Clara brushed her white suit jacket with a handkerchief. Yesterday, he'd ordered her back up to his penthouse to try on the all-white ensemble, including gloves, shoes and hat. She'd wanted to throw it in his face. But in the end she couldn't resist.
He helped Clara out of the car. A faded curtain hung in the plate glass display window. Someone had attempted to scratch away the name of the store, which had been owned by a German family. Just one street over was Anna's parents' house with its roses and starched white curtains.
"Hold this," he said.
Clara took the hat box. "What did she get?"
"I didn't get nothing for her."
She looked confused. "This is a woman's hat, ain't it?"
He stupidly thought Clara had been asking about Anna. He never told her where he'd gone the night he left her at the dance. He'd given the bottle to Alex and then found Clara smoking in the back of the limousine.
"Just give it to my sister like you picked it out," he said. Clara frowned, trying to figure him out. He wished her luck. "Come on. Let's go."
They headed into the small yard. He caught movement behind the neighbor's curtains. Vicente turned and tipped his fedora. The curtains abruptly dropped and the nosey woman stepped back from the window.
He grinned as word spread at this very moment of his fancy car and his fancy woman carrying expensive presents to his family. By the time he was back at the penthouse tonight, everyone would know he'd really come back a rich man.
"Eugenia," he called out.
Clara kicked at a curious chicken. "The old lady catches you doing that and she'll strip your hide," he said.
"I hate these damn things."
He knocked and called out Eugenia's name. When she didn't answer, he tried the handle and it opened.
Clara curled her lip with disgust as they walked into Eugenia's tiny sala that hadn't been tidied in days. Dust lay thick on the small table between two mismatched wingback chairs. His nephew's toys were left on the floor. The window let in just enough light that kept the place in perpetual shadow. His dead mother's portrait looked out in the cold, still room.
"Stay here," he ordered Clara, setting the boxes on one of the chairs.
"But-"
He left her there to search the tiny kitchen. Breakfast plates and cups remained on the table pushed up against the wall. Vicente whispered Eugenia's name as he peeked through the curtain that replaced the bedroom door. The beds were made and a patchwork rabbit doll with button eyes lay on the small trundle bed. He wondered what happened to the doll he'd given her seven years ago.
Vicente stepped back into the kitchen and noticed the exposed raw wood where it looked like the door hinges had been ripped out. He ran his fingers along the sharp splinters. His blood simmered. Had Alex done this? Eugenia should've known better than to marry a man like their father. If Vicente had been here, he would never have allowed it and made her wait to find a proper man who could provide more than this.
"They're not here," she said behind him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning, he found Anna standing in the back door, wearing an apron soaked through with a basket of clothes on her hip.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his breath locked tight in his chest.
"Helping Eugenia with her laundry. They went for a walk."
"In her condition?"
"Yes," Anna replied, setting the basket down and then straightened up. In the light of day, her face was tanned with a spray of freckles across the tops of her cheeks and nose. Her hair frizzed around her face and came loose from the chignon at the base of her neck. In her button down shirt and trousers, she was no longer the pale, unblinking doll.
He didn’t know what else to say, and she wasn't helping. He stuck a cigarette between his teeth and pulled out his silver lighter.
"Is laundry your side business?" He flicked the lighter open. She watched the hissing flame as it touched the tip of the cigarette.
"No, this was a favor." She reached behind her and he paused, watching her back arch and a piece of hair dangle over her cheek. She pulled the ties loose and then peeled away the wet apron. The white shirt stuck to her skin. He could make out the lace pattern of her chemise underneath, and his legs felt heavy.
She leaned her shoulder on the doorjamb, her blue eyes traveling up and down his suit as if he were there for her inspection. "You're going to run out of lighter fluid," she said.
Vicente flicked the lighter shut and stuck it in his pocket. His neck tie strangled, and sweat built up under his shirt. He'd be damned to let her know it. "So did Albert retire and make you work for him?" he asked.
"I help Eugenia when I can." Anna glanced down at the flowers he held at his side. "Those will make her happy."
He then remembered Clara waiting in the sala. He stepped outside, and Anna reared back, losing her balance on the steps. She caught herself. Her smug grin popped when he didn't stop. They were now outside under a giant pepper tree. The red peppercorns popped underfoot. He could all but taste the sweat collected in the v of her shirt. He shoved the basket aside with his foot.
Anna watched him, her lips parted, waiting to see what he'd do next.
"You need to shut down your operation," he said and tossed his cigarette into the dirt.
She frowned as if he wasn't being clear enough.
"I said-" His hands itched to press her against him.
"I heard you." She pocketed her hands, regaining her easy stance. "But why? I'm hardly a threat to people like you."
He didn't like the inflection she'd placed on you so he inched towards her. She didn't back down, but she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. She still smelled like mint candy and he wanted to dip his finger in her pocket to see if she still carried them.
"Prohibition is ending and if you're smart, shut down. You could always do laundry."
She eyed him, assessing how serious he was. "I could."
Vicente wasn't used to being taunted. After driving down here with Clara, he had no more patience. "I can burn you down like that," he said, snapping his fingers close to her face. "I'd hate to see that kid you have working the desk get hurt."
