“I am?”
“I think she’s probably fine. But you know men, they think we women are incapable of taking care of ourselves.” Chloe was painting him as a womanizer. It was his turn to push his sister’s shoulder until she had to adjust her feet to keep her balance.
“I never said that.”
“Are you saying you’re not worried?” Chloe asked.
“No. Like you said, Brooke is probably fine. But she did say she’s new here and didn’t know anyone. And we might have her phone number, but she doesn’t necessarily have ours. A restaurant phone number in a cell phone wouldn’t likely be called by a hospital.” As Luca said those words out loud, he actually started to worry that maybe there was more to do with Brooke’s disappearance than just her being scared off by the overwhelming force of their family.
Mari pushed away from the desk with a nod. “You make a good point.” She pulled a file from the back of the file cabinet of the desk, opened it, and jotted down a phone number before handing it to him. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Thank you.”
Back upstairs, Chloe stared at him while he studied the phone number. “Well?”
“I’ll call. I just can’t have you staring at me while I do it.”
Chloe rolled her eyes and turned around.
Luca dialed the number, walked into his bedroom, and closed the door.
Brooke answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Her voice sounded frazzled.
“Brooke?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Luca . . .”
She was silent.
“D’Angelo.”
“Yes. D’Angelo.” She blew out a breath as if she’d been holding it and he thought he heard her say “Thank God” under her breath.
“Are you okay?” Luca asked.
She cleared her throat, and this time when she talked, her voice sounded scratchy, as if she were on the verge of tears. “Yes. I’m fine. I saw the number and thought maybe . . . Never mind. Damn. Yes. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“You don’t know me very well. This is my fine voice.”
“I’d hate to hear your upset voice.”
Luca heard her laugh. He liked that better than her fine voice.
“Why are you calling, Luca?”
It was his turn to clear his throat. “Well, Chloe was worried about you. I told her I’d give you a call and make sure you were okay.”
“Chloe?”
“Yes. And my mother. I assured them that you were a strong, capable woman, but since you’ve been gone for a few days, and right after you moved in, they worried. It’s an Italian thing,” he lied. Well, it was an Italian thing, to worry. Or maybe it was a Catholic thing. Or was that guilt?
“They worried but you called. Interesting.”
She was not buying it.
Luca ran a hand through his hair. “I volunteered. We wanted to make sure you had a contact number. A personal one. You know, in case of an emergency. We realize you don’t have people here and . . . yeah. We worried.”
“You can stop worrying, Luca. I’m okay. If I can keep my eyes open, I’ll be back tonight.”
He suddenly felt as if he was invading her privacy again. “This truly wasn’t a call to dig into your personal life.”
“It didn’t sound as if it was.” Her voice had softened. Her fine sounding much better to his ears.
“Do you have far to drive? Driving tired is a bad idea.”
“Luca?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a big girl.”
He shook his head, closed his eyes. “And I’m an ass. I’m sorry. You now have my personal number. Feel free to use it.”
“Thank you. Tell your mother and Chloe I’ll be home soon.”
Luca smiled. “I’ll do that. Do drive safely.”
“Luca?” His name was a warning.
“Fine, drive like a crazy person then.”
She laughed. “I’ll do that.”
He hung up the phone with a grin.
She was growing on him, this Brooke who he didn’t want to like.
Luca turned to find Chloe staring at him through the doorway to his room.
“She’s okay?”
“Yes. She wanted me to tell you she’d be back tonight or tomorrow.”
“I’ll let Mama know.”
“Good. Now get out of here so I can have some peace before Franny gets home from school.”
“I’m a p-prisoner.”
“They’re medical tests, Dad. Shit happens.”
“You said three days.”
Brooke spoke with her dad through the Bluetooth over the car speakers as she drove through traffic on her way back to San Diego. He had called to complain about something she couldn’t do anything about. Which added another layer of crap to her already shitty day.
“It’s barely been three days. And they have to get all your results back. This is a challenge for everyone. Try and be patient. I bet they have it by tomorrow.” She wouldn’t bet much, but she had to tell him something to appease him.
“I . . . I . . . Have you s-sold the condo?”
She knew where this was going. “I’m in escrow.” Which wasn’t going well, and they were likely going to fall out and start over with a backup offer, hence the bad day and the long three before it filled with inspections and repairs. All in an effort to get as much money as she could out of the place. She was exhausted and falling behind in her job. In order to concentrate and refocus, she needed to get out of Upland and turn her lens to her work. Losing her job was not an option.
“Can you stop it?” her dad asked.
“That isn’t going to happen.” She hit the brakes as traffic did what it did in Southern California. As the car slowed, her heart rate sped up. The conversation was making her blood pressure surge, she felt it with every beat of her heart. Her father’s normal easygoing nature was hit or miss since the stroke, and obviously it was missing the mark today.
“I’m not, not liking it. Here.”
The sun was setting, putting the glare directly on her face.
“Dad. I can’t talk about this right now. I’m driving. Traffic is a bitch. If you’re up in an hour, call me. Or I’ll talk with you tomorrow. I bet they have your test results by then and you’ll feel better.”
For a moment the line was silent. Then she heard her dad yawn. “Fine.”
Taillights turned red and the line went dead.
The music she’d been listening to came back onto the radio, and Brooke brought the car to a complete stop.
She felt tears swell and forced them back.
Forty minutes later she pulled into her parking space and released a deep breath.
Outside the car, the noise of Little Italy was bouncing off the street. It helped her find the smile that her father had managed to remove from her lips.
Unlike the time before, none of the D’Angelo men were watching, and she wrestled with her own boxes one at a time for six trips up and down the stairs.
By the time she was done, she was out of breath and happily fatigued after the long drive. And as much as she wanted to drop on the sofa, she had to go back out and find a grocery store.