Anne Winston - Lovers' Reunion

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.