Her Lakeside Family

He’d have to make good on his side of this bargain, Santo decided. He’d have to invest some sweat equity of his own.

And watching Davina now with anticipation lighting up her pretty face, he didn’t think that would be such a hardship. She’d breathed new life into this house.

Maybe being around her could bring him back to life, too.

Chapter Three (#u31c29930-f7ee-52a7-a161-b38f4bd0531b)

Two days later, Davina stood in the galley kitchen of the garage apartment Rikki had suggested she rent for the spring. Since she’d be here in Millbrook Lake for months, Davina had readily agreed after seeing the neat little one-bedroom apartment located on the church grounds. It had a massive picture window with a great view of the lake, and she could walk to church and just about anywhere else. She loved walking around the lake every evening. Tonight would be a good time. Lovely, warm and with a gentle breeze.

But her cell rang before she could go put on her sneakers.

Mom.

“Hello,” Davina said, waiting for the usual questions of “How are you? Are you working too hard? Are you seeing anyone?”

She got those and more, but she only told her mom what she wanted her to know. Coming from a big, noisy and nosy family had shaped Davina’s entire personality. She liked being independent and out on her own, even if she did miss her family all the time. But she wasn’t about to tell her mother about Santo Alvanetti.

“When are you gonna settle down?” Nancy asked each time she went home to Bayou Fontaine.

“I’m settled, Ma,” Davina would always reply. “Settled into my work. I love what I do and one day, I’ll finally get our house back the way it should be.”

Ma always laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Look at you, worrying about this old money trap when you need to be having babies and cooking meals.”

She didn’t want babies and meals. She wanted rooms to paint and trim and she wanted walls to tear down and rebuild. Her daddy had once been in charge of a growing construction company but his bad health and some equally bad decisions during the lean housing market had caused him to almost lose everything. She and Darren had done what they could, but Da was still working part-time and still struggling.

He’d forced Davina to leave the nest, telling her she had a lot of talent that she shouldn’t waste following him around.

But she’d always wondered if maybe her dad had sent her away because she was a woman and he believed she’d never be good at construction.

She’d show all of them. She wanted to help her family so she needed to get her crew settled in nearby apartments and hotels since they’d be here for the long haul.

Santo and his adorable children came to mind.

He had a family. A family in need of a good home. A loving home. But he also had walls that needed rebuilding. Or moving.

“You’ll certainly have a challenge with him,” she mumbled.

Santo Alvanetti had a solid wall around himself.

An invisible wall that he didn’t even see and a wall he obviously couldn’t see through, either. Davina always summed up a home owner while she was measuring and calculating. It didn’t take much to sum up Santo Alvanetti. Widowed, tragic and stressed to the max. Unavailable. Unwilling to risk anything. With anyone.

Her focus was on getting his place in shape to sell so she could get to the really good project. The old rambling house he’d bought on the lake in town. That house had not only good bones. It had a real heart. It would be the one house that could showcase her talents on a regional and maybe even a national level.

Davina would focus on the houses and not their owner because her goal had always been on rebuilding and renovating.

Virginia would focus on the children.

But Davina had to wonder who was focusing on helping Santo Alvanetti to heal from his wife’s betrayal.

* * *

“I can’t seem to focus.”

Santo didn’t like admitting that but he had to talk to someone and the man sitting across from him was the only person he could trust not to spread any more rumors about him.

Rory Sanderson’s blue eyes remained calm and blank. He was a good minister and Santo liked him a lot. But Rikki and her friends had brought him kicking and screaming to visit with the man who preached each Sunday at the Millbrook Lake Church in town. Today for the sake of privacy, Rory had driven the few miles north of town to the offices and warehouse at Alvanetti Imports to counsel Santo. While he looked more like a beach bum or maybe a surfer than a minister, Rory was kind and compassionate and he withheld judgment. He listened a lot more than he advised. Which scored points with Santo. He was so tired of unsolicited, unmanageable advice.

