hand away as she lurched up from the sofa to put distance between them. “I don’t believe you. My father was a policeman. Shot and killed on the job. My mother would never lie to me. Never.”

She turned her back on him, shaking her head in denial of his preposterous statement. Why was he doing this? She cared about him—even loved him—and he was ripping her heart to shreds.

A tear rolled down her cheek and then more. She bowed her head, more tears breaching the dam that now failed to hold back the flood that cascaded down to drip off her jaw onto her favorite dress.

No.

She flinched when strong arms came around from behind to wrap her in warmth. “I can’t…can’t…”

“Honey, I know it’s a shock, but it’s the truth. He’s kept track of you since you were born, making sure you had everything you needed. But for your safety, he allowed you and your mother to remain here, living under her maiden name.”

His words hovered in the charged air surrounding her quivering body, then settled in to be absorbed and digested. When she no longer struggled for freedom, his arms relaxed.

Then another thought struck. How would he know any of this?

She stepped away from his touch, turning to glare with enough wattage to light the room, her voice monotone. “Were you sent here to watch me? To spy on me? Was that the favor you were talking about?”

John took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders then shrugged. “Since I was going to be out here anyway to work for Hughes Aircraft, he hoped I’d be willing to let him know if you needed anything. But I’ve never reported anything to him about your comings and goings,” he added quickly.

Surprising.

All she heard was the thundering of her heart. “But you would have called that man if, for instance, I’d lost my job and was unable to buy food. Right?” Without waiting for an answer, she tightened her hands into fists and lowered her chin, even as she glared at him. “That’s why you buy the food I cook for our dinners. You’re working for him. You’re helping him interfere in my life. Then you tell me some trumped-up story and think I’ll believe it’s the truth. Well,” she spat, shaking her head, “you can forget it.”

“No. That’s not how it is.”

He started forward but halted when she retreated a step, only stopping when her legs bumped into the coffee table and her mother’s picture fell to the floor with a crash.

“Oh, no.” She glanced around at the broken glass then turned back to John, focusing a lethal glare at him like a gun pointed at a target. “Thanks a lot. That’s the only picture I have of her, and now the glass is broken.”

“Hannah, I’m sorry.” He moved forward, but she held up a hand, palm out, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Just stay away. You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Please believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. And as for the food, I asked you to cook because I like to eat home-cooked meals. It had nothing—and I mean nothing—to do with Vince.”

She tried, but failed to stop the new flood of tears. “I don’t believe you. You’re one of them…and you’re lying. But what I can’t understand is what you hoped to accomplish. I don’t have anything.” She shook her head, reaching a hand out like a stop sign when he stepped toward her again. “Just leave.” Intending her demand to be forceful, she cringed when it whispered out, weak and lifeless.

“Hannah, please…”

Her tear-filled glare stopped whatever he intended to say. She had thought of him as a good, clean-cut young man working hard to get ahead in life. Now, she saw a cunning mobster, maybe even a murderer. How could he be part of something like that and then lie to her about why he was showing her so much attention?

With a heavy heart, she faced the facts. He’d lied—not once, but over and over. She had trusted him, had been falling in love with him, and he’d betrayed that trust.

Hannah pointed toward the front door. “Leave.” Please, Lord, get him out of here before he sees me totally break down. Please.

John’s eyes pleaded, but she remained defiant. When he finally turned and silently walked from the apartment, his whole body slumped as if carrying the world on his shoulders.

She didn’t want to believe a word he said, but…

“If he is telling the truth about my father, then I fell in love with a mobster, the same as my mother,” she whispered, choking on the last word. And it meant her mother had lied to her.

No, I won’t believe it. I won’t.

She sank to the floor, leaned over until her face was buried in her cotton skirt, and wept.