Lovers' Reunion

While the method of weight loss wasn’t one she’d recommend to anyone, she rather liked the end result. In the two years since she’d been widowed, she’d acquired eating and exercising habits that had kept her trim. She was proud that she hadn’t strayed more than three pounds from her desired weight in those years.

Actually, it wasn’t much of an effort. The clinic where she worked, in a poor Hispanic neighborhood down in the city, kept her so busy that she often didn’t get home until six or seven. And half the time, the workday ended before she remembered that she hadn’t eaten lunch.

She liked the busy-ness of the clinic, though. Her work teaching young mothers how to care for their babies and be successful in the job market gave her many moments of joy. There was little she loved more than handling wide-eyed babies with mops of black curls.

And if she occasionally shed tears of anger at the unfairness of the life that had left her a widow with no babies of her own, she never, ever let anyone see them.

Of course, her work had its sad moments, too. But she’d lived through sorrows of her own, and, though she still missed Kirk, she felt that her life was richer for the experiences she’d had. She knew grief and rage and despair intimately, so she could offer the comfort of a kindred soul to others when those emotions came knocking at their doors.

“I have big news,” Violetta said, breaking into her silent thoughts.

“What?”

“You have to guess.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, though Vee couldn’t see her. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’ll give you a hint. Whose anniversary party is coming up?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Esposito’s. But what—”

“And what handsome family black sheep has come home to help them celebrate?”

Marco was home. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and before she thought, she automatically defended him. “He isn’t exactly a black sheep. He just travels a lot.” Sophie wished she could call the words back the minute they hit the air, but too late. The realization that he was already in Chicago was more unsettling than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

“Sophia Elenora, don’t you dare defend that man.” Violetta’s tone was heated. “He led you on and then dumped you for his silly little research trips, remember? You haven’t seen him in close to five years—”

“Almost six.”

“Okay, six, but my point is—”

“I get your point, Vee.” Sophie sighed and raked her long hair away from her face. “I did manage to marry someone else, remember? You don’t have to worry—my feelings for Marco were just a juvenile crush. They disappeared ages ago.” She made herself continue in a light tone. “But it will be nice to see him again. He’s been away a long time. Do you realize that this party might actually get all the Esposito and Domenico kids back together?”

“It’s going to be wonderful.” Violetta’s tone had softened and she accepted the change of topic. “I talked to Camilla yesterday. She asked if we could spare a few hours that Saturday afternoon to help decorate the church hall.”

“Tell her I’ll put it on my calendar.” Camilla was Marco’s older sister, the one who’d done most of the arrangements for the upcoming party.

Violetta changed the subject then, and they chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

But as Sophie hung up the phone, she knew her peaceful evening was at an end. Most of the time, she deliberately refused to think of Marco. It was the safest way. But knowing that he was home, here in the very same city, had every nerve cell in her body dancing a kick line, and the memories came flooding back fast and hard through the gates that Vee’s words had opened.

Marco.

Her stomach fluttered. She could picture his face as if he were standing before her, dark eyes gleaming with goodnatured amusement at the world, well-sculpted lips and classic Roman nose, his black curls cropped ruthlessly short and dimples winking in his lean cheeks. His sisters had teased him about being a “chick-magnet” years ago—did he still project that same irresistible aura? Did those eyes still promise a woman secret pleasures beyond all imagining? He’d curled her toes every time she so much as looked at him.

And look she had.

She’d longed for him ever since she’d started to notice boys. Marco was seven years older than she was, and at eighteen, he’d already had girls lined up around the block. If he thought of little.Sophie Domenico at all, it was only as the neighbor guys’ kid sister.

But that hadn’t mattered to her adolescent heart. He’d bestowed a casual kiss on her cheek at the party they’d thrown him before he left for college, and at the ripe old age of eleven, she’d been his forever. No teen idol’s face had ever adorned her bedroom walls; Marco was the only man she’d fantasized about. At her Sweet Sixteen party, she’d been on cloud nine all evening simply because Marco had been home. He’d already finished his undergraduate work and had his first assignment as a research assistant under his belt.

