Ask Mariah Read online

  Tony smiled. "Probably. And just wait until they start talking on the phone all the time."

  He held up a hand. "I don't want to think about it. Raising the girls alone -- sometimes, it scares the hell out of me. I think it would be different if they were boys. I know how boys think. But the female mind is a complete mystery to me."

  "Speaking of females, I wonder if Mama is home. It's so quiet." Tony tilted his head to one side. "Certainly not like it used to be. Whenever I came home from school, Mama would be in the kitchen cooking. Usually one of her sisters, Aunt Carlotta or Aunt Elena, would be here, and sometimes a couple of my cousins. We never had to bring someone home from school to play with, because there were always a few extra kids hanging around here. Now there's no one."

  "Everyone grew up."

  "Too bad, huh? We used to have some good times, until you got all responsible on me." He slugged Michael on the arm.

  "I didn't have a choice. I had a wife to support, kids." He sounded defensive, and he knew it, but dammit, he'd worked his butt off for Angela and the girls.

  "You were good for Angie," Tony said. "I mean that."

  "Yeah, well, I don't think Angela would have agreed with you. Anyway, it's all in the past." Or it had been until today, until he'd come face-to-face with a ghost. He tipped his head toward the stairs. "Sophia is probably upstairs. Why don't you go see her?"

  "All right. Hopefully, she'll be happy to see me."

  "Isn't she always?"

  * * *

  As Tony walked up the stairs, a thousand memories flashed through his mind. He hadn't lived in this house for a couple of years. But coming back now, he felt like a kid again, and he hated that feeling. Maybe that's why he had stayed away, hoping that somewhere in the world he'd find a place where he felt like a grown-up.

  His parents' bedroom was empty. Angela's door was partly open. He hesitated, then knocked.

  "Come in," Sophia said.

  He pushed opened the door. "Hi, Mama."

  Her face lit up like the morning sky after a winter storm. She held out her arms to him, and he went into her embrace as if he were ten years old again. She smelled like Chanel No. 5, with a lingering trace of garlic. She smelled like home.

  "Tony, my darling Tony," Sophia whispered, cupping his face with her hands. "You've come back."

  "How are you?" he asked.

  "I'm fine."

  "Are you really?" He searched her dark eyes for the truth, then looked away, not sure he wanted to find it. He wanted her to be the strong woman he remembered from his youth, not the shattered woman he'd seen at Angela's funeral.

  "I -- yes." Her voice turned brisk as if she'd seen his need and decided to fulfill it.

  She stood up and tucked her black hair into place. That's when he noticed the new streaks of gray at her temples, the lines around her eyes, the paleness of her olive skin.

  "You look tired. Mama," he said quietly.

  She touched her hand to the side of his face with a loving smile. "Your father snores so loudly, who can sleep?"

  He accepted her answer because he wanted to, because it was easy.

  "You must be hungry. I'll fix you something to eat. And you'll stay in your old room, of course. You are staying, aren't you?"

  "For a while. I bought a boat. Mama. She's gorgeous."

  "A boat? Oh, my." Sophia put a hand to her heart.

  "She needs a little work, of course, but wait until you see her."

  "I'm sure it's a beautiful boat, Tony. But how long is a while?"

  He shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. A week or two."

  "That's all?"

  "Yeah."

  She nodded after a moment, understanding and sadness mixing in her eyes. "I wish you didn't feel such a need to run away. Not that I've ever been able to keep you here. As a teenager, you climbed out of your bedroom window so many times, we had to replace the frame." She paused. "Where will you go?"

  "The Caribbean, most likely. Wherever the wind and the current take me. It's a big world out there, and I want to see all of it."

  "I almost wish I could go with you, not that you'd want your old mother along for the ride."

  "I'd be happy to take you for a sail, Mama. In fact, I'd like to."

  He saw a light come into his mother's eyes, and he was suddenly struck with the notion that he didn't know this woman at all. Had she changed so much since he'd been gone? Or had he just never really looked at her before?

