Kissing Under The Mistletoe
Page 49
She wanted to dive into the taxi and have it take her down the narrow cobblestone street and away from everything she was afraid of facing.
“I’m scared.” She reached for Jack’s hands and pulled them into her chest as if he could somehow get her heart to stop racing so fast. “What if my mother sees me and tells me to leave again? What if my coming here, being back in her house, makes everything worse instead of better?” They’d been in the country barely over an hour, and yet she couldn’t stop the Italian accent from quickly seeping into her words. “What if—” The fears crowding her mind piled on one another too fast for her to clearly put a voice to them. “I made so many mistakes, Jack. I can see that now. What if it’s too late to undo them?”
“Everybody makes mistakes. But that’s the magic of family—knowing that underneath whatever you’ve said and done, you are still loved. And that you always will be, no matter what.”
Jack had been right about everything else so far. She wanted desperately to believe that he was right about this, too.
Knowing she needed to be brave enough to find out, she lifted a hand she couldn’t stop from trembling to knock. Before she could make contact with the old wooden door, a gray-haired man opened it.
Her father’s face was just as she remembered it, with perhaps a few more lines, but his expression was one of a man who had just witnessed a miracle.
Oh, how she’d missed him, every single day since she’d left.
“Carissima, you’re finally home!”
On a joyful sob, Mary threw herself into her father’s open arms, still—always—his little girl.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Papa, this is Jack. Jack Sullivan. He’s the man I love. We’re going to be married.”
Despite the fact that she’d spoken in Italian, Jack didn’t seem at all surprised when her father grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Your mother will be very happy.” He took both of her hands in his. “Come see her.”
Mary’s feet felt as if they were filled with lead. “Papa? When she asked for me to come see her, was she—” She stopped speaking when she saw the guilty look on her father’s face. “She doesn’t know you called me, does she?”
“Your mother has too much pride. So do you. Your silence has gone on long enough. Come, it’s time to see and to talk to each other again.”
Perhaps her father had been wrong not to tell either Mary or her mother about what he was doing, but he’d been stuck in the middle of things for too many years. So when he pulled her through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom he shared with her mother, Mary let him. But since she knew she couldn’t do this without Jack, she reached for his hand with her free one so that the three of them were a connected chain.
Her father gave a soft knock on the door before looking inside the bedroom. “Tesoro, I have someone here to see you.”
A half-dozen questions flew through Mary’s head as her father slowly opened the door. How much would the years—and illness—have changed her mother? Would her mother see that her daughter was no longer a girl but a woman now? Would there be softness in her mother’s eyes? Or would her gaze be just as cold as it had been that horrible day so many years ago?
As Jack squeezed her freezing cold hand with his warm one in a show of support, Mary knew there was only way to find out. She sucked in a deep breath and threw her shoulders back, calling on years of poise in front of the camera to get through the hardest moment of her life.
Lucia Ferrer had always been a beautiful woman. Thirteen years had turned her dark hair fully gray, but her skin was still relatively unlined, her mouth still full, her limbs long and firm. Mary had been a girl when she’d left, but now that she was an adult, she saw in her mother’s face the same eyes, nose and chin that she saw every time she looked in the mirror. How could she have forgotten how similar they were, not just in temperament, but in looks, too?
Mary couldn’t remember her mother ever being sick when she was a child. She’d inherited that from her, too—good, healthy genes that meant she’d never once called in sick. For Lucia to spend any part of the day in bed meant that she was really and truly not well.
“Mama.”
The short, simple word sounded raw and uncertain from lack of use. Her mother looked shocked, so stunned by her daughter’s sudden reappearance in her life that she couldn’t yet speak.
How Mary longed to run into the room and reach out to her. But Lucia had yet to give any sign that she was happy to see her daughter, and the pride that was never far from the surface began to bubble up again inside Mary as it had so many years before.
Only, she was no longer a headstrong, foolish girl with only dreams and adventures ahead of her. This time, Mary was a woman who had experienced some dreams coming true and others crumbling. She’d known terrible heartbreak and then had been lucky enough to find a love that would last forever.
And, most of all, for thirteen years, she’d longed for the family she’d left behind.
Her father was right: Pride had kept her away for too long. If her mother wasn’t ready to see her again, well, that was too bad. Because it was long past time for this nonsense between them to come to an end.
Decision made, Mary quickly moved into the room, holding her mother’s gaze all the while. But before she could take more than a couple of steps, pure joy moved across her mother’s face, and her arms lifted from the covers, wide open for her daughter.
Her emotions bubbled to the surface, and Mary felt incredible release as she ran into the room and put her arms around her mother. Despite her not being well, her mother pulled her even closer. Sitting on the bed together, Mary breathed in the familiar smell of her perfume and felt how strong and warm her arms still were.
Her tears fell then, not just for all the years they’d lost, but because between her and her mother, Jack and her father, the small room was overflowing with love.
Mary and her mother held each other close for a long time, and when they finally drew back, Lucia framed Mary’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you, my beautiful girl.”
There was so much Mary wanted to say to her mother, and she was sure there was at least as much that her mother wanted to say to her, but for now, just being with each other again was enough.