That time, he’d kissed her lips before he left. Just a friendly, brotherly peck, to be sure, but to her it had been as good as a proposal of marriage. Though she’d dated through high school, she’d never gotten serious with anyone. Compared to Marco, all the boys she’d gone out with seemed like . . . well, like boys. Marco was all man, and her breath grew short and her heart beat faster every time she thought about him.

It had been the silliest thing, she thought, looking back. He’d gotten home maybe four times a year and most of the time, he’d barely noticed her. If he had, it was to tug on her hair and tease her. She’d watched through her curtains jealously when he brought girls home to family picnics, and she’d cried after she saw him kissing stupid Ella Pescke at the Espositos’ annual New Year’s party, a rowdy neighborhood event complete with dancing and enough wine to float a boat.

Then she’d turned nineteen. Her birthday was July nineteenth, right in the middle of the summer. Her parents had taken the family out to eat to celebrate. Everyone came, even her second oldest sister Arabella, Vincente’s twin, who was overdue with her first baby. Some of the Espositos had come along as well, and Sophie had nearly melted into a little puddle on the floor when Marco walked in with Stefano and Tomaso, her big brothers. He’d just gotten into town and was leaving again in the morning, he said.

He’d winked at her and wished her a happy birthday, and her evening had been complete. She could have sat and looked at him all night. But right in the middle of the meal, Arabella’s water had broken. While Belle’s husband Lionel ran for the car, the rest of the family had gotten their food in doggie bags to take to the hospital and once there, they’d simply taken over the waiting room.

Marco had come along. “So I can give Ma a personal report in the morning,” he’d said, white teeth flashing in a grin.

Sophie could still remember the stunned look on the nurse’s face when she’d opened the door to tell them Arabella had had a girl. “You can’t all be family,” she’d said, falling back a pace.

And then, her prayers had been answered....

It was nearly dawn, and everyone headed home for some sleep. To Sophie’s delight, Marco slung a friendly arm across her shoulders as they all trooped down the corridor. “You can ride with me,” he said. “Keep me company so I don’t fall asleep on the way home.”

She was too breathless, too thrilled, to reply. Marco had parked in the lot at the opposite end of the hospital and they left the others at the doors. He talked, drew her out until she relaxed, and they spoke of little things during the drive home: her college plans, his recent work with environmental geophysics in western Australia, their various siblings, most of whom were in the early years of marriage and parenting. They’d stopped at an all-night grocery and gotten sodas and talked some more. The sky was growing light and everyone else had beaten them home, from the look of all the parked cars on the street when they pulled up in front of their side-by-side homes.

He got out of the car and came around to open her door.

“Thanks for riding with me,” Marco said “Happy birthday.” Then he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his, pressing his lips lightly to hers.

It had been intended only as a familiar, brotherly caress, she thought, with the wisdom of hindsight.

But at the first touch of his mouth on hers, she lifted her arms to his wide shoulders and gave herself to the kiss, making a small whimpering sound of delight deep in her throat. Marco froze for an instant, and a part of her registered his shock. Then his arms came around her and he pulled her hard against him, fusing their bodies together in a breath-stealing fit that made her moan again.

He caught the sound with his mouth, tracing her lips with his tongue, then opening them for the masterful invasion of his tongue. Kissing her deeply, repeatedly, he stroked his palms over the soft flesh of her back down to the upper swell of her buttocks and back up to her shoulders until she was hanging limp in his arms, surrender a foregone conclusion.

When he finally lifted his head, there was a look of utter bemusement on his face. “Whoa,” he’d said, breathing hard, and she thrilled to the feel of his hard body against hers. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair as she realized how forward she’d been, and struggled to free herself from his arms. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t—”

But he shut her up in mid-sentence simply by kissing her again, and as before, every cell in her body had recognized him, and she responded with everything in her. When he lifted his head the second time, he said, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just wasn’t expecting it. ”

He paused, and an odd look crossed his face. She got the impression he was weighing something in his mind, and then he said, “Tomorrow night. Dinner? And a movie?”

