Fools Rush In

  “Wonderful! Tell her the island is on the mend, but not to expect everything to be up to par just yet. And I’ll pass the word on to Sharlene that we now have a pianist.”

  Dwayne paused, then spoke in a tentative voice. “Hey, I just wanted to apologize. I feel mighty bad about what happened last night.”

  “You feel bad?” Was he kidding?

  “Well, sure. Ain’t every night my knee-jerk reaction to something knocks a woman to the floor.”

  “Ah. Well, don’t worry about that. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I think everything’s going to work out fine.” I glanced at my watch and gasped. Four forty? Had I really spent more than three hours in Patti’s shop? “Say, Dwayne . . .”

  “Call me D.J.”

  “D.J.” I tried not to smile as I spoke his name, but found it impossible. “How do you feel about pizza?”

  “Pizza? Love it. Why?”

  “When you get off work, could you stop by Parma John’s on the Strand? My treat. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Boy, would Jenna get a kick out of this cowboy!

  “Sounds great. I’ll be there around 5:15.”

  “See you then.”

  I ended the call and leaned back against the car seat, whispering the words, “He’s a little bit country. I’m a little bit Italian.”

  Simpatico!

  7

  With My Eyes Wide Open

  By the time I arrived at Parma John’s, I’d almost cleared my nostrils of the scent of flowers. Good thing, because with the Wednesday Simpatico special going on, the pungent aroma of pepperoni might’ve proven deadly in combination.

  I found the restaurant overflowing with teens. Most were gathered around tables with red and white checkered tablecloths, eating humongous slices of pepperoni/Canadian bacon pizza. Still others were seated at the bar. Their shrill voices zigzagged around the room, causing my ADD to shift into overdrive. I strained to make out the song playing overhead. Ah yes. “Simpatico.” God bless Uncle Laz. He had this “let’s merge the music with the pizza” thing down to a science. And all to the tune of a Dean Martin song. Some things would never change.

  Nick greeted me with a nod, and I smiled in response. My older brother looked more like Pop every day, right down to the receding hairline and broadening physique. Marriage had put quite a few pounds on him. His midsection had broadened significantly over the years, thanks to Marcella, a brilliant cook. In fact, she was brilliant at most everything. I’d never met anyone so creative. And thoughtful. She’d turned my wild and woolly brother into a decent family man. And now that he’d hit his midthirties, I could almost envision him taking over Parma John’s one day. Not that I was ready to boot-scoot Uncle Laz out of the way anytime soon. I just saw life for what it was—ever-changing.

  Off in the distance, Jenna worked behind the counter to fill an order. She glanced my way and welcomed me with a nod of her head. I inched my way through the crowd, beyond the cute young couple making eyes at each other—Don’t get too excited, honey, this teenage fantasy that you’re actually going to marry that football player is just that, a fantasy—past the table filled with pimply-faced boys bent over their handheld video games—Boys, you will one day rule the world—to the register.

  Jenna turned my way after wrapping up with her customer, wrinkled her freckled nose, and shouted an exuberant, “You’re here!”

  From back in the kitchen, Uncle Laz flashed a warm smile. “Tell her about your time in heaven, Bella.”

  “Yeah.” Jenna leaned her elbows on the counter and whispered, “Tell me about this deejay of yours.”

  After an Academy Award–worthy sigh, I told her the whole thing, right down to the part where I’d groveled at Duhwayne’s feet.

  “So, you won him over with your acting skills?” she asked.

  “Trust me, I wasn’t acting.” I sighed. “I’ve got to make a go of this wedding facility, Jenna. My parents are counting on me. Sharlene and Cody are depending on me. Everything hinges on me.”

  “No, Bellissima,” my uncle called out from the kitchen. “Everything hinges on the Lord. Don’t forget that! He is the potter”—Laz tossed a soft lump of pizza dough into the air and twirled it around before catching it—“and you are the clay.”

  “I know, I know. And I guess it’s just my pride speaking, but I don’t want to fall flat on my face, especially with so many people looking on.”

  Jenna’s lips curled up, and a girlish giggle escaped. “Remember the time you did that in tenth grade, when you tried out for the drill team?”

