Free Deception by Christiane Heggan Page B

doors.
    One week before their first wedding anniversary, Dan asked Jill for a divorce.
    Looking back at that year, Dan realized he hadn’t had a clue what married life was all about. He had lacked patience and understanding and had been too focused on carrying the financial burden alone. In the process, he had overlooked one of the most fundamental requirements of marriage—to work as a team. When he had finally realized his mistakes, it was too late.
    As the years passed, he’d had to face another truth. He would never get over Jill. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d dated often. He had even come close to remarrying-just so he could prove to himself that he no longer gave a damn about his ex-wife. On the day he’d been about to propose, he had realized that marrying a woman he didn’t love in order to forget the one he did love was a lousy foundation for a lasting relationship.
    Twenty thousand feet below, the sprawling vastness of New York City and its five boroughs came into view, obliterating the memories. As the Fasten Your Seatbelt sign lit up and the Boeing 737 began its final descent into La Guardia Airport, Dan finished the last of his 7-Up and handed the empty glass to the flight attendant.
    Maybe seeing Jill again was the answer to his problem. Maybe now he’d finally get her out of his system.
    Three hours later, Dan parked his rented Land Rover on Brooklyn’s busy Eighteenth Avenue in Bensonhurst, where he had grown up. Getting out of the car, he looked around, feeling the same nostalgia he always experienced each time he came back here. Home.
    Bensonhurst was Brooklyn’s answer to Manhattan’s Little Italy. It was a neighborhood rich in traditions and, for Dan, filled with memories of a full, happy childhood. He passed the corner where he had played stickball with his two brothers after school, and the store where he had sipped thick strawberry shakes.
    Later, in their teens, they had cruised up and down the street in Dan’s first car, a 1968 Mustang he had buffed and coddled like a priceless jewel.
    Brooklyn had changed over the years, but somehow this section of town had remained untouched. Not only was Santini’s Deli still there, catering to the same old clientele, but so was the shoe-repair shop next door and the bridal boutique at the end of the block. Even the old movie theater, where the Santini brothers had spent every Saturday afternoon, was still standing.
    Dan pushed the door to the deli and walked in. Behind the counter, Angelina Santini, a gray apron around her waist, had taken a braid of fresh mozzarella from the display case and was placing it on the scale.
    At sixty-seven, Mario Santini’s widow had stood the test of time and tragedy better than any woman Dan knew. Her face was plump and practically Unlined, her eyes bright and sharp as she read the weight on the digital scale. She had buried one husband and one son and yet somehow had found the strength to survive both events. Her energy and good humor were legendary, and while she no longer made her famous sausages, she still rose at dawn each morning to make fresh mozzarella.
    He watched her as she quickly folded the heavy white paper twice, secured it with tape and handed it to her customer.
    “Here you are, Mrs. Remundo. One pound of the freshest cheese in town. You find fresher, I’ll give it to you free.”
    Her customer laughed. “Not much chance of that, I’m sure.”
    Angelina smiled and handed the woman her change.
    As she looked up, she saw Dan. Her mouth opened. “Danny!”
    Stepping down from behind the counter, she ran to him as fast as her short legs would allow. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
    Laughing, Dan closed his arms around her and gave her a warm embrace. “Hello, Ma.”
    Her eyes were bright with tears as she held his face between her callused hands. “What are you doing here? When did you get in?”
    “Just got off the plane, Ma.”
    Linking her arm through his, Angelina turned to her customer.