Speak Low

by Melanie Harlow

  “He’s not going to shoot either one of us. In fact, I think he’s going to negotiate further with me.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because I’ve done a little research on your friend. And I have something he wants. I’m going to offer it to him.” With that he put both hands on the steering wheel. “Now you better go in. I’ll see you soon.”

  After shutting the car door as quietly as possible, I snuck back into the house and crept up the stairs, attempting to avoid the ones that creaked.

  Wait a minute, what am I doing? Why am I sneaking around like this? It was probably three o’clock in the morning, but what the hell did I care? What’s the worst Daddy would do—throw me out? To hell with it. I walked up the stairs as if it were noontime, actually disappointed that my feet didn’t make more noise on the carpeted steps. How I would have liked to show Daddy he couldn’t police me anymore! I wasn’t his to control—I wasn’t anybody’s.

  In the bathroom, I cleaned up a little before climbing back into bed. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn’t rest. I lay on my side, hands tucked under my cheek and knees drawn to my chest. What could Enzo possibly have that Joey wanted? It couldn’t be money.

  The whiskey? No, he didn’t really have that yet either.

  But I couldn’t think of any other asset Enzo had to offer Joey at this point, so I approached it from the other side.

  What does Joey want?

  Immediately, my stomach flipped. I curled my toes and squeezed my thighs together, bringing my legs tighter into my chest. Knock that off. Even if Joey had felt something stronger than friendship for you before, which he’d never actually said, your behavior tonight was enough to splinter it.

  The hideous weight of what I’d done dropped onto my chest like an anvil and stayed there, pressing the air from my lungs. Tears burned beneath my eyelids. Without Joey’s help last week, I never would have gotten the ten thousand dollars to free Daddy. And he’d never asked for anything in return. Yet I’d repaid him tonight with duplicity, giving up his secret to Enzo in exchange for my own pleasure, for promises whispered in the dark. The shame of it rained down on me—I gasped for air as if I were suffocating.

  Hold on, just hold on, said a voice inside me. You did what you had to do to keep Joey safe, right? Inhaling deeply, I held my breath for a moment and counted to ten before letting it out, slowly. Yes, I did.

  Somehow, it didn’t make me feel any better.

  Weeping into my pillow, I wondered how I’d ever make things right again between us.

  #

  By the time I left my room the following morning, Daddy was up and out of the house. I’d missed nine o’clock mass, which I felt some guilt about, but instead of dwelling on it, I dressed and took a streetcar down to Mt. Elliott Cemetery, where our mother was buried. Usually the girls and I did this together on Sundays, and when I entered the scrolling gates and saw other families at gravesites, pulling weeds and sprucing up flowers, or even just holding hands as they strolled or sat on a bench in quiet contemplation, a lump formed in my throat.

  Swallowing hard, I walked toward the section where our mother rested, keeping my head down. It was sunny but breezy, and I had to hold one hand on my hat, which was wide with an oversized brim. It wasn’t until I was nearly upon her simple Celtic cross that I saw someone already there. I froze, my Sunday dress flapping about my knees in the wind.

  Daddy stood, hat in folded hands, feet apart. From the side, I could see his head was bowed, and I had the feeling that his eyes were closed. When I took a step closer, I saw I was right. His lips moved in silent prayer, or perhaps confession or apology—he certainly had any number of things he might have told her in order to unburden himself. I couldn’t even imagine what she’d have said back. Would she forgive him his sins and shortcomings as a father, as a man?

  And what about your own?

  An ache took hold of my heart, and the lump returned to my throat. What would she say to me if she could speak from beyond the grave? Would she tell me I was selfish to leave home? Would she ask me to think of my sisters first? Or would she agree with me that I’d done enough and it was time to move on with my life? She’d married young, like Bridget, and had a family almost as quickly. In fact, it was my mother who’d always talked of being a nurse if she’d had the opportunity or the education. She was always so proud of my high marks in school and my determination to go to college. After she died in childbirth with Mary Grace ten years ago, I made up my mind that I’d do as she’d wished she could have.

