Читать книгу Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms - Barbara McMahon - Страница 11

CRISTIANO drove them in the car back to the village. He and Mariella took the baby to the shore near the marina. The beach was a mixture of sand and pebbles sloping gently to the water’s edge. There was a couple sitting in nearby chairs, reading. She waved to them while Cristiano settled on a spot some distance away so as not to disturb their tranquility with their presence.

He brought a blanket and soon Dante was taking tummy time facing away from the water, so he was facing up hill. When he grew frustrated, Mariella sat him up, holding him lightly so he wouldn’t fall over. He could almost balance by himself. He settled in first gnawing on the plastic keys, then throwing them down. She retrieved them and handed them back.

Again

And again.

Cristiano stretched out beside them, laughing at the baby’s antics. Mariella tossed him the keys.

“You try it,” she said.

Dante turned to see the keys and grinned at Cristiano.

“Don’t want to lose your keys,” he said, dangling them in front of the baby. “Especially when you’re older and that means wheels.”

The tranquility of the setting soothed. Mariella coughed again, wishing she’d get over the smoke problem soon. Her chest felt dry and tight. Taking a deep breath, she relished the clean air scented with evergreen. The sun sparkled on the water. In the distance she could see a boat bobbing near the center of the lake. Was that a fisherman?

Dante threw the keys again.

Cristiano retrieved them and handed them to Dante. He threw them again and looked at him, a wide smile on his face. Her heart contracted. She loved this precious baby.

“It’s so lovely here, even if we can’t swim today. Maybe we’ll come back for a visit when Dante’s older. Maybe continue the search for his father if we don’t find him this time.”

“How can you have spent so much time with your friend and not found out more information?”

“She was in the late stages of pregnancy and very ill. We spent more time talking about our shared memories, reliving good times. She changed the subject anytime I brought up who Dante’s father might be. He could be named for the man, for all I know. She spoke of what she hoped for in Dante’s future. The future she’d never see.”

“Maybe she truly didn’t want her son to know his father.”

“Maybe.” She wondered if she was doing wrong trying to find the man. He obviously wasn’t as nice as Cristiano. She couldn’t imagine any woman not want a child of his to know him.

“It’s nice here,” she said, turning slightly and fussing with the baby to cover the fact she was studying Cristiano’s profile. He made her heart happy. He could have been in movies, she thought. The rugged hero rescuing the heroine from danger then kissing her silly. And her heart almost melted when he played with a baby. Why was a strong man giving his attention to a baby so sexy?

She sighed a bit, wishing he’d pay that much attention to her.

“Problem?” he asked, glancing at her, one eyebrow raised.

“No, just thinking how nice it is here and how horrible the other night was.’ She shivered involuntarily. “We could have died.”

“But you didn’t.” His voice came sharp.

She brushed her fingertips over Dante’s head. He was perfectly content sitting on the blanket and throwing his plastic keys. She wished she could be so easily satisfied.

“I know that. As a firefighter, you’ve probably seen lots of death.”

He frowned and sat up, resting an arm on his upraised knee. “It’s not something anyone gets used to,” he said.

“I imagine not.” She could have bitten her tongue and not said anything. How many other lives had he saved, and how many had he not been able to save? There was more to firefighting than just pouring water on a fire.

“Do you think I can raise him?” she asked a few moments later.

“You can do anything if you want it enough. Remember that. From what I see, you are doing a fine job.”

“Tell me more about growing up around here.”

“Weekends are busy times for restaurants. My father worked hard. My mother with him, until she died. But even though we didn’t see much of them our childhood was still magical. Especially when my grandfather was alive. His life was different from our everyday life. He knew the trees, the forest, fish in the lake.”

She fell silent, thinking about the vacations she and her parents had enjoyed. It seemed so long ago and far away. Would visiting some of the spots bring the memories closer? Or only emphasize she was alone? She wanted Dante to see all of Italy. They’d make new memories.

“I’m going into Monta Correnti tomorrow. The doctors at the hospital wanted to check me and Dante again, make sure there are no lasting effects. I need to get access to a printer so I can print up another picture of Ariana. Maybe check around in Monta Correnti to see if anyone recognizes her.”

“Park near the town square. Easy to get to an Internet café, shops and the hospital.”

