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FRANCESCA’S HAND TIGHTENING on the glass of water he’d poured for her she drank.
“Are you all right?” At her silent nod, he walked past her and rounded his desk to take a seat.
“You may have a bump surface where you hit your head.”
Her breath steadier, her nerves calmer now Francesca said, “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in church before. Are you new to the area?”
Francesca furrowed brows in confusion. Although the lines on his face leaned more towards dashing than aging, he was older, more mature. A vertical scar marred his chin, and the one above his eye sliced through his eyebrow. His dark, thick flyaway hair was now short and neatly combed back. His steel-blue eyes were wiser, and he was thinner, but it was Tommy. Her Tommy.
The gnawing shock, relief, and excitement fluttering in Francesca’s stomach like a swinging pendulum, she said, “Tommy, it’s me. Francesca.”
“I’m Father Matthew, not Father Tommy. I’ve met most of Father Albert’s parishioners in the past two months, but I don’t recall meeting you.” He settled back into his chair. “You seem upset. Are you all right, Francesca?”
Francesca’s stunned eyes traveled over Tommy’s face. “You’ve been in town for two months, just a couple of miles from my home, and you never thought to look me up?” Her voice broke.
The hurt swirling inside her came too fast and too hard, punched her like a fist to the stomach. It felt like crushing despair. Why wouldn’t Tommy look her up? She’d mourned his loss all these years, and he didn’t want to see her. Why, why wouldn’t he? He’d told her he loved her. Francesca sat back, closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Francesca, bur Father Albert never left instructions to look you up.”
Francesca opened her eyes, glanced up at Tommy with disbelief. “You have to be told to look me up?”
Father Matthew brushed over the obvious spiking anger in her voice. “Well, I’m new in the area, so, for now, I could only go by Father Albert’s instructions.”
Disappointment robbing Francesca of speech, she pushed to her feet and paced the office before stopping at the window. Dew clung to the panes in beads. The garden was infused with fall colors from chrysanthemums in glorious bloom. A lush carpet of sweet alyssum in shades of white and pink covered the ground. Lemon-yellow goldenrod and purple flowers and silvery-green foliage from Russian sage popped with color. No doubt, Tommy had a hand in its design.
Francesca turned, her gaze cutting straight to Father Matthew. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Father Matthew’s eyes calm and level on her, he said, “Of course I do. You’re Francesca.”
The smile on her lips bloomed. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Francesca.”
Father Matthew curiously stared at Francesca. “Yes, you are. You just told me so.”
Cold washed over Francesca, and she wrapped arms around herself when she put it together. “You have no idea who I am.”
“Difficult to know someone I’ve just met.”
Francesca’s thin shoulders hunched when the realization that Tommy had no memory of her hit her. Why? How? They’d spent a summer together. How did you forget someone you’ve told you loved? How could Tommy forget her? Francesca asked herself over and over.
A head injury or post-traumatic stress, Francesca concluded. That’s what was affecting Tommy. Over the years she’d searched for Tommy, she’d read about soldiers sustaining traumatic injuries and losing their memory. That was why she couldn’t find him, why no one could, Francesca reasoned. Tommy Scott was lost. He was now Father Matthew.
“If you’re up to it, we can get to know each other. As a new priest to the area, I like to get to know my parishioners.” Father Matthew felt the instant pull that overcomes a man at the sound of a crying woman. “Are you all right, Francesca?”
“I’m sorry, Tom ... Father Matthew. It’s been a long couple of days.” Francesca’s eyes swam when she lifted them to his face.
Father Matthew would have asked about the gash that became visible when the tears that sprang from Francesca’s eyes washed the makeup away stood out stark against her pale skin, but thought best not to. Father Matthew surmised there were other bruises on her body, but Francesca’s state of mind was too fragile for questions. He’d have to gain her trust before delving into something he sensed led down a dark rabbit hole.
“I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time, Francesca. Would you like to talk about it?” Father Matthew handed her a tissue. “You know life is full of interruptions and complications, but that’s what I’m here for,” he said when she hesitated.
Recognizing the words, Francesca lifted the tear-stained face to Father Matthew with newfound hope in her eyes. “Do you know who said that?”
Father Matthew shook his head. “But it’s very profound and so apt, don’t you think?”
Francesca started to tell him they were his mother’s word, but when she looked deep into the blue eyes, they weren’t Tommy’s. They belonged to a stranger she didn’t know. Francesca felt the wind knocked out of her for the second time in twenty-four hours. Feeling defeated, tired, and alone, Francesca tipped back her head and closed her eyes.
“I think I need to go now.” The words slid soundlessly from Francesca’s mouth as she ran out of the office.
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FRANCESCA PULLED THE BLANKET OVER HER head when Missy walked into her bedroom. Since her return from St. Elizabeth’s last night, in bed, with Bear by her side, was where she’d been brooding, and wallowing in self-pity
Although Tommy hadn’t recognized her, although he was lost, a stranger to her, he’d stirred feelings in Francesca that made her realize how much in love she still was with him. Francesca thought of James and guilt, the overwhelming weight of it, smothered her. How would she feel if James was focused on another woman? Or if his heart belonged to another while they shared a bed? Maybe, just maybe the feeling of rejection she inflicted manifested itself into the violence James visited on her, Francesca rationalized.
