by Trixie More
“I’m sorry,” he started. “Allison, I’m sorry.”
She backed away, eyes full of tears, searching the ceiling, roaming over the front door, anywhere but on his face, hand over her mouth. She turned then and pushed into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her, and the sound of her crying tore him up.
“Fuck!”
Derrick was outside the door to the kitchen. Allison could hear him out there. He hadn’t left after she’d come in here. He’d given one loud curse and then remained silent after that.
You’re one tough woman to love.
Allison hadn’t cried long. It had been a good shot he’d landed, and she hadn’t been ready for it. All in all, she’d given up just a couple sobs that she couldn’t hold back and then she’d gotten it together. She splashed cold water on her face and dried it with a coarse brown paper towel, the scratchy paper absorbing almost nothing. She pulled up the hem of her apron and finished the job, blew her nose in the paper and called it good. She dragged a stool over and sat on it, knowing he wouldn’t come in.
Derrick. More than anything, she wanted to get up and go out there, where he waited, take him in her arms and make him her own. Tell him everything he wanted to hear, move in with him and fuck like bunnies until they gave Rose her passel of great-grandchildren. She understood now that this was where he thought they were headed.
She got up and started wiping down the worktables, washing dishes. Hurting her hadn’t been Derrick’s intent, but the man knew her well enough now to be able to land a verbal blow without much effort. It was a sign of how close they’d grown, she supposed. Right now, he was frustrated with her. She shrugged to herself. This might be the best time to set him free, the least hurtful.
The man was right. She hadn’t realized before how strong those family bonds of his were. The relationship between Derrick and his parents might be weak as wet bread, but what ran between him and his grandparents, was all muscle and sinew. Which meant, that if she went down, she’d be taking them all with her. She’d thought she was strong enough to pull every last one of them out until she’d spoken to Angelo. She was convinced now that she couldn’t do it alone, which meant, she couldn’t do it at all.
If Derrick loved her, then he would love fiercely. It would be like her love for her father. He would be stuck with her no matter what that love cost. He sure as hell wasn’t going to hightail it to New Mexico if something difficult went down.
Loving Derrick was easy. Demonstrating that love was going to be one painful stunt to pull off. She could go back out that door and make up with him. She knew it, he was waiting for it. And then? She’d have to watch him give his all to her, with no way for her to ever make them even. She’d fall farther behind as he helped her every way he could. He’d push his relationship with his grandfather to the limit and for what? To have her, a bossy, mean, woman with a sinkhole of a business? What in the world could she ever give or do for him to make loving her worth it?
If he left her, she’d be devastated. If he didn’t leave her, she’d be the ruin of him. But if she left him?
She put the last of the dishes away and bringing all her resolve to bear, she crept out the back door and pulled it shut behind her, walking away from everything she’d never thought she’d have.
Chapter 23
Sunday had been a royal fuck as far as Derrick was concerned. He still couldn’t believe Allison had left him sitting there, waiting for her sorry ass—again. Cooling his heels beside the counter, listening to the sounds she made, washing the dishes, the dull thud of the refrigerator opening and closing as she cleaned up, worry had knotted him up. Derrick had wanted a chance to apologize. After the night they’d spent and Allison’s talk of being all in, he’d fully expected to get one.
Then he’d waited while the back door opened and closed, assuming she was taking out the trash. When the silence continued for far too long, Derrick had finally let himself into the empty kitchen. He checked the alleyway. Before that moment, he would never have believed her capable of either cruelty or cowardice. His heart broke for what she’d done and for what he’d said, but more than that, he was just stunned. Allison had left him.
Today was Monday, however, and he wasn’t feeling so generous anymore. The workday had been a total screw, a man in the hospital with a spinal injury. He’d picked up one end of a sheet of plywood and walked forward, straight into the hole, landing backbone first on a tool bag. The news had spread and once again, Ben hadn’t spoken to Derrick on the entire ride home. There was no joy to be had hanging around the loft, and he hadn’t felt like working on the bots with Ben judging him and there was no way he was hiding in his room like a child. So instead, he’d headed out, in search of Allison or his grandfather, anyone who could explain what had so bollixed up Allison’s brain.
The first thing he saw when he got to Allison’s Kitchen, was that the shop was closed. That was unusual on a Monday but not as concerning as the sign in the window. For Sale.
He whipped out his phone and texted her, not caring about his ego or her sensibilities any longer.
What the hell? You’re selling?
The text went unanswered. Derrick headed into the bar, pulling the door open harder than he intended to and making the new bartender startle. Fine. She looked at him with wide eyes.
“Can I help you?” she asked. A new recruit then.
“I’m Angelo’s grandson. Where is he?” Derrick didn’t wait for an answer, he just headed into the kitchen, where sure as shit, his grandfather was camped out on a stool, waiting for someone to order something. Derrick had a request for him.
“What the hell did you say to Allison?” he asked.
“What? I told her only good things, I swear,” said Angelo. The kitchen was quiet and empty except for Lorenzo who was studiously pretending that he’d been struck deaf. Derrick could hear people coming into the bar. Soon the evening waitresses would arrive, and things would get busy.
