Chapter 88: Chapter Eighty-Eight

Gloria stepped further into the house which smelled of cake and spice. She looked at the walls of the small living room where pictures of the family hung. She studied the various pictures displaying the four family members. A young Frankie was easy to spot with his wide grin and barely hidden mischief in his eyes. In almost every one, an even younger Stephen stared up at his brother with admiration. Even Frankie’s parents smiled gently with pride. As she walked along the wall, the pictures changed. Worry started to frame Marge’s eyes. Frank Senior appeared more stern, his hand gripping Frankie’s shoulder grew tighter and tighter until the family of four became a family of three.

As the pictures progressed, Stephen became the sole focus. They showcased the youngest son playing sports, wielding trophies like swords, in a cap and gown smiling with his parents on either side of him.

“That’s our Stephen,” Marge said from behind her. “We lost him… a couple months back,” she explained further, a hitch in her tone. “You would have loved him. And he would have loved to meet you.”

Gloria turned and blinked a few times to keep the tears from spilling. “I actually was able to meet him.”

Marge’s eyes widened. “You did?”

Gloria nodded. “He was a good man: friendly, funny, protective.”

Marge chuckled slightly. “Man. It’s so odd to hear people call him that. He never seemed quite grown up to me. Neither of them did.” Marge placed her hand delicately on Gloria’s shoulder.

“How did you meet Stephen?” she asked.

Gloria struggled to formulate a response. The first time she’d met Stephen was when he was unloading a barely breathing Frankie on her couch. That wouldn’t do. Nor would telling his mother she got to know him after being kidnapped by her older son to a seaside retreat where her youngest son was killed at the hands of her vindictive fiance.

“Through Frankie,” she eventually answered.

“Ah,” Marge said with a raise of her head. “We sent Stephen to Frankie hoping…” She sighed. “Hoping that maybe if he saw the life Frankie led, maybe it would drive him back to school. Back to the right path.” She shook her head and reached out to lay her fingertips tentatively on Stephen’s cheek in his graduation photo. “Unfortunately, both of my sons find it hard to resist temptation. I regret the decision every day.”

“I’m really sorry,” Gloria whispered, looking desperately into the older woman’s eyes hoping to communicate the depth of her sincerity for not only her loss, but the role she played in it.

Marge smiled and her grip pulsed against her shoulder. “Thank you, Dear.” Marge took a deep breath and shook her head before swiping her fingers under her eyes. “That’s enough crying for today. Today is a happy day!” She tapped Gloria’s cheeks with her fingers. “You brought my boy home. I want to know everything!”

“Everything?” Gloria asked with a chuckle, watching the woman bustle around the room to organize it.

“Where did you two meet?” Marge asked over her shoulder.

“Uhh…” An underground fight club. “I met him at work.”

Marge froze and pivoted with several pillows in her hands. “Work? You work for that man too?”

“I, uh, I was working as a nurse.”

Marge’s face fell in relief. “Oh, phew, okay,” Marge said, letting out a tense breath. “Nursing is a noble profession.” She walked over to Gloria. “Difficult, taxing. I hope you take care of yourself.”

Gloria nodded. “I’m still just a student.”

“Even more so,” Marge said with a shrug as she dumped the pillows down. She placed her hands on her hips and gave Gloria an inquisitive look. “How old are you, Dear?”

“I’m, I’m twenty, ma’am,” Gloria said, brushing some hair behind her ear as she fought the heat of embarrassment.

“Hm, a tad young for my boy but then again he doesn’t quite have the maturity to match his age, does he?” she asked with a laugh and a shake of her head.

Gloria immediately relaxed. “No, he does not.”

“How far along are you?”

“Far along?”

“With your pregnancy,” Marge prompted with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, yes, that, um…” She tried to think of a plausible answer. “Not very far. Maybe six weeks?”

Marge gave her another scrutinizing look. “You don’t know? Have you not been to a doctor? I can set up an appointment with my…”

“No, no, no,” Gloria began quickly. “I have an appointment set up for two weeks from now. So, no need to call anyone.”

Marge smiled. “Good, it’s important to take care of yourself during these next few months. Having a child will change your life.” She looked toward the door where they could hear a hushed, tense exchange between father and son. “His too, hopefully.” Marge glanced back at Gloria and clapped her hands together. “Well, let me get a room ready for you. Frankie mentioned needing a place to stay for a week?”

“I think that was the plan,” Gloria said, following the woman to a staircase that she questioned could support both of their weights at once.

“That’ll be our deadline for the wedding then. Until then, we have rules in this house,” Marge said, sending a poignant look over her shoulder. “The two of you will have your own rooms. I know you too have been intimate… clearly,” she said with a snort. “But under this roof we don’t condone premarital relations.”

“I understand,” Gloria said, fighting the rising blush again.

“So, until the wedding, you can stay in Stephen’s room,” Marge explained, opening her arm out toward the doorway at the top of the stairs.

Gloria stepped quietly inside as if walking too heavily would somehow disturb his spirit. His room looked completely untouched. Posters featuring alternative bands coated the walls. An electric guitar sat on a stand in the corner beside a keyboard. Drawers hung partially open with shirts spilling over the edges. Marge walked around her and stuffed the shirts back into the drawers.

“I’ll get a change of sheets and we can spruce the room up a bit,” Marge assured her.

“No, I don’t want you to change too much. I’ll respect his space, Mrs. Donati,” Gloria responded.

Marge swiped a stray tear. “I’ll get you some clean sheets, at least.” Marge walked by her again toward the door. She placed a delicate hand on her shoulder as she passed. “Oh! I forgot to ask. Send me your parent’s numbers so we can coordinate the wedding. I’m sure your mother would love to help plan and we’ll need your father to walk you down the aisle.”

