My cell phone rang, startling me. My mother spoke with such emotion, I hardly recognized her voice. “Bella, the neighbors are at it again.”
“What?” I sat up straight. “The Burtons?”
“Yes.”
“What’ve they done?”
“When I arrived home a few minutes ago, I found a letter typed on legal stationary taped to our front door.”
“What?”
“Yes, and it was a very firm letter, demanding the return of the skateboard. It’s really specific about what will happen if we don’t. They’re going to file a lawsuit.”
“A lawsuit? What kind? That’s ludicrous!”
“I don’t know, but the letter threatened to sue us for every penny we’re worth. We could end up in court, Bella. We could lose our home, the wedding facility—everything.”
She shared her thoughts on what this could ultimately mean for our family, and I trembled with anger. “They don’t stand a chance, Mama. The kid was on our property, plain and simple.” After a few seconds, I added, “But don’t you think Rosa’s had enough now, anyway? Maybe she can just take the skateboard back across the street and they’ll come to their senses. Give back Pop’s basketball.”
“I wish.” Mama shared Rosa’s thoughts—that the Burtons were just bluffing. I hoped she was right.
As I hung up the phone, anticipation hovered over me like the morning fog. I hated to see my mom so worked up, especially now, just before the big day. I headed into Walmart and made my purchases, pondering the Burtons and their threats. What could I do, if anything, to hold them at bay until after the wedding?
At 3:45 I wrapped up my business on the west end of the island and headed to Parma John’s. Laz had purchased the briskets for the wedding and wanted me to have a look-see. I also needed to chat with Jenna about several other things related to the menu—the appetizers and the side dishes, to be precise. I wanted to make sure she had a handle on everything. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that something might go wrong. Was I capable of pulling off an event-free event? Probably not. But with the Lord on my side, I would give it my best shot.
I entered Parma John’s to the sound of “Pennies from Heaven.” I knew the song well. Laz had come up with the Tuesday meatball pizza special, stating that meatballs had always been his pennies from heaven. They were, after all, round in shape and had served to fill his pockets with real coins.
Locating Laz and Jenna proved more difficult than I’d expected. I found my uncle in the freezer, his teeth chattering as he took inventory of his meat supply. Jenna, it turned out, had called in sick. I’d have to check on her later. In the meantime, Uncle Laz agreed to visit with me about the wedding details, even Jenna’s part.
Over the next hour or so, he and I put together a detailed plan of how the wedding reception would go. Bubba would bring his smoker from Splendora and start cooking the briskets on the morning of the wedding. He and Laz would create an authentic outdoor fire pit, hanging the big pot of beans over it to cook. Bubba had assured me his mama’s recipe for southwestern beans would knock my socks off. Jenna had agreed to put together the potato salad as well as a host of barbecue-themed appetizers. Rosa would bake and decorate the wedding cake, and everyone would meet at the wedding facility midafternoon, in plenty of time to set up before the 7:00 event.
Funny, sitting next to Uncle Laz, listening to the calm in his voice, I almost felt we might actually pull this thing off.
Almost.
By the time we wrapped up our conversation, I found myself hungrier than ever. Thankfully, Laz picked up on my hints for food and ordered up a meatball pizza on the spot.
I’d just shoveled the first piece into my mouth when a familiar voice rang out behind me. I turned—pizza sauce smearing across my left cheek—to see D.J. standing beside me.
“Here. Let me get that for you.” My handsome cowboy reached for a napkin and wiped my cheek, his eyes sparkling all the while.
I swallowed the mouthful of pizza and stared at him, overcome with joy. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Same here. I just stopped by to pass on some information from Bubba about the barbecue. Sure didn’t know you’d be here. I would’ve stopped off at my place and showered first.”
“Why?” Sure, the boy had sawdust in his hair and reeked after too much time in the sun, but how could I argue with perfection?
Just then, Laz’s booming voice rang out in a forced twang. “Well, hello, cowboy. What brings you down here to our neck of the woods?” Somehow the twang-twang just didn’t work coming from an elderly Italian man. Still, I had to give my uncle credit for trying.