  “Jenna, I was speaking figuratively.”

  “Still, remember how funny—”

  “Jenna!”

  “Oh, and what about that time we were playing tennis and you tripped over the net? That was hysterical. Remember, Kevin Yauger took your picture and put it in the year-book?”

  How could I forget? Could I help it if I was a little klutzy? Awkward, even? Did Jenna have to point it out to anyone and everyone? Next thing you knew, she’d be telling total strangers about my misshapen head and talking about all the guys who’d broken my heart in high school. Maybe she’d even throw in the part where Jimmy Peterson told my entire ninth grade class that my face didn’t match my name. Of course, that was back in the days of pimples and braces.

  “You’ll do fine, Bella.” Uncle Laz’s voice rang out again, jarring me back to the present, where at least a few people believed in me. I appreciated his confidence in my abilities but wondered if I would ever feel the same way about myself. More often than not, I did fall flat on my face. Symbolically, anyway. Which left only one part of my anatomy visible to a watching world.

  No, this wasn’t the first time I’d doubted my abilities. For example, there was the time I ran for president of the junior class and got only ten votes. Turns out Jenna had voted five times. And then there was the time I tried out for a part in a school play, only to be told I would be better off working backstage. Were my acting skills really that bad? Worst of all, though, was my choir audition. The pained look on the director’s face still haunted me, along with the words “tone-deaf,” which still resonated in my ears. He had suggested I take a creative writing class. Unfortunately, writing didn’t turn out to be my bag either.

  “Bella?” Jenna said. “Have we lost you?”

  I turned back to her with a sigh, but her attention had shifted away from me. Her mouth gaped open, and for a moment I could practically see all the way down to the girl’s tonsils.

  “B-Bella!”

  “What?” I attempted to make sense of her sudden lack of concern about my problems.

  “Take a look at that one, will you.” She gestured toward the door with a dreamy-eyed look on her face, and I turned, surprised to see D.J. standing there, looking a bit like a fish out of water. His gaze darted to the left and the right, but he apparently couldn’t see me through the crowd. Not that I minded. No, I needed the extra time to stare at his broad shoulders and handsome face.

  I didn’t even try to stop my grin as the words slipped out. “Oh, he’s early.”

  “Th-that’s your guy?” Jenna’s gaping mouth still proved problematic. I wanted to reach over and close it manually, but I thought she might slap my hand. Instead, I turned to face D.J., hoping he wouldn’t notice my gawking friend and flee for his life.

  Overhead, Dean Martin’s voice crooned something about love. I felt my cheeks heat up in both anticipation and embarrassment as D.J. shuffled my way, the pointed toes of his boots moving in synchronized steps with the song’s meter. No sawdust in his hair today. A plus, what with Jenna meeting him for the first time and all. But those eyes . . . From the moment those marble-blue babies locked into mine, I found myself deaf, dumb, and blind to everything else around me.

  Or maybe just dumb. What was it about this cowboy that suddenly prevented me from speaking in complete sentences? I finally managed a wobbly “H-hey, Duh-wayne.” Shame washed over me at once. Tell me I did not just make fun of his name out loud! br />
  Apparently he didn’t notice. Fascinating. A wide-as-Texas grin lit his face as he countered with his opening line. “Pinch me to prove I’m awake.”

  “E-excuse me?” I gave him a curious look.

  “Oh . . .” His face turned deep red, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m distracted by the music. Just quoting the lyrics. They struck me as funny.”

  Heavens, if that man didn’t look amazing with flushed cheeks and sawdust-free hair. Made me want to pinch myself, just to prove I was awake.

  Straining to hear the music above the noise of the crowd, I quickly realized that “Simpatico” had been replaced with another tune.

  “Oh, that’s ‘With My Eyes Wide Open,’” I said. “It’s one of my uncle’s favorites. Of course, anything by Dean Martin makes Uncle Laz smile.”

  “Funny how music can have that effect on a person,” D.J. said. His eyes took on a faraway look. “I grew up listening to down-home country music. Mostly stuff from Hee-Haw.”

  “Hee-Haw?” This was a new one to me. I’d have to look it up on the Web.