Gloria swallowed a lump in her throat and turned, forcing a shaky smile to her lips. “Unfortunately both of my parents aren’t around anymore,” she explained, only a half lie.

“Oh… oh, dear, I… I’m so sorry,” Marge stepped forward and wrapped Gloria in a tight embrace that felt like home. She pulled away and again clasped Gloria’s cheeks between her hands. “Me and Frank will never be able to replace them, but you must know that we will always be here for you…” She dropped one hand to Gloria’s stomach. “Both of you. No matter what.”

Gloria smiled and gave a nod of gratitude.

“I’ll be right back with those sheets,” she said, before pulling off the comforter and heading out the door.

Gloria let out a deep breath and walked toward Stephen’s desk where a rudimentary drawing of a sea shanty had been mapped out along with a few pages of recipes. She remembered the walk on the beach when he’d opened up about his dreams of moving to Oahu. She pictured him looking out the window in the sea shanty, maple eyes bright, smiling big at a customer who’d planted his surfboard in the sand.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you sure do have a lot of explaining to do, Miss Rubanov,” Frankie said behind her.

Gloria took a moment before she turned to face him. Frankie stood in his trademark pose with his shoulder pitched against the doorframe, crooked smirk pulling at the left side of his mouth, his arms crossed and his left foot propped over his right. Gloria sat down on the edge of the bed. She stretched her arms out and rested her weight along her palms.

“Whatever do you mean?” Gloria asked with a raised brow.

Frankie pushed off the door and walked slowly toward her. “I don’t know, fiancee. How about we start with you somehow being pregnant?”

“Who says I’m not?” she asked, lowering herself down to the bed as he crowded her.

He hovered over her, resting his weight on his fists as he looked down into her eyes. “Says the implant I felt in your arm when I was removing that pesky tracker,” he explained, bending the rest of the way down to touch his lips to hers.

“Those aren’t one hundred percent effective, you know,” she teased.

He chuckled and his breath warmed her face. “Coupled with a vasectomy the probability is near as likely as you carrying the next Lord and Savior,” he explained.

“You got a vasectomy?” she asked, baffled.

He shrugged. “It’s reversible but I don’t want kids. Do you?”

She took in a short breath wondering how this was the first time this conversation had come up and refusing to laugh at the absurdity of the location they were having it. “No, I don’t.”

“And yet, here we lay… in my parent’s house…” He kissed her collarbone. “On top of my dead brother’s bed…” His lips traveled up to her throat. “You knocked up…” She inhaled sharply as his teeth grazed her jaw. “And us set to be married in a week…”

“What did your father want to talk to you about?” she asked, hoping to distract him as his palm slid up her side toward her breasts.

“My doing the right thing by you. Being a man,” he whispered, his breath warm against her shoulder. “He must have noticed my stricken face and confused blindsided disbelief for narcissistic rage. You’ve damaged my reputation, Vixen.”

Gloria snorted. “I highly doubt that’s possible. Besides, I heard what he was saying to you before I showed up. They wouldn’t have let you in otherwise.”

Frankie chuckled and sat back on his palms. “And your magical method to get inside was to tell them you were ‘with child’?”

Gloria shrugged. “I just touched my stomach. I could have had indigestion.”

Frankie dropped his head and laughed. His hair tickled her chest and she couldn’t help but smile. He looked back up at her, wide grin firmly in place. “You’ll make a great Pakhan one day.”

“One day?” she asked with a raised brow.

“One day,” he repeated. He lowered his head again as he heard feet coming up the stairwell. “When you’re able to think through your decisions properly.”

A deep cough sounded from the doorway. Frankie stood up and away from Gloria. Frank Senior watched from the hall with a scowl on his face and disapproval marring his expression. Marge stood behind him with an armful of sheets and a shy smile in place.

“I see eighteen years hasn’t changed your ability to listen to what you’re told,” Frank Senior grumbled.

“Come on, Dad, she’s my fiancee,” Frankie said, holding his hand down to help Gloria off the bed. “You’re telling me you could keep your hands off of mom for more than five minutes? If so, I’d love to know your secret.”

“Frankie,” Gloria hissed in humiliation. Frankie merely winked down at her.

Frank Senior walked up to him, his face hardening. Frankie’s smirk dropped as his father squared up to him. “My house. My rules. If you don’t like them, you can get the fuck out. You should be good at disappearing by now. Don’t push me, boy.” Frankie rolled his eyes as his father turned on his heel. “Let’s go get your bags out of the car.”

Frankie sighed but did as he was told. Marge walked through the doorway and gave Frankie a smile of reassurance which he returned with a kiss on her cheek. When he tried to pull away she snatched his sleeve, keeping him close.

“Don’t rile him up, Frankie J. We’re all still healing. We want to help but… don’t push him. Follow our rules, okay? For me. No intimacy under our roof until you tie the knot. No drinking, no drugs, no fighting and for God’s sake, show some respect to your father, okay?”

“Sooo, no fun?” he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

She playfully smacked his cheek. “Hopeless.”

“Always.”

“Get out of here,” Marge instructed, giving her son a gentle shove. “We need to start making wedding plans and discussing birthing options.”

Frankie laughed as Gloria gasped. He strode from the room but at the doorway he turned and sent Gloria a crude gesture that made her eyes roll.

“Like I said, Miss Rubanov, ‘one day,’” Frankie sang as Marge began her ideas for a backyard wedding and the reality of their predicament settled on her shoulders.