Read Online Promise Me A Rainbow by Cheryl Reavi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cheryl Reavi
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walking to the sink and washing it off briefly under the tap. “This is a great place,” he said, looking at the ceiling again. “Really built to last. Me—I’d rather restore a building like this than throw up a hundred of those condos on the beachfront.” He took a bite of the apple. “It makes my brother crazy.”
“I can imagine,” Catherine said. “Money’s money. And there can’t be much of it in restorations.” She got an apple of her own, and she was readjusting her thinking about Joseph D’Amaro. She still thought he was impatient and volatile, and she also thought he would deliberately keep himself distant from strangers like her. She was surprised at his revelation about his building preference and his brother’s response to it. Strange, she thought, that he had such admiration for the building, a building Jonathan had such disgust for. She washed the apple at the sink as he had done and, when she turned around, she found Joe D’Amaro looking at her intently, making assessments of his own.
You don’t give a damn about money, Joe almost said, and it occurred to him suddenly that he had no idea where that notion had come from. He didn’t know this woman, even if his years in the PTA did tell him she couldn’t be doing whatever she was doing with a bunch of pregnant girls in tow for the salary. But then, maybe she couldn’t find anything else, and she was just marking time until she could get a better job. She could be like Michael’s wife, Margaret. She could have kept Jonathan hopping to get her everything she wanted until Jonathan decided to keep the Mercedes-Benz and dump her—if he’d dumped her.
No, he’d dumped her all right. Joe could see it when he looked into her eyes. There was a kind of lost and sad look there, something he recognized because he’d seen it in his own eyes after Lisa died. It must not matter why the other person left, he thought suddenly—only that they were gone.
He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, watching while she jerked the cord on the ceiling fan over the table and put away the rest of her groceries. The air from the fan felt good, and he took another bite of the apple and waited, fighting down the urge to hurry her along. She moved to the double kitchen windows, opening both of them. He could hear the wind in the willow oaks outside and the traffic from the street below. He wanted to tell her that the room would stay cooler if she left the windows closed, but he kept it to himself. Some people wanted fresh air more than they wanted to stay cool.
“About Fritz,” he said because he didn’t want to wait any longer.
“Is Lisa your wife?” Catherine asked, to be certain she understood Fritz’s remarks.
He frowned. “She was,” he said carefully. It hadn’t occurred to him that Catherine Holben might know anything about Lisa. Jesus, what had Fritz told this woman?
“She died,” Catherine went on. “And she was Fritz’s mother.” It wasn’t a question.
He stood up, looking for a place to throw the half-eaten apple. “Yes. And I don’t talk about her. To anybody. Could we just get on with this? I want to know what Fritz said to you. That’s all.”
“Under the sink,” she said because he was still holding the apple. “Do you know why Fritz calls you Joe?”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything?” he snapped. Earlier he’d come close to admiring the straight forwardness in this woman, but now it was beginning to get on his nerves. And with that question she’d stepped squarely on the thing that had nagged at him for the past two years, when he’d suddenly ceased to be Daddy and he’d become the somber Joe.
He was afraid suddenly. He hadn’t loved Fritz the way he should have, and he didn’t want to hear that she had suffered for it. Love begat love. Maybe Fritz didn’t love him now. Maybe he’d ruined it, and that quiet, gentle girl of his didn’t give a damn about him. He tossed the apple into
“I can imagine,” Catherine said. “Money’s money. And there can’t be much of it in restorations.” She got an apple of her own, and she was readjusting her thinking about Joseph D’Amaro. She still thought he was impatient and volatile, and she also thought he would deliberately keep himself distant from strangers like her. She was surprised at his revelation about his building preference and his brother’s response to it. Strange, she thought, that he had such admiration for the building, a building Jonathan had such disgust for. She washed the apple at the sink as he had done and, when she turned around, she found Joe D’Amaro looking at her intently, making assessments of his own.
You don’t give a damn about money, Joe almost said, and it occurred to him suddenly that he had no idea where that notion had come from. He didn’t know this woman, even if his years in the PTA did tell him she couldn’t be doing whatever she was doing with a bunch of pregnant girls in tow for the salary. But then, maybe she couldn’t find anything else, and she was just marking time until she could get a better job. She could be like Michael’s wife, Margaret. She could have kept Jonathan hopping to get her everything she wanted until Jonathan decided to keep the Mercedes-Benz and dump her—if he’d dumped her.
No, he’d dumped her all right. Joe could see it when he looked into her eyes. There was a kind of lost and sad look there, something he recognized because he’d seen it in his own eyes after Lisa died. It must not matter why the other person left, he thought suddenly—only that they were gone.
He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, watching while she jerked the cord on the ceiling fan over the table and put away the rest of her groceries. The air from the fan felt good, and he took another bite of the apple and waited, fighting down the urge to hurry her along. She moved to the double kitchen windows, opening both of them. He could hear the wind in the willow oaks outside and the traffic from the street below. He wanted to tell her that the room would stay cooler if she left the windows closed, but he kept it to himself. Some people wanted fresh air more than they wanted to stay cool.
“About Fritz,” he said because he didn’t want to wait any longer.
“Is Lisa your wife?” Catherine asked, to be certain she understood Fritz’s remarks.
He frowned. “She was,” he said carefully. It hadn’t occurred to him that Catherine Holben might know anything about Lisa. Jesus, what had Fritz told this woman?
“She died,” Catherine went on. “And she was Fritz’s mother.” It wasn’t a question.
He stood up, looking for a place to throw the half-eaten apple. “Yes. And I don’t talk about her. To anybody. Could we just get on with this? I want to know what Fritz said to you. That’s all.”
“Under the sink,” she said because he was still holding the apple. “Do you know why Fritz calls you Joe?”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything?” he snapped. Earlier he’d come close to admiring the straight forwardness in this woman, but now it was beginning to get on his nerves. And with that question she’d stepped squarely on the thing that had nagged at him for the past two years, when he’d suddenly ceased to be Daddy and he’d become the somber Joe.
He was afraid suddenly. He hadn’t loved Fritz the way he should have, and he didn’t want to hear that she had suffered for it. Love begat love. Maybe Fritz didn’t love him now. Maybe he’d ruined it, and that quiet, gentle girl of his didn’t give a damn about him. He tossed the apple into
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