A Man Not Her Own Read online

  “You’re helping him? Why can’t his family help him? He’s no good, Sarah. Stay away from him. Remember what he did to your sister.”

  Sarah sighed. “Mother, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not Mitch’s fault that Jeanie’s dead.”

  Her mother grabbed her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Obviously, the man has you under his spell. He’s dangerous. Don’t come running to me when he breaks your heart. And don’t let Josh near him. God knows what he’d do to the boy.”

  “Mother, that’s ridiculous. Mitch has changed—”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Martha said. “Jeanie was your sister. You’re betraying her memory by associating with that Defalco man.”

  “Mother, listen to me—”

  “No, I’ve said my piece. I can see I should have saved my breath. You’re not a child anymore. You’re going to do what you want. Good-bye.” She marched out the door and across the street to the hair salon.

  Sarah’s chest tightened, and her eyes burned. Why couldn’t she and her mom get along better? Jeanie was still first in her mother’s heart. Even in death.

  Picking up a piece of sheet music, Sarah filed it with the others. Her relationship with her mother was past praying for. She needed to focus on the problem at hand—last night’s baring of her soul to Mitch Defalco.

  What was she going to do? He had refused to help her. Maybe it was for the best.

  She decided she had approached the problem from the wrong angle. What she needed now was a new plan of action.

  ****

  Mitch sat at the bar of Defalco’s Restaurant nursing a cup of black coffee. He had an hour to kill before his first appointment of the day.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Marco said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Sarah asked for your help and you refused?”

  Mitch couldn’t believe it either. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, thinking about Sarah and how some son of a bitch had hurt her. “I can’t help Sarah get over what she’s trying to get over.”

  Marco returned the carton of juice to the fridge under the counter. “So she’s trying to get over something traumatic, something you can’t tell me—and God knows, my imagination is running wild here. She put herself out on a limb and asked you to help, and you refused?”

  Mitch sipped his coffee, wincing at his brother’s words. “Yeah, will you quit saying it like I’m some kind of bastard?”

  Marco thumped the top of the bar with a fist. “You are a bastard. And here I thought you’d changed. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  Mitch gritted his teeth. “I have changed, damn it. I don’t want to hurt Sarah, that’s all.”

  “You’ve already hurt her. A sweet little thing like that. Trying to get over something horrible, and you throw it back in her face. Maybe I ought to go over to The Music Shoppe and offer Sarah my services. At least she’d know she could count on one of us Defalcos to help her out.”

  Mitch sputtered into his coffee cup. “You will not offer to help her, you understand? You have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “I would if you’d tell me what her problem is.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Mitch said. “She told me in confidence and even though I can’t help her, I will not break her trust.”

  Marco snorted. “You’re a righteous son of a bitch, you know that?”

  “Shut up, Marco.”

  “I won’t shut up. In fact, I have a good mind to come over there and beat the crap out of you, or at least beat some sense into that hard head of yours.”

  Mitch let out a long drawn out breath. “Don’t bother. I’ve been beating myself up since I drove her home last night. On the one hand, I want to help her. On the other, I know I’m not the right person to do the job.”

  “She thinks you are. That’s what’s important.”

  “What if I make it worse instead of better?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.” Mitch stared at the last dregs of coffee in his cup.

  “You know what I think?” Marco said.

  Mitch didn’t look up. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “Smart-ass. I think maybe you ought to ask Ma. She’s a woman—”

  “Good observation.”

  Marco cuffed him on the head.

  “Hey, don’t start that again.”

  “Then don’t make smart-ass comments. Ask Ma what she thinks you should do. Wise woman, our mother.”

  “I have to make up my own mind on this. I’m not asking Mom. She’d worm the whole story out of me and I don’t want to spread the tale.”

  “That’s noble of you. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. How’s the kid doing?”

  Mitch drained his cup. “The same. I don’t know how to get through to her. She’s been staying out late. She says she’s at school, but I don’t believe her.”

