Read Online A Family Affair: The Secret by Mary Campisi - Free Book Online

had to keep his mouth shut because his father had just gotten out of the hospital. But damn, how much was a man supposed to take?
    He glanced out the kitchen window at the backyard that had been his safe haven these last few days. Gone were the dead shrubs, the scraggly limbs, the piles of leaves banked against the fence. Tomorrow, he promised his mother he’d venture to Sal’s Market with her, check things out, say hello, though he’d rather croak than make nice with the very people who’d turned on him.
    Still, he was a big boy, all grown up and in charge of large tracts of real estate, property that could turn into anything from luxury condominiums to strip malls and retail outlets. If a person knew what he was doing, he could buy and build in Chicago, Pittsburgh, even a place on the outskirts of a nowhere town like Magdalena, New York. Anything could be bought with wads of money and a solid plan. He narrowed his gaze on the whisky, poured another shot.
    “Roman?”
    Salvatore Ventori might have had a heart attack and he might be recovering in the living room of the tiny house on Melburn with a new heart-healthy diet that did not include cigars, but he was not a man to be intimidated by doctors or a diagnosis. Roman sighed, set the shot glass on the counter, and made his way to the living room.
    “Do you need something, Dad?” Roman stood next to the couch, waited.
    His father motioned to the rocker. “Sit.” And then, “Nothing’s ever on.” He pointed the remote control at the flat-screen television Roman sent them for Christmas and clicked it off. “Or it’s showing food you can’t eat, shouldn’t eat, or don’t want to eat. What kind of life is that? Why can’t a person cook with butter and use lard for pie crusts? Huh? You tell me, why not?”
    Salvatore Ventori would never be a spokesperson for a heart-healthy group. Roman slid into the rocker and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know why, Dad. You can’t eat that stuff anymore.”
    “Not even a taste?”
    His father’s “taste” was never just a taste. Roman shrugged. “What did the doctor say?”
    “Bah, doctors.” He made a face and thrust an arm in the air. “They just want your money. What do they know?”
    The man sure loved his misery. There was no solution to any of Salvatore Ventori’s problems, not ones he wanted to hear anyway. That’s how he’d been fourteen years ago, and that’s how he’d be until the day he closed his eyes for the last time. Too bad Lorraine Ventori still believed her husband could change. Or maybe that was hope tangled up in those prayers she counted on to pull them all through tough times.
    “Can you check on the menu over there and see if I can have a candy bar?”
    Roman glanced at the paper lying on the coffee table. He’d lay one hundred bucks candy bars were not on the menu. “Sure.” He reached for the paper and scanned the list. “Pears, peaches, green beans, lentils. No candy bars.”
    The sound that fell out of his father’s mouth was a mix of frustration and self-pity. “Don’t get old, boy. It’s a real pain in the hind end.”
    “Do you like the alternative?” Sometimes you had to state the obvious with the man. The glare that followed said he didn’t appreciate it. “Mom said you got a good report. Change up your food, reduce your stress level, take your meds—”
    “Stop! That’s all I been hearing since the damn heart attack.” His dark eyes misted behind his glasses and his voice cracked. “I don’t want to talk about me and my condition right now. Your mother’s been yakking at me and praying over me like I’m already in the casket.” He ran a hand over his crew cut, scratched his neck like he did when he was trying to work his way out of a predicament. “Let’s talk about something that isn’t going to give me heartburn, okay?”
    Roman nodded. He got it; nothing worse than people drilling home the shoulds and shouldn’ts of your messed-up situation.