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Rory led the kids to her car, tucked them into the seats she’d borrowed from the fire hall and drove home because there really wasn’t any other choice.
Chapter Two (#u56b2b744-d86f-5702-9b05-003e1875c985)
Cruz took the right-hand turn along the lake’s western shore, determined to ferret out the facts of the situation from his mother.
She wouldn’t want to see him. She’d made that abundantly clear in the past. They’d fought after his father’s death, and Rosa had ordered him out of the house and out of her life, then spent years ignoring his attempts at reconciliation. Funny how a woman who professed faith in the Bible shrugged off forgiveness in favor of old-world pride.
He pulled into the curved drive leading into Casa Blanca and hit the brakes hard in disbelief.
Flaking, peeling paint marred the front of the house. Weeds and grass had infiltrated the once pristine gardens, while twining roses fought a losing battle with invasive weeds, climbing and choking the once beautiful trellises.
Beyond the curving drive and parking lot, both in need of repair and sealing, his father’s previously impeccable vineyard stood ragged. Overgrown vines stuck out at odd angles, choking and shading the growing fruit below. The barns didn’t look too bad, their paint appeared more recent, but the once prestigious event center had fallen into grave disrepair.
He’d only been gone eight years. How could things have gone this bad in eight short years?
The front door opened.
His mother emerged.
She stared at him as he pulled the car into the drive. Arms folded tight around her middle, she stood straight, solid and self-protective as he exited the car and walked her way. “Hello, Mother. Long time, no see.”
She glared at him, then the upscale car, then him again. “You’ve come to brag, no doubt. To laugh in the face of my ruination. Well, have your say and get out. There’s nothing for you here.”
Was there ever?
Yes, when his father was alive. His father loved to spend time with his only son, seeing and doing things together, learning “the grape” as he called it. He’d spent long hours working side by side with his father, a master vineyard manager, an immigrant success story. And while they’d worked the grape, his mother had managed the sprawling event center she’d inherited from her parents.
He longed to sass her back in kind. If asked, he would have sworn he’d gotten over all of this years ago, but he was mistaken because the urge to argue with his mother was on the tip of his tongue.
Then he remembered Reverend Gallagher’s words that morning. Your mother is sick. Her heart is bad and she’s diabetic, and there are two illegal immigrant children living with her. She needs you, Cruz. And Elina’s children need you, too.
He hadn’t even known Elina had children. If pressed, he wouldn’t have been able to say what his cousin had done once she’d left for Mexico...but what were her children doing here, and what happened to Elina? “How are you?”
The simple question took her by surprise, but not for long. “I am fine. The children and I are fine.”
A lie. Again, no surprise. “Reverend Gallagher says you’ve been ill.”
“I have my days. Some good, some bad. Why are you here? Did he call you?”
Cruz nodded.
“He shouldn’t have done that. He should have left things be.”
“Well, the thought of you serving a jail sentence for harboring illegal immigrants weighed on his conscience. He is, after all, a minister.”
She scowled. “He’s a neighbor first, a man who knows you have no respect for the mother who gave you life and raised you. Steve knows this, and yet he still makes the call.” She raised her chin, a classic move. “I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”
She needed help in more ways than one. Her Italian skin tones were usually deeply tanned by this time of summer. Today she looked pale, and the threadbare pants and loose shirt she wore had seen a lot of use. Always stocky, she’d put on weight since the funeral. The changes in her appearance reflected the ones on the estate. “I told Steve I would help.”
She scowled. Her face darkened. “And as I have said before, I don’t need your help, Crusberto.”
The cold anger in her face used to break his heart.
No more.
He’d moved beyond her reach, and her tirades meant nothing now. “You’re wrong. You do need my help. The place is a mess, and my guess is you tried to overmanage everything like you usually do, your workers quit and you got yourself into debt trying to recover. But now you’re in too deep and there’s no way out, and you’ve got two kids to watch. How am I doing so far?”
She unwound her arms and fisted her hands. “You checked up on me.”