“She’s selling.”
“What? The hell you say.” Angelo seemed shocked.
“Seriously. There’s a For Sale sign in the window, and the place is closed.” Derrick got up in his grandfather’s face. “Think about it. What did you say to her?”
“I told her she needed to focus on what her customers wanted, put all her energy into the main thing she wanted to sell, not start doing all different things, like selling coffee and making cupcakes.”
None of that sounded terrible to Derrick.
“What else?”
Behind him, Derrick heard the kitchen door open. The evening waitress had arrived, he guessed. He didn’t turn to look. “Something you said made Allison give up. What was it?”
“Are you sure it wasn’t something you said, Derry?” The voice belonged to Sophia. He wasn’t in the mood to hear from his sister. She had enough things to explain about her own relationship with Ben. Derrick didn’t answer her. He just continued to look at his grandfather.
“Derrick, son. I know how you feel about that girl. I swear, I didn’t say anything. I told her a catering business was something a person couldn’t do alone and that, no matter how hard we try, we are all in debt to someone. I told her she was going to do great.” His grandfather looked at him sincerely. None of that sounded at all bad to Derrick. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Allison had really just been mad at what he’d said. But neither answer made sense. If any woman knew she was difficult, Allison did. She went out of her way to be difficult, it was what he loved about her. She didn’t try to accommodate anyone. Hell, he could spend his whole life taking lessons from her.
Sophia brushed past him, grabbing his bicep as she passed, tugging him toward the back door. With his suspicions no longer making any sense, Derrick followed his sister into the alley behind the bar. The air was warmer now, April starting to move to May, the damp, mild evening bringing a sense of poignancy, a memory of days when they were younger and the school year was winding down. A sense of waiting for something to end and something else to b
egin.
What began was a great big lecture.
“You know, Derrick, for a smart guy, you sure are a dumb-ass.”
“Whoa. What about you?”
“Me?” She tossed the word at him like she tossed her hair, quick and slick. “This is not about me. You’re the one chasing everyone else’s problems but your own.”
“What?”
“You know very well what I mean, or at least you damn well should by now. You have problems, my friend, and to avoid them, you just keep working on someone else’s issues instead.” She was glaring at him now. If the past were any measure, then she would be pushing him into something soon, the wall, say, or maybe the dumpster. He angled himself toward the alley exit.
“Don’t try to get away from me, Derry,” she hissed. He froze. “You’re over at Debra’s, taking her damn cat. Then you’re bothering Allison, telling her what to do with her damn company. She’s a grown woman who figured out how to open her own place. You think she needs you, telling her how to run it?”
The words rained down on him. He did think Allison needed him. Maybe not to tell her how to run her shit, but for something. She needed him. Right? He blinked at his sister. Sophia was always on his side. He was on her side without fail.
“To top it all off, you go getting us all up in George’s business!” Ahh. There it was, the real issue at hand. That was the fear rising, in Sophia, the way it rose in Debra, the way it was growing in Ben.
“I understand …” he started.
“Oh! Don’t you patronize me, you big oaf. This isn’t about George or Ben or whatever your opinion is about what you think you saw between Ben and me. This is about you and what the hell you’re doing with your life.”
“No, it’s not. And how is that any of your business?” He was tired of this now. He wanted to find Allison and he for sure didn’t want to hear a raft of shit from Sophia.
“It’s my business because you and Ben made it my business. I want you to stop running around getting into everyone else’s stuff and bringing me with you!”
“Soph, you can stay out of it. I told Ben I might ask you, I shouldn’t have.”
She flung her arms in the air. “That’s not the point!”
In his heart, he swore he was an intelligent man, but these women were making him think he couldn’t even understand English. “Tell me what the point is.”
“I love you. I want to help you. But you don’t need help. You know why?”
He stared at her.
“Because all you have are other people’s problems. You get it? Grandpa is trying to help Allison, for you. I’m trying to help Ben, for you.” Something in her calmed, and she put a hand on his arm. “I’m going to do everything I can for Ben, for George, and I’m scared to death that something bad will happen that we can’t stop. But all of that is wasted. You know?” She stroked him. “You know? Because I’m doing it for you and it’s not going to help you one bit.” She laid her head against his arm, and he tucked her against him. “Derrick, you’re calling in all your chips for other people and giving them away. Derrick, what do you want?”
“I have it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t believe you.” She looked at the sky.
He was silent. He didn’t have an answer. Had never thought about why he did what he did. When he didn’t say anything else, she flung her hands in the air with a soft, frustrated cry. “Fine.” She stopped with one hand on the door to the bar. His sister always had one more sorry-ass thing to say.
“You know why you’re up on a steel beam every day while those robots sit unbuilt? Because you’re scared, Derry. Big man like you, scared of standing up to Dad, scared of putting those inventions out into the world. Scared of letting them go and just being an ironworker. Scared to put your money down on the life you want for yourself. Until you fix that, you’re no good to anyone.” Sophia pushed into the shop leaving him alone in the alley. He should have been watching her go, but instead, he was looking at the closed door to Allison’s Kitchen.
