Speak Low (11 page)

And what about my own feelings?

Last week I’d been willing to overlook the fact that Enzo had a fiancée—it had almost seemed like a fun little twist in the game. I’d sort of convinced myself that it really didn’t matter, and a few fiery hot sexual escapades with a gangster seemed like the perfect way to kick off my new life as a flapper.

But was it?

I slapped my hands over my face. What was wrong with me? I was getting everything I’d wanted, wasn’t I? Enzo had made good on his promise and come through with the apartment, that beautiful apartment at the Statler with a view of the park, my own bathroom, my own space. Would I take my meals in the dining room there? Order breakfast in my room? At the thought of food, my belly rumbled, and I knew I’d feel better if I ate something.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I counted to three and righted myself. My vision clouded a bit, so I closed my eyes and counted again. When I opened them, the room was still. Getting slowly to my feet, I shuffled toward the dresser and looked at myself in the mirror.

I couldn’t help groaning when I saw my reflection. Not only was my red hair tangled and matted, but I’d neglected to remove my eye makeup, which was smudged around my eyes like a raccoon mask, and I’d put my nightgown on backward. As I pulled it over my head, I remembered wearing it the night I’d been with Enzo in the Packard. I tossed it into my hamper. It needed to be cleaned.

#

I spent the day doing household chores with Molly, who was glad to help me out as long as I kept my promise to her about going to the movies without Mary Grace. Daddy had disappeared after breakfast, saying he was emptying the office at the garage of his things and moving them to his new space, and not to hold supper for him. My sisters said goodbye, but I ignored him. We still hadn’t exchanged more than two words since he’d forbidden me to move out.

All afternoon Molly and I laundered the linens, scrubbed the bathroom, mopped the kitchen floor, washed the windows with newspaper and vinegar, and took the rugs outside to beat them. With each swish of the mop and pillowcase pinned on the line, I fretted about Joey. What would he do? What would I do in his place?

More important, what should I do in mine?

I had the power to allow Joey to keep a third of the drug money and discover who’d taken his father’s life—assuming Enzo had told me the truth. The problem was, Joey didn’t just want to know who killed his dad; he wanted to act on it. He wanted revenge. Did I want to be responsible for what he would do with the knowledge? He could go to jail for the rest of his life. Actually, Joey going to jail might be the least painful result—if Sam the Barber heard what he did, there would be consequences. Not to mention what friends of Legs Putnam would do, assuming he had friends. And what price would I pay for betraying Enzo’s confidence? I didn’t think he’d send me to the bottom of the river, but he’d be plenty mad.

On the other hand, I could just say nothing. Let Joey make his own decision. Let him decide what the information was worth. I hated the idea of keeping something he wanted so badly from him, but it seemed like the safest option.

Between the agonizing and the household drudgery, I was totally miserable.

If I accept Enzo’s offer, I’ll be free of these chores.
In my mind I saw that apartment once more.
I bet the Statler has maid service.

“Molly.” We were hanging sheets on the line in the back yard, and she had to pull a clothespin from between her teeth to answer me.

“Yeah?”

“If I moved out, would you help Daddy with Mary Grace and the house?”

She stuck her neck out so far I almost laughed. “Move out? What are you talking about?” She shrank back, eyes wide. “Are you pregnant?”

I smiled, unable to help it. “No.”

“Then why move out? Where are you going?”

I continued pinning a sheet and tried to explain without telling the whole truth. “I’d like to move downtown…into an apartment.”

“With Evelyn or something?”

“No. By myself.”

She burst out laughing. “How are
you
going to afford an apartment downtown by yourself?”

“Well, I’m going to get a job. And the place belongs to a—a friend, so the rent is reasonable.” Briefly, I wondered what that suite actually cost.

“Oh.” She went back to her sheet. “I guess it would be OK. Yeah. Actually, I know it would.” Her tone was more positive with each word, and I imagined she was getting excited about the prospect of one less adult breathing down her neck. “I mean, I’m a better cook than you are, anyway, and Mary Grace is certainly old enough to take over some chores.” She stopped and looked at me. “Does Daddy know about this?”

I sighed. “Kind of. I mean, I told him I wanted to move out, but he didn’t take the news too well.”

“You’re an adult. You should be allowed to do as you please.”

