Speak Low

by Melanie Harlow

  We’ll see, I thought. My mind was still whirling, and I wanted to know one more thing. “Bridget…can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Might as well. But if you’re going to sit there, would you mind folding some laundry? There’s a basket of the boys’ things in the front room.”

  Nodding, I retrieved the basket and used the kitchen table to fold and sort the little items of clothing. “You once said that you got pregnant with Vince the first time you ever did it. Was that true?”

  The color deepened in her cheeks. Slowly, she shook her head.

  I set a little pair of overalls on one stack. “So you’d been sleeping with Vince before?”

  She nodded. “We’d done it a fair amount of times, and we were always careful. We only had to do it a few times without any, you know, precautions, for me to get pregnant.”

  Dropping my eyes to the basket, I selected a white cotton undershirt.

  “Tiny, what’s this about? Do you have feelings for someone?” A note of concern crept into her voice.

  “I don’t know.” Chewing my lip, I finished with the shirt and set it down, staring at the stains on its front. I was dying to confide in her. “I might.”

  “I know you said it wasn’t, but…is it Joey?”

  I looked at her sharply. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I told you last week. It was the way he was talking about you. And the way you two constantly had your heads together. Seemed obvious to me.” She grinned. “And you weren’t that convincing when you claimed to be just friends.”

  “I wasn’t?”

  She shook her head. “No. And neither was he. You know, Vince always used to tease Joey about you. Said he was positive you’d end up together.”

  “And what did Joey say?”

  Bridget’s smile deepened, and her eyes glittered wickedly. “A lady should not repeat those words.”

  Rolling my eyes, I flopped back into the chair. “I don’t know, Bridget. I’m confused. I feel something for Joey, but I don’t know what it is. And he’s completely frustrated with me right now. Then there’s this other guy too, and he’s handsome and wealthy and he’s… taken quite a shine to me.” That was one way of putting it.

  “Oh? Quite the popular girl, you are.”

  I grimaced. “Anyway, this other man has made me sort of—an offer.”

  Bridget froze and stared at me. “What kind of offer? A marriage proposal?”

  Ha! “No. He’s not exactly free to do that.”

  “He’s married?”

  “Not yet.”

  “My God, Tiny, that’s the last thing you need. Whatever offer he’s made you sounds a bit less than honorable.”

  I threw my arms up. “What’s so fun about honor?”

  Her eyes went wide and she returned to her ironing. “Well, if all you’re looking for is fun, then be my guest. You just be sure you know how to protect yourself.”

  “I do. I’m not completely foolish.” Although I act like it sometimes. “One more thing.”

  “Jesus, Tiny. You want to join the circus or something?”

  “Ha, ha. No. I have a question for you.” I stood and began folding another little shirt. “If you had some information that you knew a friend had been searching for, that in fact this friend had been obsessed with finding for years, but that might cause that friend to commit violence, would you tell him?”

  Bridget parked her hands on her hips and stared at me. “What is this about?”

  “Just answer me. Would you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not much for violence, that’s certain.”

  “Let’s say the violence would harm only bad people.”

  A look of understanding flashed on Bridget’s face. “But would there be potential consequences for my friend?”

  I nodded glumly.

  “Then no, I wouldn’t.”

  “Thanks. That’s what I thought.”

  #

  I ate supper with the girls and did the dishes myself, since Molly had done the cooking. As expected, Daddy didn’t show. At seven o’clock there was a knock on the door, and Molly flew down the stairs to answer it. She introduced me to a tall boy with wavy blond hair and a friendly smile whose name was Chet, and asked permission to ride in his car to the movies. He looked like a safe enough kid, so I gave it, and she rewarded me with a grateful hug before they left. I wanted to remind her about her curfew, but I bit my tongue, tired of acting like a mother.

  Mary Grace and I played tiddlywinks and snacked on a box of Cracker Jack she’d bought earlier in the day, and later she asked to look at my scrapbook. We were upstairs lying on my bed with it when I heard the first roll of thunder in the distance. A moment later, a gust of wind blew in through my open window, ruffling the white curtains.

