Stephanie's POV
So far, visiting my parents for dinner was unpleasant, as I had expected. Mom's greeting had set the bar. Grandma respected the boundaries I indicated when I whispered in her ear. She stared at Carlos, swirling her teeth around her mouth, but she didn't grab his ass or crotch. Carlos was thankful I warned Grandma.
After introducing Grandma to Carlos, I followed her to the dining room and saw Bernie Kuntz sitting at the table. Bernie and I had known each other since we were five. I attended grade school with him. We ate lunch together from grades one to three. He loved peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread. I had lost touch with him in high school. Bernie attended college, and after graduation, he worked in his father's store selling appliances.
He was medium height with a medium build. Unfortunately, he never grew out of his baby fat. Bernie wore dress slacks, a white button-down shirt and a sports coat. His shoes were those out-of-style shiny tassel loafers. Bernie stood and walked around the table to greet me. I bit back a snort when I noticed the tiny tent on his fly created by the metal pull on his zipper sticking out. Carlos found my reaction amusing.
"Your dad obviously didn't want Bernie's company because he remained in the living room, watching television, while I entertained Bernie," Grandma explained. "Frank acknowledged his arrival with a grunt."
Mom ignored Carlos, which I thought was incredibly rude. What would the neighbours think? Before I could sit across from Bernie, Mom politely asked, "Stephanie, could you help me with the food?"
Shrugging, I answered Mom. "Sure," leaving Carlos to introduce himself to Dad and the unexpected company. I was surprised Dad turned the television off when I arrived.
I felt the heat of Carlos' body behind me. He followed me to the kitchen, making me feel relaxed and protected. Carlos wouldn't allow anyone, not even my mom, to hurt me.
As soon as the swinging door closed behind me, Mom snapped, "Stephanie Michelle Plum, how dare you bring that…thug… that man into my house!"
"Mom, Carlos is not a thug," I quickly defended. "Who told you he was?"
"It's what Joseph said," Mom replied.
"Joseph is a jealous liar. Is that all he said?" I wondered.
"It wasn't only Joseph saying things about that thug," Mom answered.
"Are you telling me people are spreading that taradiddle? What did Connie Rosolli have to say?" I demanded, assuming Connie was the source of the Burg gossip regarding my husband. Mom opened the cupboard to pour herself a drink. She knocked it back before pouring another. It was a solid indication I hit the nail on the head. While I waited for Mom to answer, I removed the gravy boat from the cupboard to hold the chicken gravy Mom made.
"What do you mean by taradiddle?" Mom demanded.
"A taradiddle is a petty lie, pretentious nonsense," I explained. "You never answered my question. What taradiddle did Connie spread about Ranger?"
I dumped the sautéed red cabbage from the frying pan into a serving dish. Mom cooked the red cabbage in olive oil with lemon, salt, pepper, and garlic. It smelled delicious. I hoped she didn't overcook the cabbage to make it soggy. When she wasn't looking, I sampled the food. It was delicious and crunchy without being oversaturated with oil.
Mom scooped the mashed potatoes into a large serving bowl. She took a long drink from her glass. At the rate Mom was knocking back the booze, she was going to be drunk soon or in serious need of attending rehab. I impatiently waited. As I opened my mouth to repeat the question, Mom answered, "Connie said that thug was sleeping with the eligible women in Trenton."
"Really? And exactly how does Connie know this? Was she in those women's bedrooms and watched a live porno of Carlos having sex with them?" I demanded. Mom scoffed and added more booze to her glass. Carlos was honest about his past and confessed he had a few one-night stands with women but none since he moved to Trenton. None of that was Mom's business.
"Well, no, but you know how women talk," Mom replied as though that answer was sufficient for explaining how Connie knew Carlos slept around. It wasn't close to being adequate for me. Mom put too much stock in the validity of the Burg grapevine. Most of the crap shared about me was outright lies.
I carried the gravy boat and red cabbage to the kitchen door. Carlos reached for them and took them to the table while I helped Mom with the string beans and potatoes.
"I know how much women in this area lie, Mom. Even if Carlos had slept with another woman in Trenton, which I know he had not, it would not have been your business. You can be nice to him or the judgmental bitch that you're being right now. But if you're the bitch, I can guarantee we won't come back," I threatened.
"What if Connie is telling the truth?" Mom queried.
