CHAPTER 2 : ATTRACTION

Lina’s career had its roots in her unplanned pregnancy. In a matter of

months, she went from college student and part-time personal trainer/group

fitness instructor to the world of exercise videos.

The green shoots took awhile to break through the ground, but

determination, persistence, and a canny head for business pushed them

toward bloom.

In the months before Jon Bennett had shoved through the door in

Georgetown, her career blossomed, with Yoga Baby’s sales—videos,

DVDs, personal appearances, a book (with another planned)—generating

over two million in profit.

An attractive, quick-witted woman, she made the most of segments on

morning shows—then late-night appearances. She wrote articles for fitness

magazines—and boosted those with photo shoots.

She was a young, attractive woman with a long, buff body and knew how

to use both to her advantage.

She even snagged a couple of cameos on network series.

She liked the limelight, and wasn’t ashamed of it, or her ambitions. She

believed, absolutely, in her product—health, fitness, and balance—and

believed, absolutely, she was the best person to promote that product.

Working hard posed no issues for Lina. She thrived on it, on the travel,

the packed schedules, and the planning for more.

She had a line of fitness gear in the works, and in consult with a

nutritionist and MD, had begun plans for supplements.

Then she’d shoved the man who’d inadvertently changed the direction of

her life to his death.

Self-defense. It didn’t take long for the police to conclude she’d acted in

defense of herself, her daughter, and her friend.

And in a horrible way, the publicity boosted her sales, her name

recognition, and the offers.

It didn’t take her long to decide to ride that wave.

A week after the worst happened, she made the drive from Georgetown

to rural Maryland with plans to make the best out of it.

She wore enormous sunglasses, as even her skill with makeup couldn’t

hide the bruises. Her ribs still ached, but she’d started a modified workout

routine, and added extra meditation.

Mimi still got the occasional headache, but her broken nose was healing,

her blackened eye fading to sick yellow.

Adrian found her cast annoying, but liked getting it signed. In two weeks,

according to the doctor, she’d need another X-ray.

It could have been worse. Lina reminded herself constantly it could have

been worse.

Since Harry bought Adrian a new Game Boy, she entertained herself in

the back seat during the drive. Lina saw the shadows of the Maryland

mountains, the pale lavender against a bold blue sky.

She’d wanted so desperately to escape from them, from the quiet, the

creepingly slow pace, and into movement, crowds, people, everything out

there.

And she still did.

She wasn’t made for small towns and country living. God knew she’d

never wanted to make meatballs or pizza sauce or run a restaurant—family

legacy or not.

She’d craved the crowds, the city, and, yes, the limelight.

She considered New York home base if not fully home. Home was, and

always would be, she thought, where the work and the action lived.

When she finally turned off I-70, the traffic vanished, and the road began

to wind through rolling hills, green fields, and the scatter of homes and

farms that spread over them.

Well, she thought, you could go home again, but you just couldn’t stay

there. At least not Lina Theresa Rizzo.

“We’re almost there!” Adrian’s voice came like a cheer from the back

seat. “Look! Cows! Horses! I wish Popi and Nonna had horses. Or

chickens. Chickens would be fun.”

Adrian opened her window, stuck her face in the opening like a happy

puppy. Her black curls danced and blew.

And would, Lina knew, end up in a rat’s nest of knots and tangles.

Then the questions poured out.

How much longer? Can I swing on the tire? Will Nonna have lemonade?

Can I play with the dogs?

Can I? Will they? How come?

Lina let Mimi field the questions. She’d have others to answer before

much longer.

She turned at the red barn where she’d lost her virginity at not quite

seventeen in the hayloft. Son of a dairy farmer, she recalled. Football

quarterback. Matt Weaver, she thought. Handsome, built, sweet-natured but

no pushover.

They’d sort of loved each other, the way you do at not quite seventeen.

He’d wanted to marry her—one day—but she’d had other plans.

She’d heard he’d married someone else, had a kid or two, and still

worked the farm with his father.

Good for him, she mused, and meant it. But not and never for her.

She turned again, away from the little town of Traveler’s Creek, where

Rizzo’s Italian Restaurant had stood on the pokey town square like an

institution for two generations.

Her own grandparents who’d built it had finally accepted they needed a

warmer climate. But hadn’t they started another Rizzo’s on the Outer

Banks?

In the blood, they said, but somehow—thankfully—that gene had

skipped hers.

She followed the creek, drove toward one of the three covered bridges

that brought photographers, tourists, and weddings to the area.

