BLURB:
Nina
Chickalini has been waiting all her life to get out of Queens, but something
always holds her back. If it isn’t the four siblings she raised almost
single-handedly, it’s the neighborhood pizzeria she’s running so Pop can take
it easy. At last, she’s counting down mere months, instead of years, until
she’ll be free to embark on her grand adventure.
Leave it to
her best friend, good old reliable Joe Materi, to wait until now to make an
incredible request.
Have his
baby? The last thing Nina needs is another reason to feel tied down. But how
can she refuse the man who’s always been there for her? Getting in the family
way turns out to be easy, and suddenly she’s seeing her old pal in a whole new
light.
The clock is
ticking, her bags are packed, and Joe—muscular arms cradling a baby, sexy voice
crooning a lullaby—isn’t part of the plan. So why does Nina feel as though
she’s already embarked on the adventure of a lifetime?
An Avon
Romance
Purchase Links:
Prologue:
Nina
Chickalini is no stranger to the tiny, windowless room just off the rectory of
Most Precious Mother church on Ditmars Boulevard in Queens.
It was
here that she made her first—and last—confession to Father Hugh. Make that, the
late Father Hugh. But that part—the late part—wasn’t her fault,
no matter what Joey Materi said then . . . and continues to say.
Until that
May weekday afternoon a decade ago, the parishioners of Most Precious Mother
made their confessions in the blessed anonymity of the closest-like
confessionals in the main church. But apparently, face-to-face confessions in a
casual setting had become all the diocesan rage, and Nina’s pre-confirmation
class was to be initiated into confessing their sins in the new-fangled way.
Ordinarily,
Danny Andonelli would have gone first. But he had caught a nasty throwing-up
kind of flu from his little brother—or so he said. Nina suspected he was loathe
to confess his failure to Keep Holy the Sabbath Day—he’d been caught throwing
water balloons at passing subway trains the previous Sunday afternoon.
Anyway,
Danny was absent that day, leaving Nina alphabetically next in line to make her
first confession.
She sat on
the folding wooden chair opposite the kindly old priest, took a deep breath and
forced herself to look him in the eye.
“Bless me,
Father, for I have sinned,” she began, as Sister Mary Agnes had taught them to
do in CCD.
He nodded
encouragingly.
But Nina
noticed that he seemed a bit pale and distracted as she launched into a
detailed account of her sins: cheating on a social studies test (but not
really, because she had glimpsed Andy O’Hara’s paper merely by accident);
taking the name of the Lord in vain (which she couldn’t really help doing because
she had dropped Grandma Valerio’s massive hardcover bible on her fragile pinky
toe); covering her friend Minnie Scaturro’s brand-new canopy bed—
Suddenly,
the priest keeled over, clutching his chest.
“Father
Hugh?”
He writhed
on the floor, gasping.
For a
moment, Nina thought he was kidding. After all, he had a pretty decent sense of
humor for someone who wore somber black from head to toe every day of his life.
It turned
out Father Hugh wasn’t kidding.
Nina ran
shrieking out into the rectory, where her pre-confirmation classmates were
waiting to make their first confessions.
As Sister
Agnes rushed to call 911, Joey Materi said,
“Holy
shit, Nina, you must’ve confessed one hell of a sin!”
That
remark was miraculously overheard by the distracted and nearly-deaf Sister
Agnes, resulting in an unpleasant penance for Joey, who had his mouth washed
out with soap.
Nina never
did receive any penance for her curtailed first confession.
And Most
Precious Mother promptly went back to using the confessionals—which is why Nina
hasn’t set foot in this tiny room since.
Now, on a
rainy Saturday June afternoon, the first thing she notices is that it looks
exactly the same—pea-green indoor-outdoor carpeting, beige-painted cinderblock
walls, a couple of wooden folding chairs, and a giant wooden crucifix as the
only decor.
It smells
the same, too—of incense and mildew, mothballs and musty hymnals.
The next
thing she notices is that unlike the room, Joey Materi—whom she has seen
practically every day of her life—looks startlingly different.
It isn’t
just that his dark hair is slicked back from his handsome face, or that he’s
wearing a black tuxedo instead of his usual jeans and flannel shirt.
The thing
is, he suddenly looks like . . . well, like a man. The tux makes his
shoulders appear broader than usual, his lean frame taller than usual. His dark
eyes bear an uncharacteristically solemn expression as he stares off into
space, and his full lower lip is pensively caught beneath a top row of even
white teeth. The devilish, jocular Joey Nina has known all her life is gone,
replaced by this—this man. This . . . Joe.
Nina takes
a step closer to him, her periwinkle taffeta skirt rustling around her
dyed-to-match satin pumps. She can hear faint organ music coming from the adjacent
church, which is packed with expectant friends and family. You’d think someone
would have instructed Millicent Milagros to stop playing “The Wedding March,”
but she’s just launched into yet another round.