"Connie wasn't telling the truth, Mom. She's pissed off because Carlos never accepted the offer to have sex with her," I replied. There wasn't any point in convincing Mom. She believed only in what suited her, accepting the narrative aligning with her thoughts. "We should take the food to the dining room before the chicken dries out."
Mom scoffed and carried the chicken to the dining room with me on her heels, carrying the potatoes and string beans. I set the food on the table and quickly returned to the kitchen to grab serving spoons. Carlos stood behind my chair, awaiting my arrival. He gently pushed it under the table when I sat. "Thank you, Carlos," I politely said, brushing a loose curl behind my left ear.
"De nada," he replied. Mom never noticed my wedding band.
~~~~~
Frank's POV
I recognized Carlos from his basic training days, having recommended him for the Rangers program when he completed his term. With his college degree, he quickly moved up the ranks, earning himself the title of lieutenant colonel. The other men I authorized to train were Pierre Sherman, Lester Santos and Bobby Brown. Those four men worked hard to follow the rules and build their fortitude to handle the restrictions required for the black ops.
"What car do you drive?" Edna asked Carlos when he sat beside Stephanie.
Smiling politely, he replied, "Mercedes." Stephanie rolled her eyes at his one-word reply. I assumed it was something he had frequently done during their conversations. It would frustrate her nosy nature.
"I drive a Bonneville," Bernie Kuntz offered. He sat straight and attempted to push out his chest like a proud peacock. Kuntz tried to impress my married daughter. Helen smiled appreciatively while Stephanie snorted at her mother's reaction.
I rooted for the Mets, preferred Fruit of the Loom underwear, and drove a Buick. My loyalties were always carved in stone, and I was overly protective of my youngest daughter. I was unimpressed by the man who sold appliances despite him driving a Bonneville.
"We saw a Toyota in the driveway," Stephanie retorted.
"My car is getting detailed," Kuntz replied. Bernie might drive the Bonneville, but the vehicle belonged to his father. I knew Bernie lived in the apartment above his dad's garage, which he classified as living independently. Bernie ate meals with his family. His mother washed the laundry and cleaned the apartment. I considered it enabling the boy; something Burg mothers were prone to do.
Stephanie was fiercely independent. It was one of her best traits. She never asked for money, like her sister Valerie, and if we purchased groceries or the like, I would find the equivalent monetary value deposited into my account. I hoped Carlos knew what he married and helped her fly. My baby, my Pumpkin, should never have her wings clipped. Marrying a Burg man was not conducive to keeping her sane.
Speaking Spanish, I asked, "Carlos, when did you marry my daughter?" I already knew the answer. My friend, Joe Juniak, heard the news from his brother, Jeremy.
He smiled and gazed lovingly at my daughter before looking into my eyes. "This morning, Sir."
"I'll kill you if you hurt one hair on her head," I threatened. Carlos nodded. He understood the underlying meaning that I would kill him if he cheated on my daughter or physically assaulted her.
"Frank, speak English. It's rude to ignore our guest," Helen snapped.
I raised the knife and stared at Carlos as I carved the chicken. "What happened to the roast, Helen?" I asked.
"Bernie doesn't eat pot roast," Helen replied. She cared more about what Stephanie's potential suitor wanted for dinner than my preferences.
Stephanie snorted, but I ignored her. My focus was on Manoso to see how he treated my daughter. He held my gaze as he reached for Stephanie's hand. Carlos stroked his thumb across Stephanie's knuckles. I looked at Stephanie. She was chewing her bottom lip, displaying her nervousness about my reaction.
It didn't take long to carve the two chickens. I took my share and passed the platter to Stephanie. She tried to balance the dish while using the serving fork to drop some on her plate. I watched as Carlos smiled and silently offered to hold the platter. Stephanie returned his smile, took a serving for her, and quickly placed some chicken breast on his plate.
"Thanks, Babe," Carlos said, making Stephanie's smile widen. I have never seen my youngest daughter look as happy as she did with Manoso. The man respected my daughter. Too bad he wasn't Italian.
Stephanie accepted the red cabbage and string beans before getting Carlos to hold the mashed potatoes bowl. I continued observing Stephanie and Carlos as they passed the dishes around the table. Though Bernie passed Stephanie the red cabbage, he never considered holding the dish as she served herself. Carlos smiled or raised a brow, indicating what he wanted and declined. When Stephanie finally started eating, I noticed Carlos had beans, cabbage and chicken on his plate. Stephanie had removed the pieces of bacon from the string beans.
"Do you want gravy, Carlos?" Stephanie cheerfully asked.
"Babe, that stuff will kill you," he teased.
"Trust me, it will make the chicken taste better," she replied. I dug into my dinner while smiling internally. Helen scoffed and took a healthy swig of what she called iced tea, which I knew contained at least fifty percent Jim Beam.
Continuing our conversation in Spanish, Carlos said, "We only met a few days ago, but I know she's the other half of my heart. I won't hurt her or cheat on her."
"And if she continues bounty hunting for Vinnie?" I asked, proving I knew where my daughter worked and her job.
"I'll keep her safe, Sir," Carlos promised.
"English, Frank," Helen whined, bitching about my conversation in Spanish.
"Is everything okay, Dad?" Stephanie asked, curious about what Carlos and I were discussing. She spoke Italian, which was why I decided on Spanish. Her Spanish language skills weren't up to par, which disappointed me.
"Everything is fine, Pumpkin," I replied, speaking English. I bent over my food and ate before it got cold.
Stephanie and Carlos quietly talked as they ate dinner. She asked him for advice on capturing a few skips she received, including Lonnie Dodd. "Be careful when you approach him, Pumpkin," I warned. He got arrested for auto theft, but the man was a loose cannon. Lonnie wouldn't think twice about harming Stephanie, especially if he was high on whatever street drug he shot into his veins. I wasn't surprised when Carlos offered to assist.
To get Stephanie's attention, Bernie asked, "So what are you doing now?"
Stephanie fiddled with her fork, unsure how to answer Bernie's question without upsetting Helen. I continued eating, swiping my chicken through the gravy and potatoes before shoving it into my mouth.
She struggled with her response before settling on, "I sort of work for an insurance company." Carlos grinned while Edna cackled. She loved Stephanie's twist on her job title. I had to admit it was entertaining.
"You mean like a claims adjuster?" Bernie asked.
After glancing at Helen, Stephanie replied, "More like collections." Under her breath, she mumbled, "Collecting the scum off the streets."
Edna gleefully announced, "She's a bounty hunter. She tracks down dirty, rotten fugitives just like on television. She's got a gun and everything." Stephanie stopped Edna from removing the gun from her bag. I smiled when Stephanie tucked it into the back of her pants.
"Proud of you, Babe," Carlos whispered. Stephanie patted his hand before returning to her dinner.
"Stephanie Michelle Plum," Helen snapped, "you will visit your cousin Vinnie in the morning and resign. A bounty hunter is no job for a proper Burg woman."
Rolling her eyes, Stephanie retorted, "Then it's a good thing I'm not a proper Burg woman. I would go insane staying at home to raise the children as my husband fucks around with their neighbour's wife while her husband works. Have you forgotten about my disastrous marriage to Dickie Orr?"
"You could have forgiven him," Helen replied. I couldn't believe what my wife of thirty-three years said to our daughter. Helen condoned infidelity? She would never forgive me if I stepped out on her. Before I could defend my youngest daughter, Helen added, "He was a lawyer, Stephanie. Dickie wanted to run for senator and eventually become the president. But you had to ruin all that by airing your dirty laundry to everyone on the street. Worse, you divorced him!"
Stephanie sighed. I wanted my daughter to defend herself to Helen. "Are you serious, Mom? I should have looked the other way when my husband of a few months cheated on me? That's insane," Stephanie replied. Her tone was calm, but I could see the fury building beneath the surface. Carlos gently touched her arm, and she visibly relaxed. The man was good for my daughter.
"Helen," I warned.
"Frank, back me up," Helen demanded. "Dickie only cheated because Stephanie couldn't keep him satisfied in bed."
"Carlos never complained," Stephanie mumbled in Italian. Carlos lifted his hand to turn Stephanie to face him. He gently kissed her and whispered his love and affection in Spanish.
Facing her mother, Stephanie said, "Thank you for dinner, Mother. It was delicious as always." Stephanie pushed back from the table and stood. To Bernie, she said, "I apologize for ruining your dinner. I'm not interested in dating you or anyone else." Stephanie raised her left hand, displaying her wedding band. "I'm already married."
