walks into a room. I still touch him whenever I can. He’s still the person I want to spend the most time with.” She glanced over at Diane. “You didn’t have that with Kevin, did you?”
“No. Not for a long time. I think I figured every marriage just kind of faded out to something else, like mine had.”
“I can’t imagine putting up with all the shit that being married and having kids means without feeling the way I do about Pete, even when he’s part of the shit. He still makes me feel like a silly nineteen year old. When he gives me a certain look I get all wet and itchy. I figure it’s God’s reward for fighting the good fight, you know?”
“You’re lucky.”
“Pete and I are both lucky.”
“Yes.”
They drove a few more miles. The girls in the back were starting to quiet down. Diane turned and looked back into the van. Megan, Becca and Joann were all texting. The older girls, in the very back seats, were talking quietly together.
“We went out to dinner,” Diane told her, her voice low. “Last week. Last Friday.”
“Diane. You did? And you didn’t even tell me? Did you have a good time?’
“I had a great time. He’s smart and interesting to talk to. He had me laughing all night. And he’s a terrific kisser. I swear, my knees buckled.”
“Holy shit. I knew something was going on. This is so cool.”
“Yeah, well it’s all new to me. Did anything like this ever happen to you? Instant physical attraction?”
Sue smiled in the darkness. “Lust at first sight?”
“Yes. My whole body was all tingly, you know? And that good, achy hurt you get right in your, well, you know where.”
“From just a kiss? Where were his hands?”
“Sue,” Diane pleaded, “be serious. Please?”
“Okay. Yes, that exact same thing happened to me.” Sue checked the rearview mirror again. “With Pete. We had a blind date, left before dessert, and spent three days in bed. And look how we turned out.”
Diane closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. All she could see was Michael’s face, and hours later, as she tried to sleep, she could still feel his skin against hers.
CHAPTER FOUR
M ICHAEL C ARLUCCI HAD always known he would be a star. His sisters had been telling him so since he was a baby, and they wouldn’t lie to him. When he was eight, his mother died of cancer. She had been sick most of his life, and had always been a fragile, inconsistent presence in his life. He had loved his mother, worshipped his gentle, silent father, but he depended on his sisters for strength, confidence and support, and they had never failed him.
The year his mother died, his piano teacher told his grieving father that Michael’s talent needed more guidance than she could provide. Marie found someone else, and Denise took the train to Manhattan with him every week for the next five years. Angela had already bought him a smaller-sized guitar, so his tiny hands could more comfortably reach around the neck. By then, her guitar instructor had taken Michael under his wing, and all the girls knew they had something special on their hands.
He had sat with them since he was old enough to toddle down the hallway into their bedrooms. At first, they thought it was cute, the way he remembered the words to every song they played on their stereo. Then they realized that he was not only singing the words, but remembered melodies and harmonies. His voice, for such a little boy, was huge. It was also always on key.
He was always the smallest kid in his class. The Catholic School bullies pursued him mercilessly, so he learned to be the toughest kid as well. He played piano in the concert band, made straight A’s, collected model cars and waited for his sisters’ dreams for him to come true.
Dave Adamson had stared at Denise in disbelief when she asked him to consider Michael for his brother Joey’s band. Joey had put together Mitchell Street with his best friend Seth Bascomb, and they were
“No. Not for a long time. I think I figured every marriage just kind of faded out to something else, like mine had.”
“I can’t imagine putting up with all the shit that being married and having kids means without feeling the way I do about Pete, even when he’s part of the shit. He still makes me feel like a silly nineteen year old. When he gives me a certain look I get all wet and itchy. I figure it’s God’s reward for fighting the good fight, you know?”
“You’re lucky.”
“Pete and I are both lucky.”
“Yes.”
They drove a few more miles. The girls in the back were starting to quiet down. Diane turned and looked back into the van. Megan, Becca and Joann were all texting. The older girls, in the very back seats, were talking quietly together.
“We went out to dinner,” Diane told her, her voice low. “Last week. Last Friday.”
“Diane. You did? And you didn’t even tell me? Did you have a good time?’
“I had a great time. He’s smart and interesting to talk to. He had me laughing all night. And he’s a terrific kisser. I swear, my knees buckled.”
“Holy shit. I knew something was going on. This is so cool.”
“Yeah, well it’s all new to me. Did anything like this ever happen to you? Instant physical attraction?”
Sue smiled in the darkness. “Lust at first sight?”
“Yes. My whole body was all tingly, you know? And that good, achy hurt you get right in your, well, you know where.”
“From just a kiss? Where were his hands?”
“Sue,” Diane pleaded, “be serious. Please?”
“Okay. Yes, that exact same thing happened to me.” Sue checked the rearview mirror again. “With Pete. We had a blind date, left before dessert, and spent three days in bed. And look how we turned out.”
Diane closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. All she could see was Michael’s face, and hours later, as she tried to sleep, she could still feel his skin against hers.
CHAPTER FOUR
M ICHAEL C ARLUCCI HAD always known he would be a star. His sisters had been telling him so since he was a baby, and they wouldn’t lie to him. When he was eight, his mother died of cancer. She had been sick most of his life, and had always been a fragile, inconsistent presence in his life. He had loved his mother, worshipped his gentle, silent father, but he depended on his sisters for strength, confidence and support, and they had never failed him.
The year his mother died, his piano teacher told his grieving father that Michael’s talent needed more guidance than she could provide. Marie found someone else, and Denise took the train to Manhattan with him every week for the next five years. Angela had already bought him a smaller-sized guitar, so his tiny hands could more comfortably reach around the neck. By then, her guitar instructor had taken Michael under his wing, and all the girls knew they had something special on their hands.
He had sat with them since he was old enough to toddle down the hallway into their bedrooms. At first, they thought it was cute, the way he remembered the words to every song they played on their stereo. Then they realized that he was not only singing the words, but remembered melodies and harmonies. His voice, for such a little boy, was huge. It was also always on key.
He was always the smallest kid in his class. The Catholic School bullies pursued him mercilessly, so he learned to be the toughest kid as well. He played piano in the concert band, made straight A’s, collected model cars and waited for his sisters’ dreams for him to come true.
Dave Adamson had stared at Denise in disbelief when she asked him to consider Michael for his brother Joey’s band. Joey had put together Mitchell Street with his best friend Seth Bascomb, and they were
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