“We’ll find it,” she said cheerfully, wishing he’d offered to drive them into town.

After visiting the hospital the next morning and getting a clean bill of health for both her and Dante, Mariella wandered the center part of Monta Correnti. First stop after the hospital was the Internet café where she was able to print a color photograph of Ariana. Staring at the picture of her friend, she remembered how vital she’d always been when younger. The illness had robbed her of so much.

Then she pushed the baby in the stroller, wandering down side streets, walking around the square. When she saw a likely tourist spot, she showed the photo. No one recognized Ariana.

It was after one when Mariella turned back onto the wide piazza and gazed at the buildings. Rosa seemed to leap out at her. That was Cristiano’s family’s restaurant—the one with the excellent marinara sauce. She pushed the stroller along, wondering if she dared try Dante in the restaurant. So far the baby had been in perfect harmony with all they’d done. But she’d hate to be in the middle of a meal and have him start screaming his head off.

As they approached, Mariella saw a nice open-air space connected to the restaurant. Much better for the baby, she thought. The day was warm enough to sit outside.

Once seated, with a baby highchair for Dante, Mariella perused the menu. She’d try the tortellini with the famous sauce. She sat back to enjoy the ambiance while waiting for her order. The waiter had brought bread sticks and she gave one to Dante to drool on. He beat the table, put it in his mouth and looked surprised. She laughed. Hadn’t he expected it to be food? He couldn’t eat it, but she thought he could gum it a bit. Once it got soggy, she replaced it with another.

The courtyard was delightful. Tables were scattered around as if awaiting company, two others occupied. None too close to impede a private conversation. The bougainvillea spilled down a trellis, their flowers faded now as winter approached. She bet they were spectacular in the height of summer. A fountain’s melody gave a pleasant sound to soothe and enhance enjoyment of the food. Mariella suspected the restaurant was a favorite of many.

When the meal was placed before her, Mariella smiled in anticipation. She looked at the waiter. “I can’t wait to eat this. I had this sauce recently at Cristiano Casali’s place. Do you know him?”

The waiter bowed slightly. “Of course. He is son of the owner, Luca.” He frowned. “He has not been to visit recently. I shall tell his sister you are here.”

Mariella took a bite of the tortellini. It almost melted in her mouth. The sauce was even better than she’d had at Cristiano’s. She savored each mouthful.

“Signora?”

A pretty woman wearing an apron approached Mariella.

“Sì?”

“I am Isabella, Cristiano’s sister. You are a friend of Cristiano?”

Mariella smiled. “He rescued me and my baby from a fire at Lake Clarissa. I consider him a hero.”

“Ah. May I?” Isabella said, holding onto the back of a chair.

“Please.”

“How is he?” she asked when she sat down.

“Fine. He said he is recovering from injuries?” How odd his sister asked a stranger for an update on her brother.

“He was a first responder to the bombing in Rome last May,” Isabella said slowly.

“I knew that. That’s where he was injured.”

“A burn, a broken ankle. Yet it’s taking a long time to heal. Does he walk okay?”

“Fine.”

Isabella stared at Mariella for a long moment.

Growing uncomfortable, Mariella smiled again. “I had some of your marinara sauce at Cristiano’s and so when I had to come to Monta Correnti and saw the restaurant, I thought I’d eat it again. It’s delicious.”

“Thank you. So you ate at Cristiano’s home?”

“The cottage near the lake,” Mariella clarified.

“I know where he’s staying. Did he bring you here?” Isabella glanced around quickly.

“No, I drove,” Mariella said.

Isabella looked at Dante. “What a blessing he is safe. Cristiano rescued him?”

“We’re staying at the cottages rented by the Bertatalis. The unit we rented burned. Faulty wire in the heating device. I was asleep, so was the baby. We both would have been killed if Cristiano hadn’t discovered the fire and come in to rescue us.”

Isabella smiled. “So like my brother. You are going back to Lake Clarissa today?”

“Yes, for a few more days. I’m on a short holiday.” She reached for her bag and pulled out Ariana’s picture. “Have you ever seen her?” she asked.

Isabella looked at the photo and handed it back. “No. A friend?”

Mariella nodded. Another story too much to go into with everyone she saw.

“I have something for Cristiano. Would you take it to him for me? Things are hectic right now or I’d go myself. Not that he’d be happy to see me,” Isabella said.

