Yesterday's Stardust (45 page)

Evan stood. “Let’s get you packed up. Ladies, we’ll be in touch. I’ve got a meeting tonight, so I need to get your boss home.”

“But…” China’s dark-rimmed eyes took on the look of a six-year-old.

Dani chewed on her bottom lip.
Lord, you know the cry of my heart.
“Um…yeah…about that…”

Evan’s eyes widened. “You’re
not.”

“I am.”

His eyes narrowed. “You are not.”

“Oh, but I am.”

China looked from Evan to Dani. “You are
what?”

“I am home.”

Nicky took the car keys from Gianna. She kissed his cheek. “Be kind. To my car and the girl. ‘Love covers a multitude of sins.’”

He snorted.

“‘A person’s wisdom yields patience; it is to one’s glory to overlook an offense.’” She squeezed his arm. “Proverbs 19:11.”

He managed a close facsimile of a smile and walked out the back door. Laughter and the clang of a metal ladder drew his attention to the house across the street. The guy who owned the house stood on a stepladder scraping the porch railing. Another whacked at an overgrown bush with a machete.

About time.
The place, like too many others, had been a disaster for years.

He started the SUV. The radio blasted. A male singer wondering if there was a greater purpose outside his own little world. Nicky cranked the knob. Amy Winehouse sang “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.”

The singer’s tomorrows had ended in alcohol poisoning.

He smacked the button to silence.

As he neared the Kemper Center, his pulse went into overdrive. His palms slicked on the steering wheel as he cranked it toward the curb. The battle inside made it feel like the power steering had gone out. He stared at the redbrick house with the white-spindled stairway leading to the apartment above the garage.

Why was it he’d only been here once? Was she embarrassed by her posh neighborhood? Afraid he’d feel unworthy if he saw her in her own surroundings?

He glanced at the clock. Frank and Lois’s plane was landing in three hours. It would take him a little over an hour to drive there, but then he’d still have to find a parking place and get to the baggage claim to meet them. Why had he waited till the last minute?

Pride.

As he shut the car off, he tried to come up with a first line. “Get in the car, we’re picking up Frank” probably wouldn’t cut it. Whatever came out of his mouth, she’d be expecting it to include an “I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t changed his mind on that. He wouldn’t pretend he was sorry for being angry about her deception. He couldn’t pretend he was fine with her renting an apartment in his neighborhood and getting rolled into a gang without telling him. Dumb. And Stupid. And he’d added a dozen more words in the past two weeks.

But maybe she’d be the one to say it first, and then they could move on from there. She’d learned her lesson, figured out the hard way that all his warnings were for a reason. He wouldn’t have to worry about her doing the same kind of stupid thing, but what would she try next? Where would she go where he couldn’t protect her?

He slammed the car door and stepped onto the curb. Other than traffic, the street was quiet. No babies crying, no husbands swearing at wives. Unnerving quiet. He wiped his hands on his jeans and walked up the driveway.

“She hadn’t left her apartment since she was fired.”

He pictured her curled in the corner of her couch, hair in tangles, eyes red.
“You think she’s that messed up over a job? Duh. You are so dense. It’s you.”

Pride. The rusty voice of his conscience spoke into the quiet. She wasn’t the only one messed up because he’d been too stubborn to listen to her apologies. Or give his own.

Dani. I’m sorry.
He took the steps two at a time and leaped onto the landing.

The smell of bleach and carpet cleaner wafted through the wide open door.

The apartment was empty.

Nicky sank onto the top step.

He could find her. He had contacts. They were catering her best friend’s wedding. That wasn’t the reason for the hopelessness that washed over him.

She’d moved because of him. Because he hadn’t been protecting Rena the way he should have. Because he hadn’t followed her when she’d run off to meet China. Because he’d been too late and not in the right spot at the right time.

Again.

“It’s not your job.”

Tears stung.
Lord, I just want to hold her. I just want to tell her I don’t care what she didn’t tell me. I just want to say I’m sorry for being such a—

A car door opened and closed. He looked up. Dani walked toward him, hair floating around her shoulders in a warm breeze.
Thank You.
He took the stairs two at a time and met her at the bottom. He opened his arms and she slid into them. He buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry. I should have answered your calls. I’m so sorry. It was just my stubborn—”

“Shh. My turn.” She pressed her fingertip to his lips. “I’m sorry I wasn’t totally honest. I should have told you about—”

“Shh. My turn.” His lips grazed hers. “I forgive you. Do you—”

“Yes.” The word blended with her kiss.

His fingers slid into her hair. He cradled the back of her head, drinking in the scent of sun-warmed skin. When his breathing quickened, he forced himself to pull away. Forehead leaning on hers, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I heard you lost your job. I’m so sorry.”

She smiled up at him. “Don’t be. I have a new job that’s better than anything I could ever have dreamed.”

He eased back, let his fingers trail through the gold ends of her hair. “What kind of job?”

Her smile widened. “You’re looking at the executive director of Street Level.”

