A Safe Place

by Margaret Watson

  As she always did, Frankie refused to look at the last laminated newspaper clipping, closest to the hostess station. It was her parents’ obituary, complete with details about the car crash that had killed them. A garland of green, red, orange and white flowers were tucked into the top of the sheet, put there by friends and neighbors.

  She’d begged Nathan to get rid of it, but he told her that everyone expected to see it. It would be disrespectful to take it down.

  Sunlight had faded the flowers almost to white.

  Nathan looked up from the table where he was working on his laptop. “Frankie!” He stood and enfolded her in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

  She clung to him for a moment, inhaling his familiar smells of minty soap and coffee, then eased away. “I had some extra time and thought I’d see how you and Marco are doing.”

  “We’re good.” He frowned as he held her shoulders. “You look worn-out.”

  “Long couple of weeks.” She managed a smile. “Lots going on.”

  “You seem thinner.” He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and yelled, “Marco! Frankie’s here. And she needs food.”

  “I’m not hungry, Nate.” She hadn’t been hungry for the past two weeks. And after her confrontation with Bascombe, her stomach was still in turmoil.

  Before she could protest, Marco came bounding out of the kitchen holding a plate of ravioli in arrabiata sauce. He knew exactly what she liked.

  “My favorite sister,” Marco said, setting the plate on the table and hugging her tightly. His hands smelled like garlic, as they usually did. “Missed you, babe,” he said, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

  “I missed you guys, too.”

  Nathan pressed her into a chair, and he and Marco sat down on either side of her.

  “I made a few adjustments to the arrabiata,” Marco said. “See what you think.”

  As she and Marco talked about cooking and Nathan chimed in with gossip and news about Mama’s Place, the tension in her stomach eased. This was exactly what she needed—time with her family. No pressure. Just acceptance, love and food.

  She sliced off a corner of a ravioli, swirled it in the spicy sauce, then let the cheese filling explode in her mouth. When her stomach didn’t object, she tried another. “So what do you think?” Marco asked eagerly, watching her.

  “It’s great. What did you change?”

  “I upped the number of capers and added a little anchovy paste to the sauce.”

  “It’s a winner,” she said, eating another ravioli. She was actually hungry, she realized.

  “Want a glass of wine?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m going to FreeZone after this,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “I can’t drink.”

  “You work too hard, Frankie,” Nathan said.

  “Like you don’t? That’s what you do when you love your job.”

  A shadow crossed Nathan’s face, and she set her fork on the plate. “Nate? What is it?”

  “I need to take some time off, Frankie. Reevaluate stuff.”

  She’d never noticed the lines around her oldest brother’s eyes. The mouth that used to smile constantly now turned down. “What kind of stuff? What’s wrong, Nate?”

  “Nothing in particular.” He sighed. “Mama’s Place. My life. The usual.”

  So much for her plan to talk to her brothers about Bascombe. “How can I help?”

  “You want to move home and manage Mama’s for a while?”

  “I can’t do that, Nate.” She ached to help her brother, but she couldn’t leave FreeZone. What would happen to her kids?

  “I know, Frankie.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “But I need a break.”

  Nathan had been in charge of Mama’s Place for fourteen years. He’d been twenty-two when their parents were killed. He’d dropped out of college and come home to run the restaurant and raise his three younger siblings.

  “We’ll hire someone to manage Mama’s, then. Unless Marco wants to do it?” She glanced at her younger brother, who held up his hands.

  “Not me. I’m the food guy, not the business guy.”

  Nathan closed his eyes, then opened them and leaned toward her. “I wish you could do it, Frankie.”

  “Not in my skill set,” she said, pushing the plate of food away. “I make cupcakes and take care of a bunch of teenagers.”

  “If you ever need a break from those kids, let me know.”

  She slung an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “What do you want to do?”

  “Not sure. Travel, for one thing. Maybe go back to school. I always wanted to be a lawyer,” he said wistfully.

  “So go do that. You’ve raised us all, and we turned out okay.” She grinned when Marco rolled his eyes.

  “We turned out awesome, Bunny, and you know it,” he said.

  The old family nickname made her want to weep. When she’d been released from juvie, all three of her brothers had been waiting for her and hugged her fiercely. Called her Bunny.

  She’d broken down, sobbing, in their arms.

  She couldn’t break down now. It was Nathan’s turn to be comforted. Helped. She had to be strong for him.

  “We’ll figure this out, Nate,” she said. Guilt flickered, and she tried to ignore it. Clearly, he wanted her to manage Mama’s. But he would never insist.

  Nathan had sacrificed so much for all of them. She should be willing to help out.

  But what would the FreeZone kids do without her?

  She had the Bascombe situation to deal with.

  And Cal had four more weeks of CS.

  As much as she wanted to step in and help her brother, she couldn’t do it.

  And that sucked.

  AS FRANKIE HEADED BACK toward the city, all she wanted was to go home. To hide in her apartment and lose herself in some mindless activity, like cleaning.

  She didn’t want to talk to anyone. To be in charge, to make decisions.

  For the first time since she’d opened FreeZone, she didn’t want to walk through that door.

  She wanted to block all of it out, including Bascombe.

  She couldn’t do it, though. She’d promised the kids that she’d be there for them, no matter what. It was a promise she intended to keep.

  And she was responsible for Cal, for making sure he got his community-service hours.

  For the past two weeks, he’d pissed her off at least once a day, but he’d been charming about it. He didn’t want to be there, but he managed to hide the fact from the kids. He’d become the go-to guy for math help, and for that alone she was grateful.

  He also played basketball with the boys every day. She’d even seen Ramon smile once when Cal had made a hot-dog move and actually hit the basket.

  Since he was doing what he was supposed to do, she needed to do her part. Which was get him out of FreeZone in time for his training camp.

  As she got closer to the center, she turned on the car’s CD player to get herself psyched for the afternoon. By the time she swung by the bakery for the cupcakes, Adele and Neko Case had helped her settle. She was an expert at compartmentalizing. She would put Bascombe and her brothers’ problems in a box and bury it for the afternoon.

  Ten minutes later, she parked her car in the church parking lot across the street and grabbed the white bakery box from her trunk. As she hurried toward FreeZone, she faltered when she saw Cal in front of the building, microphones stuck in his face.

  That hadn’t happened since his first day. Why now?

  He spotted her before she reached them. “Here she is,” he said. He shouldered his way through the reporters and took the bakery box from her hands. “We have a problem,” he said in a low voice.


  He set the box on the hood of his Escalade, then put his hand on her back to steer her through the crowd. She sighed when the reporters moved aside.

  Red-and-black gang signs were spray-painted across FreeZone’s windows. The symbols of the Insane Street Vipers.

  Ramon’s old gang.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE PERFECT TOPPER to a crappy day.

  Frankie had dealt with this before. Calmly. Rationally.

  But she couldn’t be calm or rational now. Anger rose in a choking wave. No one else was going to intimidate her today.

  She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t let the reporters see her fury. They fed on emotion like sharks on chum. But before she could get control, Cal placed his hand on her waist and bent his head.

  “I’m mad as hell, too, but don’t let them see it,” he said quietly. “It’ll be on the news, and those ass-wipes will know they got to you.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” she said under her breath. “They may not follow me around like dogs after a pork chop, but I’ve dealt with reporters before.”

  His hand was warm and heavy on her waist. “A pork chop? Really, Frankie? Come on, I’m at least a T-bone steak. Probably a filet.”

  She stifled a laugh and her anger began to ease. “Thank you,” she murmured with a small nod.

  She turned to face the reporters. Instead of letting go, Cal tightened his grip and his fingers pressed into her hip. She should have brushed them away, but she didn’t want to draw the reporters’ attention. She needed to stay on message.

  “As you can see, a gang has targeted FreeZone. They did so because we’re a threat to them. FreeZone gives kids an alternative to joining a gang. It’s a safe place for them to come after school, do their homework and meet their friends.” She nodded at Cal. “Mr. Stewart and I will clean this up, then we’ll welcome the kids. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. We’ll survive.”