  "I couldn't possibly go for a sail. I have so much to do here, ironing, cooking, shopping, running bingo down at the church, helping your father with the restaurant. My life is so full -- so very full." Her voice broke, but she covered the sudden burst of emotion by clearing her throat. "I have some chicken. Would you like a sandwich before dinner?"

  "I'm fine." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "I got this for you in Barbados."

  "A present for me?" Sophia took the box with a pleased smile. Her smile broadened as she opened it. A small miniature glass music box lay inside.

  "It plays Vivaldi," he said, pushing up the tiny lid with his thumb to reveal a small velvet bed big enough to hold a ring but nothing else.

  "It's beautiful. I will treasure it always." Sophia kissed him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're home. For as long as you choose to stay."

  The sound of pounding feet and loud voices interrupted their conversation. Lily and Rose ran into the room.

  "Grandma! Grandma!" they said in unison. "You'll never guess what happened."

  "Lily, Rose," Michael shouted from the hallway. "I said, stop."

  The girls ignored him, intent on sharing their news with Sophia.

  "What's happened?" Sophia asked.

  Lily took a deep breath. "Mama came back. She's not in heaven anymore."

  Chapter Five

  Sophia put a hand to her heart. "What?"

  "It's not what you think," Michael said immediately. Like the girls, there was a spark of hope in Sophia's eyes, a gleam of a miracle. He hated to disappoint her. "She just looks like Angela, that's all."

  "I don't understand."

  "I took the kids to a new school today, just a few blocks from here. Their teacher looks -- "

  "Like Angie," Tony finished.

  Sophia's sharp eyes pinned Tony in place. "You saw her, too?"

  "Yes. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was the spitting image of Angie, same shaped face, same big brown eyes. Could have been her sister."

  Sophie's mouth dropped open as if she was going to speak, but no words crossed her lips. The sound of her ragged, uneven breathing seemed to overwhelm the room.

  "It's not that close a resemblance," Michael said, trying to defuse the situation.

  "This girl -- what's her name?" Sophia asked.

  "Joanna," he said.

  "Joanna," she repeated. "What's her last name?" She grabbed Michael's arm, her tense fingers twisting the sleeve of his suit coat. "Her last name?"

  "Uh ..." Michael tried to remember Joanna's last name, but it wouldn't come. "Winston, I think. Why?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "I think so. Does it matter?" For some reason it did matter. He could see it in her eyes, but he didn't know why. "Sophia?"

  She let go of his sleeve and forced a brief smile. "It doesn't matter, I guess." She checked her watch. "Oh dear, it's almost four. I have so many things to do today. And I should get dinner going. We'll celebrate Tony's return. You'll all stay, yes?"

  "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

  She patted his arm. "I'm fine, Michael."

  She did seem fine now. But then Sophia wasn't one to share her feelings. He wished he could talk to her about Joanna, about the strange resemblance, about his own bizarre feelings. But after her strong reaction he knew he couldn't say anything more.

  Sophia turned to Rose and Lily. "Do you want to help me make the sauce for dinner?"

  "Yes, Grandma," Rose said.

  Lily nodded, then spoke. "Her name is Joanna Winga
te, Grandma, not what Daddy said. I don't understand why Mama has a new name."

  "She's not your mother. How many times do I have to tell you that?" he asked in frustration.

  Lily sent him a hurt look and crept closer to her grandmother. Nothing was going right today, not the girls, not their school, not his job. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, honey." Michael's gaze drifted over to Sophia. She seemed frozen in place, in time.

  "Wingate," she whispered.

  "Do you know the Wingates?" Michael asked.

  "No. No, of course not." She straightened. "Are you going back to work, Michael?"

  "If you don't mind watching the girls?"

  "Not at all." Sophia turned toward her son. "Tony, are you staying?"

  "I'll be back. I need to check on my boat." He paused. "I hope Papa doesn't still think I'm going to work in the restaurant."

  "That's always been his dream."