  At the time, I’d had no idea what an uphill climb it would be.

  I said a quick prayer for my mother’s soul from where I stood and turned to leave, having no desire whatsoever to converse with my father here. My mother deserved peace in her final resting place, and I wouldn’t disturb it with another argument. Because I hadn’t changed my mind—I still wanted to leave home.

  And it wasn’t only that I wanted to be with Enzo, although I’d be lying if I said my newfound sexual freedom wasn’t influencing my decision. But the longer I stayed at home, the more I feared life was passing me by. I couldn’t shake the sense that something was out there for me, and if I didn’t try to find it now, I might lose my chance at it forever. Sure, I was only twenty, but I’d seen plenty of unfinished lives snuffed out too soon.

  To stay out of sight, I tugged the hat down further over my eyes and made a beeline for the exit. But when I turned to glance one last time at my mother’s stone, I saw another familiar figure standing over a grave about ten yards off to my left.

  His back was to me, but I knew those wide shoulders that tapered to a trim waist. I’d seen that muscular back naked in my kitchen last week, the night I’d treated Joey’s injuries after a fight. Biting my lip, I recalled the way I’d run my hands over his bruised ribs.

  He was dressed more in the style I was accustomed to seeing him in—the plain black pants, a cream-colored shirt that even from here I could tell had seen better days, and brown braces cutting into his solid shoulders and making a Y down his back. His head was bare, his dark mop of wayward curls blowing in the breeze, and I figured he was holding his floppy old cap in his hands.

  Were his eyes closed? Were his lips moving in silent prayer for his slain father? Was he asking forgiveness of the man who’d taught him about stars and had no doubt hoped for more for his son than the life—and death—he’d had himself? Or was Joey asking for guidance at his father’s feet, the way I sometimes did at my mother’s? In that moment I felt a kinship with Joey that I rarely felt with anyone other than my sisters, and before I knew it, my feet were stepping through the grass in his direction.

  I came up beside him, and although I knew he recognized me from the way his back straightened, he said nothing. Perhaps he, too, didn’t want to sully his father’s final resting place with heated words.

  But I needed to apologize.

  “Hello.” I braved a sideways glance at him.

  Silence. I might as well have greeted the statue on my right.

  “Joey, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant he didn’t believe my apology was sincere, or he didn’t believe I had the gall to approach him here. Neither interpretation boded well. “Please let me apologize. I never meant to tell Enzo anything last night.”

  “Pretty obvious your self-control ain’t what it ought to be.”

  Deep breath. “I thought I was doing the right thing. He was threatening to hurt people in order to get his money back, and I was scared for you. He knows who stole that load.”

  Joey shrugged. “So you’re a hero now too—he saved you, you saved me. Well done. You two deserve each other.”

  I stepped in front of him so he’d be forced to look at me. “Joey, please. I’m…I’m sorry too about last night on the roof. I wish I—”

  “I told you to forget about that,” he snapped.

  “Have you forgotten about it?”

&n
bsp; “It was a mistake. One of many I’ve made where you’re concerned.” His glare was more blistering than the sun.

  “OK, fine. But I’m worried. I don’t know exactly what Enzo is thinking, but I do know that things aren’t going to go according to your plan.”

  “Switching sides already, doll?”

  Jesus—I hadn’t thought of it like that. Was I? Had I ever really been on Enzo’s side? Before I could think it through, Joey went on.

  “And what the hell do you mean by that, anyway? He shook on that deal.”

  A gust of wind threatened to carry off my hat, and I reached up to hold it to my head. “I don’t know anything for certain, but I do know that you shouldn’t underestimate him. When he wants something, he…” I swallowed hard. “He knows how to get it.”

  “I bet he does.” He slapped his cap on his head. “You tell him I’ll be in touch. I want this deal done fast so I can get out of this town. Nothing here but bad memories.” With one last look at his father’s stone he stomped away, and I noticed he’d traded his new shoes for his old work boots too.

