Fear Of Falling. Catherine Lanigan
it.
Olivia had moved to her own one-bedroom apartment a few years ago, needing to get some space and independence from her mom, especially as they continued to work at the deli together. Now she lived on the first floor of one of the Victorian mansions on Maple Boulevard. It was a small space, but the twelve-foot-high, floor-to-ceiling windows filled her little kitchen and living area with light. There was a back entrance that was hers alone, and she’d lined the steps with pots of daffodil and tulip bulbs. The gardens in back were not as spectacular as Mrs. Beabots’s, but the yard was ringed with blue spruce, maples and oaks, and it provided a secluded respite from the world. She could understand why Rafe had wanted a place of his own, even if it was only a few steps from where his parents lived.
* * *
OLIVIA SPENT THE rest of the afternoon putting out food and helping her mother clean up in the kitchen, stealing whatever moments she could to give her condolences to Nate, Gabe and Mica. Twice, she approached the table where Rafe sat with his mother, her sister, Bianca, and the priest who had performed the funeral service, and twice, she backed away, unable to talk to him.
After her second attempt, Olivia felt as if the walls were closing in on her. The room had grown stifling. She remembered these reactions from those years right after her father left. Her aunt and some of her mother’s friends had told her she was being dramatic, but Olivia’s symptoms were very real. Her words would be cut off midsentence, or she wouldn’t be able to speak at all. She would sweat and her hands would shake—just like they were doing now. The cure was to simply avoid the triggers. In this case: Rafe. She had to stay away from him at all costs.
There were more chores waiting for her in the kitchen, and she needed to take photos of the elegant pastry display she’d created. But when she reached the kitchen, she noticed Gina had come in behind her.
“I want to serve the dessert and coffee now,” Gina said. “Come help me fill the coffeepots. Olivia, you’ll pour the left side of the room, and Julia, will you take the right?”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “What about the ice creams?”
Gina nodded briskly. “I’ll serve them after we’ve put them together.”
Olivia went to the island and opened the containers. “I got the ice cream from Louise.” She took out a silver dish, scooped a perfect ball of ice cream into it, stuck a ginger star cookie in the middle and then sprinkled spun sugar “glitter” on top. “It was my idea to add the stars,” Olivia said hesitantly. “I like to think of Mr. Barzonni being in heaven, walking among the stars.”
Gina flung her arms around Olivia. “My sweet girl. That is the loveliest thing anyone has said to me all week. I’ll remember it forever. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Olivia fought back tears as she glanced at her mother and saw pride and love shining in her eyes.
Gina took a deep breath and swept her fingers under her eyes. “I’ll announce dessert. Oh, Olivia, don’t forget the cream and sugar. I put it over there on that silver tray.”
Olivia smiled. “I got it.”
She watched from the kitchen as Rafe and Mica stacked their plates with her pastries. She wished she could take their photos; their smiles were the first she’d seen all day, and it warmed her to know that her creations brought them this little joy on such a sorrowful day. Once everyone had visited the dessert table, Gina began serving the ice cream, and Olivia followed her out with a china pot of hot coffee.
As she rounded Rafe’s table, pouring coffee, Rafe reached out and clutched her hand.
“Is it true you made these macaroons?” he asked, holding up the colorful cookie with chocolate mousse filling between the layers.
“I did. Do you like them?”
“They’re great,” he said sourly. “But these aren’t macaroons. There’s no coconut in these.”
“I didn’t want to correct you, but yes, these are French macarons. Macaroons do have coconut.” She leaned down to pick up his cup and saucer. Her arm passed very close to his shoulder, but he didn’t move to give her more space. “Would you like cream or sugar?”
“Black. There’s enough sugar in the cookies. I could eat a dozen of these. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a rush of warmth through her body. As she poured the coffee, she could smell his spicy cologne over the fresh scents of soap and shampoo.
He put his hand on her sleeve and she felt the strength of his fingers as they curled around her wrist. She turned her head slightly to meet his blazing eyes. “Thanks for helping my mom. You’ve been very kind to her. She told me what you said about my father walking among the stars. Thank you.”
Olivia was tongue-tied. “I...I believe what I said.”
Rafe nodded. “Well, it was what she needed to hear. I know Mom’s still planning a baby shower for Gabe and Liz. We’ve all decided that from now on, we want you and your mother to cater her parties so she doesn’t have to work so hard.”
It was sweet that Rafe and his brothers were looking out for Gina, and Olivia tried to ignore the jab of disappointment: Rafe saw her as an employee. A hired hand.
But why should she care, and why should he think of her any other way? She was the hired professional for their dinner party. Period. Olivia tried to move on from the moment, but she couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot. His intense eyes, his fresh, clean smell, the pressure of his hand on her arm were all causing sensual overload.
“I’m more than happy to help anytime,” Olivia struggled to say.
He dropped his hand and looked at the coffee Olivia was still holding. “Thanks.” She still didn’t move. “I’ve got it,” he said, taking the cup and saucer from her when she didn’t put it down. His fingers bumped hers, and Olivia retracted her hand as if she’d been burned. Rafe was immersed in the world of horse racing. The one sphere in the universe she’d vowed never to enter again. Too many shadows and whispers of her father’s addiction to overwhelm her. She didn’t trust this man or his magnetism, and she knew that if she wavered at all, she would be lost.
“Cream? Sugar?” She heard herself ask perfunctorily. He glanced up at her with eyes that cut right to her core. She read honesty, friendliness, gratitude, sadness...and loneliness. Was that right? His eyes searched her face in expectation, but of what? She got the distinct impression that he wanted to ask her something, though she was unsure of his reasons or needs. What she did know was that he was making himself unforgettable.
“No. Like I said, I take it straight.”
“Right. Gotcha,” she said and backed away from his table. Gina asked Rafe a question and he turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”
Olivia could hear the shutter snapping in her mind, taking dozens of mental images of Rafe as she walked from table to table. Normally, she liked the way she saw the world in photographs. But right now she wanted to focus on anything but Rafe. Besides, he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her.
As she took a load of dishes to the kitchen, she reminded herself that Rafe Barzonni was a gambler. Like her father.
Actually, he was worse than her father, because Rafe was the horse owner. The kind of man whose pastime fueled the flames of spiritual and financial demise for others.
This night had unleashed a battalion of emotions for Olivia, and if she was smart, she would lock them up for good. Nights like this were dangerous because they tapped into what her mother called the “dark side of the soul.” Too much introspection could be a bad thing.
Olivia should have expected this kind of inner turmoil at a funeral, yet it had caught her off guard. The only way she could put an end to her consternation was to forget Rafe. She relaxed a little. That would be easy; after tonight, she probably wouldn’t see Rafe again for months. If ever.