What was she to do now that Tommy—or the man she knew as Tommy—was back in her life? Francesca asked herself. Tommy didn’t know who she was or how much they’d meant to one another. Tommy wasn’t the man she knew. He was a priest now.
Life was full of interruptions and complications, and regardless of the challenges, Francesca wasn’t about to let Tommy slip out of her life, not again. She’d waited too long for him, and she wasn’t going to let him go.
“No use hiding under the covers. I’ve already seen the gash on your cheek, Frankie.” Crossing to the burgundy curtains, Missy threw them open to let the morning sunshine in. “I won’t press you on it because I sense you’re not ready to talk about it, but I can guess how it got there.” Missy lifted a hand, palm out, to stop Francesca from talking when she opened her mouth. “Don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. That was what you were about to do, isn’t it?”
Sighing, Francesca appeared from under the covers, sat up in bed. “It’s nothing.”
Missy felt the quick jolt of anger, then pity, and sadness. Her anger quickly surged again when she came closer and got a better glimpse of the purpling gash on Francesca’s cheek. “That sonofabitch did that, didn’t he?” When Francesca raised a humiliated hand to her cheek to conceal the cut. Missy’s eyes flicked to the purpling man’s hand imprint on Francesca’s upper arm. Guessing there was a match beneath her left arm sleeve, Missy set off into a swearing tirade that sent Bear hiding beneath the bed cover.
“He did that too, didn’t he? What else did he do?” At Francesca’s silent stare, Missy set off into a more colorful swearing rant complete with hands curled into fists that wanted to inflict as much pain as she imagined Francesca had endured. “I could kill that cowardly, sonofabitch. That bastard, that...”
“Was there a reason why you came up?” Pressing fingers to her aching temples, Francesca jumped in.
“I’m not just your maid, Frankie. I’m your friend. You know you can talk to me.” Missy walked back a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water from the bathroom, watched Francesca toss pills and water back. “I promise I won’t go off on you. I’ve gotten it out of my system now—mostly.” Missy rested a hand on Francesca’s. “No one deserves this. And you deserve better, Frankie.”
“I brought this on myself. I should never have married James. I don’t love him as much as...”
“Tommy.” Missy finished.
Francesca shook her head. “I was going to say as much as he deserves to be loved, and he senses it, Missy. This is my fault.”
“No, it’s not, Frankie. No one had the right to lay a hand on you.”
Francesca dabbed at her eyes with the tissue Missy handed her. “You don’t know everything.”
Missy sat at the edge of the bed. “Then tell me.”
“I’m not ready to, but only because it’s best, I don’t involve you.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, but whether me or someone else, you need to talk to someone, Frankie. You need to talk about it. More importantly, you need to understand this is not your fault.”
Francesca hugged Missy. “Thank you for saying so and being such a good friend.” Gratitude gushed from her voice.
“You’re welcome. You can come out now, baby. Auntie Missy won’t be swearing at the top of her lungs anymore.” Missy flipped the bedsheet off Bear. Ears up, head slightly cocked, Bear watched Missy, and after a few seconds of consideration, bounded toward her open arms. “There’s nothing like the love of a gutless dog,” she said, kissing him.
The tender moment shared between Missy and Bear made Francesca smile for the first time in days. “Why did you come up, Missy?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Father Matthew from St. Elizabeth’s is here to see you.”
Francesca’s heart pounded into her ribs. “He’s here?”
“Downstairs. He wouldn’t say what it’s about.”
Francesca paused for a beat. “He’s here?”
“Yes, in the living room. Waiting.”
Tommy came looking for me. He remembered where to find me, Francesca thought to herself, and scrambling out of bed, she sprinted to the closet.
“I didn’t know you knew him. If you ask me, he’s too pretty to be wasted as a priest. Anyway, make yourself decent. I’ll bring in tea and a plate of scones when you’re ready. And I’ll get you a treat,” Missy said to Bear, getting herself a lick of appreciation.
“Do you think you can round up lemonade and oatmeal cookies instead?”
“I can.” Missy’s brows shot up when Francesca rifled through her closet for the perfect outfit. “Jeans and a T-shirt would suit the priest just fine.”
Francesca ignored Missy.
“What are you up to, Frankie?”
“Who says I’m up to anything?” Francesca loosened her hair out of the ponytail and letting it spill finger brushed it.
“That silk, low buttoned shirt and those slim-fitting Jeans you’ve slipped into tells me you’re up to something. You know he’s a priest. A celibate priest.”
Francesca slanted a look over her shoulder. “Don’t let that imagination of yours run off into some deep, dark hole.”
“Right, my imagination,” Missy murmured, staring at the face that had turned from miserable to glowing.
“Please let him know I’ll be down shortly. I just need a few minutes to make myself presentable.” Francesca called out from the bathroom.
“And, don’t forget to dab lots of foundation on that gash to cover up those bruises.” And whatever other bruises there are.