  “We’d better shut the windows.” Rolling off the bed and onto my feet, I pulled both my bedroom windows closed and instructed Mary Grace to shut those in the room she shared with Molly, Daddy’s room and the bath. I went downstairs and shut them in the kitchen, where rain was already beginning to slant through the screen. Another clap of thunder echoed from the west, and I heard Mary Grace’s fast footfalls on the stairs.

  “Tiny? Are you down here?” Her voice shook a little.

  “Yes, I’m here.” Mary Grace got anxious during thunderstorms, and I tried to think of something that would comfort her until this one passed. “Do you want to play another game? Checkers, maybe? Or a card game?”

  “Maybe.” Rain began to rattle the windowpanes and a few gusts of heavy wind made the house creak. “Do you think the storm will be over soon?”

  “Sure it will, these summer storms never last too long.” I put my arm around her and walked toward the stairs. “Tell you what. How about we go upstairs and I read a little Ruth Fielding aloud to you and let you sleep in my bed. Does that sound good?”

  “Can we put rag curlers in our hair?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Upstairs, we put on our nightgowns and I tied up Mary Grace’s hair in rags. Then I sat on my bed while she stood behind me and did her best to tie mine up too. We giggled at our reflections in the mirror, brushed our teeth in the bathroom, and slipped beneath the covers in my bed. The steady, drumming rain on the roof was soothing in a way, but I’d read only a few pages when the lights began to flicker. Mary Grace tensed beside me. I patted her arm and kept reading, and the electricity winked a few more times before it went out altogether.

  “Oh no!” She grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t worry so much, poppet, it’s all right. This happens all the time when the wind is rough.” I patted her arm again and got off the bed. “I’ll go down and find a candle and we’ll read by candle-light, like in the old days.”

  “No, don’t go!” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed onto the back of my nightgown. “I’ll come with you.”

  It was hard to move with her tugging on me, but I managed to feel my way down the stairs in the dark, moving along the wall in the front hallway into the kitchen, and from there into the dining room, without stumbling. In the built-in corner cabinet, I located two candles in small silver holders that had probably been a wedding present, and from a kitchen drawer I dug a box of matches. Striking one against the side of the box, I lit both candles and saw the worry in Mary Grace’s expression.

  “Honey, it’s all right,” I assured her. “Come on, you want to carry one? I’ll carry the other and we’ll go back upstairs and finish the chapter, OK?”

  “OK.” She was trying hard to be brave, but her hand shook so much that I felt better holding on to both candles and letting her hang on to my arm. As we ascended the stairs, guilt over leaving home pounded my heart as hard as the rain against the windowpanes. If I left, who would be left to comfort her? Molly? I swallowed hard. Would she take the job of mothering a ten-year-old girl seriously? Could I ask her to? Granted, both Bridget and I had done it at her age, but Molly was a different sort of person, and I wasn’t convinced she would handle the resp
onsibility well. Maybe leaving home was a bad idea.

  We made it up to my room, set the candles on my night table, and crawled back under the covers. The thunder and wind let up a little, and though the lights didn’t come on, I was able to read by the glow of the candles, and we even laughed a little that this was probably how our mother had read at night as a child. When Mary Grace’s eyelids began to droop, I lowered my voice to a hush. When I was certain she’d fallen asleep, I closed the book and checked the clock. It was just after ten. I was exhausted, but I blew out one candle, and took the other one downstairs to wait for Molly to get home. I set the candlestick on the coffee table and curled up on the sofa, chin on my knees, but I kept dozing, so I blew out the flame and waited in the dark. Soon the drizzle on the roof lulled me into a deeper sleep.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing woke me with a start, and I picked up my head. The electricity must have been restored, because a lamp in the corner was on. Wiping a bit of drool from my lips, I held my breath until my eyes adjusted and I saw it was Molly, back from her date.