Sophie put down her book and paced to the window of her apartment, looking out into the night as if she might see him there. Altogether he’d taken her out less than two dozen times, flying in for a quick visit in between assignments.

In between times, she’d waited impatiently. He never called, never wrote. She never knew when he was coming until she heard one of her siblings mention that he’d arrived, or until she answered the door to find him standing on the other side.

It had been an unsatisfactory arrangement at best, and she’d longed for the day when he’d be ready to settle down.

But that day had never come. One evening during her senior year of college, Marco had come home. He’d taken her out and told her gently that he wouldn’t be coming to see her again, that he was too old for her, that she needed to forget him and get on with her own life.

She’d cried.

He’d comforted her.

And when he left the next day, she knew what it meant to be a woman. He’d been a wonderful lover, and she’d hoped to change his mind with the passion they shared, but in the end he’d gone just as he’d said he would.

And she’d been left behind for good.

Two

She had a horribly busy week at the clinic for indigent mothers in the Latino section of the city where she worked. And as if it needed a proper ending, in the middle of the night on Friday, Sophie received a call from a crisis management center that served the clinic’s area. One of her clients had been beaten up by her boyfriend and was in the hospital. The young woman had no family, so foster care arrangements had to be made for her two-month-old infant.

She was at the hospital until dawn completing paperwork. The infant had been checked out by a doctor and declared unharmed, but all of the usual temporary foster homes were either full to overflowing, or she couldn’t reach them.

Finally, around eight on Saturday morning, she got hold of a foster mother who worked with short-term emergency cases The woman agreed to take the baby, but she wasn’t available until Sunday morning. After a brief telephone consultation with her supervisor, Sophie received permission to keep the child overnight and take her to her foster home in the morning.

Fortunately she was prepared for such an event. This wasn’t the first time she’d kept a foster child with her for a night or two.

She got home near 10:00 a.m. and when the baby slept, so did she. Unfortunately little Ana got hungry a lot sooner than Sophie did, and the nap didn’t last nearly long enough. It was amazing how much time it took to accomplish even simple tasks with a baby around. She had to stop constantly to change a diaper, warm and feed a bottle, entertain when Ana fussed and rock her to sleep again in late afternoon.

Not that it was a hardship. She loved babies, always enjoyed helping with her numerous nieces and nephews. Especially now that there would be no babies of her own.

Then she remembered she’d promised her mother she’d come for dinner, so she called to warn her that a baby would be coming along. Edie Domenico, with thirteen grandchildren already, wasn’t fazed by the prospect. So Sophie grabbed a quick shower while the baby girl still slept and stuffed a diaper bag with all the paraphernalia an infant required. Settling Ana in the car seat she always kept for such emergencies, she made the ten-minute drive to her mother’s.

“Hi, everybody,” she called out as she entered her parents’ home, juggling the diaper bag, the baby and an extra bag of disposable diapers. She stopped to give her father’s cocker spaniel a scratch behind his long, silky ears and when he promptly dropped and rolled over, she rubbed his belly with the sole of her sneaker.

“Hello, Sophia,” her mother called. “I’m in the kitchen. Give that baby to your father and come help me roll out the pasta.”

Sophie grinned. She suspected that her assistance wasn’t as necessary as was her presence for a small gabfest. Her father was settled into his easy chair, and from the way he was fumbling around with the newspaper, she suspected he’d been napping behind it. “Hi, Papa,” she said. “You don’t have to take her.”

But Renaldo Domenico shook his finger at her. “Are you trying to deny me a chance to snuggle that baby? And where’s your kiss for your poor old overworked papa? Hmm?”

She laughed as she crossed the room and bussed her father’s cheek. “How can you be overworked? You’re retired.”

“That’s right,” he replied, “And your mother thinks up more chores for me to do than I had when I did work.” He took Ana from Sophie’s arm with the ease of one who’d handled many infants. “So who’s this pretty one?”

She explained Ana’s situation to him and left them getting acquainted in the living room. When she entered the kitchen, she discovered that her sister Arabella was there already. “Hi,” she said as she hugged first her mother and then Belle. “Where are the girls?”

Arabella and her husband had three daughters now. “Elissa had a softball game,” she explained. “Lionel and her sisters are cheering her on. I begged off on the grounds that I needed a few childless moments at least once a week.”

Sophie chuckled. “Do I detect a hint of exhaustion? Frustration? Mild insanity?”

“D—all of the above.” Belle’s voice was dry. “With the girls squabbling nonstop these days, moments of peace are few and far between.” Belle’s oldest two daughters were only seventeen months apart, and at ten and nine, they no longer played like little angels.

“This will pass,” predicted her mother. “And then they’ll be each other’s dearest friends, just like all my girls.”

Belle stuck a finger down her throat in an exaggerated gagging gesture. “Yes, Mama.”

“Sophie, did you hear Marco’s home?” Her mother pounded on the pasta board and muttered at her pasta in Italian.

“Yes. Vee told me.” She steeled herself for the inevitable discussion.

Belle and Edie both looked up from their work. “And...?” said her mother.

Sophie met their avidly curious eyes with a bland smile. “And what?”

“Oh, come on,” Belle said. “Did your heart go pitty-pat? Just the least little bit?”

“Of course.” If she denied it, they’d know she was lying through her teeth. “He was my First Great Love. But I didn’t swoon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Humph.” Her sister muffled a skeptical sound behind her glass on the pretext of taking a drink.

“I saw him the other night,” her mother said. “He’s still gorgeous. But oh, so sad, what happened. He’ll never be right again.”

“What happened?” Sophie repeated cautiously. This was probably one of her mother’s little jokes. A ploy to get her to talk about Marco.

Belle looked up. “You know ... the accident, his leg.”

“What accident?” The sincere sympathy in her sister’s voice was alarming and her voice rose slightly.

Belle’s eyes grew round with concern. “Mama, didn’t you tell her?”

Her mother was looking equally distressed. “No. I thought you or Vee told her.”

“No,” said Belle. “I didn’t tell her. I assumed you—”

“Tell me what?” Sophie’s sharp tone of voice cut through their twitter, and silence descended on the kitchen.

“Well,” said Edie, “you know how Marco’s always traveling into jungles and rain forests and deserts and—”

“Mama.” Sophie crossed her arms.

“He was in a plane crash,” Belle said hastily. “Everyone else on board was killed. He was rescued but his leg was torn up badly and they thought it might have to be amputated. But it wasn’t.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Sophie sat down abruptly at the table. “You’re not kidding.”

“No,” said her mother. “I wish I was. Cesare and Dorotea were frantic. He was in a hospital somewhere in South America. He didn’t even call them until a month after it happened, and he refused to let them fly down. Dora sat here in this kitchen and cried her eyes out.”

“Why didn’t I know this?” Sophie shook her head blindly. “Where was I?”

There was a silence in the kitchen. “You were on vacation,” said Belle. “It was at the beginning of October. I guess it just got overlooked after you got back.”

“Yes, and you know how busy you are, cara mia,” her mother put in. “I’m sorry. We just got our wires crossed, I suppose.”

Sophie rose from the table. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. But it wasn’t. She walked to the back door and stepped out onto the small porch, needing the fresh spring air and a moment alone.

At the beginning of October. The month was a difficult one for her. Kirk had died in October, and for the past two years she’d gone to a friend’s cabin beside a lake in Wisconsin to grieve alone. It would suit her just fine if the month of October were erased from the calendar.

Then the shock of what she’d just been told set in. Images of Marco rose. Playing basketball, dancing a wild swing with one of his sisters on New Year’s Eve, climbing the oak tree to bring down her stranded kitten—Marco was such an active, vital man. His whole life had been built around his physical capabilities.

He would be like a wild animal in a cage.

Her breath caught and she forced down the sob that threatened. It was ridiculous to cry for Marco now. His accident had been seven months ago. He’d survived, and if he’d come home for the anniversary party under his own steam, he must be doing fine.

A door slammed and the sound jarred her into looking around. A man stood on the back porch of the Espositos’ house. A tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair—

And a cane.

He’d been waiting for the excuse to talk to her for days.

Now that she was actually standing mere yards from him, the breezy greeting Marco had practiced flew right out of his head. God, she was beautiful. He stood there, staring like an idiot as she turned her head and met his eyes.

The impact slammed into his gut so hard he had to take a deep breath. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to carry over the fence between them. “Hello, Sophie.”

She simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she smiled gently. “Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, even for a minute, but he wanted less to humiliate himself with a tumble down his parents’ porch steps, so he tore his gaze away and concentrated on getting down the steps and over to the white picket fence as fast as possible. The whole time, he was conscious of her watching his labored progress, and the slow burn of helpless rage at his uncooperative limb gnawed at the lining of his masculine pride. If only—

No, he wasn’t going to go there. He had a burn leg, a knee that had forgotten it was supposed to bend, flex and bear weight. That was reality.

It would get better than it was right now, he’d been assured, but he could never join his former colleagues in the field again because he couldn’t hike over rough terrain and he couldn’t carry a heavy pack of equipment for more than a hundred yards. He knew, because he’d tried.

That was reality. And thinking about the way his life should be would destroy him as surely as that damned plane crash had destroyed his leg.

He stopped when he reached the fence and leaned one arm casually atop one of the posts, forcing his inner turmoil back into submission as his gaze took in the woman he’d never forgotten. He hadn’t asked about her once in the years since he’d held her last, because he didn’t want anyone to think she was anything more to him than a good family friend.

It was for her own good. If she’d thought there was hope, he knew she’d have waited for him forever.

Still, he’d listened avidly whenever his sisters got to talking about the neighbors on his infrequent visits home. For a while, Liz and Luisa had gleefully brought up her name, rubbing his nose in the dates she’d had, but after the first year had passed, they’d stopped mentioning Sophie at all. He’d nearly broken down and asked them about her several times, and only the knowledge that he’d be leaving again in another day had kept him from inquiring.

Now, he wouldn’t be leaving anymore. There was no reason to deny himself the pleasure that once had been his for the taking.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, his eyes wandering over her slender body with intense interest. “You look... fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She slowly stepped down from the stoop and came across the small lawn to her side of the fence. “It’s nice to see you again. Are you home for the you-know-what?” Her voice was hushed, in case his mother was close enough to overhear any discussion of the anniversary party.

“Yes, that and some other things.” What was different about her? She seemed reserved and wary, not simply shy as she’d been before, and though her words were pleasant, they were impersonally uttered as if she were speaking to an acquaintance. It was probably simply that she was remembering how they’d parted.

He couldn’t blame her for being mad. But still, here she was, and he was pretty sure he could charm her into forgiving him. After all, she’d said she loved him.

“I just heard about your accident.” Her voice was still subdued. “It must be frustrating for you.”

“It has its moments.” He gave her his best unconcerned shrug. “How have you been?”

She appeared to consider the question. “I’m doing well.”

“Sophie...” He hesitated. “About the way things ended between us—”

She passed a hand in front of her in a gesture intended to erase his words. “That was a long time ago, Marco, and I’ve forgotten it. I still consider you a friend.”

He frowned. That wasn’t the response he’d expected—or hoped for. This quiet, reserved woman was a marked contrast to the girl who once had hung on his every word. “I’d like to take you out for dinner, get to know you again. Are you free tonight?”

Her eyes widened, the brown completely eclipsed by a blank look of shock, and he realized it was the first time he’d been able to discern any emotion other than generic friendliness in her eyes. “That’s very nice of you, but—”

The back door opened behind her and they both stopped and looked at her mother, framed in the doorway. She was holding a very young infant cradled in one arm. “Sophie, this baby’s starting to fuss. Shall I warm a bottle?”