She didn't blink, but he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Me, too."
Curiosity bled through the wall of hostility he kept between them. But Anna must have had a layer of ice under her skin. She wasn't giving much away, and that little smart grin on her face told him she enjoyed playing with him. Who was that kid to her? He was too old to be her son, and Vicente already knew her brothers and sisters were dead.
She shifted her weight, coming close enough that chills rolled down his back. "I should know why I need to give up my livelihood. Consider it a professional courtesy."
He hated that twinkle in her eye. She laughed at him like he was some blustering boy in a cheap suit. He pulled out a fifty and tossed it into her basket. "Thanks for doing the laundry. That should tide you over."
The recoil on her face soured his stomach. But Vicente turned on his heel and went back into the house, nearly running into his sister.
"Vicente?" Eugenia cried.
He caught her by the shoulders, her large stomach between them. Vicente needed more time to catch his breath and slow down the hammering in his chest. Anna had played him but good and for it, he'd make her pay. As soon as he got back, he'd send the cops straight to her, and she'd know he wasn’t the foolish boy who panted for her attention.
"I can't believe it's you," Eugenia stammered, her eyes filling with tears. "It's been so long, and I thought Alex was just drunk when he-"
Vicente tightened his hold on her and forced a smile on his face. "Miss me?"
She openly cried, blubbering about him standing in her kitchen.
"Enough of that," he said, handing her a clean handkerchief. "You'll upset the baby."
"I can't use this. It's so nice and-" she stammered as he dabbed her cheeks dry. "Did you see Anna?"
The hairs stood up on the back of hi
s neck. He glanced over his shoulder expecting her to walk in on them. He urged Eugenia back towards the sala. "She's finishing up your wash. Come sit down."
She refused to budge. "But I should see if she needs-"
"She's fine." The last thing he wanted was to make small talk with the two of them together. "You need to get off your feet."
"Can I get you something to eat?"
"No." He turned her around and nudged her into the dark, cool sala. The hat he'd bought for the old lady had been tossed back into the box. "Where's Clara?"
Eugenia rushed to put the hat away. "Grandma asked her to leave."
Vicente could just imagine how. "She was here?"
"Well, when she saw you were here and-" Eugenia straightened her spine. "You shouldn't have brought all of this."
He looked down at the wingback chair. It was a cheap imitation piece of crap. But he sat down and horsehair stuck him in the ass through his trousers. "You deserve nice things. I can afford them. Open them."
Eugenia reluctantly took the box he handed her. He half listened as she protested every toy and piece of clothing she unwrapped. He kept one ear trained on the back door for Anna. But she never came into the house and he tried not to wonder where she'd gone or what she was doing. His blood started to move again and he instantly remembered her damp skin and her lips. He shifted to adjust himself.
"Alex isn't going to like this," Eugenia said. "He's very proud."
Alex wouldn't like it if Eugenia knew how much they owed Anna. And yet she'd been out back, scrubbing their clothes like a servant.
Vicente lit another cigarette. "If Alex has a problem with it, he'll discuss it with me."
She opened her mouth to protest but said, "Thank you. Aren't you going to check on your lady friend?"
"She can take care of herself."
A sly grin eased the worry lines on Eugenia's face. "I heard all about her at the dance."
He grinned and exhaled. She rolled her eyes.
"When's the baby due?" he asked.
"Another month," she said, her shoulders slumping.
"Alex treats you all right?" he asked, glancing at the ripped door jam.
"He's more like a child who needs to be managed."
"Why'd you marry him?"
She handed him an ashtray. "He's a hard worker and you were gone."
They were quiet. She neatly folded a piece of tissue paper and placed it into the box.
"I didn't realize-" he struggled to remember his nephew's name. "The boy was so big. I'll get him some bigger clothes next time."
"Neto," she said. "His name is Ernesto."
"Who're his padrinos?"
"The Ramirez family down the street."
Vicente looked down at Neto's wooden train. If he'd been here, he would've been the boy's padrino. Maybe they would've named the boy after him.
"The baby can use these when it's big enough," she said, patting the clothes he'd brought for Neto.
Vicente leaned forward, "Look, instead of having someone like Anna do your laundry, hire a woman to come in," he said. "I'll pay her myself."
Eugenia shook her head.
"You can't do all this on your own."
"I want to discuss this with Alex."
"There's nothing to discuss. I'll send a woman over myself."
He sat back, the matter settled. But then she turned on him. "Vicente, this is not your home. I appreciate all of this, but it's my family."
He didn't know what to say. He'd never seen her like this. "Look at where you live, Eugenia," he said and then lowered his voice. "This place is a mess and you don't even have a decent door to your bedroom."
It took her a moment, but she rose to her feet, her face hard with anger. "I'm proud of what we have because we earn it honestly."
"Don't be so high and mighty when you got a bootlegger and a rich man's whore out there doing your dirty laundry."
She sucked in her breath, but she didn't crumple. "You don't know Anna enough to say those things about her. But I'll tell you one thing; she doesn't come into my home and insult me and my husband."