“No.” When she almost relaxed, he added, “I had my office assistant check up on you while I drove here, so the fact that you are bordering on bankruptcy and your business is uncared for tells me you’re on the brink of disaster. If we throw a double federal offense onto the table for willfully harboring two illegal aliens and passing them off as your grandchildren...” He set one foot on the lowest step of what had been a gracious, columned porch, leaned in and said, “You’re wrong, Mother. You do need me, like it or not.” He straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets as memories surged. “Honestly, if it was just you, I’d walk away, like you did to me so many times, but it’s not just you. There are two little kids involved, who deserve a better chance than they’ve gotten so far, and who’ve done nothing to deserve being raised by you.”
He expected her to lash out. He was prepared for that. What he wasn’t prepared for were the tears.
Her hands lost their tension.
Tears streamed down her cheeks in silent succession.
Rosa Maria Maldonado didn’t cry. Ever. To see her come undone messed him up.
He took a step back, then forward, but what could he do? They hadn’t comforted one another for a very long time.
He stood absolutely still as her tears flowed. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny longing to help ignited.
He extinguished it quickly. He’d learned how to protect himself decades ago. He’d steeled himself to pretend her indifference didn’t matter. He pretended he didn’t care.
She swiped the back of her hand to her face, turned around and walked back inside. The door closed behind her, and the click of the lock slipped into place.
So be it. She didn’t need him. He didn’t need her. But those two children needed something more than to be made wards of the court and deported.
He strode back to his car, got in and drove away to find a hotel room. It took him less than an hour to realize the entire town was booked solid.
Of course everything was taken—it was midsummer at one of the most beautiful lakeside recreation spots in Central New York, the heart of the Finger Lakes.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ten hours ago he’d been gearing up to oversee the takeover of a small dot-com company. That single acquisition was going to make their firm millions.
But he wasn’t on Liberty Street, signing the final papers. He’d left that to others. He was here in Grace Haven, a place he’d vowed to never see again.
He got into the car, hit a phone app and came up with no vacancies surrounding the lake. So where could he stay?
Hello, Captain Obvious. Your mother’s got room. Plenty of room. Why don’t you pretend to be a peacemaker and go back there?
He’d sleep in the car first. And that’s exactly what he intended to do, except then his phone rang with a call from Drew Slade.
“Cruz, it’s Drew. I just realized you might not be comfortable staying at Casa Blanca...”
That meant his reaction to his mother showed, and Cruz never let reactions show. It was this stupid town, and these throwback circumstances undermining his skills as a stone-faced negotiator. “My wife and I just vacated a nice little garage apartment at the Gallaghers’.”
“Is that an inn?”
“No, the Gallagher family. At Chief Gallagher’s house. I married his oldest daughter, Kimberly.”
“The Gallaghers, as in the holier-than-thou schoolteacher I just met?”
“That’s Rory.” Drew sounded almost cheerful about it. “Anyway, Kimberly and I are in our new house, the apartment is in great shape, and if you really don’t want to stay with your mother, this could give you some peace of mind and a clean pillow. I know the town is booked up. Summer is a crazy-busy vacation time here.”
It was vacation time in New York City, too, which was the only reason he was able to be here, and not in the city. His boss would no doubt go ballistic when he returned from his three-week European vacation and found Cruz still in Grace Haven. But with Rodney Randolph, ballistic was often the status quo. He’d deal with that as needed. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience to anyone, Drew.”
“The place is empty, you’re inconveniencing no one, and if you and Rory are sharing kid duty until we figure things out, you might as well be geographically close.”
That part made sense, and was about the only thing in this convoluted mess that did.
“Were you able to find a room for tonight?”
Cruz couldn’t lie. “No.”
“Then use it, man. One forty-seven Creighton Landing, just beyond the turnoff for The Square, in walking distance of everything. Just like Manhattan.” Drew laughed, and Cruz was glad someone found humor in this situation, because he hadn’t stopped frowning since the reverend’s phone call that morning.
“You sure no one will mind?”
“Positive. I’ll call Rory and let her know so you don’t surprise her or the kids. Or Mags.”
“Is Mags one of the sisters?” Somewhere in his brain he remembered several Gallagher sisters.
“She’s a member of the family, all right,” Drew finished cryptically. “The key is hanging inside the carriage house, to the left of the door when you walk in. The apartment is the second floor.”
Cruz hesitated, then accepted. “Thanks, man. I was ready to sleep in the car.”
“Glad to help. I’m hoping this all looks better in the morning.”
“It couldn’t look any worse.”
* * *
Wrong again.