D.J. stuck out his hand. “I’m here to talk to a man about a barbecue. Do you have a few minutes?”
“For you? Anytime!” Uncle Laz gestured for D.J. to sit at a nearby table, then started to join him, but not before he lifted the hem of his pants and showed off his new boots. “What do you think of these, cowboy? Not bad, eh?”
D.J. let out a whistle. “Man. Where in the world did you get those?” His eyes widened. “I’ve seen ’em in pictures, sure, but never in person. Can’t believe you’re wearing them to work.”
Laz’s bushy eyebrows nearly joined in the center. “Wearing them to work? Why shouldn’t I?”
I tried to play it cool, but my insides started to sweat. “You’ve seen boots like that before?”
“Have I!” D.J. laughed. “You’re funny, Bella. Everyone has seen Lanciottis. They’re the most expensive boots on the market. A new pair costs upward of eight thousand dollars.” He turned to my uncle again. “And with the detailing on yours, I’d say even more than that. Not that I’m trying to be nosy.”
“W-what?” I managed. This had to be some sort of joke. Either that, or the boots on Uncle Laz’s feet were knock-offs. Surely.
D.J. scrutinized my uncle’s feet. “Yep. These are crocodile. I’ve only seen a few in my life, but none like these. Leastways, not in person. At the rodeo we sometimes catch a glimpse of a Lanciotti, but not in this price range.”
I’d seen my uncle shaken before, but nothing like this. With the help of his cane, he staggered to the chair opposite D.J. and took a seat. The boots came off immediately.
“What are you doing?” my stunned hunk-of-a-deejay asked.
“Getting rid of the evidence.” Uncle Laz shoved the boots my way. “The Lord isn’t going to answer my prayers if I’m wearing stolen boots. Take them back, Bella. I don’t want ’em.”
I couldn’t help pondering the fact that he’d been willing to wear twenty-dollar stolen boots. Just not expensive ones? Still, there I stood in Parma John’s, holding eight thousand dollar boots in my hand. Boots I’d purchased for a song on eBay. I quickly explained how and where I’d acquired them to D.J., and he let out a whistle.
“Has to be a mistake. Let me check the imprint on the bottom.” We leaned in closer and read the word Lanciotti aloud. “They’re the real thing all right.” D.J. put the boots on a chair, and we all stared at them as if they’d grown horns.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Joey said as he passed by. “You could sell them and make a lot of money. That’s what I’d do.”
I had to admit, the idea had flitted through my mind, if only briefly. I could earn enough off one pair of boots to pay the Visa bill, and then some. Still, if these boots were the real thing—if they were worth thousands of dollars—I could no more sell them than Aunt Rosa could give up cooking. My gut told me I needed to contact the owner to let her know of the dilemma. Surely she would rejoice at the news. And even though I’d be losing a bundle of money, my conscience would be eased. I’d sleep better. Hopefully.
As we pondered this startling news, a string of curse words rang out from the kitchen. D.J. looked that direction, a stunned look on his face. “What in the world?”
“Wasn’t me!” Nick stuck his head through the window and groaned. “And if you want the t
ruth, I’m getting sick and tired of taking the blame for Guido’s sins.” My brother went off on a tangent, talking about Uncle Laz’s attempts to lead the ornery parrot down the straight and narrow.
When Nick’s conversation lapsed, D.J. looked my way, confusion in his eyes. Clearly he’d missed a few key points, so I decided to fill him in.
“Uncle Laz ordered anointing oil from the televangelist Phillip Pockets.”
“Brother Pickpocket?” D.J. took our laughter in stride as he added, “That’s what Pastor Higley calls him. He’s warned everyone in the congregation to stay as far away from that guy as possible. Honestly, anyone who would scam others in the name of Christianity . . .” D.J. dove into a lengthy dissertation about the evils of leading the flock astray.
“Well, I can’t judge the man,” Laz said, “but his oil didn’t exactly have the desired effect, so I’m writing a letter of complaint to the monks in Shreveport.”
“Wait. What happened?” D.J. shook his head, clearly confused.