  “Sure, it’s an old TV show,” he explained. “My dad watched it when he was young and got me hooked when the VHS collection came out. There’s some priceless stuff on that show. Great comedy. Amazing old-style country music. Guitar-pickin’. Lots of gospel. That’s my mama’s favorite.”

  Should I mention that I didn’t know Hee-Haw from a hoedown? That my only experience with country music was an occasional song playing overhead at the grocery store? That the theme seemed pretty universal—someone always got drunk and cheated on someone else?

  Nah. I simply smiled and said, “I see.” Perhaps I would . . . with time.

  Jenna hovered around us like a UFO coming in for a landing. “Did I hear something about Hee-Haw?” she asked, her voice a little more animated than necessary.

  “Yep.” D.J. flashed a now-familiar grin, one sure to snag my best friend’s heart and send her sensibilities reeling. “I’m a fan. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m a fan all right.” She gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, but I had a pretty strong suspicion she wasn’t talking about the television show. Or music. No, my friend had something else on her mind, something altogether different. Should I remind her that she was practically engaged? That her boyfriend was working offshore to earn enough money to pay for their yet-to-be-announced wedding? The one she’d promised I could coordinate?

  Startling to attention, I made introductions. “D.J. Neeley, this is my best friend in the world”—even when she’s making a total goober of herself—“Jenna Miller.”

  He gave a polite nod, and Jenna gestured for us to take our seats at the counter.

  “I hear you’re from Splendora,” Jenna said as she went back to work scrubbing the already clean countertop.

  “Sure am. Born and raised.”

  “I wonder if you know my cousins—Jimmy John Taylor and his little brother, Beau.” She lifted the sponge and gave him an inquisitive look.

  D.J.’s beautiful blue eyes lit with excitement at the revelation. “I’ve known Jimmy John since we were kids. Played on the same baseball team in high school. Beau was a little younger, but he was light-years above most of us, academically speaking.”

  She tossed the sponge aside and gave D.J. another pensive once-over as she added, “Yeah, he works for NASA now.”

  “No joke. Well, don’t that beat all.”

  For a moment, I thought I saw a hint of jealousy in D.J.’s eyes. Just as quickly, it passed.

  Was this a new side to my deejay? Was he a small-town boy wishing he could make something of his life, like Beau? Had D.J. strived for bigger things only to end up on Galveston Island, doing construction work?

  Thankfully, my brother Nick interrupted my thoughts when he stopped by to shake D.J.’s hand. “You survived having dinner with the family last night, and now you’re back for more? That speaks volumes. Most people can only take our family in small doses.”

  “Hey, I enjoyed it.” D.J. gave him an unpretentious smile.

  “Well, hey, what’s not to like?” I said, hoping the conversation would shift.

  Joey appeared as if by magic and extended his hand to shake D.J.’s. I couldn’t help but wonder what the handsome cowboy thought about my eclectic baby brother. Joey was quite a contrast to the other men in the family—his short stature and dark, curly ponytail set him apart. And the tattoos got almost as much attention as his mustache and goatee. Not that D.J. seemed to notice. He quickly engaged my brother in easy conversation about one of his tattoos—two nails overlapping each other to form a cross.

  Flexing his upper arm, Joey explained, “I got this one after I started doing street ministry with our church. It’s a great conversation starter.”

  D.J. gave it another look. “No doubt. It’s great.”

  The chatter must’ve summoned Uncle Laz, who joined us from the kitchen. He nodded in D.J.’s direction. “Glad to see you survived Rosa’s cooking.”

  “Oh?” D.J. looked my way, clearly confused.

  I simply shrugged. “My uncle would like you to think he’s the only one in the family with any culinary skills. But don’t give him an inch on this one, okay? He’ll take a mile.”

  Laz scowled at me, but I knew he meant no harm. We did this sort of harmless bantering all the time.

  “Rosa’s great with pasta and breads, but the boss does make a mean pizza,” Jenna threw in. “Best I’ve ever tasted anyway.”

  Uncle Laz raised his ladle in the air and exclaimed, “Segreto nella salsa. And I’ve told you not to call me ‘the boss.’”

  D.J. looked at me again.