Apparently Anna wasn't the only one who grew a backbone while he'd been gone. If they were both willing to live with the smell of chicken shit in the front parlor, to be slaves to worthless men, who the hell was he to stop them?
He got to his feet and jammed his hat on his head. "She goes in and out the back door, huh? So people won't talk?"
"Vicente, don't."
"I won't send a woman over. But if you need anything I'm at the US Grant Hotel."
Eugenia's eyes widened and he should've felt a thrill of satisfaction. Instead he just wanted to get the stink of this place off him. "Just send word, and I'll be here."
Chapter Twenty One
Dori stared up at the ceiling, thinking of half remembered names and vivid faces. She'd fallen asleep to the sound of Vicente's voice. She stretched her arm to his side of the bed. It was cold. There was no indentation on the pillow to show that he'd laid there. She rolled onto her side, sad that he wasn't here.
She wished he'd told her where he went. Then again, having come close to death herself, she wasn't so sure she wanted to know. If she hadn't reacted or the shooter had aimed higher, Dori wasn't so sure she would've left this world freely. She had too many regrets hooked into her.
A knock sounded downstairs. Dori threw off the duvet and gritted her teeth as she pulled a hoodie over her pajamas and jammed her feet into Ugg boots. She couldn't wait for the day when she had rugs for all the floors. When she answered the door, Gavin looked up from his phone.
Her cheeks tingled, just imagining what she looked like with her hair tangled and sticking out of her head every which way. "Uh, hi," she said.
He tucked his phone in his back pocket, giving her the charming grin that all Latin men perfected by puberty. "If you'd give me a key, I wouldn't have to wake you up this early in the morning."
Clearing her throat, Dori thrust her hands in her pockets. "What are you doing here so early?"
His eyebrows winged up at her question. He jerked his thumb at the refrigerator standing just a few feet behind him on the porch. "I thought I'd help you get started before I fixed up the kitchen."
"You are?"
"Well, yeah. We talked about it yesterday."
She shivered from the stark cold. The sky was so clear and blue it hurt her eyes. She stepped back to let him in. "Do you need coffee?" she asked.
"I never say no to coffee."
Rather than get into another conversation about cookies, Dori busied herself with making coffee.
"So, how's it coming along in the basement?" she asked.
"You haven't peeked?" Gavin leaned against the counter.
"No. Why? Is it bad?"
"We have a few problems, but nothing we didn't expect."
"You're saying that to make me feel better."
"The place in Mission Hills had dead animals under the house. I don't know how the neighbors lived with the smell."
"How do you clean something like that up?" She got milk out of the refrigerator, and he stepped out of her way.
"I hired someone and didn't stick around to watch."
Not sure what to say next, Dori heated milk in the microwave. She was about to ask how many vintage homes he'd restored when Gavin cleared his throat.
"I'll go down and check what they've been up to and then be back to get you started."
"The coffee is almost done."
He was half way across the kitchen. "I'll come back and pour myself a cup." He paused. "How did the curtains turn out? Meg told me you two did some decorating."
Dori didn't spill the coffee she was pouring into her mug. "We did. They look great."
"Cool. Mind if I look? She'll ask if I did."
She cleared her throat. "Sure, go ahead."
He stepped into her home office and then continued out the back towards the basement stairs. Dori stared out the window, not seeing the trees brushed with the
gold light of the morning. It was cool, she told herself and picked up her coffee to go upstairs and get dressed. He'd be good for Meg, and she bet Meg would be good for him. But her chest squeezed tight as she thought of them together.
An hour later, Dori bent down and dusted off the tops of the paint cans for something to do. In preparation to strip a hundred and twenty years worth of paint, she put on her Wonder Woman red MAC lip glass for moral support.
The crew had rolled in. Their radio and power tools started up and the house rang with purpose and productivity. With the floor vibrating under her feet, the house literally came to life. She smiled, thinking of the promise she'd made to her house. She patted the floor as if to say, we're doing all right.
"So first, you have to wear these," Gavin said. He walked over, holding out a pair of goggles and plastic gloves. "I have a feeling you're going to come across milk paint underneath the first hundred layers, so I brought a heat gun."
He held them away from her. "But you're not to touch the wood work with this thing. Leave that to the professionals."
She promised, taking the goggles and face mask. "I'm not going to end up with cancer am I?"
"We'll open the doors and windows."
He bent down and rummaged through all the stuff they'd bought yesterday. She caught herself staring at the muscles in his back moving under his shirt. She went to the door and propped it open with a paint can.
"How long will this take?" she asked, rubbing her frozen fingers together.
"If it's a straight sanding and paint job, maybe two weeks. But we have to make sure to cover this wood work good and tight." He seemed to disapprove of her plan. "You know, paint isn't going to solve all of the issues in this hallway."
"I know but it's a start."
"And while you're at it, get rid of the bookcases," a familiar voice chimed in.
Dori closed her eyes and thought, why now? As Gavin went on, she casually glanced over and saw Vicente standing in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest and feet planted wide.
"If you don't, I'll start slamming doors," Vicente said to her, eyeing Gavin like he was encroaching on his territory.
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