One Good Man (16 page)

Matt stomped into the kitchen and glared out the window.

Daisy stood on the deck, pawing at the glass door. Okay, that was kind of weird. When Mr. Benedetto let his dog out into the yard to do her business, he usually let her in as soon as she was finished. It wasn't like him to let the dog hang out in back, especially as she was not tethered and the yard had no fence.

Matt's stomach rumbled and he frowned. Had he stopped for lunch today? He was hungry, yet too listless to fix himself anything. Maybe there was something in the fridge to grab.

Angel answered Daisy bark for bark and danced nervously at the back door. Marilyn blocked his path to the refrigerator, planting her hind end on the floor and giving him a worried look. Could a dog look worried? Marilyn's wide mouth and brown eyes were so expressive that yes, Matthew read the question on her face:
there's trouble—aren't you going to do
anything?

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Shit, Marilyn was smarter than he was. Something
was
wrong.

He brushed past his two girls, murmuring "Stay" as he let himself out. Rushing across Mr. Benedetto's yard, Matthew pounded up the steps of the deck and placed his hand on Daisy's head. "What's the matter, girl?"

Daisy whimpered and barked loudly. She looked to the glass and Matthew looked too, adrenaline spiking his heartbeat. He saw an outstretched leg on the floor.

"Jesus." He slid open the door and stepped over the threshold. Paul Benedetto was sitting on the floor, his back propped against a cupboard, holding a pot-holder to a bloody gash on his head.

"Oh, shit. Mr. B., you okay?" Stupid ass question. Matt hurried to the man's side, going down on one knee. Blood trickled down the older man's cheek and soaked his collar.

"Stupid," Mr. Benedetto muttered. "I fell...it's stupid..."

Matt got to his feet, looking for something to soak up the blood and grabbed a dishtowel hanging through the handle of the refrigerator. The cloth didn't look too clean, but it was all Matt found within reach.

"Take this." He pressed the towel to Mr. Benedetto's head.

"Let me call an ambulance. You've hit your head, it could be serious."

Andie's father waved Matthew away with his free hand.

"I'm all right. No ambulance. Help me get up. I'm fine."

Blood was soaking the dishtowel and reddening Mr.

Benedetto's fingers. Matt knew head wounds bled a lot, but the amount disturbed him just the same. As he took the 149

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injured man by the elbow and helped him to his feet, he said,

"I'll take you to the emergency room. It looks pretty bad. You might need stitches."

"Nah, nah. Just a little accident. Help me get to that chair."

A hot wave of anger washed over Matthew. This was no

"accident." The smell of beer wafting off his neighbor made that clear as glass. As he gripped the man's elbow, his fingers and his voice grew tight. "I'm taking you to the hospital, Mr.

Benedetto. If you keep arguing with me, I'm going to have to call your daughter and get her over here."

The threat cut through the older man's fog, making him turn even paler than he was. "No. Don't call my daughter. I don't want to bother her."

Some of Matthew's anger faded when he heard the fear and shame in his neighbor's voice. "She'd want to know, Mr.

B." His voice was quiet. He sighed. "Let me get you to the car."

When he got Mr. Benedetto to the emergency room, he stepped into the lobby to make the call. "Andie? It's Matt Vostek. How soon can you get to St. Vincent's Hospital?"

"Andie? It's Matt Vostek. How soon can you get to St.

Vincent's Hospital? Your father's in trouble."

Andie had been staring at the tube, unaware of what she was watching, when received the call, and her heart had been racing ever since. Her dad fell and hit his head. He was conscious and coherent, but the doctors still wanted to take some tests.

When Andie arrived at the emergency room and saw Matthew waiting for her, a huge surge of gratitude 150

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overwhelmed her, and she blinked back tears, wanting more than anything to hug him. But she held back. He directed her wordlessly into the examining room where her father lay.

Andie rushed into the room, gasping at the sight of her father, who had a huge red and purple knot on his forehead.

"I'm fine, honey."

Andie's gaze fell on the blood smearing the collar of his shirt. "You don't look fine. My God, Dad." She reached out and took his hand. "You sound groggy."

"It was a stupid accident. I had a little fall, that's all."

Matthew, who'd stood on the sidelines, stepped forward.

"They want to take him in for a CT scan to make sure there's no internal bleeding. He took a pretty big thump there."

Mr. Benedetto made a rude sound. "That's foolish. I'm perfectly all right, just a bit worse for wear. Take me home, Andrea."

"You're staying," she told him, glancing at Matthew. "Until the doctors give you the okay to leave."

Matthew gestured he wanted to speak to her out in the hall.

"What happened?" she asked as soon as they were out of the room. "How did you...?"

He gave Andie a short version of the incident, then said,

"There was a lot of blood. He fell and whacked his head but good on the counter."

"Thank God you were there," Andie breathed, her heart flooding with gratitude. Matthew nodded slightly, acknowledging her appreciation, but his eyes were cool, his expression remote.

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"He kept saying it was nothing. He didn't even want me to bring him to the hospital, but no way was I going to leave him there." His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. "He was drunk, Andie."

Her heart stopped, then started palpitating erratically. "Oh, God." Then, even as she realized how foolish she sounded,

"Are you sure?"

He gave her a look that said
Get real
. "I could smell it on him."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Andie had neither the heart nor the energy to defend her father. Matthew was as somber and distant as a stranger. She wanted to say more.

Before she had the chance to try, a doctor suddenly appeared explaining he wanted to keep Mr. Benedetto overnight for observation.

Andie had to get tough with her dad. He insisted he wanted to go home, but she flatly refused to drive him. By then all the resentment, fear, and anger inside her was ready to boil over. Her father took one good look at her and backed right down. She must have looked pretty damn scary.