Helen's half-empty glass fell to the floor, shattering upon impact. Edna rushed to the kitchen to grab cleaning supplies and a bowl for the broken glass. Finding her voice, Helen snarled, "You can't be married."
"I can, and I am," Stephanie replied. She grabbed her purse, took Manoso's hand and led him to the exit. My daughter refused to let Helen browbeat her during what should have been a celebratory meal to honour Stephanie's marriage to Carlos. I followed the newlyweds to the door. Manoso was a good influence on my favourite daughter.
"Congratulations and welcome to the family, Carlos," I said while shaking his hand.
"Thank you, Sir," Carlos replied when Stephanie said, "Thank you, Dad." Stephanie's voice was laced with emotion by my acceptance.
I returned to the table and ordered Helen to put Bernie's dessert in a travel container. She tried to argue, but my order was final. Edna watched in amusement and started clearing the table to make Bernie realize it was time to leave.
Helen brought the cake to Bernie. "Thank you for coming to dinner, Bernie. I apologize for Stephanie's rudeness," Helen said. She walked Bernie to the door and passed him a bag containing dessert and the leftovers from dinner.
When the door closed to the house and Bernie's car left the driveway, I turned to my wife and snapped, "Helen, Stephanie wasn't rude. You invited her for dinner without telling her about the guest. I'm disappointed by your attitude toward our son-in-law and ashamed you would believe that rapist's words."
"Joseph never raped Stephanie," Helen argued.
"Really? Do you remember when Anthony Senior took your virginity? Didn't you call that rape?" I demanded, suspecting Helen lied about the incident to vindicate herself. Edna went to the kitchen with the remaining dishes. She turned the radio on loud enough to drown out our argument. Wise woman.
"That's different, Frank. I said no," Helen argued.
My tone was deathly quiet as I said, "And so did our daughter."
"But that's not what Angie said," Helen replied, stunning me.
"How would Angie know? Was she there? I know we weren't there. Stephanie and Joseph were the only people who could accurately explain what happened that night. I lifted Stephanie's punishment that summer because she told me what happened. Her reaction was consistent with rape victims. But did you believe her? No. You believed the lies Joe told his mother but not the truth from our daughter. Your loyalties are with the wrong people. You should always stand up for your children." Helen sat on the chair, looking stunned. She was shocked I knew the truth about the incident.
"But…," Helen said before I silenced her with a glare.
"When," I demanded.
Helen twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt. She stared at her hands as she explained the situation when Stephanie was six and Joe was eight. "Our daughter followed Joseph into his father's garage and let him touch her. Stephanie should have married Joseph Morelli. He never raped Stephanie. You can't rape your future wife," Helen argued.
"He did what?" I yelled. "Did Morelli get punished for molesting our daughter when she was practically a baby?"
"Joseph never molested Stephanie. She wanted him to touch her privates," Helen replied.
I couldn't believe Helen kept that secret from me for many years. Had I known Morelli harmed my daughter sexually, I would have made the boy pay. I would have moved my family away from Trenton to protect Stephanie from getting raped by Joseph Morelli. "Who are you?" I asked. The woman sitting before me was not the woman I married. Helen used to be like Stephanie. What happened to her?
"Don't be silly, Frank. I'm your wife, the mother of your children," Helen replied.
"No. You're one of those Burg bitches. The women who do and say whatever the other women dictate. I had a right to know about the garage incident. Moving here from Hamilton Township was the worst decision of our marriage. It changed you, and not for the better. I refuse to stand by and watch you destroy Stephanie and her life," I said.
"Frank, wait," Helen called when I walked away. I stopped to give her a chance to explain herself. "Anthony never raped me. I only said that when I miscarried Anthony's son," she whispered.
I went upstairs to pack my bags. Helen could rot in hell for all I cared. She only cared about Anthony Morelli Senior's boys. My daughter was a loving, kind, generous and forgiving woman. All the traits Helen used to possess until the Burg ruined her for everyone.
"Where are you going?" Helen asked when I walked past her carrying my luggage.
"Anywhere you aren't," I replied. "You wanted our precious daughter to marry her abuser. I don't know who you are and probably never will. Goodbye, Helen. You'll hear from my lawyer," I turned my back on my wife and house. Helen's lies had finally bitten her in the ass. I had the recording of her confessions inside my pocket, waiting for me to use when required.