Speak Low (13 page)

“It’s already done.”

My heart fell to my heels. “What about Angelo? When he finds out, he’ll go to Sam, won’t he?”

“I’m gonna talk to Angelo, try to make a deal by cutting him in on my first few whisky hauls in Chicago. As for Sam…” Joey fidgeted, and I knew he was struggling with what was safe to tell me. “Look, the less you know, the better,” he finally said. “But stay away from Sam, and if he tries to contact you, you should tell Enzo right away.”

My mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re telling me to go to Enzo?”

Joey grimaced. “I don’t like him, and I don’t know what kind of games he’s playing with you, but I do believe he’d protect you if you were in harm’s way.”

I nodded, battling a fierce urge to cry.

He moved for the door.

“Joey, wait.”

He turned to me and sighed. “This is useless, Tiny.”

“I’m scared. And I don’t want you to go.”

With one hand on the door, he said, “Give me a reason to stay.”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

Give him a reason. Something, anything. Don’t let him walk out that door, because if he’s killed trying to avenge his father’s death, you’ll never have this chance again.

“You could be arrested. Or shot.”

“I don’t care.”

“Killing the gunman won’t bring your father back,” I said, desperate to get through to him. “And your father wouldn’t want you to die for him—he’d want you to live for him.”

Joey set his hat on his head. “I wasn’t asking for a reason from him,” he said quietly. “I was asking for a reason from you.”

With that he moved quickly for the door and disappeared into the rainy dark.

#

Upstairs, I crawled into bed next to Mary Grace and cried myself to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I woke with puffy eyes, a sore throat, and Mary Grace’s stuffed bear tucked underneath my arm. Her small hand was resting on my shoulder.

Love and gratitude washed over me. I tried to move without waking her, but her round blue eyes opened as I sat up.

“Hi,” I said. “Thanks for letting me have your bear last night.” I held him out to her.

“You’re welcome.” She took the bear and hugged it close. “You were sad about something. Was it the storm?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No.”

“Was it because of Mother? Because I cry about that sometimes too, and I don’t even remember her.”

“No, it wasn’t that either.” I tugged on one of the rags in her hair. “You look like her, you know that?”

“Yes. But I like hearing it.”

I lay down again, propping my head on my hand. “She had red hair and blue eyes, just like we do.”

She squeezed her bear. “It makes me feel close to her, even if I didn’t get the chance to love her.”

If I’d had tears left, I might have shed them. “Oh, honey, you can still love her.”

“Don’t you have to know a person to love them?”

I continued stroking her hair, and it reminded me of Joey taking the rags from mine last night. “I guess you do, poppet, but loving your family isn’t the same as loving someone else.”

She was quiet for a minute. “How do you know if you love someone?”

“Well…” I tried to think of a good way to explain it, but I couldn’t. “I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s different for everybody.”

“I always know if I love someone, because I miss them when they go away,” she said. “It makes my heart hurt.”

My hand stopped moving. “I think that’s a good way to tell, Mary Grace. As good a way as any I’ve heard.”

#

After mass, my sisters and I went to the cemetery, and I couldn’t help looking over at the spot where I’d seen Joey last Sunday. But he wasn’t there. Disappointment made my feet heavy as we trudged through the wet grass to our mother’s grave.

“Where’s Daddy?” Mary Grace asked. “How come he didn’t come with us?”

“He never comes with us,” answered Molly.

“Yes, he does. Sometimes,” Mary Grace defended. “And sometimes he comes alone, he told me.”

“Does he?” Molly looked at me as we walked.

“I’ve seen him here once,” I admitted. “But he’s been busy this week with the new location and moving out of the garage.” Why I felt the need to make excuses for the man, I didn’t know.

“Daddy says we’ll have more money now that he’s got the new place,” Mary Grace said. “Maybe even enough to hire a housekeeper or a cook.”

“What? When did he say that?” I stopped walking and turned Mary Grace to face me.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days ago, maybe? He said maybe it will even be Mrs. Schmidt who used to work with mother where she was a maid, at that big house.”

Molly and I exchanged a surprised look. “That would be nice,” I murmured, starting to walk again. We let Mary Grace run ahead of us and moved to walk shoulder to shoulder.

“Does this mean he’s letting you move out?” she wondered.

“I haven’t the slightest idea. Daddy never tells me his plans.”

We walked silently for a moment, our shoes squishing in the soggy ground. “Are you going to tell him about last night?”

I sighed, lifting my skirt so the hem wouldn’t get wet in the tall grass. “I guess not. But if it happens again, I will. You understand?”