Charming, Lina supposed, standing as it did on the little rise at the curve

of the creek. And as always, Mimi and Adrian let out twin Woos! as she

drove between those barn-red walls, under that peaked blue roof.

She turned again, ignoring the way Adrian bounced like a rubber ball on

the back seat, and at last onto the winding lane, across the second bridge

over the creek that gave the town its name, to the big house on the hill.

The dogs came running, the big yellow mutt and the little long-eared

hound.

“There’s Tom and Jerry! Woo! Hi, guys, hi!”

“Keep your seat belt on until I stop, Adrian.”

“Mom!” But she did as she was told, just kept bouncing. “It’s Nonna and

Popi!”

They came out onto the big wraparound porch, Dom and Sophia, hands

linked. Sophia, chestnut curls framing her face, hit five-ten in her pink

sneakers, and still her husband towered over her at six-five.

Fit and strong, both looked a decade younger than their ages as they

stood in the shade of the second-story porch. How old were they now? Her

mother around sixty-seven or sixty-eight, her father four years older or so,

Lina thought. The high school sweethearts with nearly fifty years of

marriage under their belts.

They’d weathered the loss of a son who’d lived less than forty-eight

hours, three miscarriages, and the heartbreak of a medical opinion that there

would be no baby for them.

Until—surprise!—with both of them in their forties, Lina Theresa came

along.

Lina parked under a wide carport beside a shiny red pickup and a burly

black SUV. She knew her mother’s baby—the sleek turquoise convertible—

had its place of honor in the detached garage.

She’d barely set the brake when Adrian jumped out. “Nonna! Popi! Hi,

guys, hi!” She hugged the dogs as Tom leaned against her and Jerry wagged

and licked. Then ran full out into her grandfather’s open arms.

“I know you think I’m making a mistake,” Lina began, “but look at her,

Mimi. This is best for her right now.”

“A girl needs her mother.” So saying, Mimi pushed out, put on a smile,

and walked to the porch.

“Jesus, I’m not sticking her in a basket and leaving her in the reeds. It’s

one damn summer.”

Her mother walked down to the porch steps, met Lina halfway. Sophia

cupped her daughter’s bruised face in one hand, then, saying nothing, just

enfolded her.

Nothing else in the past horrible week had come so close to breaking her.

“I can’t do this, Mom. I don’t want Adrian to see me cry.”

“Honest tears aren’t shameful.”

“We’ve all had enough of them for a while.” Deliberately she drew back.

“You look good.”

“I can’t say the same.”

Lina worked up a smile. “You should see the other guy.”

Sophia let out a quick bark of laughter. “That’s my Lina. Come, we’ll sit

on the porch, since it’s so nice. You’ll be hungry. We have food.”

Maybe it was the Italian or maybe it was the restaurant genes. Either

way, Lina’s parents assumed anyone who came to their home had to be

hungry.

The adults sat at the round table on the porch while Adrian played in the

front yard with the dogs. They had bread and cheese, antipasto, olives. The

lemonade Adrian hoped for filled a glass pitcher. Though it had barely

struck noon, there was wine.

The half glass Lina allowed herself helped ease the tensions of the drive.

They didn’t speak of what had happened, not as Adrian ran back to sit—

briefly—on Dom’s lap and show off her new Game Boy, or drank lemonade

and chattered about the dogs.

Patient, Lina thought, her father. Always so patient with children, so

good with them. And so handsome with his snowdrift of hair, the laugh

lines crinkling around his golden-brown eyes.

She’d thought all her life how he and Sophia made the perfect couple—

tall and fit, handsome, and so completely in tune with each other.

While she’d always felt just a beat out of step.

Well, she had been, hadn’t she? Just a beat off with them, with this place,

with the town that locals called the Creek.

So she’d found her rhythm elsewhere.

Adrian giggled when, after her grandparents dutifully signed her cast, her

grandmother sketched the dogs and added their names.

“Your rooms are ready,” Sophia said. “We’ll get your bags upstairs so

you can unpack, take a rest if you want.”

“I have to go into the shop,” Dom added, “but I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Actually, Adrian’s been talking about the tire swing for days. Mimi,

maybe you could walk around back with her, let her play for a bit.”

“All right.” Mimi rose and, though her single glance toward Lina

signaled disapproval, she called cheerfully to Adrian, “Let’s go swing.”

“Yes! Come on, boys!”