  “You think there’s a boy involved?”

  A vision of the tall dark kid at The Music Shoppe flashed in Mitch’s brain. “Probably. I’ll kill him.”

  “Hey now, don’t go flying off the handle. Lindsey seems to be a good kid. She has an attitude, but so does her old man.”

  Mitch set his empty cup down. “I am her old man, aren’t I?”

  Marco’s face split in a grin. “Yeah, Mitch. You are.”

  “I need to start acting like a father, except I don’t know how.”

  Marco picked up Mitch’s cup and wiped the counter. “Why don’t you try talking to her? Communication is key.”

  Mitch grinned. “That psychology degree of yours wasn’t a total waste. You’re a pretty good analyst for a barkeep.”

  “I’m pretty good at kicking your butt, too. Now get out of here and go to work. Talk to Lindsey. And don’t get all over her case, either. Or you’ll have to answer to Uncle Marco.”

  ****

  That evening, Mitch sat in the den in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper, or trying to anyway. He had a lot on his mind. About Sarah. And about his daughter.

  He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Lindsey should have been home an hour ago. As if on cue, he heard the back door slam and the thunk of a heavy backpack hit the floor. He sat there and waited. He didn’t wait long.

  “What did you do to Mrs. C?” Lindsey stood in the doorway, hands on hips, a heavy scowl marring her face. She looked ready to do battle like her Uncle Marco. Even with the blonde hair, she was a Defalco through and through.

  Lindsey stomped into the room and stood in front of his chair, glaring down at him. “What did you do to her, Mitch? She was crying last night when you brought her home. She didn’t think I noticed, but I did. Then this afternoon, when I stopped by The Music Shoppe, she was quiet and sad. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Liar.

  Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Yep, she was even tapping her foot. “You must have done something, Mitch. Think. You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  Bulls-eye. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sarah, but he had.

  “You did!” Lindsey said. “You hurt her! You said something to hurt her feelings. Or was it something else? Oh God, you didn’t try something, did you? Something Mrs. C didn’t want to do? She’s a nice lady, Mitch. Not some skanky whore.”

  “That’s enough.” He stood abruptly and took Lindsey by the shoulders. She didn’t back down, just stared at him with brown accusing eyes. “I won’t have you saying Sarah’s name and the word whore in the same breath, do you understand?”

  He didn’t think she could lift her chin any higher, but she did. “I said she wasn’t a whore, but my mother was. You knew my mother was skanky, didn’t you, Mitch?”

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “I’m sorry to say I don’t remember your mother. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

  “Forget it. She slept with a lot of men. For money. For drugs. I’m surprised she picked you to put on my birth certificate. I could have done a lo
t worse, I suppose.”

  Mitch heard the anger and bitterness, the bravado in his daughter’s voice. He took hold of her shoulders again. “You’re a Defalco, kiddo. There’s no doubt about it. You looked just like your Uncle Marco when you marched in here. Sounded like him, too.”

  “I did?”

  Mitch smiled. Were they finally communicating? “Yeah. He was jumping all over my case this morning about hurting Sarah.”

  Lindsey wiggled out of his grasp. “So you admit it. You did do something.”

  He shook his head. She’d pushed him away again. Thrown up that damned wall she hid behind. “No, it was something I didn’t do. I did hurt her, but I didn’t mean to. And why I’m explaining myself to a fifteen-year-old is beyond me. Where have you been, by the way? You’re late getting home.”

  Lindsey shrugged. She did that a lot. “Nowhere.”

  “Listen,” he said. “You need to tell me where you’ve been, where you’re going, what you’re doing and who you’re hanging out with.”

  Her eyes widened, like she’d never heard the concept before. “Why should I?”

  “I’m your father, that’s why.”

  She eyed him up and down, then lifted her chin again. The kid had attitude down pat. “Good comeback, Mitch. You might be my biological father, but you’ll never be my dad.” She turned from him and ran out of the room, but not before Mitch saw the tears in her eyes.