“Right.” Shrugging out of her nightgown, Francesca dressed, dabbed loads of foundation on her cheek, and ran gloss on her lips. And taking one last look at her reflection in the mirror, headed downstairs.
Father Matthew rose to his feet. “Good afternoon, Francesca. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Tommy’s smile sprinkled light throughout the room, bringing it to life, Francesca thought, and she couldn’t help but stare. In that instant, she saw him like the Tommy she knew. Francesca wanted to reach for his hand, feel his arms around her.
“Of course not. Please, have a seat.”
He was pleased to see her more upbeat. “And who’s this little fellow?” Father Matthew delighted Bear with head scratches when Francesca set him on the sofa between them.
“This is Bear. Say hello to Father Matthew.”
Father Matthew’s dimples flickered when Bear offered his paw. “You’re one smart dog.”
“Lemonade and oatmeal cookies,” Missy announced, walking into the living room unannounced.
“My favorites.” Father Matthew reached for a cookie, found it warm and toasty. Just out of the oven, he thought. Nothing beats home cooking. He missed Signora Capitano’s cooking. “How did you know, Missy?”
“I didn’t. It was Frankie’s idea. How do you suppose she’d know?” Missy’s eyebrows shot up suspiciously toward Francesca as she hefted the lemonade jug and poured two glasses.
“I’ll take it from here, Missy.” Francesca subtly lifted her chin toward the door.
“Mmm-hmm,” Missy hummed, making her exit.
Francesca turned to Father Matthew when the door closed behind Missy. “It’s nice of you to look me up.”
“I needed to see you.” The lemonade was tart, swimming with pulp. Also, homemade Father Matthew thought-feeling that prodding sense of familiarity since he’d arrived at St. Elizabeth’s.
“You did?” Francesca’s beaming smile left Father Matthew, staring at her.
The large hazel eyes, the chestnut hair that fountained over the beautiful face, the broad smile beneath the rosy cheekbones stirred something in Father Matthew. A spark of recognition came over him, and he dug deep into his memory. Nothing came to him.
“When you ran off yesterday, you left this in my office.” Father Matthew turned Francesca’s purse over. “I’m sorry, but I had to go through your wallet to get your address.” He didn’t tell her about feeling the nagging sense of familiarity when he had.
An unbearable sadness weighed down on Francesca’s heart. “You’re here to return my purse and for no other reason?”
Father Matthew’s matter-of-fact nod felt like a twisted knife in Francesca’s heart. “I figured you’d need it. I’ve been told losing a purse is like losing a limb for most women.”
Tommy had slipped away from her again. To have him so near and yet so far.
“Yes, thank you for bringing it by.” Francesca Picked up her discarded glass of lemonade, took a quick sip to wet the mouth that had gone bone dry.
“Well, I should get going.”
“Don’t,” Francesca blurted out when Father Matthew started to push off the sofa. “I mean, stay for lunch. A thank you. I, ah, I can have Missy round up something light. A sandwich and salad.”
When Father Matthew mulled his response for too long, her eyes deepened with a plea of need he couldn’t rebuff. “I’d like that. We can get to know each other better,” Father Matthew said, garnering a smile that lit the room.
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TO KEEP THEM FROM PRYING EYES, and listening ears, Francesca had Missy serve lunch in the dining room. Over Monte Cristo sandwiches and Caesar salad while Francesca injected names such as Mrs. O’Sullivan, and Scott’s Garden Center into the conversation. Francesca mentioned Nick’s Burgers, the boardwalk, and Musselman Lake, but nothing triggered the reaction Francesca hoped for in Father Matthew.
“They sound like interesting places.” Father Matthew scanned the room bright with sunshine spilling through the large bay window.
Sunflowers speared from the Waterford vase on the buffet table. Mahogany furniture and wood floors shone to a perfect polish. French doors opened to the slate terrace, which stretched the length of the house. It was a room meant for family gatherings. It was a room that set off that nagging sense of familiarity that had hit him since arriving at St. Elizabeth’s.
“My mother loved this room. She wanted to fill it with children, but as fate would have it, I ended up being her only child. You don’t smoke?” Francesca asked, pouring coffee.
“It’s a nasty habit,” he said, and she smiled at that. “And I’m sure your mother still enjoys the room, the home. It’s a stunning place.” Tommy had often told her it was too big, too cold.
“Mom passed away when I was a young girl.”
“I’m sorry, Francesca.”
Yours did too, Francesca wanted to remind him. “There’s a creek that winds through the grove and runs through the property,” she said when Father Matthew walked to the window and cast eyes to the grove. She remained hopeful when she thought he looked reflective.
“It’s a beautiful property.”
A compliment, Francesca thought, feeling limp. All she got was a compliment. Determined not to give up, she said, “If you like, I can take you to some of the places I’ve mentioned. You know, since you’re new to the area.”
“I’d like that.”
Francesca’s eyes kindled. “Good. I’m free this weekend and at your disposal,” she offered knowing James or her father wouldn’t set foot on the estate.
“I’ll check my calendar, and I’ll call you.”
For the rest of the day, Francesca anxiously waited by the telephone.