Matthew was still waiting for her when she bid her father goodnight. Andie was moved by his kindness. He really was a good guy. If only—

No.

She couldn't let herself think about what might have been.

That was a painful dead end. And though she felt awkward with him now, Andie had to remind herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. Ending things had been the right decision.

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She turned to him resolutely. "Thank you so much. There's no telling what might have happened if you hadn't found him."

"He's lucky somebody was around. The next time there might not be."

"There won't be a next time," Andie answered quickly.

There was no anger in his gaze, just an overwhelming sadness. "How many times has he promised that?" His tone was soft but implacable.

She hated how her voice broke. "I know."

Andie didn't want to start an argument neither of them would win. All she wanted was to feel Matthew's arms around her. And somehow he knew. In spite of his anger, in spite of their differences, he was here offering her comfort. She accepted it gratefully, sinking into his embrace. If only he would never let her go. She wept on his shoulder.
Your
father's in trouble.
Truer words were never spoken.

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The next day Andie brought her father home. He wore a gauze bandage on his forehead, and his face was pale and sweaty beneath the mottled purple and yellow bruises ringing his eyes. The doctors had performed all the necessary tests and were certain there was no internal bleeding and no permanent damage.

It was a quiet drive home. With Andie tense and anxious, and her father stubbornly silent, hardly a word was spoken.

She'd stayed the night at her dad's place to take care of Daisy and had gotten, if she was lucky, a few hours of sleep near daybreak. Keyed up and jittery, her nerves twanged like the strings of an out-of-tune guitar. But at the same time she was resolute about what she needed to do.

Daisy, with tail wagging, greeted Mr. Benedetto as soon as he entered the house. He stroked her head and looked wide-eyed at the disarray around him, as though seeing it for the first time.

"I left everything the way it was," his daughter told him, gesturing at the dirty dishes and soiled clothing scattered around the room. "I'm not cleaning up after you anymore."

She shoved aside a pile of books and papers on the sofa, gesturing for him to sit. It was time for The Talk.

"What happened, Dad? You were doing so well. But everything seemed to fall apart after your trip. What went wrong?"

To Andie's shock, her father suddenly burst into tears.

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"I've done something really stupid, darling. I'm a fool."

Andie's heart stopped and whatever words she meant to speak turned to dust on her tongue.

"I lied about the trip. It wasn't to go meet some college friends. It was...it was a woman."

Andie dropped into a chair, dazed. "A woman?"

"After...you found me that time, I knew I needed help. I was so lonely, honey. So I...well, I got involved with an online group."

"Some porn thing?" Andie's stomach churned.

"No! No, nothing like that. A support group for widows and widowers, people who lost their spouses. People like me, who'd understand..." He glanced at her hesitantly.

"All right."

"Well, I began chatting with this woman who'd lost her husband and had two little girls. She was younger than me, quite a bit younger. She knew my age, I didn't try to hide anything, but we got along so well. We really understood each other. We started e-mailing each other every day, and having private chats...and she told me how tough it was trying to raise her daughters on her own—"

"Dad—"

"Her husband had died very suddenly and they had no insurance. And she seemed like such a good person."

"Dad!" Andie stopped him, not wanting to hear any more.

"Please tell me you didn't send this woman any money."

Her father's gaze wavered, then sank guiltily to the carpet.

"Just a little, at first. She was struggling..."

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"Dad." Andie's teeth were clenched so hard her jaw ached.

"Please. Don't. Don't say anything."

She wanted to scream, overcome by a horrible sense of betrayal. And it wasn't even about the money. It was because he'd fallen so easily into some scam-artist's clutches only months after his wife's—her mother's—death. Vicious accusations swept through Andie's mind.
Are you out of your
mind? Your wife's not even dead a year and you're taking up
with some floozy you met in a chat room? This is how you
respect your marriage vows? This is how you honor the
memory of your wife? My mother?

Andie battled the anger bubbling inside her. Her emotions were hopelessly tangled. She had always respected her father, and now he needed that respect and love more than ever. As hard as it was for her to lose her mom, how much harder for him to lose his wife of thirty years? She wanted to sympathize with her father. But at the moment her compassion was diminished by a sickening disappointment.

"So the whole trip thing." She spoke at last, forcing her tone to remain even. "It was never about a reunion with some college buds. You were planning to meet this...woman..."

He nodded. "Danielle."

Andie stiffened. She didn't want to know the name. "Who suggested it? You? Or her?"

Her father's gaze flashed to her, then flickered away. "It was me. I was getting nervous about the money. At first it was because one of her daughters got sick. Then she got laid off from her job and couldn't pay her rent. Then her car—"

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"I get it, I get it."

"You see, I thought if I met her—"

"How much was it altogether?" Andie demanded.

"Altogether?" Mr. Benedetto's face turned red with shame.

"A few thousand dollars."

"A few thou—" Andie clamped her lips shut as she heard the hysterical note in her voice reverberate around the room.

She hadn't missed the fact her dad wouldn't cop to exactly how much he had shelled out to
Danielle
. If that was even her name. How could a grown man be so gullible? Of course people had been scammed for much greater amounts, hundreds of thousands or millions even, but she never imagined her own father falling into that kind of trap. "Let me guess. When you got there—where was there, by the way?"

"Orlando."

"Orlando, Florida? You mean as in Disney World?" Andie's mouth fell open. Mr. Benedetto, red faced with shame, couldn't meet her eyes. She had her answer.

"Wait." She was starting to see the big picture. "If this woman was struggling as much as you say, there's no way she could afford air fare and all the rest to Orlando. Are you telling me you paid her way?"

"Yes." Her father looked completely defeated. "And her daughters', too. I wired her the money."

Her daughters. Of course. "My God, Dad." She wanted to say more, but the look on his face silenced her. She shook her head in disgust.