The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(101)

“Looking good, Nicky!” Parker calls, and I manage a wave. My nephew resumes his activity, and Parker takes a deep breath, then slides her arm around my shoulders and wait till I can straighten up. “Lucy,” she says quietly, “Ethan got a call today from work. They want him to transfer to the Atlanta branch and head up the international sales division.”

I swallow once, twice. “Well, that would be…great. For him, you know. He could do all those wild things, travel again…And the weekend thing seemed to work for you guys, so…” I blink hard. Oh. I’m crying again. I didn’t realize.

She looks at me and bites the inside of her cheek. “Lucy, I have to wonder what’s going to happen to you two if you don’t make things right.” I don’t answer, just flex my tingling hands. Eventually Parker sighs. “I love you both, that’s all. You’re more my family than my family, and I just…” Her voice trails off. “Make sure you’re doing the right thing,” she finishes.

“I’m trying,” I whisper. Then I wave to Nick and go to my apartment to feed my cat.

TO PUNISH ME FOR MY OVERNIGHT absence, Fat Mikey brings me a mole with its head missing, a clear warning that should I ever leave him again, this is what will happen to me. I clean up the mess, picturing Mrs. Mole as she wonders what happened to her husband, who was ostensibly going out for a tulip bulb or something and never came home. Do moles have widow support groups? Does she have life insurance on Mr. Mole?

“Try not to kill anymore, okay, pretty kitty?” I implore my cat, picking him up for a nuzzle. He purrs loudly, and I scratch his neck as he closes his eyes in pleasure. “We’re staying at Grammy’s house tonight,” I tell him. He opens his eyes, irritated at this pronouncement, then wriggles out of my grasp.

I toss some work clothes into a bag. I don’t know how long I’ll stay at Mom’s…I don’t really even see what I’m packing, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I’m going to France or something.

When I finally manage to stuff my cat into the carrier, I grab my bag, pick up the carrier and turn for the door, only to yelp in surprise.

My mother-in-law stands in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says.

“No, no, it’s fine,” I lie. Honestly, she’s like a fox. “How’s Ethan?”

“He’s a little sore. Planning to go to work tomorrow, even though I said he should stay in bed and let me cook him some cavatelli and sausage.”

I can’t help a little grin at the thought of Ethan in bed, his mother serving him lunch and stroking his battered brow. Her idea of heaven, his of hell. “Well, it’s probably a good sign that he wants to go back to work,” I say.

“Are you nuts? He needs at least a week in bed,” she says. Then she brushes a hair off my shoulder. “Lucy, honey, he told us you and he broke up.”

My throat slams shut. “Oh.” I set down the carrier, as Fat Mikey weighs a ton.

“Gianni and I…well, we think it’s probably a smart move,” Marie says softly. “With you and Jimmy and your past and all. So complicated.”

“Right,” I agree distantly. She gives me a sad smile—sad, but relieved.

I take a deep breath, knowing Ethan would kill me for what I’m about to say. “Marie, I think sometimes Ethan feels a little…second best to you and Gianni. Compared to Jimmy, I mean.”

She pulls back, an indignant expression crossing her face. “I don’t love one of my sons more than the other, Lucy,” she says firmly.

“I know. Just…I know you don’t approve of where he works, and—”

“What’s not to approve of? He makes a good living! He’s an executive! We’re very proud.” Her eyes shift away in a silent acknowledgment that perhaps her statement isn’t a hundred percent accurate.

“Make sure he knows. That’s all,” I say softly. Marie shrugs, then gives a little nod. “I have to run. Tell Ethan I’m glad he’s feeling better.” I kiss Marie’s cheek, then pause. “Marie, do remember a girl named Doral-Anne who used to work at the restaurant? She played on Ethan’s baseball team?”

My mother-in-law’s face freezes. “Her. I remember, all right. The one who stole. Miss Tattoo. I told her she had to cover that thing up. ‘We’re a family restaurant,’ I say. ‘No one wants to see what you did on a bender.’ She didn’t like that, but—”

“Did you know she went out with Jimmy for a while?” I interrupt.

Marie freezes, and once more, her eyes slide away. “Yes. I knew. Let me tell you, we were awfully happy when you showed up, Lucy. Sure, you weren’t Italian, but at least you were Catholic and a nice girl, you know what I mean? Not trash. That girl was trash.”

I look at my mother-in-law for a second. “Last night when Ethan was hit, Doral-Anne took care of Nicky. Did you know that?”

Her mouth takes on that So? expression the Mirabellis do so well…the slightly defensive posture, the jutting chin, the lifted eyebrow. “Took care of Nicky how?”

“Parker ran into the street to help Ethan, and Nicky was crying and scared, and she picked him up.” Reassured him, no doubt. Turned away so the little guy wouldn’t have to see his daddy lying unconscious in the street.