F Wilson - Implant

"Your list helped. Much easier to identify compounds when you know what you're looking for. And besides, I told them it was for someone very important. So they rushed it." Gin couldn't help smiling as a warm rush washed through her. She liked this man more each day.

"And? " "And the analysis matches the list perfectly. Nothing in there that isn't supposed to be there." Gin sagged in her chair.

She felt weak all over. She was so damn glad she could have cried right then.

"Gin? You still there? " "Yes, " she said softly. "Thank you, Gerry.

You don't know how good that is to hear."

"How about dinner tonight?

That sound good? " "Tonight's a Lynnwood night, I'm afraid." A thought struck her. "But I've got a great idea. Come with me to my folks' house on Thursday night. It's Columbus Day and my father always makes a big deal of it.

It's crazy. You'll love it. And bring Martha. There'll be plenty of pasta with no meat."

"You're on.

A few minutes later Gin was on her way out of Senator Marsden's office, feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Duncan and Oliver were in the clear.

One less thing to worry about.

COLUMBUS DAY GERRY AND MARTHA WERE WARMLY RECEIVED INTO THE folds of the Panzella dan's Columbus Day celebration. Gin knew the welcome might have been a bit more guarded had her folks realized that Gerry was more than just an old high school friend she'd run into again.

Gin had already explained to her folks about Gerry's being a widower.

It probably wasn't necessary, but you never knew. Papa had a tendency to verbalize whatever was on his mind, especially after he'd been celebrating for a while. She could just hear him asking Gerry where Martha's mother was. Papa was looking forward to meeting him. He vaguely remembered his name from the Washington-Lee football team, and was intrigued by the fact that he was an FBI agent. Mama wanted to know all the details of his widowerhood, ducking and tsking and Madroneing as Gina told her.

What she hadn't explained was how she felt about him, the growing need, the building heat between them.

It went swimmingly. Papa and Gerry hit it off immediately, and Uncle Fiore used to be a cop so he wanted to talk shop with the Fibby. And Martha . . . well, Martha charmed the women immediately and before Gin knew it, the little five-year-old was in the kitchen, draped in an apron almost as big as she was, standing on a chair at the counter helping Mama and Aunt Maria roll meatballs and stuff shells.

Gin passed her Aunt Terry and her Aunt Anna in whispered conversation.

'. . . killed in a car accident. A terrible tragedy."

"And I understand he's raising that little girl all by himself." '"And doing a good job, I'd say. Isn't she darling? " Gin moved on, smiling.

She had hoped that as the evening wore on it would become apparent to anyone who saw them together that she and Gerry were more than just friends. She knew she had succeeded when she overheard Mama in serious conversation with Gerry.

"And now your name. I'm not sure how you spell it. Is that with an i' at the end? " '"No. With an e-y. C-a-n-n-e-y. It's Irish."

"Is it now? At's a-nice." Gin almost laughed aloud at Mama's sudden reversion to an Italian accent. She was born in Baltimore.

But Gerry earned a place in Mama's heart by eating everything she put in front of him, from stuffed calamari to stuffed shells, and coming back for more. How could she stay cool toward anyone with a big appetite who loved her cooking? And Martha . . . Martha actually ate a meatball, a little one she'd made herself.

Gin was careful what she ate. Pasta had awakened inside her and was urging her to fill her plate, but Gin turned a deaf ear. She stayed on the move, sampling and nibbling, and made sure to leave something on each plate she used.

After dessert Gin spotted Gerry in a corner doing shots with Papa, Uncle Fiore, and Uncle dorn. Gerry caught her eye, lifted his glass of pale liquid, and winked at her. God, he looked great. And she loved the way he seemed to fit right in, going with the flow of the party, not standing on the side watching, but jumping right into the heart of the festivities. She realized right then how much she wanted him.

She wondered if she should warn him about what he was drinking. If that was what she thought it was, he was going to be sorry. But why be a wet blanket? Let him have his fun.

i The dishes were washed and racked and the festivities were waning when Gin, Gerry, and Martha made their way toward his car. Mama, Papa, and a couple of the aunts and uncles were standing on the front stoop waving goodbye.

"I think you two were a hit, " Gin said. "Did you have fun? " "I think I had too much fun, " Gerry said. He held out the keys. "Do you mind? " He seemed fine, steady on his feet, his voice clear, but Gin took them, glad he could admit when he'd had too much.

"Not at all." '"Mama said I could come back and help her cook anytime, " Martha said.

Gin had to smile. Her mother must have really taken to Martha if she told her to call her Mama.

"And I know she meant it, " Gin told her. "It's been a long time since she had a little girl around to help her cook." She remembered with a pang all the holidays she'd stood on a chair at the very same counter and helped her mother prepare the feasts. She wondered if Mama felt abandoned by the daughter who went off to become a doctor.

Without sons there'd be no daughter-in-law to take under her wing.

I wonder if she knows how much I love her? Gin thought. But when was the last time I told her?

She couldn't remember. That shook her. She took it for granted Mama knew, but everyone needed to hear it once in a while. Gin vowed to start doing just that on a regular basis.

Why not start now?

She ran back to the front steps and threw her arms around her mother.

"I love you, Mama. You're the best." She kissed the stunned woman and then hurried to the car. A glance over her shoulder showed Papa beaming and Mama smiling and wiping her eyes.

After strapping Martha into the backseat, Gerry slumped into the passenger seat.

'"What was that your father was pouring at the end? " "Grappa, " Gin said.

'"I was fine up till then. I mean, I'm Irish. We can drink just about anything that won't kill us. But that stuff. . . ' -- "Grappa won't kill you, " Gin said with a smile. "But if you're not used to it, it can make you wish it had." Martha's bedtime was long past but she was wired, talking at light speed about filling cannolis and grating cheese and how ugly the calamari were before Mama cleaned them. Gin was glad it hadn't been Easter. How would Martha have reacted to aapozella? If she and Gerry were still seeing each other next spring, and she hoped they would be, Gina would have to prepare Martha for the sight of a sheep's head in the kitchen.

Martha talked nonstop right into the parking lot by their apartment, but was sound asleep in her father's arms by the time they reached the front door. Gin went upstairs and helped put her to bed, Downstairs, Gerry put his arms around her. She snuggled against him.

"Thanks, Gin, " he whispered. "This has to be the best Columbus Day of my life." '"It's not over yet, " she said, and kissed him.

He leaned back and looked at her for a second, then they kissed again, long and passionately. Gin didn't want this night to end yet.

They tumbled to the couch and before long were fumbling with each other's buttons, shucking off their clothes like old skins until there was nothing between the new skins. And they didn't need much foreplay because he was ready and God knew she'd been ready all night.

She didn't want to ask, but she forced herself to say it. "I don't have to worry about you, do I? ' "What? Oh, you mean . . . no.