Dom waited until Adrian ran around to the side of the house with Mimi

following. “And what’s this?”

“Mimi and I aren’t staying. I have to get back to New York, finish the

project I started in DC. It’s just not possible to finish it there now, so … I’m

hoping you’ll be willing to keep Adrian.”

“Lina.” Sophia reached over to take her daughter’s hand. “You need a

few days, at least, to rest, to recover, to help Adrian feel safe again.”

“I don’t have time to rest and recover, and where would Adrian feel safer

than here?”

“Without her mother?”

She shifted to her father. “She’ll have both of you. I have to get ahead of

this story. I can’t let it derail my career, my business, so I get ahead of it and

I take the lead.”

“The man might have killed you—you, Adrian, and Mimi.”

“I know, Dad, believe me. I was there. She’ll be happy here, she loves it

here. It’s all she’s talked about for days. I have the medical records so she

can see a doctor here for the next X-ray. The doctor in DC thinks she’ll be

able to have a removable splint in a week or two. It’s a common injury, and

minor, so—”

“Minor!”

When her father exploded, Lina held up both hands. “He tried to throw

her down the stairs. I couldn’t get to her in time. I couldn’t stop him. If he

hadn’t been so stupid, stinking drunk, he’d have pulled that off, and she

could have broken her neck instead of her wrist. Believe me, I’m never

going to forget that.”

“Dom.” Sophia murmured it, patted her husband’s hand. “How long do

you want her to stay with us?”

“For the summer. Look, I know it’s a long time, and I know it’s a lot to

ask.”

“We’d love to have her,” Sophia said simply. “You’re wrong to do this.

You’re wrong, Lina, to leave her now. But we’ll keep her safe and happy.”

“I appreciate it. She’s basically finished the school year, but Mimi has a

few more assignments for her, and instructions for you. When the school

year starts up again, this will be behind her, and me, us.”

Her parents said nothing for a moment, only stared at her. Her father’s

golden-brown eyes, her mother’s green made her think of how her daughter

was so much a blend of these two people.

“Does she know you’re leaving her here?” Dom demanded. “Going back

to New York without her?”

“I didn’t say anything because I needed to ask you first.” Lina rose. “I’ll

go talk to her now. Mimi and I should get on the road soon.” Lina paused.

“I know I’ve disappointed you—again. But I think this is the best thing for

everybody. I need time to focus, and I wouldn’t be able to give her the

attention she might need right now. Plus, there’s no chance of some reporter

getting pictures and slapping her face on a supermarket tabloid if she’s here,

with you.”

“But you’ll go after publicity,” Dom reminded her.

“The sort I can control and guide, yeah. You know, Dad, a lot of men

aren’t like you. They aren’t kind and loving, and a lot of women end up

with bruises on their faces.” She tapped a finger under her eye. “A lot of

kids end up with an arm in a cast. You can be damn sure I’ll speak about

that issue when I get the chance.”

She stalked away, furious because she believed she was right. And

frustrated because she suspected she was wrong.

An hour later, Adrian stood on the porch watching her mother and Mimi

drive away.

“He hurt everybody because of me, so she doesn’t want me around.”

Dom folded himself down from his considerable height, laid his hands

gently on her shoulders until she met his eyes.

“That’s not true. None of this is your fault, and your mom’s letting you

stay with us because she’s going to be so busy.”

“She’s always busy. Mimi watches me anyway.”

“We all thought you’d like to spend the summer with us.” Sophia ran a

hand down Adrian’s hair. “If you’re not happy—let’s say in one week—

Popi and I will drive you up to New York ourselves.”

“You would?”

“That’s right. But for a week, we get to have our favorite granddaughter

with us. We’ll have our gioia.” Our joy.

Adrian smiled a little. “I’m your only granddaughter.”

“Still the favorite. And if you stay happy, your popi can teach you how to

make ravioli, and I can teach you how to make tiramisu.”

“But you’ll have chores.” Dom tapped a finger on her nose. “Feeding the

dogs, helping in the garden.”

“You know I like to do that when I come for visits. They’re not like

chores.”

“Happy work is still work.”

“Can I go to the shop and watch you toss pizza dough?”

“This visit, I’ll teach you how to toss the dough. And we can start when

your cast comes off. I have to go to the shop now. So you go wash your

hands, and you can come with me.”

“Okay!”

When she raced inside, Dom straightened. Sighed. “Children are

resilient. She’ll be fine.”

“Yes, she will. But Lina will never get this time back. Well.” Sophia

patted Dom’s cheek. “Don’t buy her too much candy.”

“I’ll buy her just enough.”

Raylan Wells sat at a two-top at Rizzo’s doing his stupid homework. The

way he looked at it, he already had homework because he had chores at

home, so why couldn’t schoolwork stay in stupid school?

At ten, Raylan often felt beleaguered and bewildered by the adult world

and the rules laid down for kids.

He’d finished his math, which he found easy because math made sense.

Lots of other shit just didn’t. Like answering a bunch of questions about the

Civil War. Sure, they lived sort of near Antietam and all that, and the

battlefield was cool, but all that was like over.

The Union won, the Confederacy lost. Like Stan Lee said—and Stan Lee

was a genius: ’Nuff said.

So Raylan answered a question, then doodled, answered another

question, and day-dreamed an epic battle between Spider-Man and Doc

Ock.

Since they’d hit what his mom called the lag time—after lunch, before

dinner—most of the customers were high school kids coming in to play

video games in the back, maybe grab a slice or a Coke.

He couldn’t plug in any quarters himself until he finished his stupid

homework. Mom’s rule.

He glanced across the mostly empty dining room, past the counter, and to

the big open kitchen where she worked.

Six months earlier, she’d done all her cooking at home in their kitchen.

But that was before his father took off.

Now his mom cooked here because they needed to pay bills and stuff.

She wore the big red apron with rizzo’s across the front, and had her hair up

under the goofy white hat all the cooks and kitchen prep people wore.

She said she liked working here, and he thought she told the truth about

that because she looked happy when she worked at that gigantic stove.

And, mostly, he could recognize when she didn’t tell the truth.

Like when she told him and his sister everything was fine, but her eyes

didn’t say they were.

He’d been scared at first, but he’d said everything was okay. Maya had

cried at first, but she’d only been seven, and a girl. But she got over it.

Mostly.

He figured he was the man of the house now, but he’d learned really fast

that didn’t mean he could skip his homework or stay up later on school

nights.

So he answered another dumb Civil War question.

Maya had permission to go to her friend Cassie’s house to do homework

together. Not that she ever got very much. For him? Permission Denied.

Maybe because he and his best friend and his other two best friends had

shot hoops and hung out instead of doing their homework the day before.

And the day before that.

Doc Ock had nothing on Mom Wrath, so now he had to report to Rizzo’s

after school instead of hanging out at Mick’s, or at Nate’s or Spencer’s.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Mick or Nate or Spence could hang out with him

at Rizzo’s. But their moms also had the wrath.

When he saw Mr. Rizzo come in, Raylan perked up a little. When Mr.

Rizzo went into the kitchen, he’d toss dough. Raylan’s mom and some of

the other cooks could toss it, too, but Mr. Rizzo could do tricks, like toss it

up, spin around, catch it again behind his back.

And if they weren’t too busy, he let Raylan try it, let him make his own

personal pizza with any toppings he wanted—for free.

He didn’t pay much attention to the kid who came in with Mr. Rizzo,

because girl. But she had a cast on her arm, which made her marginally

more interesting.

He made up reasons for the cast while he finished the last stupid

questions on his assignment.

She’d fallen down a well, out of a tree, out of a window during a house

fire.

With the questions answered—finally!—he started the last assignment.

He’d done the math first, because easy. The history junk next, because

boring.

And saved the assignment of using this week’s spelling words in a

sentence for last, because fun.

He liked words even more than math and almost as much as drawing

stuff.

1. Pedestrian. The getaway car from the bank robbery ran over the

pedestrian as it raced away.

2. Neighborhood. When aliens from the planet Zork invaded, the

world counted on the one and only friendly neighborhood SpiderMan to protect them.

3. Harvesting. The evil scientist kidnapped bunches of people and

started harvesting their organs for his crazy experiments.

He finished up the last of the ten words as his mother sat down at the

two-top.

“I did all the dumb homework.”

Because her shift had ended, Jan had taken off her apron and cap. She’d

cut her hair short after her husband left and felt the pixie suited her. Plus, it

required almost no time to fiddle with.

She thought Raylan could use a haircut himself. His once sunflowerblond hair had begun to turn toward her own dark honey tone. He was

growing up, she thought as she gestured to Raylan to show her the work.

He rolled those wonderful bottle-green eyes at her—her dad’s eyes—and

pushed his binder across the table.