“Why ever not?”

“He’s been avoiding me. Granted, I’ve had a few other things on my mind, but I wanted to make sure he was all right. He doesn’t answer his phone most of the time. He was conveniently gone from the cottage the two times I went to visit. He’s turning into a hermit.”

Mariella laughed. “I don’t think so. But he can be a bit moody.”

“Cristiano? Doesn’t sound like him. He has a very even disposition.”

“Men hate to be sick. I know my father was grouchy when he was ill. My mother said not to worry, once he was better he’d be back to normal. Maybe Cristiano is frustrated with how long it’s taking him to heal and is taking it out on family.”

Isabella nodded. “Perhaps, but enough is enough. I shall get the letter and some more sauce. I’m glad to know he’s eating what I left, anyway.”

“It freezes well. I thought you might consider a mail-order side to the business. I’d love to be able to order this from my home and know I can have it whenever I wish.”

“We are just a local restaurant.”

“Think about it. I have a degree in marketing and could help set it up if you ever wanted to expand.”

Isabella looked at her. “Would it cost a lot?”

“My contribution would be free. I owe Cristiano forever.” She reached out and brushed back Dante’s hair, smiling at the precious little boy. He rewarded her with a wide smile and drool on his chin mixed with breadcrumbs.

Isabella nodded. “If you would take the letter and sauce to my brother, it will be enough. Tell him his sister asks after him and to call me!”

By the time Mariella was ready to leave, a small bag containing a jar of sauce and an official letter was delivered to her table by the waiter. She placed in it the carry space of the stroller. After wiping Dante’s face and hands, she placed him in the stroller and paid her bill. A few moments later they were walking around the square. She studied the restaurant that shared the small piazza with the family restaurant. It looked very upscale and trendy. Not the sort of place for a baby or a casually dressed tourist. Glad she’d had an excellent meal, and that Dante had not raised a fuss, she continued on her walk. There was more to see before returning to the lake.

The town was lovely, decidedly bigger than Lake Clarissa, yet nothing like New York or Rome.

But which appealed to her more these days—the big city excitement or the slower pace in these mountain towns? Would she like to raise Dante in a pastoral setting allowing him to experience nature in its raw beauty? Or would the experiences of museums, art galleries and opera be better to round his education?

Dante had fallen asleep by the time they returned to the car. Mariella couldn’t wait to get him home and take a nap herself. The prognosis from the doctor had been good. But she still coughed from time to time.

The next morning, Mariella put Dante in the stroller, retrieved the sauce Isabella Casali had sent from the refrigerator and headed back up the road to deliver to Cristiano. Her nerves thrummed with anticipation.

On impulse, she stopped at the open-air market and bought a bouquet of mums. The fall flowers were vibrant bronze yellow and purple and she knew they would brighten the kitchen. She hoped he’d appreciate the gesture with the flowers. She wanted to brighten his day as he brightened hers.

Cristiano was sitting on the terrace when she arrived. She smiled when she saw him, already anticipating their time together. There was something about Cristiano that drew her like a lodestone. She watched his expression as it changed from surprise, to pleasure, to cautiousness. He rose and came to meet her.

“Buongiorno. We have brought you gifts,” she said as she reached the terrace.

“I need no gifts.” He watched her from wary eyes. He was several inches taller than she was and she had to crane her neck he was so close.

“Well, the flowers are from Dante, so speak to him about those. And this sack is from your sister, Isabella. She hopes you are well and you should call her.”

“My sister?”

“Yes. She says you are becoming a hermit. I told her you weren’t. Look how often we visit.”

The amusement in his eyes lit a spark in her own.

Her spirits rose. She held out the flowers.

He stared at them and slowly took them. “Dante picked them out?” he asked.

“Well, that was the bunch he made a grab for. I figured they were the ones he wanted to give you.”

“Or eat.”

She laughed.

Cristiano stole another look at her. She was beautiful when she laughed. It was as if the sun shone from inside, lighting her eyes and making them look like polished silver. That pesky urge to wrap his hands in her hair and pull her closer sprang up again. He looked away before he did something stupid—like give into that impulse.

“And your sister sent you some more sauce.” Mariella pulled a brown bag from the back of the stroller and held it out. Cristiano took it. Now both hands were full.