“I anointed Guido beak to claw, but he, um . . .” Uncle Laz’s cheeks reddened.
“Turns out the parrot is allergic to the perfume in the oil,” I explained.
“Yikes.” A look of compassion came over D.J.’s face. “Do I even want to know what happened next?”
“I had to call the vet.” Laz sighed. “Poor little guy was dropping feathers all over the place.”
“He’s on an antihistamine now, so that helps,” I explained. “But it’ll be a long time before Guido forgives us for what we’ve done to him. And with him missing so many feathers, he’s a bit odd-looking.”
My uncle shrugged. “I just can’t give up on him,” he said. “To do so would be to give up on Sal, and I’ll never do that. Not till he comes to know the Lord.” His eyes filled with tears.
“I think you’re amazing.” D.J. nodded in my uncle’s direction. “It’s admirable to hear you’re going to such efforts to lead someone to the Lord. I think we all have a lot to learn from you.”
A holy hush fell over our little group as we pondered his words. In spite of Laz’s unique attempts, his heart was in the right place.
“I just hope Guido’s feathers grow back before I have to ship him home to Sal.” Laz rose to his bootless feet and made his way back to the kitchen. “Otherwise he’s liable to send someone to Galveston to pluck a few of my feathers. So keep those prayers coming!” My uncle disappeared into the back.
D.J. turned my way with a smile. “Sounds like I’ve missed a lot over the past couple of days.” He reached to brush a loose hair from my face, and I smiled at his touch. His hand lingered a moment, and he gazed into my eyes. In that moment, everything else faded away. Oh, I vaguely heard “Pennies from Heaven” playing in the background and heard the voices of the customers. But all I saw—all I ever wanted to see from this point forward—was the love pouring from D.J.’s eyes. Startled by this revelation, I froze in my tracks.
D.J.’s hand cupped my cheek, and he leaned in to kiss the tip of my nose.
“I saw that,” Joey said as he passed by again. “Watch yourselves, kiddos. No PDA.”
“PDA?” D.J.’s brow wrinkled as he asked, “What’s that?”
“Public displays of affection,” I explained. “In our family, there’s no PDA till you’re married. Or at least engaged.” Almost immediately I realized what I’d said. I wanted to slap a hand over my mouth for speaking the word aloud. Hopefully D.J. wouldn’t see that as some sort of signal that he needed to drop to one knee and offer me a ring. From the look in his eyes, he might be willing to do so at any time.
“So, um . . . let’s go back to talking about the bird before I get myself in trouble with your brothers. Tell me more about Guido.”
“Well, he’s loopier now more than ever since he’s been drugged,” I said. “Flying into things and acting even more peculiar than before, if that’s possible. That’s why he’s here today. Laz wanted to keep a close eye on him.”
“Poor Guido.”
“Yeah. Even Rosa’s sympathetic to the cause. I caught her talking to him. And she prays over him too, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s funny.” I leaned in to whisper the rest. “This is the first time I’ve actually seen Laz and Rosa work together on a project. Neither will admit it to the other, but they’re both on the same team on this one. They’ll figure it out soon enough. And who knows . . . maybe Guido will give up his evil ways.”
“Turn over a new feather?” D.J. laughed.
I shrugged. “Maybe. Stranger things have happened.”
“Yes, stranger things have happened.” The light in his eyes made up for the sudden silence. I had a feeling the boy was thinking about how we’d first met. After a few seconds, he spoke up. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night?” I allowed my mind to roll forward to tomorrow. “Hadn’t thought about it. I’ve been so consumed with this wedding.”
“It’ll do you good to take some time off. My mom’s invited me up for dinner tomorrow evening, and I was hoping I could talk you into going with me. She’s making chicken-fried steak—my favorite.”
“O-oh?” Did I dare take time away from my wedding plans? Would everything crater if I took an evening off? And didn’t I have enough stress without meeting his family during this chaotic week?
After silence on his end, I added, “I really don’t know if I could take time away before the big day.” Surely he would understand. Right?
As my hunky cowboy’s smile faded, I could’ve slapped myself. D.J. was taking a critical step forward in our relationship, and here I stood blowing it. The wedding would go on whether I took an evening off or not.