“What’s that?”

“It isn’t much yet, but it will be a nonprofit organization that helps teens turn their talents and dreams into careers.”

“Wow. That’s perfect for you. Where did you find something like that?”

“I didn’t find it. I created it.”

“Really?” His voice flattened. “Is it operating out of your church?”

Her smile dimmed. “No.” She folded her arms. “It will operate out of my apartment. My other apartment.”

Respirations that had just begun to slow suddenly quickened. His pulse reverberated through his whole body.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know you think I don’t have street smarts and it’s dangerous, and you’re right, it is. But I’m not doing it alone. I’ll be working with a whole team of volunteers and professionals who want to help residents reclaim and restore their neighborhoods.” The skin on her arms blanched beneath her fingertips. “You’re right, it’s not safe. But Jesus doesn’t always call us to safe things. Sometimes he calls us to risk our comfort and our convenience and even our…”

Her voice faded behind him as he strode to the car.

September 24, 1928

Run!

The voice screamed in Francie’s head, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her stomach lurched at the sight on the sidewalk below, but she couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t turn away. Santo. Still.
Deathly
still. A pool of blood spreading across the sidewalk. Renata on her knees. Screaming.
“Mio marito! Lei ha ucciso mio marito!”
She sobbed and shook her fist in the air.
“Mio Dio!”

Run.
But where? To her friend or away from here?

“Frazzie? What happened?” Franky stood in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes. “Who’s yelling?”

She forced numb muscles to make a smile. “That was”—Black spots dotted her vision. She lowered her head—“a long nap, sunshine.”

“Why are you crying?” His sleep-roughened voice sounded small, like it used to. Not like going-on-seven.

Francie swiped at her eyes and tried not to think of the little boy across the street.

She should be there for Luca. But she couldn’t let Franky see.
God, what should I do?
“Cookies and milk?”

He nodded. “Snickerdoodles?”

A man lay bleeding, possibly dead, on the sidewalk across the street, and she was fixing cookies and milk.

It was a nightmare. She would wake up and iron her dress and walk across the street and there would be no blood on the sidewalk.

A warm hand slid into hers, and they walked to the kitchen. She opened the Frigidaire and took out a bottle of milk. The glass shook in her hand. Franky crawled up on his stool and took the “hat” off the cookie jar shaped like a bear.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs. She grabbed Franky by the shoulders. “Let’s play hide-and-go-seek, okay? Take your cookie and hide in the bathtub.”

“But then you’ll know where to find me.”

“I hear footsteps. Someone’s coming. You can hide from whoever’s coming. I won’t tell. Promise.”

Cookie in hand, Franky ran to the bathroom on tiptoes. Francie slumped against the counter as someone knocked on the door.

“Francie.” A sob swallowed Perlita’s next words.

Francie swung the door open. The young waitress fell into her arms. “Santo. He was behind the bar. I was setting tables. Only three customers. And then two men came in. Why did no one check them for guns?” She clung to Francie. “They shot Mr. Jones. In the head. And then Santo. Here”—she touched a spot below her collar bone. “It was so loud. They left. No one tried to stop them. I tried to help Santo, but he took the gun from under the bar and ran down the stairs. I followed. He went down to the coal room. I thought he was going to hide, but I heard him open the outside door. He was after the men, but he fell and”—Perlita bent over, clutching her stomach—“so much blood. Renata said you have to leave. All of you. She said they were after what you have, but you musn’t go after it. They will kill you, too.” A siren wailed. “Hurry, Francie.” She flew out the door and down the steps.

Run!
Still waiting to wake from the nightmare, she commanded her legs to run, but they moved as if she stood in waist-deep snow. Her pulse beat an SOS in her ears. “Franky! You can come out now.” She walked past the bathroom. Too slow. “We’re going on a little trip. You and Mommy and me. Put your pajamas and toothbrush and a clean shirt and pants and socks and underwear in your pillow case.” Her mouth formed a list. Her brain shouted
Hurry!

She bent over Suzette. “Get up. Santo’s been shot. We have to leave.
Now.”
She grabbed her purse, checked for her billfold. And the slip of paper with the phone number she’d carried for almost a year. “Get up!”

“Too tired. You go.”

“No.” She pulled the covers off. “Do you hear what I’m saying? Tag’s men shot Santo. They’ll kill us.” She lifted her sister by her shoulders.

“You go. Take Franky.”

The woman curled in the twisted mass of sweat-soaked covers was no longer her sister. The opium had leached away everything recognizable.

“If I take Franky, you’ll never see him again. Get up!” She screamed it this time and then, still praying none of this was real, she slapped Suzette across the mouth. “Wake up!”

“No. You go.”

There was no more time. She let go of the thin shoulders and let her sister drop onto her pillow. “Ready, Franky? Let’s go.” She scooped up the boy and his pillow and ran down the steps. She’d run until she couldn’t. And then she’d find a phone and call the only person who could help. If he hadn’t left the country yet.