She grabbed my arm and tilted her head to my shoulder. “You’re the best sister ever. Thank you. I hope Mary Grace is right and Daddy is letting you go.”

Of course you do. Then no one will be around to catch you coming in late!
It was not a very nice thing to think, but I wasn’t in a nice mood. I hadn’t slept well, I was worried about Joey, and I still hadn’t decided what to do about Enzo. At mass that morning I’d prayed for clarity, but I didn’t feel any closer to it than I had last night. My feelings were a jumbled mess.

When we reached our mother’s site, we pulled some weeds that had sprung up and stood silently together in prayer. Closing my eyes, I folded my hands together and lowered my chin.

Please, Mother
, I begged.
Help me to do things right. I know I don’t always act the way I should. I know I’ve been reckless and self-indulgent and unwise. I know I’ve had unkind thoughts about my family. I want to be the kind of person you’d be proud of, but I don’t know where to go from here.

Sniffing, I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand.

For years I’ve been telling myself that all I want is to get out and live life, because all I’ve known of it is our house and our family and our neighborhood. Since Bridget left, I’ve been mother, housekeeper, cook—yes, I know I’ve been remiss in that area—and I tried not to resent it, but I suppose I did sometimes. And I suppose I went a bit crazy because I’ve felt trapped, and misbehaving made me feel free and full of life.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wet earth. Exhaling, I made one last plea.

And Joey…dear God, Mother, please help him. We’ve made such a mess of things between us, and now he’s planning to do something foolish and dangerous, and I didn’t know what to say to talk him out of it. Please watch over him—I promise to be a better person and stop tormenting him if you’ll protect him the way he protects me. I promise to stop doing things that confuse him, like showing my jealousy over girls he dates, or looking at him with wicked thoughts, and I especially promise to stop kissing him.

Even though I want to. I really want to.

As I crossed myself, a strangled sob escaped my throat, and then another. Saying nothing, Molly and Mary Grace each took a hand and led me away. I saw tears on their cheeks too.

#

I managed to pull myself together for the streetcar ride home, dabbing at my face with a handkerchief and tilting my hat low over my eyes so no one would see how swollen and red they were. From the stop we walked to Bridget’s for a visit, and the second I saw her, I burst into tears. My loud keening bounced off the walls in the kitchen as she shooed her wide-eyed boys into the front room with Molly and Mary Grace and dragged me back to her bedroom.

“Stay here,” she said. “Let me just get everyone a little lunch and I’ll be right back.”

Tossing my hat to the floor, I threw myself onto her bed and wailed into the spread. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about exactly. Joey? My mother? My father? The situation with Enzo? My dying dream of independence? Because I knew now I had to say no to Enzo’s offer. How could I move into his apartment when I didn’t trust him? Gorgeous looks aside, I hardly knew him, and most of what I did know scared me.

And what if I moved in there and felt ashamed of myself? What if he never managed to break things off with Gina and we could never be seen in public together? What would happen if what we felt for each other now died out as quickly as it sparked? Or what if I wanted to leave, and he didn’t want me to? I cried harder, knowing that Enzo would not be a man who gave up his possessions without a fight.

Because I saw quite clearly that’s what I would be—his possession.

The door flew open and Bridget opened her arms to me. She sat on the bed and I crawled into them, weeping on her shoulder, a little more quietly. After a few minutes, she squeezed me and stood up, going to her dresser. Pulling a clean white handkerchief from the top drawer, she returned to the bed and touched up my face.

“There, there,” she soothed. “Nothing can be all that bad. What’s happened, love?”

I took the handkerchief from her and swiped at my eyes and nose. “It’s a lot of things. I’m scared and exhausted and overwhelmed, and I don’t know what to do, and I feel as though I’ve made such a mess of my life and Mother would be horrified with me.”

“Oh, come on now. She wouldn’t, either. She’d be so proud of the way you’ve handled things at home, Tiny. I know she would. And I think she’d want you to have the chance to get out on your own if that’s what you want for yourself.”

“You don’t think she’d tell me to stop being selfish and stay home where I’m needed, like Daddy did?” My words came out between halting breaths.

“No, absolutely not. If anything, she’s up there feeling horribly guilty for leaving us girls to take care of things and be a mother before we were ready.”

“She didn’t leave us by choice.”

“No, of course not. But trust me, motherhood has a way of making you feel guilty about many things you have no control over. You’ll see, someday when you have your own children.”

I sniffed. “If I have children.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Don’t you want a family?”

“I guess so. I’ve always been so busy with this one, I’ve not really thought about my own.”

“Never? Not even about getting married?”