Nina
closes the door behind her, shutting out the music and instantly becoming aware
that Joey doesn’t just look different—he smells different, too.
Not that
she is prone to sniffing Joey Materi. But she senses that if she were, he
wouldn’t normally smell so . . . yummy. She can smell the white carnation
that’s pinned to his lapel, a scent that reminds her of the Easter Sunday
corsages her father used to buy for her. She can also smell a tantalizingly
musky, citrus scent.
“Are you
wearing aftershave or something?” she asks incredulously.
Joey looks
up, startled, as if he’s just noticed her. “What the heck are you doing back
here, Nina?”
Oh. That.
She takes
a deep breath, forgetting all about the cologne.
“I have
something to tell you,” she says, trying not to sound overly ominous.
“Who’s
dead?”
Okay, so
she needs to work on the ominous thing. Then again, why beat around the bush?
“Nobody’s
dead, Joey . . .”
“Thank
God.”
“It’s
worse.”
“Worse
than dead? What can be worse than dead? And why are you telling me this now?
I’m getting married any second.” He checks the gold wristwatch he borrowed from
his older brother, Phil.
Phil, who
is currently shirking his best manly duties, the lousy coward. In Nina’s
opinion, Phil’s the one who should be doing this. Not her. The maid of honor is
supposed to tend to the bride, not the groom.
Then
again, the bride must be halfway to the Port Authority right about now.
Meanwhile,
Phil is suddenly nowhere to be found, the other groomsmen are useless in the
wake of last night’s rousing bachelor party, and the stricken bridesmaids are
dabbing mascara-tinted tears from their cheeks in the ladies’ room.
Which
leaves only Nina to break the bad news to Minnie’s would-be groom.
She puts a
hand on his arm.
“Joey .
. . you’d better sit down.”
“Nina,
what the he—” He glances at the crucifix—“heck is going on?”
“Shit!”
She gives him a little shove toward the folding chair.
He sits.
“Nina, why
are you—” He breaks off, and then an uh-oh expression dawns. “Where’s
Minnie?”
“She’s .
. . gone.”
Joe
gasps—a sound not unlike Father Hugh’s last tortured breath.
“I’m
sorry, Joey,” Nina says, swallowing hard over a lump in her throat.
“What do
you mean, ‘gone’?”
“She’s
left town.”
The look
on his face tells her he doesn’t get it. She’d better be more specific.
“She’s
left . . . um, you.”
“She’s
left me? But—”
“I’m so
sorry.”
“This
can’t be happening. She can’t leave me.”
“I’m
sorry, Joey,” she says again, patting his muscular arm.
She can’t
leave me. . .
The same
haunting words were spoken by Nina’s father just last summer, about her mother
Rosemarie.
She can’t
leave me. . .
But Mommy
is gone, too. Just like Minnie Scaturro. And Nina is left behind once again to
pick up the pieces.
“Where did
she go?” Joey asks miserably. Nina sighs, forcing away the image of her mother lying
eerily still in that hospital bed. “Minnie said she wants to find—”
“Wait, let
me guess. To find herself? Isn’t that why people get jilted? Because the other
person wants to find herself?”
“I don’t
think it’s herself that Minnie’s going to find, Joey.”
“Then who
is she going to find?”
“God,”
Nina says flatly. “She said she’s going to find God.”
Joey looks
at her in disbelief. “God’s right here,” he says, gesturing at the crucifix. “I
mean, this is a church, for Christ’s sake. Where does she think—”
“She said
she got the calling, Joey,” Nina blurts.
“The
calling?”
“The
calling.”
“She got
the calling now?”
“No. Last
night.”
“Last
night,” he repeated. “Last night, while I was out turning down lap dances and
watching Danny puke all over the limo because he drank too many Jell-O shots,
Minnie was getting the calling? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Nina nods
sympathetically. “I’m so—”
“Sorry?”
he cuts in. “You said that, Neens. A few times.”
“I don’t
know what else to say.”
“I don’t,
either.” He shakes his head, tears in his eyes. “I love her, Nina. You know
that? I’ve loved her since eighth grade. Every plan I’ve ever made was built
around marrying her.”
“I know,
Joey. I know.”
She holds
him close while his heart shatters into a million pieces, wishing she were
anywhere but here. Wishing she were the one on the number seven train
heading for a whole new life.
For the
first time since the canopy bed, Nina finds herself envying Minnie Scaturro,
who, instead of settling for a boring life as boring Joey’s boring wife, gets
to leave Queens behind at last.
Any day
now, I’ll be outta here, too, Nina consoles herself as Joey’s tears
soak her taffeta-covered shoulder. Any day now. . .
Author Bio:
New York Times bestseller Wendy Corsi Staub
(aka Wendy Markham) is the award-winning author of more than eighty novels.
Wendy now lives in the New York City suburbs with her husband and their two
sons. Learn more about Wendy at www.wendycorsistaub.com
Media
Links:
Website: http://www.wendycorsistaub.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment