Tangled Lies (3 page)

“Over six months.”

Sasha swallowed hard, slapped again by how much time had passed and how much she’d missed. “No reconstruction surgery?”

“Not yet. They—”

“Hey, Sasha. Welcome home!”

Sasha found herself hugged again, and she searched for a name to go with the face. But when he grinned, the dimple did the trick.

“J. R. Renzo, is that you?” He’d been the high school heartthrob and never could understand why Sasha didn’t want to go out with him. “Are you still working on the water?”

“Yep, Pop says he’ll sell the fishing business to me when he’s ready to retire.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Oh my,” Eve murmured, and Sasha looked up to see the two very attractive men who’d arrived with J. R.

“Oh, hey, Eve. Good to see you, too,” J. R. added. “This is Nick Stanton, with the Safe Harbor police, and Chad Everson, the high school football coach.”

Eve and Sasha shook hands all around, and Sasha wanted to laugh. She’d thought they were brothers. Both were dark haired and dark eyed, but Nick came with lots of lean muscle, while Chad’s linebacker build would have pegged him as a football player even without an introduction. The fact that J. R. practically ignored Eve also had Sasha biting back a grin. Men generally ignored Sasha, not Eve.

“Mama’s waiting for you. She sent me to get you.”

Sasha turned at the unfamiliar voice and found herself staring into a pair of angry green eyes, much like the ones that had looked back at her from the mirror for years. Tall and skinny, with bright-blue hair shorn on one side and piercings all over, the girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. The way she stood with her arms folded and chin jutting out, she wasn’t rolling out the welcome mat.

But scared-with-attitude was a breed Sasha knew well. She’d had to get past the same when she’d found Bella. She turned to the men.

“If you’ll excuse us?”

She waited until they went back to the crowd before she stuck out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Sasha. Thanks for letting me know. Are you new around here?”

She knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

“No, you are. I live here.” The girl turned and stomped off toward the house.

“Charming, isn’t she?” Eve said, laughing. “That’s Blaze, their newest foster child. Sort of reminds me of another stray I used to know.”

Since Sasha had been thinking the same thing, she smiled, though her insides quivered at what she’d find inside the once-familiar old house.

“Guess we’d better get this over with.”

Eve reared back. “What does that mean?”

Sasha sighed and shook her head. “Not what you think. I meant I have to steel myself to see Mama, not say the wrong thing—which I’m obviously still skilled at doing.”

That drew a small smile from Eve. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The old cracker-style house looked exactly the same as it had the day Sasha left ten years ago. Hipped tin roof, white clapboard siding, porch that ran all the way around. Inside, a wide-planked hallway ran down the center of the house straight to the back door, with rooms opening up on either side. She stopped a moment to let her eyes adjust, cataloging familiar furniture, eyeing the narrow stairs leading to the big upstairs bedroom under the eaves she’d shared with Eve and Cathy.

“Where’s Cathy?”

Again Eve looked away. “She goes by
Cat
now. And she’s . . . she couldn’t get away this weekend.”

Which meant Cathy/Cat still hadn’t forgiven her. Sasha wasn’t really surprised, but a foolish part of her had hoped they could finally move on. Looking through the back doorway, she could see the crowd of people who had come to her mother’s party, smell the burgers and chicken on the grill, hear the laughter and country music blasting from a boom box. Pop’s choice, no doubt, since Mama would have preferred Italian opera.

Preparing herself, Sasha followed Eve down the long hallway to the back door.

At her first sight of Mama, Sasha froze, one hand on the screen door. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. No matter what Eve had said, she hadn’t been prepared. This frail, sickly woman wearing a colorful scarf because she’d lost her hair to chemo couldn’t be Mama Rosa.
Dear God, no.
Abject fear and a hefty dose of guilt slapped her, hard. She was tempted to turn around and run for her Jeep. But she wouldn’t. Not today.

She forced the tears back, took a deep breath, and dug deep for a smile. For Mama, she could do this.

Jesse Claybourne had just taken a sip of his drink when the screen door opened and the star of all his teenage fantasies stepped out. He nearly choked as he realized, yes, it was in fact Sasha Petrov, the prodigal daughter come home. After all these years. And by all accounts, Mama Rosa and Sal had certainly killed the fatted calf.

Without conscious thought, he moved closer. She looked good, he decided, if a little tired and ragged around the edges. He supposed having a mother fighting cancer would do that to you. Beside her, Eve looked the same as ever: elegant and sophisticated, but with a heart as big as all outdoors. Sasha, of the amazing mane of hair and athletic body that begged to be touched, would as soon bite your hand as let you pet her.

She tried to laugh at something Eve said, and even through the strain in her voice, the rich sound slapped him hard. Yeah, he’d always been a sucker for Sal and Rosa’s oldest.

The sisters moved down the porch to where Mama Rosa sat in a white wooden rocker in the shade. Sasha swallowed hard, twice, before she grabbed the gold mariner’s cross she always wore to keep it from hitting Rosa as she carefully bent to kiss her mother on both cheeks.

He understood her shock. This was not the robust fireball who’d chased him off with a broom for stealing cookies.

Mama Rosa grabbed Sasha’s hands when she would have pulled away and whispered something that made Sasha nod and take a careful breath. He waited a moment before he eased up onto the porch, pretending he didn’t see Sasha turn her back toward her mother and close her eyes as she rubbed her heart.

“Happy birthday, Mama Rosa,” he said. “Had I known it was your birthday, I’d have brought you flowers.” He leaned in to place his own kiss on her cheek, smiling when she held his face in her hands.

“Jesse Claybourne, let me look at you.” She scanned him from head to toe, then patted his hand. “You’re a good boy. You can bring them next time.” She hitched her chin toward Sasha. “At least you’ll come to visit me.”

Sasha blanched.

“That’s because you’re the best cook around.” He glanced skyward. “No offense, Aunt Clarabelle.”

“Thank you, Jesse.” Rosa shrugged. “We all have our talents. Your Aunt Clarabelle was a good woman and a fine schoolteacher. She will be missed.”

Jesse nodded and, out of the corner of his eye, watched Sasha casually check him out. When their eyes met, he winked, and a lovely flush spread over her cheeks. Clearly uncomfortable, she wrapped her arms around her middle as she stepped in his direction.

“Surprised to see you here, Money-boy.”

He sent her his best smile. “And miss the chance to hassle you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She huffed out a breath. “Some things never change, I guess.”

“You’d be surprised,” he drawled, matching her stance.

Pop stepped up onto the porch, gave Mama’s face a quick scan, and gently kissed her cheek.

“Jesse is moving into Clarabelle’s cottage while he works on his vintage powerboat. Big race coming up in Clearwater.”

Jesse saw the interest spark in Sasha’s eyes before she carefully masked it.

“Want to go for a ride one day?”

She snorted. “Ride? With you? Please.” She propped her hands on her hips, head cocked at a saucy angle. “Not unless I take the helm.”

Now it was his turn to snort. “In your dreams, Petrov.”

“Sasha is a licensed boat captain,” Mama said. “She’s been working—”

Whatever else she had been about to say was drowned out by Pop, who stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle Jesse hadn’t heard in many a year. But now, as then, silence fell instantly. Pop gestured to Eve, who stepped out of the back door bearing a huge cake. Then he turned back to the crowd.

“Friends, thank you for coming and for celebrating with us today. God has granted my Rosa sixty years, and we are thankful. For her. And for all of you who have shared our lives.”

His eyes filled with tears as he tugged Sasha’s hand and walked over to the rocker with her. He took Mama’s hand in his other one and kissed it tenderly. Eve stepped over and held out the enormous sheet cake with its two candles displaying
60
. Blaze stepped up beside her and held the other end. Sasha started “Happy Birthday” with her lush, off-key voice, and everyone joined in, all eyes on Mama Rosa, who smiled a huge smile and finally blew out the candles on the third try.

Jesse watched the scene play out, smiling, then stiffened when that familiar itchy feeling crept up his shoulder blades. He was being watched. Not surprising, really. It was only a matter of time before his recent incarceration became public knowledge. He glanced around, but he didn’t see any obvious scowls aimed his way. Nor worse, someone fingering a weapon. But the feeling persisted, so he slipped away. No way would he bring the ghosts of his past here. The Martinellis had enough to worry about.

The standard summer thunderstorm blew in about three o’clock and broke up the party. Sasha watched from a corner of the porch as families rushed to their cars amid shouts and waves, holding towels over their heads, casserole dishes tucked under their arms. Within minutes, the driveway cleared. Fifteen minutes after that, the storm blew out to sea, leaving behind sunny skies and slightly cooler temperatures. At least for a little while.

She wished her own emotions could be swept away as easily. It had taken every bit of her inner strength to keep from rearing back in shock when she first spotted Mama. Her throat closed up again, and her hands clenched with the need to punch something in frustration. This couldn’t be happening. How could she not have known?

Of course, Eve and Pop had tried to tell her. Would it have made a difference? Would she have come home sooner?

Sasha stepped off the porch and crossed the yard, her back to the house. She paced the edge of the weedy lawn where rocks bordered the water as it sloshed against the shore. She’d neglected her family for a long time and deserved every bit of this guilt. She owed them more than this. So fine, she’d stay awhile and help Pop with the marina, as Mama had asked. She’d try to put some meat on Mama’s bones, too, though since she couldn’t cook, that’d be a challenge. But she could try,
would
try, doggone it. It was the least she could do.

“Mama wants everyone in the house.”

Blaze’s voice came out more growl than words, but Sasha caught the drift. She turned and saw the teen, arms crossed over her skinny chest, looking like a strong breeze would blow her out to sea. But what she lacked in heft, she made up for in attitude. Sasha smiled and leaned down to pet Bella.

“Have you met my dog?”

“We have a dog.”

“Right. And for now, we have two.”

Blaze’s eyes widened. “You’re not staying.”

Sasha stood and realized she towered over the girl.

“Actually, I am.” She shrugged. “So maybe we could get along, huh? For Mama’s sake?”

Blaze huffed out a breath. “Nobody wants you here. Especially not Mama.” She spun around and stomped back to the main house.

Sasha sighed and followed her across the now-empty yard.

Sasha found Pop and Mama in the living room, with its sagging flowered sofa and the lumpy loveseat that she and Eve and Cathy—oops, Cat—used to fight over. Now, Mama sat in one of those fancy electric recliners, eyes closed, feet up, while Pop sat beside her in the old wooden rocker, gently holding her hand. Blaze huddled in a corner of the loveseat, arms still in the upright and tightly crossed position. Eve sat beside her and tried to put an arm around her, but Blaze shrugged her off and leaped to her feet. She crossed the room and plopped down on the floor at Pop’s feet. An aging beagle lumbered in and flopped down beside her. Bella pranced in behind the dog and immediately collapsed on Blaze’s other side. Bella sent Sasha a questioning look, as though asking,
OK to be here? She needs me.