“Why would I? I’ve never been in love the way you were with Vince. I don’t even know what love feels like.” Fresh tears welled in my eyes, and then spilled over.

“Oh, honey.” Bridget circled my shoulders with her arm. “You’ll know when you find it. It fills you up, so many good feelings, from your toes to the top of your head, until you think you might burst from it. You won’t be able to keep it inside of you—you’ll want to shout it and share it and give that person everything you have to give. And it still won’t feel like enough, but you’ll want to keep trying to show him how much he means to you. And the way he’ll love you back…” She sighed. “You’ll think it’s impossible that he loves you the way you love him, but he’ll do everything in his power to convince you otherwise. And love makes you do drastic things—look at what Vince and I did!”

I tried to smile. “Love sounds like a lot of work.”

She laughed. “It does take work, I won’t pretend it doesn’t. Both people have to be willing to make themselves vulnerable, to open up. It’s not easy to put your heart out there, to offer it up and ask for another’s heart in return. Especially for men—they never know exactly what to say, and sometimes it comes out terribly wrong.”

I thought of Joey asking me to come with him to Chicago without even telling me how he felt. Was that what she meant? Should I have recognized unspoken affection in his words? How the hell could I be expected to know? I closed my eyes, sighing. It was hopeless.

“What now?” she asked.

“Joey’s leaving.”

“And you don’t want him to?”

I shook my head. “No, but I had no idea what to say to stop him. He
asked
me last night for a reason to stay, and I couldn’t give him one.”

“He asked you to give him a reason to stay? And you couldn’t think of one?” She looked at my tearstained face incredulously.

I could. I could think of one, and I had—maybe I hadn’t been willing to admit it yet, even to myself.

But things change.

“I couldn’t
then
.” I stood and walked to the mirror over Bridget’s dresser, taking in my puffy, splotchy face. “But I think I can now.” I turned to face her. “Can the girls stay with you tonight? There’s something I have to do.”

#

After leaving Bridget’s, I went home and took a bath, lingering for a long time in warm water I’d scented with a little vanilla extract. I’d thought about something fancier, like rosewater or lavender, but decided Joey would find vanilla harder to resist.

I needed to be irresistible.

I washed my hair with Cocoanut Oil shampoo and combed it out, then I pinned curls to my head and let it dry. Choosing an outfit was a bit of a problem, since I didn’t want to wear anything too fancy but my day dresses weren’t romantic at all. After agonizing over it for two hours, I chose a simple navy dress with white piping that had been at the back of my tiny closet all summer since it had a tear near the hem and I hadn’t felt like mending it. Locating a needle and a spool of navy thread in my sewing kit, I sat on my bed in my black stockings and white chemise and stitched up the tear.

It wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

See, broken things can be repaired. Torn cloth can be mended. Apologies offered.

Feelings declared.

As long as I had the guts to do it.

Around three o’clock, I walked to the streetcar stop and took a car heading downtown. As I hurried on foot to the restaurant, I tried to calm my swirling stomach by reminding myself it was just Joey I was going to see. There was no reason to be scared.

But there is
, worried a voice inside me.
He could turn me away, he could tell me I’m too late, or worse—he could tell me I was mistaken about what I felt, or what I imagined he felt.

But I hadn’t imagined it last night, I knew I hadn’t. When we’d finally come together on the sofa—well, on the floor near the sofa—it was just as Bridget had described. I’d felt so full of passion and relief and want and need and shock and happiness—so many feelings I couldn’t even name them all. But it added up to one thing, and I couldn’t stop thinking it.

I was in love with him.

I was in love with him.

I was in love with him.

And I wanted to say it to his face.

My stomach tightened. Would he kiss me when I told him? Would he pull me to him like he had last night? Would he let me tear the clothing from his body?
Will he throw me down and ravage me the way I want him to, and let me ravage him in return?

The thought was enough to make the muscles in my lower body seize up, and I stopped walking. Closing my eyes, I whispered a prayer.

Dear God, please avert your eyes tonight. Because I’m going to do things to Joey Lupo I have never done before, things I’ve never even imagined doing before.

Licking my lips, I walked two steps before stopping again and glancing up.

And you might want to cover your ears too. Amen.

#

By the time I opened the restaurant door, I was more than ready to confess my love to Joey and beg him not to follow through on his revenge plan. Pulse racing, I walked past the hostess at the entrance to the dining room and took the huge central staircase up two flights, two steps at a time. By the time I reached the third floor I was winded and my hip hurt but I didn’t care. The hallway smelled delicious, and I hoped I wouldn’t be interrupting dinner. My hands shook as I knocked on the door.