He’d driven to Creighton Landing, found the key like Drew said and thrown open a couple of windows in hopes of a lake breeze.
Nope.
Too tired to care, he’d fallen into bed, then got up crazy early like he always did and set up his laptop in the steamy apartment.
No air-conditioning.
No Wi-Fi.
He stared at the screen, searched for networks and didn’t find any. He pulled out his smartphone to set up a hot spot to relay internet service.
It didn’t work. His phone indicated internet service in the area, but couldn’t command a strong enough signal to relay Wi-Fi to the laptop.
He needed to punch someone. And find coffee.
Coffee. A coffee shop with Wi-Fi. Perfect.
He stepped outside with his small laptop bag. The town lay before him, and the lake spread out to his left, just beyond Route 20.
He’d be silly to drive because he was already in town, so he crossed the yard and circled The Square, a local old-time shopping area that looked much more upscale than he remembered, and hunted for coffee.
Nothing was open.
He glared at his phone. It was 6:05 a.m. on a Tuesday. He’d passed two coffee shops, neither of which opened for nearly an hour. In Manhattan, he’d have been connected and working already. Here?
Nothing.
He was about to retrace his steps, get into the car and head toward the thruway, when lights flickered on at the diner just ahead. “You lookin’ for coffee?” A copper-skinned, middle-aged woman with dark hair in a bun poked her head around the corner of the stoop.
“Hunting would be more apt,” he told her as he strode forward. “And Wi-Fi. Do you have that, too?”
She laughed and swung the door wide. “We’re connected, though I’m not sure it was a good idea. Come on in. You looked like a wanderin’ pup out there. It’s always the same with big-city types. It takes a day or two of bein’ in Grace Haven to realize it’s okay to relax. To let go and let God shape the days.”
“Well, I’m in town for a while, but I’m not sure relaxing enters into the equation.”
“Never does at first,” she called back as she bustled around the counter. “But we get to it, eventual-like. If we stay ’round long enough.” She set a second pot brewing, then toted four mugs and a glass coffee carafe to his table. “Here you go.” She filled his cup, then paused. “Room for cream and sugar?”
“Nope. Black.”
She sighed as if she expected him to say that, then plunked the other three mugs down on a table kitty-corner from him. She filled the mugs, added a little aluminum pot of cream to the table and strode behind the old-style counter just as three older gentlemen walked in.
“Mornin’, Sadie!” crowed the first one in the door.
The next man in seemed just as happy to be there. “Sadie, my sweet Southern belle, you’ve got us all set up!”
The third man saluted the waitress with his Grace Haven Eagles baseball cap as he came through. “Coffee and Sadie—my mornin’s complete!”
“Mornin’, boys.” She waved a hand as she stuck a paper onto an old-style order ring suspended between her and the kitchen beyond. “I’m orderin’ you the usual, speak now or keep it to yourself when you get same old, same old.”
“Why mess with success?” the first man wondered aloud. The three men settled at the table to Cruz’s right, jawing about baseball.
Cruz opened his computer and brought up his email. One message in, the second guy stood and came up alongside Drew’s table. “You got box scores on that thing?”
“Excuse me?” Surprise toughened Cruz’s voice. Either surprise, or his Wall Street, tough-as-nails attitude. Bright blue eyes under faded brows gazed back at him from a face that had known years of weathering. “I expect they’re accessible.”
“Bring ’em up, why don’t you, so I can show these yahoos what I mean ’bout the All-Star break makin’ a difference.”
“He’s workin’, Badge,” Sadie scolded the older man from her spot at the counter. She was slicing big, thick wedges of pie, wrapping them gently and placing them in a tall rotating cooler. Seeing them made Cruz remember the mouth-watering pie at his mother’s table, thick and sweet. There was no such thing as good pie in Manhattan. In a city that claimed to boast everything good, pie hadn’t made the list. “I don’t think he lugged that machine in here to jaw about the American League East with you. Best leave him to it, don’t you think?”
“I get your point, Sadie. Smart as always.” The old man accepted her advice and moved back across the aisle to his table. “I’ll let you get on with your day,” he added to Cruz.
“If we had one of them smartphones, we’d know what’s up,” said the tallest man. “My Kimmie’s got one of them, and it’s law-awful how quick she can get on things.”