  And trying to sneak up the stairs.

  “What time is it?” I demanded in a whisper, jumping off the sofa. My muscles and joints felt stiff, as if I had been curled in one position for hours.

  “Oh!” She whirled on me and put a hand to her heart. “You scared me! What are you doing down here?”

  “Waiting for you. You were supposed to be home by eleven. What time is it?”

  “Uh, about midnight?”

  “About?”

  “Maybe a little after?” She started laughing and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I know I’m late and you’re mad, but you look so funny with those rags going every which way on your head. Did Mary Grace do it?”

  “Yes. Now, where were you? And don’t tell me you were at the movie theater all this time.”

  “I—I wasn’t.”

  “So? Where were you?”

  “After the movie, we were going to go out for ice cream but the shop had closed early or something. The entire block was dark.”

  “Electricity went out.”

  “Right. So we just drove around a bit and then…parked.”

  “Parked?” Immediately the image of Enzo and I in the front seat of his Packard lodged, unwanted, in my mind.

  She sighed. “Yes, OK? Parked. Please don’t lecture me. I had such a wonderful night and I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of, and for once, I didn’t have Mary Grace around to bug me or tease me or tattle. Daddy’s car isn’t here, so he’s not home and he doesn’t have to know.”

  “Unless I tell him.”

  She gripped the banister with two hands. “Please don’t, Tiny! I’m being honest with you, aren’t I? I could lie and say we were at someone’s house or at a party…but I’m not. I was alone with Chet, in his car, and I was safe.”

  I held back a sarcastic response, because it wouldn’t do any good. I didn’t want to argue with her about what was and wasn’t safe when you went parking with a boy. And based on our conversation yesterday, she knew more than I thought she did about what boys want from a girl in the dark. And what girls want too. I took a deep breath.

  “Listen, Molly. I’m glad you had a nice time, and I appreciate knowing the truth about where you were. I’m going to trust that you know right from wrong and that you’re aware of what can happen if a girl gets a reputation. I know it’s not fair, the boy should have the reputation too,” I said when I saw her about to protest, “but that’s just the way it is. The more important thing is, you had a curfew and you disobeyed it.”

  “Not on purpose! We just lost track of time,” she whined. “Please don’t punish me for it, Tiny. Just let me have this one night, please. I’ll never do it again, I promise. I’ll—“

  At the sound of a light knock on the front door, we both gasped. She rushed off the steps and we clutched one another’s arms. “Who could that be this late at night?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Daddy forgot his key?”

  Whoever it was knocked lightly again, and then pushed the door open.

  “Hello?” The voice was deep and familiar. A face appeared.

  “Joey, you scared us half to death!” Molly scolded.

  “Sorry. I was out this way, and I saw the light on.” He came in and shut the door behind him. His suit and hat were wet, but even so, the sight of him quickened my pulse. He took off his fedora and met my eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Frantically, I tried to position my arms so they covered as much of my bare skin as possible. My usual nightgown wasn’t dry, so I’d put on an old eyelet-trimmed chemise, which had thin straps, a low neckline, and didn’t even reach my knees. I crossed my arms and legs and covered one bare foot with the other, but not before I noticed Joey stealing a glance at my chest.

  “What were you doing over here at this hour?” I asked.

  “Dropping Rosie off.”

  “Oh.” Jealousy flared in my gut. “Molly, you go on up,” I said to my sister. “We can continue our discussion tomorrow.”

  “Or not.” She scurried up the stairs. “We could just forget about it. That’s fine, too.”

  “Sounds like I came at a bad time.” Joey tried to make a joke, but I could tell something serious was on his mind. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

  “She was late for curfew.”

  “Ah. You trying out a new hairdo?” He gestured toward my head with his hat. “Looks like flapper meets Medusa.”

  Wincing, I brought a hand to my hair and felt the rags there. “Mary Grace did it. I’ll take them out so you don’t turn to stone when you look at me.”