“Why can’t I just snap out this?” he asked Rory now, his gaze moving to the business card on his desk that stated in a bold, black scroll—Davina Connell Construction, Bayou Fontaine, Louisiana. “I have a new nanny and she’s great with the kids and Davina Connell is working day and night to update the house. It’s beginning to look like a different place, a better place. She’s doing things I would have never thought of doing. I should be able to relax a little and concentrate on what’s important. I’ve never had trouble balancing things, even when Althea neglected the entire family. I made it work but now... I don’t have any energy. I need to keep things going for my children and for this business.”

“It takes time,” Rory said. “Grief can take a toll and it shows up in many forms and it comes at the most unexpected times. It can exhaust you completely. You and the children might all experience outbursts, impatience, lack of focus, lack of appetite, lack of sleep.”

“All of the above,” Santo admitted. “I see the outbursts in my children but I know I lose my patience even more now than I did before.”

“So you’ve never been a patient man?” Rory asked with a wry smile.

“Not very good at it, no.” Santo thought back over the last year or so. “It’s been a while since...Althea died. I thought I’d be able to get on with my life by now but I can see how this was building up when she was still alive. My children are still suffering and I don’t know how to help them.”

“You can help them by learning to be patient. But more importantly, you need to be in the moment with them. I know that might sound cliché, but it works,” Rory replied on a gentle note. “Hold them. Talk to them. Sit with them. Read to them. And when they ask about their mother, let them talk and try to answer their questions.”

“How can I explain what happened to my wife?” Santo asked, that old dread burning through his stomach. “I can’t tell them the truth. It’s hard enough for me to accept but to explain that she died because she was trying to steal from our family and she became a murderer—trying to explain that to my children is downright impossible.”

“You don’t need to give them the brutal details,” Rory replied. “Not yet. But Lucia is old enough to hear things at school or even at church and you’ve mentioned she’s already asked some questions. Other children can be cruel. You don’t have to tell her anything but if she comes home upset, let her explain and then work from there. You can tell her that her mommy went through a bad time and made some bad choices and that you’re sad she got into trouble. If your children ask for the truth, you have to keep reminding them that Althea loved them and that it’s not their fault any of this happened.”

Santo leaned over his desk, a hand going to his forehead. “I don’t want that day to come, Rory. My heart can’t take seeing my children hurting any more than they already are. That’s why I decided to move. She came home crying one day because a friend teased her about not having a mom anymore.”

“No one’s heart is safe when it comes to their children,” Rory said. “Parents hurt when their children hurt. But you have to be strong for them.”

“I’m tired,” Santo said. “Too tired.”

“Have you thought about taking some time off?”

He let out a sigh and picked up a pen that had the Alvanetti logo on it. “I can’t.”

Rory didn’t push him. “Well, maybe leave a little early once or twice a week. Surely you have someone here you can trust to run this place in your absence.” Then Rory added an enticing tidbit of a suggestion. “Why don’t you do what you said you’d do and help Davina and her crew with the renovations on the lake house?”

Santo thought about that. Was he afraid to turn over the reins to anyone else? Probably since his trust meter was broken these days. He’d certainly become more controlling since his wife’s betrayal and death. “I did tell her I’d put in some sweat equity,” he said. “But I’d probably get in the way.”

“Davina’s good at showing home owners how to become handymen,” Rory said. “She was gentle with Vanessa and me when we renovated Vanessa’s house. A word of warning, however. Davina believes in authenticity. The house is a Craftsman style and she made sure we both honored that.”

Santo grinned and bobbed his head. “Yes, over the last couple of weeks, I’ve heard all about my mid-century modern and how I should have been true to that style while updating as needed. The woman is a tough taskmaster but she delivers her lectures with such a pretty smile, I hardly know I’m being fussed at.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Rory asked with his own grin.

Santo held up his hand. “Oh, no. It’s not like that. We’re existing in the same space at times. I see her when I get home each night and early each morning before I leave for work. Sometimes we talk on the phone, too. She’s good at keeping me updated on how she’s spending my money.”

Maybe it was like that, he realized since he’d begun to enjoy those quick visits and her detailed updates. In fact, they had a meeting scheduled tonight at her apartment for a change.

“I’ll think about what you’ve suggested,” he told Rory. “I’m still trying to make amends for getting her confused with the nanny. Won’t make that mistake again.”