  "But it's not mine."

  "That is between you and Vincent, a father and his son."

  "You won't help me?"

  "No."

  "How come no one will help me?" Tony asked, looking from Sophia to Michael.

  "I bet Mariah could help you, Uncle Tony," Lily said.

  "Mariah? Who's that?"

  "She's a really pretty lady," Rose explained. "And she makes magic."

  "Sounds like just what I need," Tony said with a grin.

  "Don't get too excited," Michael told him. "Mariah lives in a crystal ball. Sophia found her in an antiques shop."

  "Yes. As soon as I saw her, I felt a connection," Sophia said. "The ball was warm to my touch, even though it was covered with dust. The shopkeeper got it at an estate sale. It once belonged to two sisters," Sophia continued. "Apparently one of the sisters got lost in a snowstorm. The other sister asked Mariah to bring her home safely, and the next day she was rescued. The two sisters believed in Mariah's magical ability to bring families back together until the day they died."

  "Mariah brought Mama back," Lily said.

  He sighed. He hated to disillusion them, but he couldn't let them go on believing in magic, or that Joanna was their mother. "Mariah didn't do anything of the sort. She's just a toy."

  Lily glared at him. He glared back.

  Sophia put her arm around the girls. "Why don't you go back to work, Michael?"

  "Good idea." At work he was surrounded by lines and symmetry, logic and reason -- not wizards in crystal balls, children who wouldn't talk to him, or a woman who looked like a ghost.

  * * *

  Caroline shook the bottle of pale pink nail polish, unscrewed the top, and touched up her nails. While they dried, she studied the brochures spread out on the kitchen table. She had picked up pamphlets for every imaginable dream vacation -- the Bahamas, Hawaii, Mexico, Paris, London, even an adventure trip to Africa. There had to be something in this bunch that would tempt Joanna into giving up her crazy idea of working all summer.

  They could have so much fun together, if Joanna would just go along with her plans. But lately her daughter balked at every suggestion. Since Edward had died, Joanna had gone from easy going to tough and rebellious.

  She supposed it was only natural. Joanna had spent hours with her father before his death. She had held his hand through the terrible, debilitating attacks of pain. She had read to him, comforted him. She couldn't have made it through without drawing from some inner strength.

  But now that strength was keeping them apart. And Caroline feared that Joanna had given so much to her father that there was nothing left for her mother. It was selfish to think that way, but she couldn't help it. She needed her daughter. She wasn't dying, but she was lonely and afraid of what the future held for her. She didn't have a husband anymore, no one to go on trips with, to take to parties, to dine with before a movie. She couldn't do those things by herself. It would be too uncomfortable. Everyone would stare at her, wonder why she was alone.

  She sat back in her chair, feeling completely useless and unwanted. What on earth was she going to do with the rest of her life? All she ever wanted to be was a wife and a mother. She had spent her days taking care of Edward and Joanna. Now her husband was gone, her daughter was pulling away from her, and she was left with nothing but an empty apartment and a long, endless summer ahead of her.

  Maybe she could take up a hobby, but she didn't like to cook. She killed plants even when she was trying to take care of them, which was why Joanna's room was the only one in the apartment filled with live greenery. The rest of the rooms boasted silk flowers. Gardening was out, and she couldn't sew worth a damn. She wasn't sure she even remembered how to thread the sewing machine -- if she could find it, that is.

  Perhaps music, she thought. The piano in the living room begged to be used. But what good was learning to play the piano when there was no one to play it for? What good was staying in shape, doing her makeup, painting her nails when there was no one to see her? Frustration and helplessness rose within her like an unstoppable tidal wave. She had to think of something to do, something to look forward to, or she wouldn't be able to get through the day or the week or the month.

  As the feeling of panic increased, she got up. She filled the teakettle with water and set it on the burner to heat. A cup of tea would help, she decided, Edward had always made fun of her constant desire for tea. He'd preferred scotch and water, and a nice long puff on a cigar. She'd always hated the smell of his cigars. Now she longed for the scent, wishing she could find just a hint of it in the air, but there was nothing.