Growing up, she mused, his hair no longer baby fine and spun-sugar

blond but thick, a little wavy. He’d lost the baby roundness in his face—

where did the time go?—and had the fined-down, sharp edges he’d carry

into adulthood.

He’d gone from cute to handsome right in front of her eyes.

She checked his work, because though she might be able to see the man

he’d become one day in the boy, the boy liked to goof off.

She read the spelling sentences, sighed.

“‘Plight. The Dark Knight’s plight was to fight for right with might.’” He

just grinned. “It works.”

“How come somebody so damn smart spends so much time and effort

avoiding homework he can get done in under an hour?”

“Because homework stinks.”

“It does,” she agreed. “But it’s your job. You did good today.”

“So can I go hang out at Mick’s?”

“For somebody so good at math, you’re having a hard time counting the

days left in the school week. No hanging out until Saturday. And if you

screw off on your assignments again—”

“No hanging out for two weeks,” he finished in a tone more sorrowful

than aggrieved. “But what am I going to do now? For hours.”

“Don’t you worry, sweetie.” She pushed the binder back to him. “I’ve got

plenty of things for you to do.”

“Chores.” Now the aggrieved. “But I did all my homework.”

“Aw, do you want a prize for doing what you’re supposed to do? I’ve got

it!” With a huge smile, with dancing eyes, she clapped her hands together.

“How about I kiss your whole face?” She leaned toward him. “Just kiss

your whole face right here in front of everybody. Yum-yum, kiss-kiss.”

He cringed, but couldn’t stop the grin. “Cut it out!”

“Big, noisy face kisses wouldn’t embarrass you, would they, my precious

baby boy?”

“You’re weird, Mom.”

“I get it from you. Now let’s go get your sister and go home.”

He shoved his binder back into his loaded backpack.

People were starting to come for a beer or a glass of wine, or to meet

friends for an early dinner.

Mr. Rizzo had put on the cap and apron now, and was doing his toss-thedough tricks. The girl kid sat at the service bar on a stool and applauded.

“ ’Bye, Mr. Rizzo!”

Mr. Rizzo caught the dough, twirled it, winked. “Ciao, Raylan. Take care

of your mama.”

“Yes, sir.”

They went outside onto the covered front porch, where some people

already sat at tables drinking and eating. Pots of flowers sent out fragrances

that mixed with the scent of fried calamari, of spicy sauce and toasted

bread.

The town had big concrete tubs of flowers spaced along the square, and

some of the businesses had more pots or hanging baskets.

As they waited for the walk light at the crosswalk, Jan had to stop herself

from taking her son’s hand.

Ten years old, she reminded herself. He didn’t want to hold his mother’s

hand to cross the street.

“Who was the kid with Mr. Rizzo?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s his granddaughter, Adrian. She’s going to stay with

them for the summer.”

“How come she’s got that cast on?”

“She hurt her wrist.”

“How?” he asked as they crossed the street.

“She fell.”

Because she felt Raylan’s eyes on her as they walked down the next

block, she glanced over. “What?”

“You get that look.”

“What look?”

“You get that look when you don’t want to tell me something bad.”

She supposed she did get a look. And she supposed in a town the size of

Traveler’s Creek, with the Rizzos so much a part of its fabric, Raylan—with

his bat ears—would hear anyway.

“Her father hurt her.”

“Seriously?” His father had said and done a lot of mean things, but he’d

never smashed up his wrist or Maya’s.

“I expect you to respect Mr. and Mrs. Rizzo’s privacy, Raylan. And since

I’m going to take Maya over there—she and Adrian are the same age—to

see if they’ll make friends, I don’t want you to say anything to your sister. If

Adrian wants to tell her, or anyone, that’s her business.”

“Okay, but jeez, her dad broke her arm!”

“Wrist, but it’s just as bad.”

“Is he in jail?”

“No. He died.”

“Holy crap.” Stunned—and a little excited—he bounced on his toes.

“Did she like kill him or something to defend herself?”

“No. Don’t be silly. She’s just a little girl who’s been through an ugly

ordeal. I don’t want you peppering her with questions.”

They reached Cassie’s house, right across the street from theirs.

They got to keep their house because the Rizzos gave his mother a job

after his father walked out on them and took most of the money out of the

bank.

That was one of the really mean things he’d done.

Raylan had heard his mom crying when she thought he was sleeping

after that—and before she got the job.

He’d never do anything, say anything to hurt Mr. or Mrs. Rizzo.

But the girl kid seemed a lot more interesting now.