  That made two women he’d made cry in a matter of twenty-four hours. Shaking his head, Mitch went to the kitchen for a soda. He opened the tab and gulped down half the can.

  What’s really going on with all this, Defalco?

  He’d lost control of his life, that’s what had happened. A life he’d fought hard for, and now he had a daughter who thought he was the enemy. And a beautiful lady who thought he was her knight in shining armor.

  He gulped down the other half of the soda and crushed the can in his fist. What a joke. A knight was sworn to protect his lady. Sarah could never be his lady.

  He’d thought whatever she had to say wouldn’t change how he felt about her. He’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Her confession had touched something deep within him. Could he be losing his heart to sweet Sarah Smiles?

  He tossed the can in the recycle bin. Maybe he’d lost a little to her a long time ago. There had always been something special about Sarah.

  Mitch shook his head. He was the last man she should trust to help her get over her—problem. Hell, he couldn’t even say the word, or think it. Because when he thought of the bastard who really hurt Sarah, all Mitch could see was a red haze of fury. And that was not what she needed. She needed someone to be patient and gentle.

  No, Sarah didn’t need the likes of Mitch Defalco. You couldn’t take the bad out of the bad boy. Not completely, anyway.

  ****

  Somehow, Sarah got through the rest of the week without embarrassing herself further. She hadn’t seen nor heard anything from Mitch for the past couple of days. Thank God it was Friday.

  “Mom, if someone told you something,” Josh said, sitting beside her on the porch swing that evening, “something like a secret, except it really wasn’t, not if anybody was paying attention and knew what they were supposed to know—Mom, are you listening to me?”

  Sarah laid her crocheting aside. The tone of his voice told her this was important. “Yes, Josh. You have my undivided attention now. ‘Not really a secret.’ Go on.”

  “Well, if they told you this thing, thinking you wouldn’t tell anybody, but didn’t make you swear not to tell, then would it be okay to tell?”

  Sarah smiled to herself at her son’s convoluted sentence. “Who would you be telling?”

  “You, of course.” He frowned up at her, like she should have known better.

  “You can always tell me anything, Josh. I’ll always love you no matter what.”

  “Mo-om, this isn’t about me. It’s about a friend.”

  She bent to kiss the top of his head and was surprised he didn’t move away. This must be important. She eased her arm around his shoulders and he surprised her further by snuggling against her side. Oh my.

  “Tell me, Josh. I won’t know what to do, unless you tell me.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” He was silent a moment. They watched a blue jay bathe in the birdbath standing in the flowerbed at the edge of the porch. Josh sighed. “It’s about Lindsey.”

  Sarah jerked to attention. She hadn’t expected this to be about Mitch’s daughter. “Lindsey told you a secret?”

  “Naw, we were talking was all. She told me that her birthday is in a couple of weeks.” He pulled away, his freckled face scrunched in his worry frown. “Do you think Mr. Mitch knows it’s going to be Lindsey’s birthday? ‘Cause, they don’t talk much, you know. He’s still not doing too good a job being a dad.”

  “I’m sure he’s trying.”

  “Well, he better try harder. Lindsey doesn’t think anybody will remember her birthday. She said nobody ever did before. Not even her mom. What kind of mom doesn’t know her kid’s birthday?”

  Sarah didn’t have the answer to that. She couldn’t imagine forgetting or ignoring Josh’s birthday. “Lindsey’s mother had problems.”

  “I’ll say.”

  They watched the blue jay hop out of the water, perch on a tree branch and fluff the water through its feathers.

  Josh looked up at Sarah. “Lindsey said she’s never had a birthday party before. I feel real bad for her, Mom. And she’s going to be sixteen. Mr. Mitch hasn’t said a word about her learning to drive a car. He don’t even own one.”

  “He doesn’t own one—”

  “Doesn’t own one. What kind of dad doesn’t have a car?”

  “I thought you liked his motorcycle.”

