Read Online Ask Mariah by Barbara Freethy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Freethy
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cup and saucer out of the cabinet. "I should take care of it. And I will."
"When?"
"When I'm ready."
"A lot of what's in there just needs to be tossed in the trash. Dad never threw anything away. I bet his collection of fishing magazines goes up to the ceiling."
"He loved those magazines. Everything in that room meant so much to him. It was his personal, private place, Joanna."
"I know, but it's not as if he had a stash of private love letters in there or anything."
"How would you know that?" Caroline asked sharply.
Joanna was taken aback by her mother's question. "I don't know that, but are you saying there's something in there you don't want me to see?"
"No, of course not."
"Do you think he was -- "
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"Yes, I do, and he wasn't. But some things are private between a husband and a wife. You'll know what I mean when you get married."
Marriage. She took a sip of her drink as she leaned back against the counter. In the past year, whenever she had thought of marriage, she had thought of David. Now his image had been replaced by that of another man -- of Michael Ashton. It was ridiculous. She didn't even know him. But there was something about him, something so compelling that she couldn't stop thinking about him. And the twins were adorable, affectionate, spontaneous, loving, honest. They wanted her to be their mother.
In her mind she saw Michael, Lily, and Rose, standing in a circle, holding out their hands to her. But she couldn't complete the circle. She might look the same, but she wasn't Lily and Rose's mother, and she wasn't Michael's wife. That spot belonged to someone else. She needed to remember that.
* * *
Dinner at the De Lucas' was a noisy affair. Everyone talked at the same time. The loudness in the room grew higher as the level of wine got lower. Arguing about everything from politics to religion to meat prices was required, and anyone who couldn't finish a sentence in thirty seconds could count on being interrupted.
It hadn't taken Michael long to realize that he couldn't keep up with the De Lucas. Angela had usually finished most of his sentences, even if she didn't know what he was thinking. She had simply assumed that he thought the same way she did. In the beginning he'd been too infatuated to contradict her. Her passion and zest for life had appealed to him. He'd thought her crazy antics would brighten his life. But her endless energy had been tiring, her penchant for trouble wearing, and after they'd had kids her irresponsibility had turned him off completely.
"I think you should add that pasta dish Sophia made the other night to the menu, Frank," Linda said. "The shrimp and fettuccine was delicious. You'll have to give me the recipe, Sophia, although I doubt I could re-create it. You're such a great cook."
He smiled to himself as Linda De Luca lavished praise on her mother-in-law. Linda had been married to the oldest De Luca son, Frank, for thirteen years, and she had a tendency to try too hard to fit in. When Linda found out Sophia collected music boxes, she began a collection of ceramic angels. When Sophia tried out a new recipe, Linda asked for it. Linda shopped at the same markets and dress shops. She went to the same dentist as her mother-in-law, and the same doctor. Not that he could blame Linda for wanting to emulate her mother-in-law or to create the same happy family as the De Lucas'. He'd tried to do much the same thing himself. Only he'd failed. Linda, on the other hand, seemed to be successful. She had four beautiful children and Frank.
He looked over at his brother-in-law, who was eating his linguine with the same seriousness Frank brought to every task. Instead of twirling the strands of pasta around his fork, Frank cut them with a knife and fork. He wasn't one to slurp or spill. He had to control everything and everyone around him. And the burden of such a need seemed to be aging him prematurely. Not yet forty, Frank had
"When?"
"When I'm ready."
"A lot of what's in there just needs to be tossed in the trash. Dad never threw anything away. I bet his collection of fishing magazines goes up to the ceiling."
"He loved those magazines. Everything in that room meant so much to him. It was his personal, private place, Joanna."
"I know, but it's not as if he had a stash of private love letters in there or anything."
"How would you know that?" Caroline asked sharply.
Joanna was taken aback by her mother's question. "I don't know that, but are you saying there's something in there you don't want me to see?"
"No, of course not."
"Do you think he was -- "
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"Yes, I do, and he wasn't. But some things are private between a husband and a wife. You'll know what I mean when you get married."
Marriage. She took a sip of her drink as she leaned back against the counter. In the past year, whenever she had thought of marriage, she had thought of David. Now his image had been replaced by that of another man -- of Michael Ashton. It was ridiculous. She didn't even know him. But there was something about him, something so compelling that she couldn't stop thinking about him. And the twins were adorable, affectionate, spontaneous, loving, honest. They wanted her to be their mother.
In her mind she saw Michael, Lily, and Rose, standing in a circle, holding out their hands to her. But she couldn't complete the circle. She might look the same, but she wasn't Lily and Rose's mother, and she wasn't Michael's wife. That spot belonged to someone else. She needed to remember that.
* * *
Dinner at the De Lucas' was a noisy affair. Everyone talked at the same time. The loudness in the room grew higher as the level of wine got lower. Arguing about everything from politics to religion to meat prices was required, and anyone who couldn't finish a sentence in thirty seconds could count on being interrupted.
It hadn't taken Michael long to realize that he couldn't keep up with the De Lucas. Angela had usually finished most of his sentences, even if she didn't know what he was thinking. She had simply assumed that he thought the same way she did. In the beginning he'd been too infatuated to contradict her. Her passion and zest for life had appealed to him. He'd thought her crazy antics would brighten his life. But her endless energy had been tiring, her penchant for trouble wearing, and after they'd had kids her irresponsibility had turned him off completely.
"I think you should add that pasta dish Sophia made the other night to the menu, Frank," Linda said. "The shrimp and fettuccine was delicious. You'll have to give me the recipe, Sophia, although I doubt I could re-create it. You're such a great cook."
He smiled to himself as Linda De Luca lavished praise on her mother-in-law. Linda had been married to the oldest De Luca son, Frank, for thirteen years, and she had a tendency to try too hard to fit in. When Linda found out Sophia collected music boxes, she began a collection of ceramic angels. When Sophia tried out a new recipe, Linda asked for it. Linda shopped at the same markets and dress shops. She went to the same dentist as her mother-in-law, and the same doctor. Not that he could blame Linda for wanting to emulate her mother-in-law or to create the same happy family as the De Lucas'. He'd tried to do much the same thing himself. Only he'd failed. Linda, on the other hand, seemed to be successful. She had four beautiful children and Frank.
He looked over at his brother-in-law, who was eating his linguine with the same seriousness Frank brought to every task. Instead of twirling the strands of pasta around his fork, Frank cut them with a knife and fork. He wasn't one to slurp or spill. He had to control everything and everyone around him. And the burden of such a need seemed to be aging him prematurely. Not yet forty, Frank had
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