D.J. wanted me to meet his mama. I would meet his mama. He wanted me to eat chicken-fried steak. I would eat chicken-fried steak.
Even if it meant the stress of this wedding caused me to fall apart in the process.
15
Walkin’ My Baby Back Home
On Wednesday afternoon, with Mama and Sophia’s help, I scrubbed the wedding facility from top to bottom. By 4:00 the wood floors in the reception hall gleamed, the chandeliers sparkled, and the linens had all been washed. I stood back and surveyed the place, trying to imagine it filled with people. Line dancing. Eating barbecue. Laughing. Nibbling slices of cake. Sipping cups of punch. Congratulating the bride and groom.
Yes, I could see it all now. This wedding would come off without a hitch, and the whole Rossi clan would breathe a collective sigh of relief.
Feeling more confident than I had in days, I wrapped up my work and headed home to shower and dress for my date—if you could call a trip to Splendora for chicken-fried steak with Earline and Dwayne Neeley Sr. a date.
D.J. arrived promptly at 5:15. As the doorbell rang, Precious went into one of her typical Yorkie-Poo frenzies. Panic set in, though it had nothing to do with the dog. The moment had arrived at last. I would head off to Splendora-land to meet the Neeleys face-to-face. If I could’ve located the bottle of Laz’s anointing oil, I might’ve smeared some on my heart. Instead, with a forced smile and a determined attitude, I opened the door to the man of my dreams.
D.J.’s five o’clock shadow gave him that down-home Texas look I suddenly found so appealing. I took one look at the boy and remembered why my heart had gotten tangled up with his in the first place. I wanted to holler “Yee-haw!” and reach for a pair of those boots in the front hall. Instead, I found myself wrapped in his arms as he placed a gentle kiss in my hair.
“No PDA,” Pop said with a wink as he entered the foyer.
D.J. stepped back and extended his hand. My father took it, and the two dove into a lengthy conversation about the weather while I tried to still my heart. But oh, heaven help me! How could I? In that moment, as I watched my old-school father and my new-school love interest exchanging pleasantries, I could almost forget about our families’ differences. Almost. I had to wonder if a cheesecake-loving Italian girl from Galvest
on could really merge worlds with a chicken-fried-steak-lovin’ cowboy from Splendora. I guess if I wanted to find out, God would have to lead the horse to water. Or, in this case, take the Italian girl to the piney woods of east Texas.
As D.J. pointed his truck north on Interstate 45, I asked him to tell me anything and everything about his parents and his brother.
“Well, let’s see now.” He appeared to be thinking of where to start. “My family is originally from Tennessee.”
“Wow. What part?”
“Knoxville. My dad’s been in the auto repair business for as long as I can remember.” He sighed. “I used to work with him, but I really don’t have what it takes to be a mechanic. Bubba, on the other hand . . .” D.J. went off on a tangent about his baby brother’s skills under the hood, as well as his many certifications. “’Course, Bubba’s good at just about everything he does,” D.J. said with a smile. “He won all sorts of singing contests as a kid.”
“No way.”
“Yep. And his barbecue’s the best in town. I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother.” D.J. looked my way. “You ever been to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo?”
I shook my head. “No. I was supposed to go with Jenna a couple of years ago, but at the last minute she got sick and we had to cancel. I think we were supposed to see Martina McBride or someone like that.”
“Well, it’s a fabulous event,” D.J. said. “And every year my brother competes in their big barbecue cook-off.”
“Oh, I’ve seen those on the Food Network,” I said.
“Then you know what the jackpot looks like.”
“Are you saying Bubba won?”
“Well, in the rib category, anyway. And he came in second in brisket. He’s pretty amazing.”
“Sounds like you and Bubba are really close.” I sighed.
“Why the sigh, Bella?” He looked my way with concern in his eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess if I only had one sibling, there would be time for a really deep relationship. There are so many of us, sometimes it’s hard to keep up with what everyone’s doing.” I paused a moment to think about that, then turned back to him with a smile. “But enough about that. Tell me more about your family.”