Page 52 of Bountiful
“Too late.” Zarasighed.
A woman in a rather prim sundress got out of the car. She took in Benito and then Zara, raising a hand to wave. Then she started toward the groupofus.
Benito headed her off, hugging her and then nudging her back toward theparkinglot.
“Something the matter?” Bessasked.
“That’s, uh, my mother,” Zara said. “She doesn’t usually come by on Saturdays. But Benito just got into town last night, and he hasn’t visitedheryet.”
“And you haven’t told her that I’d turned up,” Iguessed.
Looking guilty, Zara shook her head. “Didn’t quite get around to it. Thought I’d get her drunk first.” She put a hand to her head. “Pretend I didn’t say that. I’m just a little stressed out right now. Alec must have rattedmeout.”
“Why don’t Dave and I give you some space?” my sister suggested. “You’ve been very generous with your morningalready.”
“That’s nice of you, but she’s already overpowered the family law-enforcement officer.” Zarasighed.
“Mom,” Benito said. “Just give Zara anhourto—”
Mama Rossi wasn’t listening, though. She was already briskly walking in our direction. She lifted her chin in what I was now sure was a genetic Rossi trait and marched righttowardsme.
“Oh dear,” my sister whispered under herbreath.
Zara paled. The only person who was completely and totally at ease was the baby, who was now stroking the dog’s silky ears while the beast panted lazily onitsback.
“Zara,” Mrs. Rossi said, somewhat breathlessly. “Is it true that introductions are in order?” Her sharp eyes grazed my sister and landed squarely on yours truly, narrowing as she looked me upanddown.
“Mother,” Zara said in a low voice. “I owe you a call, but it’s been a really busy morning. Could we maybe not discuss this right now?” She pointed her gaze down toNicole.
Mrs. Rossi leaned over and plucked Nicole off the grass. She smoothed down the toddler’s hair and sighed. “Don’t let the dog lick you, sweetie. Yucky.” She tucked the baby on her hip and then she thrust a hand out toward me. “Maria Rossi. I’m Zara’s mother. Andyouare…?”
I shook her hand. “David Beringer, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Although it wasn’t, really. I could only imagine what this woman thought of me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she summed up my whole life story in one glance. Rough kid. Loner. Not themarryingkind.
Not thefatheringkind.
Maria Rossi dropped my hand and whirled on her daughter. “Soit’strue?”
“Mom.” Zara’s tone was a warning. She and her mother regarded one another with laser eyes, as if thirty years of strife were ringing between the two of them. Zara had a fiery family. I would have been amused if I weren’t sotense.
“Well,” Zara’s mother said in a tone that indicated she’d just decided something. “He’ll come to Sunday luncheon next weekend. We’ll have a nice opportunity to get to know eachother.”
Zara balked. “We don’t know if David is free on Sundaynextweek.”
“Oh, sure he is,” my sister sang. Of course Bess had to pipe up. “He can make himselfavailable.”
Zara’s eyes flared, and I wondered if a three-way cat fight was out of the question. I hadn’t seen a gaze that murderous even on O’Doul during theplayoffs.
“It’s settled, then,” Mrs. Rossi said. “Next Sunday, one o’clock. After church.” She kissed Nicole on the head. Then she thrust the baby into Zara’s arms, turned on her heel, and began to march away. “Benito!” she called. “Comewithme.”
Her son hesitated a moment. “I tried,” he said to hissister.
“I know,” Zara grumbled. “Goalready.”
When he left, it was just the three of us. No—four. The baby wiggled in Zara’s arms, asking to be let down even though the dog hadwanderedoff.
“I shouldn’t have put my two cents in,” my sister said to Zara. “I’msorry.”
Zara’s mouth relaxed by a degree. She gave Bess a wry smile, then looked up at me. “You don’t have to come to Sunday lunch. They’re just going tointerrogateyou.”