  He exited the gates and got into an old Model T parked on the street. Even the fancy red Buick was gone. A pang of regret squeezed my heart. It was the old, familiar Joey in every way except one—he despised me. And he had every right to. Until that moment I had no idea how much that would matter.

  I broke into a run.

  Chapter Five

  Joey was just starting the engine when I reached the windowless passenger door. “Wait,” I said breathlessly. “I want to talk about this.”

  “About what?” Joey spoke loudly over the noisy motor. “There’s nothing left to talk about, Tiny. Just go home.”

  Without being invited—in fact, I’d been dismissed—I opened the door and hopped in. “No.” I shut myself in the car, put my hands in my lap and looked at him. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  Joey turned off the engine and squinted at me. “Have I told you how annoying you are?”

  “Not today.”

  “And also how weak and impulsive? And for such a smart girl, how stupid you act sometimes?”

  I squirmed, but it was no less than I deserved. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

  “You deliberately betrayed me, Tiny. After everything we went through last week. I told you something in confidence and you went right to him with it.”

  “I didn’t! I swear to you, I didn’t. He surprised me by showing up in my room late last night”—and here Joey flinched—“and we went for a drive. We got to…” I flapped a hand in the air, unsure how to proceed. “…Talking, and he started in about taking revenge for the heist into his own hands because he owes money to a whiskey distributor. I got scared for you, Joey, I had to tell him!”

  “I told you, I can take care of myself.” Joey’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry. I know I did the wrong thing, but I never meant to betray you. It just came out. Please forgive me.” I put a hand on his forearm, and he shrugged it off.

  “You should have left it to me like I asked you to.”

  “You asked me to set up a meeting!”

  “No, I didn’t! You offered, and if you recall, at the end of the night, I told you to drop it. And I meant what I said.”

  “I know, but…”

  “But nothing.” He stuck a finger in my face. “You fucked up. If we hadn’t been at the boathouse last night, he would have taken those drugs and left me with nothing.”

  No point in reminding Joey he’d stolen the drugs to begin with—these guys all played by their own rules. “I wouldn’t have let him.”

  “Ha! You’ve got no sway over him.”

  “You’re wrong. He listens to me.” What possessed me to say such a thing, I have no idea.

  Joey smirked. “If you think that, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” He cocked his head, looking more like the old Joey. “What did he do, tell you he loves you?”

  “Shut up.” My chest and neck flushed with heat.

  “Ooh, she’s blushing.” Joey poked his finger in my side repeatedly. “Did he proclaim his devotion for you, is that it? Is he going to build you a house on Boston Boulevard and buy you a fancy electric car and name his yacht after you? The Tiny.” Joey framed the words in the air with his hands. “Hmm, not quite grand enough, is it.” He widened his gesture. “The Frances Kathleen. Eh, a little better.”

  Irritation bubbled up in me, but I was relieved he was back to teasing. “You remembered my full name. Impressive. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to spell it.”

  He turned to me with murderous eyes and poked my side once more. “Get out of my car, ya no-good, backstabbing floozy. Or do I have to drive his girl around as well as feed her?”

  “I’ll take a ride home, thanks. Sweet of you to offer.”

  Joey looked at me a moment and exhaled. “I should put you out at the curb right now.”

  “But you won’t.”

  A pause. “I guess not. “

  I grinned. I couldn’t help it.

  “Why can’t I stay mad at you, anyway?”

  Linking my fingers, I tucked them under my chin and batted my lashes. “Because I’m so adorable?”

  He scrutinized my face. “Nope. That ain’t it.”

  I dropped the pose. “Just drive me home already.”

  Rolling his eyes, he started the engine again. “Sure thing, Little Tomato. I only live to serve you.”

  Crossing my arms, I turned my face to the window so he wouldn’t see me smile at his nickname for me, which only a week ago would have made me scowl.

  When Joey pulled into the drive at my house, I was reluctant to get out of the car, for some reason. “Have you had lunch?”

  Joey looked amused. “And if I said no, what are you gonna do about it?”

  “Um…invite you in? Scramble you an egg? I do know how to do that.”