Grimacing, I reached for another damp pillowcase from the basket. “He doesn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I support you. If you want to move out, I think you should do it. I know I’d do it if I were you—in fact, I will do it. As soon as I’m out of school, there’s no way I’ll stay here. A girl’s gotta get out and live a little, you know?”

I nodded. It would mean more work for her in the short term, but her support made more sense now that I realized she wanted to do the same thing when she was old enough. And if I did it first, Daddy couldn’t stop her. At least, that’s the way she saw it. “Well, we’ll see. I haven’t made my decision yet. Lord, my head is pounding.”

“You don’t look too good. Your face is a little green. Why don’t you go lie down or something? I can finish this.” She took the pillowcase from my hands and nudged me toward the house.

“Actually, I prefer the fresh air. Maybe I’ll just stretch my legs a bit. Take a walk.”

“OK. Just don’t be gone too long—I’m leaving right after supper, remember?”

“I remember.”

I headed down the driveway and turned right. The sun was hidden behind clouds, so the day had taken on a gray pallor that suited my mood. I sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something strange, almost metallic. Maybe I wouldn’t walk that far—it smelled like a storm might be coming.

Chapter Ten

Without really thinking about it, I walked to Bridget’s. I stuck my head into the store, waved hello to Martin at the counter and took the back stairs up to her apartment. The scent of roasting potatoes hit me just outside the door, and I breathed deeply. Her place always smelled so good.

“Hello?” I walked into the kitchen without knocking.

“Hello.” Bridget stood over an ironing board at one end of the kitchen. It folded down right out of the wall, which was handy, but when the stove was on it made for some hot, sweaty ironing in the summertime. She wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “What are you up to?”

“Just taking a walk. Smells good in here.” I wandered over to a chair and dropped into it.

“Thanks. Stay for supper?”

“I can’t. I should make something for the girls and Daddy, although God knows when he’ll return.”

“He’s busy with the new shop, huh?”

I pressed my lips together. No good would come of blabbing to Bridget about the gambling if Daddy didn’t want her to know. “Yeah.”

“And what about you? Now that everything is…settled, are you thinking of returning to school this fall?”

“If I can afford it, perhaps.” Clearing my throat, I went on. “I’m actually thinking of moving downtown. Getting a job that pays a little better so I can save up easier.”

I figured she’d protest right away, but she just nodded, dropping her eyes to the blouse she was working on. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m…I just… It’s like I told you that day before all that other stuff happened. I’d like some independence.”

“I can understand that.”

I looked at her, surprise. “You can?”

“Sure I can. I was your age once too, you know. Not that long ago, in fact.”

“I know, but you were always so in love with Vince. I never knew you wanted to live on your own.”

Bridget tilted her head this way and that. “Well, it wasn’t so much that I wanted to live on my own. And I
was
in love with Vince. But we certainly had very few opportunities to be alone without Daddy lurking or you three monkeys hanging all over us, not to mention Vince’s overprotective mother who never thought an Irish girl was good enough for her Italian boy.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Really.
Oh
, she gave us such a hard time. So did Daddy.” She set the iron on its stand and fanned her face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s hot in here.”

“Why did Daddy give you a hard time?”

“Well, Vince and I wanted to get married and he didn’t want us to. Not because Vince was Italian—he was Catholic, at least—but because he didn’t want to be without me at home. Same reasons he’d give you if you announced your intention to leave. I was doing the lion’s share of the work and had been since Mother died.”

“I never knew you asked permission to leave and marry Vince. I thought you got pregnant and had to marry him.”

Bridget selected a handkerchief from her laundry basket and laid it flat on the board. “I did.”

I scrutinized her closely. Was she blushing? After all this time, she was still ashamed of it? Or was there another reason?

It struck me hard.

“You did it on purpose.”

The color in her cheeks deepened to purple.

“You did it on purpose!” I gasped. “Bridget, I don’t believe it!” My mouth refused to close, and I slapped the table with my palm. “You asked Daddy if you could leave home to marry Vince and when he said no, you got pregnant on purpose so he’d have to let you go!”

“Shhhhhhhh.” Bridget glanced out the window behind her. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

“I just can’t believe it.” Blinking in surprise, I stared at my older sister, seeing her in a new light. “Was it Vince’s idea?”

“No, it was mine.” She shook her head as she smoothed out the wrinkled in the white cloth. “And I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The years we had together were worth it. The children are worth it.”

I nodded, sadness squeezing my throat.