  “Well, duh. But a family needs a car, too.”

  “Maybe Mitch can’t afford a car.” That didn’t ring true; he didn’t seem to be on a budget or go without anything.

  Josh crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not the reason.”

  “What does Lindsey think about it?”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t tell me zactly. I think she thinks that Mr. Mitch doesn’t really want her to live with him.”

  Good grief. “Whatever makes her think something like that?”

  “She keeps saying that her luck is going to run out. Mr. Mitch can’t get rid of her, can he? He is her dad, isn’t he?”

  “Of course, he’s her dad. He’s just having a hard time learning to be a father.”

  Josh frowned harder. “He better learn fast.”

  “He’s trying his best,” Sarah said. “So, what do you want me to do, sweetie?”

  “I think Lindsey should have a party. A great big one! Can we give her a party, Mom? Please?”

  “Hmm... I think she should have a party, too. Since Mitch is trying to learn to be a father, I think we can help him, also. I’ll tell him what you’ve told me, then we can help him with the party. How does that sound?”

  Josh threw himself against her, buried his face in her shoulder, and hugged her. “Thanks, Mom. I knew you’d know what to do.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  They sat in the swing together and watched more birds come to the birdbath. Some bathed and splashed. Others took deep cooling sips.

  Sarah enjoyed sitting with Josh snuggled close to her side. It warmed her heart that her son cared about Lindsey and worried about her happiness. She wished she had as much faith in herself to solve her own problems as Josh had faith in her to solve his.

  ****

  Lindsey closed her history book and stared at the cover. So much for studying. She couldn’t concentrate and she felt like crap. Not physically, but deep down inside. She was going to screw up the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she didn’t know why she was doing it. Dr. Phil would call it self-sabotage. He was probably right.

  Lindsey knew she wasn’t being completely honest with Mitch. She wasn’t lying e
xactly. Just evading the truth.

  They still weren’t talking much. Not since that night she’d accused him of hurting Sarah. Something was going on with them, but she couldn’t figure out what. Mitch had said he hadn’t tried anything on their date. Maybe they’d had a fight. They’d certainly been avoiding each other the past few days. But after dinner, she’d caught Mitch staring out the kitchen window, watching Sarah work in the flowerbeds in her backyard. He’d looked lonely and sad.

  Lindsey picked up the history book and stuffed it in her backpack. She couldn’t worry about Mitch and Sarah. She had her own problems to deal with. Like the fact she was meeting with Thomas and his band in his garage several nights a week. She was going early and Thomas was giving her guitar lessons, before the others arrived for their practice sessions.

  Thomas was the lead guitarist and singer. And when he sang certain songs, love songs, he seemed to be singing them to Lindsey. It made her feel all warm and tingly inside.

  She couldn’t figure it out. Thomas hadn’t tried to kiss her or anything. But he did let his fingers linger on hers when he was showing her how to make certain chords. He smiled at her, too, making her feel special.

  And that made her feel worse. Thomas thought Mitch knew where she was. She wasn’t exactly lying to him either, but she was walking a fine line and afraid she was going to get caught in her tangle of almost-lies.

  Besides the guilt of taking secret guitar lessons, Lindsey’s life had never been better. She was getting used to being part of the big Defalco family. Grandma Viv was cool and so were the uncles. Her new Aunt Judith was pretty busy with her real estate business, but she always had a smile for Lindsey when they met—a smile that made her feel like she really belonged.

  Lindsey couldn’t even complain about going to Mass on Sundays. Learning about God and stuff was cool. Even cooler was meeting with the family after church and eating at the restaurant, even though it was closed.

  Now, if only Mitch would make some move to be a real father, she might cut him more slack.

  Maybe.

  Sometimes, this whole thing seemed like a dream. Lindsey was afraid she’d wake up one morning and find that she was still sleeping on the old ragged sofa in one of the dingy little rat holes she’d lived in with her mother all of her life.