  He smirked. “Sounds tempting but no, I can’t. I have to work the dinner shift at the restaurant today.”

  “Oh. OK. Maybe I’ll see you later this week?” What the hell was I doing? Just get out of the car.

  “Maybe.” His tone changed, as if he was irritated I’d asked about seeing him again. “But this week’s busy with moving my ma to my sister’s and all. Plus I’m looking to get out of town. You tell your boyfriend to get in touch with me, and fast.”

  “He’s not really my boyfriend.” Then I was embarrassed—Joey knew I was sleeping with Enzo. If he wasn’t my boyfriend, what was he? “I mean…I don’t really know what we are.”

  Joey switched his focus out the windshield. “It’s none of my business. Just tell him.”

  I nodded as I got out, a funny, prickly feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if a cactus had lodged there or something. Lifting my hand in a stupid little wave, which Joey didn’t return, I watched him back out and drive down the street. I was glad he wasn’t angry anymore, but I still didn’t feel right about things between us. Maybe I was just worried about the deal with Enzo.

  That had to be it.

  #

  Five days later I hadn’t heard from either Enzo or Joey, and I was nearly out of my mind with worry. I started checking the newspapers every afternoon to make sure I didn’t read about any new gang warfare or heists that took the lives of young mobsters.

  Perhaps I should have just left it alone. After all, I was lucky in some regards—the feds I’d seen at the garage had questioned Daddy on Monday but hadn’t discovered anything incriminating enough to arrest him. The garage was “sold” to Raymond DiFiore the following day, and I nearly laughed at the thought of the feds constantly breathing down his neck. I hoped they caught him and threw him in the slammer. Sometimes I fantasized about Sam the Barber accosting him in a dark alley, demanding payment for hauling a load of booze across the river, and roughing him up when he refused.

  And perhaps best of all, my monthly arrived Sunday afternoon. When I noticed it, I was so delighted I dropped my head in prayerful thanks, o
ffering up a hasty promise that I’d be more careful from now on. Aside from a little fooling around, Enzo had taken precautions, but still—no girl wants to face the hell of discovering she’s in a family way before she’s married. It had worked out in the end for Bridget, but she and Vince were so in love, I’m certain they’d have married eventually anyway.

  Bridget had returned from the beach with the girls and her three sons as well, and we’d all had supper together Monday night at her apartment over the store. Daddy and I ignored each other throughout the entire meal, each going out of our way to avoid even making eye contact. If Bridget or Molly noticed, they didn’t mention it. Both of them knew about the ordeal last week, which was why they’d grabbed the younger ones and left town. I assumed they were each so glad to see us all sitting around the table again like nothing had happened, they didn’t want to risk any more unpleasantness. It was easy to avoid talking about it, since Mary Grace chattered incessantly about their trip to the beach, showing off shells she had collected, a post card she’d purchased for her scrapbook, and her freckled skin.

  Every day that week I worked a bit for Bridget at the store, and had to tell anyone who came in looking for “maple syrup,” our password for whisky, that we were out of business. I mourned the income I’d lose since I wouldn’t be making tips on deliveries anymore—finding a new job was a must, but I couldn’t motivate myself to look for one.

  After work, I’d go home and see to the girls and the house as if nothing had changed, but I just felt like something was off, as if my bones were jumbled up inside my skin. My appetite was nonexistent, I had trouble sleeping at night, and my fingernails were bitten to the quick. For a few days I thought maybe it was related to my monthly—doctors used to say women suffered from hysteria, a particular emotional frenzy caused by disturbances in a woman’s body. It was quack stuff, but for a day or so I began to wonder if there wasn’t a grain of truth behind it. My bleeding stopped after the usual four days, but the unease lingered.

  This is ridiculous, I told myself Thursday evening as I scanned the headlines of Daddy’s paper. I’ve got to find out what’s happening or I’ll go nuts. Had Enzo and Joey come to an agreement? Was Joey still in town? And what about the whisky—had Enzo come up with the money to pay Meloni or was there a goddamn wedding next Saturday?