“And I knew you were able to handle things at home without me.” She looked at me then. “And you have. You’ve been wonderful, Tiny. You kept that house running and those girls in line and made good marks in school too. You deserve a life of your own.” Sighing, she dropped her eyes to her ironing again. “I just don’t know that Molly is as capable as you were at her age.”

We’ll see
, I thought. My mind was still whirling, and I wanted to know one more thing. “Bridget…can I ask you a personal question?”

“Might as well. But if you’re going to sit there, would you mind folding some laundry? There’s a basket of the boys’ things in the front room.”

Nodding, I retrieved the basket and used the kitchen table to fold and sort the little items of clothing. “You once said that you got pregnant with Vince the first time you ever did it. Was that true?”

The color deepened in her cheeks. Slowly, she shook her head.

I set a little pair of overalls on one stack. “So you’d been sleeping with Vince before?”

She nodded. “We’d done it a fair amount of times, and we were always careful. We only had to do it a few times without any, you know, precautions, for me to get pregnant.”

Dropping my eyes to the basket, I selected a white cotton undershirt.

“Tiny, what’s this about? Do you have feelings for someone?” A note of concern crept into her voice.

“I don’t know.” Chewing my lip, I finished with the shirt and set it down, staring at the stains on its front. I was dying to confide in her. “I might.”

“I know you said it wasn’t, but…is it Joey?”

I looked at her sharply. “What makes you ask that?”

“I told you last week. It was the way he was talking about you. And the way you two constantly had your heads together. Seemed obvious to me.” She grinned. “And you weren’t that convincing when you claimed to be just friends.”

“I wasn’t?”

She shook her head. “No. And neither was he. You know, Vince always used to tease Joey about you. Said he was positive you’d end up together.”

“And what did Joey say?”

Bridget’s smile deepened, and her eyes glittered wickedly. “A lady should
not
repeat those words.”

Rolling my eyes, I flopped back into the chair. “I don’t know, Bridget. I’m confused. I feel
something
for Joey, but I don’t know what it is. And he’s completely frustrated with me right now. Then there’s this other guy too, and he’s handsome and wealthy and he’s… taken quite a shine to me.” That was one way of putting it.

“Oh? Quite the popular girl, you are.”

I grimaced. “Anyway, this other man has made me sort of—an offer.”

Bridget froze and stared at me. “What kind of offer? A marriage proposal?”

Ha!
“No. He’s not exactly free to do that.”

“He’s married?”

“Not yet.”

“My God, Tiny, that’s the last thing you need. Whatever offer he’s made you sounds a bit less than honorable.”

I threw my arms up. “What’s so fun about honor?”

Her eyes went wide and she returned to her ironing. “Well, if all you’re looking for is fun, then be my guest. You just be sure you know how to protect yourself.”

“I do. I’m not completely foolish.”
Although I act like it sometimes.
“One more thing.”

“Jesus, Tiny. You want to join the circus or something?”

“Ha, ha. No. I have a question for you.” I stood and began folding another little shirt. “If you had some information that you knew a friend had been searching for, that in fact this friend had been obsessed with finding for years, but that might cause that friend to commit violence, would you tell him?”

Bridget parked her hands on her hips and stared at me. “What is this about?”

“Just answer me. Would you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not much for violence, that’s certain.”

“Let’s say the violence would harm only bad people.”

A look of understanding flashed on Bridget’s face. “But would there be potential consequences for my friend?”

I nodded glumly.

“Then no, I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks. That’s what I thought.”

#

I ate supper with the girls and did the dishes myself, since Molly had done the cooking. As expected, Daddy didn’t show. At seven o’clock there was a knock on the door, and Molly flew down the stairs to answer it. She introduced me to a tall boy with wavy blond hair and a friendly smile whose name was Chet, and asked permission to ride in his car to the movies. He looked like a safe enough kid, so I gave it, and she rewarded me with a grateful hug before they left. I wanted to remind her about her curfew, but I bit my tongue, tired of acting like a mother.

Mary Grace and I played tiddlywinks and snacked on a box of Cracker Jack she’d bought earlier in the day, and later she asked to look at my scrapbook. We were upstairs lying on my bed with it when I heard the first roll of thunder in the distance. A moment later, a gust of wind blew in through my open window, ruffling the white curtains.