  The front door slammed, and she felt immediately better.

  "Mom, I'm home," Joanna called.

  "I'm in the kitchen." At least for the next few hours, she'd have some company. She wouldn't have to think. She wouldn't have to remember what she couldn't have anymore.

  Joanna pushed open the kitchen door with a weary smile. "Hi."

  "How was your day, honey?"

  "Tiring, but fun." She set a pile of children's books down on the counter. "I stopped by the library. I need to get up to speed on six-year-old literature. I've completely forgotten whatever Beatrix Potter stories I used to know."

  "Jemima Puddleduck was your favorite," Caroline said. "You always loved the idea of building a warm, cozy nest somewhere."

  Joanna raised an eyebrow. "How on earth do you remember that?"

  "I remember everything. I loved reading to you. It wasn't nearly as much fun when you grew up and started reading to yourself."

  Joanna smiled to herself. Every step of independence from kindergarten to wearing makeup had been met with resistance. Her mother had tried to keep her a child as long as possible, but eventually she'd grown up. "What did you do today?" she asked.

  "I got some brochures from the travel agency."

  Caroline walked over to the table and picked up a couple of pamphlets. "I think we should go on a trip, Joanna. It will be wonderful, just the two of us. We'll blow those cobwebs right out of your mind."

  "Mother -- "

  "We could go to London. Remember how much you loved the scones?"

  "Mom, I have a job, remember?"

  "I'm sure they can find someone else."

  "That's not the point."

  "We only have the summer before you go back to Stanford. I don't want to waste it. just look at these pictures and tell me you wouldn't love to get away from here."

  Joanna sat down at the table and flipped through the brochures. A week ago she probably would have gone along with her mother's plans, but that was before she'd started this job, before she'd met Michael and Lily and Rose, before she'd starting feeling like a whole person again. She set the pamphlets on the table.

  "I can't go, Mom. I'm sorry."

  Her mother frowned. "A trip would be fun. And we'd be away from here -- from all the memories."

  "You can go without me."

  "Not alone. No, I couldn't," Caroline said immediately. "I wouldn't know what to do. I hate eating alone in a restaurant, and I never know how much
to tip the waiter or the bellboy. Your father..." Her voice softened. "He always did those things."

  "What about one of your friends?" Joanna asked, but she already knew the answer. She was her mother's best friend; she always had been. Caroline had acquaintances, women she worked with on fundraisers and charity events, the wives of the other men in Edward's office, a few of the neighbors, but no one close enough to go on a trip with, no one else who was a widow, no one else who was alone.

  She wondered what had happened to the women Caroline had grown up with. Surely she had had friends in high school and college, yet she kept in touch with no one. In fact, the only people who had come to Edward's funeral had been friends of his or theirs. None were solely hers.

  If she didn't take a trip with her mother, Caroline simply wouldn't go, but she couldn't feel guilty about it. "I'm sorry, but I want to stay here and do this job. I like it. It felt good to be with kids, to hear their laughter, to see their joy, to listen to their silly stories. I haven't had this much fun in ages."

  Her mother gave her a doubtful look. "I'm sure it will get old fast."

  "Maybe, but I want to do it." She paused, "The strangest thing happened, though. A man brought his two girls into school this morning, and they were screaming and carrying on, but as soon as they saw me, they stopped. It was so odd. Then they threw themselves at me and called me Mama."

  "They what?" Caroline asked in astonishment.

  "Called me Mama."

  "But why?"

  "Apparently I look like their mother, who died last year. Their father thought so, too. By the way, do we have any Italian blood in our family?"

  Her mother stared at her as if she'd gone mad. "Excuse me?"

  "Italian blood. The girls are Italian. Their grandparents own De Luca's Restaurant in North Beach. Have you ever eaten there?"

  "No. Your father never cared much for Italian food. Why would you think you're of Italian descent?"