  “Secret’s in the sauce,” I whispered. “But it’s not much of a secret these days.” I stopped short of explaining that Laz didn’t like to be called “the boss” because it had too many negative connotations.

  “Hush now, Bella.” Laz gave me a warning look, followed by a wink.

  “As for the rest of the family, well, we’re a little, um . . .” Nick shrugged, and I could almost read his mind. Crazy? Nutty?

  “A little what, Nicholas?” Uncle Laz countered, raising his ladle again. “Better watch yourself, boy. God put you in this family, and he can just as easily take you out.”

  “Spoken like a former mobster,” Nick whispered.

  “I heard that.” Laz raised his voice above the pitch of the music, plenty loud enough for everyone on Galveston Island to take note. “And for your information, I was never in the mob.”

  Nick decided this was his cue to do his near-perfect impression of Don Corleone. He quoted a couple of familiar lines from The Godfather, then ended with an over-the-top rendition of Brando’s famous line, “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.” I had to give it to him—my brother was a dead ringer for the infamous mob boss. Er, make that a good match.

  D.J. smiled as my brother wrapped up his act. “Right, right. The Godfather. Saw that movie once on cable.”

  “Just once?” We all turned and stared at him. The Godfather movies were a staple in the Rossi home. We owned both the VHS and DVD versions of every one.

  “Nick memorized the first movie in high school,” I explained, “but please, whatever you do, don’t get him started. He’ll quote the whole thing.”

  Nick turned to D.J. and shrugged. “I’ll stop. But talk to me later. There are a few things you might want to know about Laz’s ties to the mob if you plan on sticking around.”

  “So, mob ties?” D.J. turned to me again.

  “Let’s just say he has a connection,” I said.

  “Two connections,” Nick corrected me.

  “Who are they?” D.J. directed his question at anyone who might provide an answer.

  My uncle sighed. “Since you must know, I once sold vacuum cleaners to Salvadore Lucci and Benigno Damiano—two very, um, influential men back in the day.” Laz’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I led Benigno to the Lord in ’95 just before he passed.”


  “What about Salvadore?” D.J. asked.

  Laz’s jaw tightened. “We haven’t spoken in over five years. I’ve done all I can to reach out to him, but he wants nothing to do with me or my faith, so I must leave him in the Lord’s hands.” At once, Uncle Lazarro bowed his head and offered up what I knew must be a prayer.

  D.J. must’ve picked up on his enthusiasm. “I’ll be praying for him too,” he promised. I looked into his eyes to check his level of sincerity. No problem. The guy would really pray for mobster Salvadore Lucci to come to the Lord. Wow.

  At this news, Uncle Laz’s eyes lit up with joy, and he offered us a pizza on the house. “I just thought Bella’s guest might be hungry,” he explained, turning back to his work.

  “Oh, yes sir. Thank you.” D.J. grinned. “Thank you all. You’ve all been mighty polite.”

  “Yep. You’ve figured us out,” Nick said. “We Rossis are a polite bunch.” He punched me in the arm, and I countered with a wallop to his belly. Never one to be outdone, Nick offered a dramatic reaction, bending over at the waist and groaning as if I’d done him mortal harm. He rose with a smile and gave me a wink. “Gotta go.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then shuffled out the door, singing “With My Eyes Wide Open.”

  I shuddered, thinking of D.J.’s likely reaction to all of this. Did he think he’d stumbled into a badly written scene from a yet-unreleased Godfather sequel, perhaps?

  He turned back to me, putting my mind at ease. “Our families are as different as night and day, that’s for sure. But in some ways they’re just alike. Doesn’t seem to matter where you’re from, family dynamics are pretty much the same everywhere you go.”

  Well, amen to that. I could rest easy. This was a man who got my family.

  “Might be fun to get them together,” Jenna suggested. “East meets west.”

  “More like city meets country,” D.J. explained. “Or better yet, the Grand Opera meets Grand Ole Opry.”

  Hmm. My mama was a sponsor of Galveston’s illustrious Grand Opera, so I had that part figured out. But Grand Ole Opry? I’d have to do a little searching on the Web to figure out that one. Regardless, Jenna seemed to get it. She giggled, then blazed a white smile.