“We’d better shut the windows.” Rolling off the bed and onto my feet, I pulled both my bedroom windows closed and instructed Mary Grace to shut those in the room she shared with Molly, Daddy’s room and the bath. I went downstairs and shut them in the kitchen, where rain was already beginning to slant through the screen. Another clap of thunder echoed from the west, and I heard Mary Grace’s fast footfalls on the stairs.

“Tiny? Are you down here?” Her voice shook a little.

“Yes, I’m here.” Mary Grace got anxious during thunderstorms, and I tried to think of something that would comfort her until this one passed. “Do you want to play another game? Checkers, maybe? Or a card game?”

“Maybe.” Rain began to rattle the windowpanes and a few gusts of heavy wind made the house creak. “Do you think the storm will be over soon?”

“Sure it will, these summer storms never last too long.” I put my arm around her and walked toward the stairs. “Tell you what. How about we go upstairs and I read a little Ruth Fielding aloud to you and let you sleep in my bed. Does that sound good?”

“Can we put rag curlers in our hair?”

“Absolutely.”

Upstairs, we put on our nightgowns and I tied up Mary Grace’s hair in rags. Then I sat on my bed while she stood behind me and did her best to tie mine up too. We giggled at our reflections in the mirror, brushed our teeth in the bathroom, and slipped beneath the covers in my bed. The steady, drumming rain on the roof was soothing in a way, but I’d read only a few pages when the lights began to flicker. Mary Grace tensed beside me. I patted her arm and kept reading, and the electricity winked a few more times before it went out altogether.

“Oh no!” She grabbed my arm.

“Don’t worry so much, poppet, it’s all right. This happens all the time when the wind is rough.” I patted her arm again and got off the bed. “I’ll go down and find a candle and we’ll read by candle-light, like in the old days.”

“No, don’t go!” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed onto the back of my nightgown. “I’ll come with you.”

It was hard to move with her tugging on me, but I managed to feel my way down the stairs in the dark, moving along the wall in the front hallway into the kitchen, and from there into the dining room, without stumbling. In the built-in corner cabinet, I located two candles in small silver holders that had probably been a wedding present, and from a kitchen drawer I dug a box of matches. Striking one against the side of the box, I lit both candles and saw the worry in Mary Grace’s expression.

“Honey, it’s all right,” I assured her. “Come on, you want to carry one? I’ll carry the other and we’ll go back upstairs and finish the chapter, OK?”

“OK.” She was trying hard to be brave, but her hand shook so much that I felt better holding on to both candles and letting her hang on to my arm. As we ascended the stairs, guilt over leaving home pounded my heart as hard as the rain against the windowpanes. If I left, who would be left to comfort her? Molly? I swallowed hard. Would she take the job of mothering a ten-year-old girl seriously? Could I ask her to? Granted, both Bridget and I had done it at her age, but Molly was a different sort of person, and I wasn’t convinced she would handle the responsibility well. Maybe leaving home was a bad idea.

We made it up to my room, set the candles on my night table, and crawled back under the covers. The thunder and wind let up a little, and though the lights didn’t come on, I was able to read by the glow of the candles, and we even laughed a little that this was probably how our mother had read at night as a child. When Mary Grace’s eyelids began to droop, I lowered my voice to a hush. When I was certain she’d fallen asleep, I closed the book and checked the clock. It was just after ten. I was exhausted, but I blew out one candle, and took the other one downstairs to wait for Molly to get home. I set the candlestick on the coffee table and curled up on the sofa, chin on my knees, but I kept dozing, so I blew out the flame and waited in the dark. Soon the drizzle on the roof lulled me into a deeper sleep.

The sound of the front door opening and closing woke me with a start, and I picked up my head. The electricity must have been restored, because a lamp in the corner was on. Wiping a bit of drool from my lips, I held my breath until my eyes adjusted and I saw it was Molly, back from her date.

And trying to sneak up the stairs.

“What time is it?” I demanded in a whisper, jumping off the sofa. My muscles and joints felt stiff, as if I had been curled in one position for hours.

“Oh!” She whirled on me and put a hand to her heart. “You scared me! What are you doing down here?”

“Waiting for you. You were supposed to be home by eleven. What time is it?”

“Uh, about midnight?”

“About?”

“Maybe a little after?” She started laughing and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I know I’m late and you’re mad, but you look so funny with those rags going every which way on your head. Did Mary Grace do it?”

“Yes. Now, where were you? And don’t tell me you were at the movie theater all this time.”

“I—I wasn’t.”

“So? Where were you?”