“I’ll open the door so you can put the flowers in water and the sauce in the freezer or wherever you wanted to put it. I kept it cold. Delicious, even better made fresh. Still, I think your family could ship it frozen within the country at least. I think the sauce would do quite well—maybe they could send pasta, too. I printed a picture of Ariana, but no one I showed it to yesterday recognized her.”

“Did you even take a breath in all that?” he commented, following her into the house and back to the kitchen. He put the sack on the counter, laid the flowers down and rummaged for something to put them in. Finally he settled on a tall glass. The flowers did look nice. But he wasn’t used to getting gifts from women and wasn’t sure how to handle this.

“I thought they’d look good on the table,” she said.

“Sure.” He set the flowers on the old table, struck by a memory of his mother doing the same thing. Now the forgotten memory flashed into his mind.

“My mother liked flowers,” he said slowly.

“Most people do. I think they look happy. When we stopped at Rosa for lunch after our checkup yesterday, I told the waiter I’d had the sauce before and he apparently told your sister. She came out to meet me.”

For a moment Cristiano wished he had given them a ride, though he wasn’t sure about visiting Rosa just yet. He realized he longed to see his father and sister. Find out how things were going at the restaurant. He had to make sure he was all right before risking it. “The outcome from the doctor?”

“We’re both healthy. Though I still cough from time to time. The doctor said that would fade. So we had most of the day free after seeing him, so we set out to explore Monta Correnti. I recognized the restaurant as soon as I saw the sign. The food was superb. That’s where I met Isabella. There’s a letter in the sack for you as well.”

Cristiano looked in the sack and took out the envelope. It was from the minister of the interior. Cristiano stared at it. It was addressed to his apartment in Rome and had been forwarded to the restaurant.

“Is it bad news?” Mariella asked, watching him.

“I have no idea.” Although deep down Cristiano knew what this letter contained, but did not want to accept it.

“So open it and find out what it says.”

He did. The letter confirmed what Cristiano had already known for a long time. He was being awarded a medal of valor for his rescue of the injured from the bombing. Immediately, he crushed the letter and threw it on the counter.

“Um, bad news,” she guessed.

He shook his head. “It’s a mistake, that’s all.”

Cristiano didn’t want the medal, never had. Why him? Stephano had died. Others from his station had helped with the rescue. There had been so many who died. They had not been able to rescue everyone. Why would anyone want to award him a medal of valor? Especially if they knew of the flashbacks and attacks of sheer terror that gripped him. What kind of man deserved a medal when he couldn’t handle all life threw his way?

“What’s a mistake?” she asked.

“Never mind. Are you staying?”

“Gee, after such a kind invitation to visit and give you my impressions of Monta Correnti how can I refuse?”

She grinned that cheeky grin and Cristiano almost groaned at the sight. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until he forgot all the pain of the past. He wanted to feel that slim body against his, driving out the memories and offering an optimistic hope of the future. He wanted to lose himself in her and find that shining optimism she displayed.

He flat out wanted her.

Yet he had deliberately come to Lake Clarissa to avoid people until he could be sure the flashbacks had gone. Wasn’t it risky to spend so much time with her? Yet she made him feel normal again, complete. And the baby was adorable. Cristiano wished he could remember when he was so young and innocent the future looked nothing but bright.

Dante began fussing and Mariella shrugged out of her sweater, tossing it on the counter, knocking off the letter. She picked it up and smoothed it out, her eyes drawn to the fancy letterhead. Skimming quickly, she widened them in shock.

“You’re getting a medal! How cool is this!”

“I told you, it’s a mistake. I don’t deserve a medal. I certainly am not a hero!”

Mariella wasn’t listening to him. Or attending to Dante, who looked as if he were working up to a fully-fledged screaming bout. She was reading every word in the letter.

“You saved seven people.”

“Others saved lives as well.”

“And at great personal risk you continued on with the last two even though you were severely injured,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

He didn’t need the reminder. He saw it over and over every time he had a flashback. The shock, the anguish, the horror.

She looked at him, her eyes shining. “I knew you were a hero. Now it’s been confirmed, and not just because of me and Dante. Wow, you must be so proud.”

“I’m not going to accept it. It would be a farce.”

“But—”

He snatched the paper from her hand, balled it up and tossed it into the trash before storming out of the kitchen.