  Unbuttoning his coat, he wiped his feet before entering the front room and taking a seat on the sofa while I began tugging the rags from my hair. At first I tried to keep one arm across my chest but gave up on modesty when I realized I’d need two hands to untie the knots Mary Grace had fashioned. Jesus, what had she done? A sailor couldn’t have tied these things tighter. And she’d gotten half my hair inside the knots too—it was hopelessly tangled. Joey watched me silently for a minute, during which the rain picked up again. “Weather keep you in tonight?”

  I angled away from him a little. “I had enough fun last night to last me a while.”

  “I’ll say. You drank too much.”

  I glared at him over one shoulder. “What do you care how much I drink?”

  He put up his hands. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

  “One of us always says that, and we still end up arguing.”

  That brought a little smile. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

  “So what did you come here to do in the middle the night?” I yanked at a particularly stubborn rag, but only succeeded in pulling the knot tighter. If I had a mirror, this would be easier.

  “I told you, I came to talk to you.” Joey scratched his head. “Do you need some help with those or something?”

  “No. Go ahead. Talk.”

  “I can’t talk to you with those things hanging off your head. It’s bad enough that you’re in your pajamas.”

  “What did you expect I’d be wearing when you show up at my house at this hour?” Exasperated, I dropped my arms, leaving a few rags dangling in my hair. “Fine, help me.”

  Joey shrugged out of his coat. “Come sit on the floor here in front of me.”

  Moving the coffee table out of the way, I dropped onto the floor and backed up against the sofa between Joey’s legs. His pants were damp from the rain and felt cool against my bare arms. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and a dozen admonishments flickered through my head. Go up and put a robe on. Joey shouldn’t be here. Don’t sit so close to him.

  And even though I knew he was going to touch me, I jumped when he put his hands in my hair, unprepared for the buzz that swept from my scalp down my arms and over my legs. It lingered as his fingers carefully worked the knots from the rags.

  Neither of us spoke.

  It probably only to
ok him a few minutes to remove them, but with each passing second I was more aware of him, of everything around us. Colors and scents and sounds were sharper. The low golden glow of the lamp. The thrumming of the rain on the roof. The tick of the clock on the mantle. The scent of Joey’s wet gabardine trousers and leather shoes. My breaths came faster and deeper as I imagined what his hands looked like in my hair, how difficult it must be for masculine fingers to work the thin strips of cloth from my tangled tresses. But his touch was gentle.

  Too gentle.

  “There. Done.” He held the scraps of cotton over my right shoulder, his hand suspended near my collarbone. Beneath my chemise, my nipples peaked against the thin cotton.

  Those hands. Those fucking hands.

  Even though his knuckles bore the angry red evidence of the fight last night, his hands still had the power to arouse me. Would I never know the feel of them on my skin? Desire and jealousy twined their roots deep inside me. What had he done with Rosie tonight? What affection had he shown her? What physical pleasure had he experienced with her, with any girl, that he never would with me? My heart pumped hard.

  I reached up with my right hand, telling myself to simply take the rags, but instead, I wrapped my fingers around his solid wrist. With my other hand, I took the scraps and let them fall. Twisting at the waist, I looked over my shoulder at him, my mouth falling open. Joey’s olive skin appeared golden, his eyes almost black. His expression spoke of restraint and frustration, but also undeniable hunger. For so long something had simmered between us, threatening to erupt, and now I had to know, or I’d go crazy.

  He pressed his lips together and his fingers tightened into a fist, the muscles tensing beneath my grasp. He tried to pull his hand away, but I held on.

  Biting my lip, I used my other hand to unbutton the top of my chemise and slip one delicate eyelet strap off my shoulder.

  He didn’t move.

  Oh God, Joey. Please don’t say no.

  With my heart thumping wildly, I looked down at his fist, unfurled his fingers, and slipped his hand beneath the cotton. Taking a deep breath, I pressed it to my skin and shivered with pleasure when his warm palm covered my breast.