He pulled out his cell phone.
Allison. Please text me.
God, it hurts.
Allison turned over in the dark, reaching beside the bed, laying her fingers on the cold metal of the fire extinguisher, comforting herself the way she had when she was young. Running her fingers over the handle, forming a picture in her mind of the red canister, only worked for a minute. She tried to tell herself she was safe, but it seemed that wasn’t enough anymore.
He slept on my side of the bed, she thought. That’s all it took, and the tears started up again. Between me and my nightstand. How come it could hurt so much to walk away from someone? The thought caught her by surprise. Had her mother felt this kind of pain when she left? It had never occurred to Allison; she assumed her mother had walked away from them as easily as a person might walk away after returning a dress that didn’t fit. A bit of wishing things were different but nothing that lasted too long.
But these feelings? This endless weepiness? This hurt.
A train, from Brooklyn to New York, switch and then take one up to the Bronx. She could be at his place in an hour and a half. Knock on his door, find out that he’s home. Or, she could answer one of his texts.
Allison rolled onto her back, watching the shadows flit over the ceiling of her old bedroom in her father’s home. She’d come here to hide, she supposed.
She’d left someone. It was unthinkable. She didn’t walk away from people. The only living being she’d ever left was Ringer, and look how that turned out.
The thought left her cold. Did Derrick hurt now? He’d never said he loved her, but he’d said everything else.
Maybe I do. Allison wiped her face with her sleeve. She was telling herself she’d left him to keep him from being hurt more. From being hurt later.
Oh, my God, she thought. I’m such a fool.
If anyone had told her they were walking away to protect her, she’d rip them a new one. Of course, she would. Other people didn’t get to decide what she needed. She was capable and strong. She’d protect herself, thank you very much. Where did she get off, making that decision for Derrick?
Who was it she was really trying to protect?
The thoughts brought on a fresh wash of pain and she curled into herself and just let it come. She’d had a man who wanted her. A man who was good, and kind and better than she deserved and she’d walked away from him. Allison wanted to howl. She was just like her mother. Of all the fool things to do.
The way the morning light fell in her father’s kitchen seemed just the same as it had when Allison was a girl. After the fire, and after she’d left the hospital, they’d spent some time moving from apartment to apartment, weekly rentals that were easy to leave because neither of them owned anything to speak of. She spent a lot of time back then, crying over Ringer. She kept imagining what it must have been like for him and letting herself sit with the pain of that in some sort of punishment for failing him. Her blue backpack, which she had loved, was gone. The television and all her clothing, up in smoke. Not that it mattered. She would never have been able to wear any of her shoes again. And she’d been growing like a weed at the time. Really, other than her cat, more devastating perhaps than having her mother move to what seemed to be another country, and the ability to ever wear beautiful shoes, what had she lost?
Sitting here, at the sturdy oak table in her father’s house, watching the light play over the glowing green of new leaves outside, Allison finally felt still. She’d put Allison’s Kitchen up for sale. Well, kind of. She’d bought a sign at the drugstore and written her cell phone number on it in black marker and set it in the window. That had been fun. Last night several drunken calls from people staggering out of Mastrelo’s had come through on her cell before she got smart and let them all go to voicemail. She couldn’t actually say she was actively seeking a buyer. For that to be true, she’d have to call a broker, and she wasn’t really ready for th
at. Marley was insisting that they were on vacation.
From the hallway, she heard the sound of her father moving about, going through his morning routines, executing them flawlessly. It had been a full week since she’d crept out the back door and left Derrick in the front of the shop. Derrick had texted her, and she’d tried to not open them, but after a while, she always did. They were short, of course. She thumbed through them before going to sleep, that word, please, bringing its own kind of punishment with it. By Wednesday, he stopped. That night, she cried in bed, mourning what she’d lost, reliving every minute, lying with the pain.
Dorothy had been far more prolific, bombarding her with texts and calls, finally threatening to just drive her ass over there. Allison was going to have to call her roommate today. But not yet.
“Allie Girl,” her father said from the doorway. “Good morning.” He puttered over to the coffee pot, patted the side of it, found it to be warm and poured himself a cup. He carried the mug to the table, exactly as he did every morning. He returned to the counter, poured himself a small bowl of cereal, added milk and returned to the table, exactly as he had every day since she’d arrived. He never asked her if she wanted anything. It didn’t bother her, but she suspected it might be because she wasn’t usually here, and therefore, not part of the pattern. Still, he’d never been one to keep track of her meals.
“Good morning, Dad.” She smiled at him. He was still her father, and he always would be. She was glad that was enough because now, she was sure that was all there could be.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. Allison studied him. He didn’t usually ask her that.
“Not really, Dad,” she tried. Suddenly, more than anything, she just wanted to be his little girl for a while, tell him everything and have him stroke her hair and tell her she’d done just fine, it would all be just fine. “I made a mess of things.”
“How so, my girl?” He seemed so normal.
“I bought a business …” she began.