“You’re not a girl anymore.” Mary could read her mother’s regret at losing those years just as clearly as she could see the pride in what she’d grown to become. “You are a woman now.”
“I’m scared.” She reached for Jack’s hands and pulled them into her chest as if he could somehow get her heart to stop racing so fast. “What if my mother sees me and tells me to leave again? What if my coming here, being back in her house, makes everything worse instead of better?” They’d been in the country barely over an hour, and yet she couldn’t stop the Italian accent from quickly seeping into her words. “What if—” The fears crowding her mind piled on one another too fast for her to clearly put a voice to them. “I made so many mistakes, Jack. I can see that now. What if it’s too late to undo them?”
“Everybody makes mistakes. But that’s the magic of family—knowing that underneath whatever you’ve said and done, you are still loved. And that you always will be, no matter what.”
Jack had been right about everything else so far. She wanted desperately to believe that he was right about this, too.
Knowing she needed to be brave enough to find out, she lifted a hand she couldn’t stop from trembling to knock. Before she could make contact with the old wooden door, a gray-haired man opened it.
Her father’s face was just as she remembered it, with perhaps a few more lines, but his expression was one of a man who had just witnessed a miracle.
Oh, how she’d missed him, every single day since she’d left.
“Carissima, you’re finally home!”
On a joyful sob, Mary threw herself into her father’s open arms, still—always—his little girl.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Papa, this is Jack. Jack Sullivan. He’s the man I love. We’re going to be married.”
Despite the fact that she’d spoken in Italian, Jack didn’t seem at all surprised when her father grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Your mother will be very happy.” He took both of her hands in his. “Come see her.”
Mary’s feet felt as if they were filled with lead. “Papa? When she asked for me to come see her, was she—” She stopped speaking when she saw the guilty look on her father’s face. “She doesn’t know you called me, does she?”
“Your mother has too much pride. So do you. Your silence has gone on long enough. Come, it’s time to see and to talk to each other again.”
Perhaps her father had been wrong not to tell either Mary or her mother about what he was doing, but he’d been stuck in the middle of things for too many years. So when he pulled her through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom he shared with her mother, Mary let him. But since she knew she couldn’t do this without Jack, she reached for his hand with her free one so that the three of them were a connected chain.
Her father gave a soft knock on the door before looking inside the bedroom. “Tesoro, I have someone here to see you.”
A half-dozen questions flew through Mary’s head as her father slowly opened the door. How much would the years—and illness—have changed her mother? Would her mother see that her daughter was no longer a girl but a woman now? Would there be softness in her mother’s eyes? Or would her gaze be just as cold as it had been that horrible day so many years ago?
As Jack squeezed her freezing cold hand with his warm one in a show of support, Mary knew there was only way to find out. She sucked in a deep breath and threw her shoulders back, calling on years of poise in front of the camera to get through the hardest moment of her life.
Lucia Ferrer had always been a beautiful woman. Thirteen years had turned her dark hair fully gray, but her skin was still relatively unlined, her mouth still full, her limbs long and firm. Mary had been a girl when she’d left, but now that she was an adult, she saw in her mother’s face the same eyes, nose and chin that she saw every time she looked in the mirror. How could she have forgotten how similar they were, not just in temperament, but in looks, too?
Mary couldn’t remember her mother ever being sick when she was a child. She’d inherited that from her, too—good, healthy genes that meant she’d never once called in sick. For Lucia to spend any part of the day in bed meant that she was really and truly not well.
“Mama.”
The short, simple word sounded raw and uncertain from lack of use. Her mother looked shocked, so stunned by her daughter’s sudden reappearance in her life that she couldn’t yet speak.
How Mary longed to run into the room and reach out to her. But Lucia had yet to give any sign that she was happy to see her daughter, and the pride that was never far from the surface began to bubble up again inside Mary as it had so many years before.
Only, she was no longer a headstrong, foolish girl with only dreams and adventures ahead of her. This time, Mary was a woman who had experienced some dreams coming true and others crumbling. She’d known terrible heartbreak and then had been lucky enough to find a love that would last forever.
And, most of all, for thirteen years, she’d longed for the family she’d left behind.
Her father was right: Pride had kept her away for too long. If her mother wasn’t ready to see her again, well, that was too bad. Because it was long past time for this nonsense between them to come to an end.
Decision made, Mary quickly moved into the room, holding her mother’s gaze all the while. But before she could take more than a couple of steps, pure joy moved across her mother’s face, and her arms lifted from the covers, wide open for her daughter.
Her emotions bubbled to the surface, and Mary felt incredible release as she ran into the room and put her arms around her mother. Despite her not being well, her mother pulled her even closer. Sitting on the bed together, Mary breathed in the familiar smell of her perfume and felt how strong and warm her arms still were.
Her tears fell then, not just for all the years they’d lost, but because between her and her mother, Jack and her father, the small room was overflowing with love.
Mary and her mother held each other close for a long time, and when they finally drew back, Lucia framed Mary’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you, my beautiful girl.”
There was so much Mary wanted to say to her mother, and she was sure there was at least as much that her mother wanted to say to her, but for now, just being with each other again was enough.
“You’re not a girl anymore.” Mary could read her mother’s regret at losing those years just as clearly as she could see the pride in what she’d grown to become. “You are a woman now.”