  Cal’s hand twitched when she mentioned other incidents, but he didn’t speak. One of the reporters shoved a microphone in Frankie’s face.

  “The two of you look pretty comfortable together,” the woman said, her gaze measuring the distance between Frankie and Cal, then drifting to where he touched her. “I guess it doesn’t bother you to have a felon working with kids.”

  The burned-toast-and-stale-beer smell of the neighborhood grounded her. It reminded her what was at stake. “Mr. Stewart isn’t a felon.” She tried to step away from Cal, but he kept his hand in place. Her mind went blank for a moment.

  “But he has been convicted of a crime,” the reporter insisted.

  Frankie forced herself to concentrate. She’d prepared for this question—had known someone would bring it up sooner or later.

  “The judge agreed to expunge Mr. Stewart’s conviction after he completes his community service. Many of our community-service volunteers come to us via the justice system, so this is no different. Yes, it was an act of violence, but Mr. Stewart didn’t start the fight. He was trying to protect a woman. So I have no reservations about having him around the kids.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Cal, still standing too close. His hand lingered a moment longer, then he stepped away. Good. She didn’t need to lean on anyone.

  After a few more questions about gang activity in the Manor neighborhood, and additional photos of the window, the reporters began to drift away. Frankie shut the door firmly behind her and Cal, and slumped against the wall.

  “Thank you for distracting me,” she said quietly. “I was furious, and that’s not the way to talk to reporters.”

  “They didn’t see it,” he said, his tone cool and distant. “You handled yourself like a pro.”

  She looked at him carefully for the first time. “You’re angry.”

  “There’s gang graffiti on your window. And when you said it was no big deal, you meant it.”

  “Of course I meant it. This is a gang neighborhood.” Suddenly bone-tired, she sank to the floor. “There’s always graffiti around.”

  He scowled down at her. “How can you be so casual about it? This is a teen center.” She heard the reporters milling around behind the blinds. “Thank God they followed me today. Maybe they’ll run a story about it.”

  Did she want that? No. Not with Bascombe in the background.

  But there were a lot of reporters out there, and some carried video cameras. A sexy football player working at a community center was bound to get airtime. Just another reason to want him gone.

  Sexy? She must be more tired than she’d realized.

  “The gang signs. They’re from Ramon’s gang, aren’t they?”

  She pushed herself upright at the anger in his eyes. “Ramon’s former gang. The Insane Street Vipers.”

  “Clearly, they haven’t given up on him.”

  “That’s not his fault.” Even when she stood ramrod straight, she had to look up at Cal. She refused to back down. “Ramon isn’t the problem here. T-Man and Speedball and the rest of their buddies are the problem.”

  “They targeted you because of Ramon.”

  “Yes, they did. Because he’s trying to get away from them.” Her head pounded as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her temples. “And instead of arguing about it, we need to clean it up before the kids get here.”

  “Good luck with that,” Cal said. “We have fifteen minutes.”

  “And that’s about what it will take.” She hurried into her office and grabbed a box from the bookcase, then hustled out the front door. The last of the reporters were leaving as she set the box on the sidewalk.

  “See, this is what I’m talking about.” Cal pointed at the plastic container. “You have a kit for cleaning up graffiti.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, her voice even. “Gangs like to tag buildings. We’ve been tagged before, and we will be again.”

  “Are you going to call the police?”

  “There’s no point.” She rubbed her forehead. “They’ll write it up, file it away and resent me for making them do the paperwork. I’ll tell Don when he stops by today. He’ll have the patrol cars do some extra drive-bys.” She snapped on a pair of gloves. “So why are you pissed off?”

  “Ramon is why I’m pissed off. You’re inviting problems by letting him stay.”

  “I’ve known him for two months.” She grabbed the bottle of paint remover and sprayed the window. The sharp scent of the solvent made her nostrils burn. “In the two weeks you’ve been here, Ramon has done nothing to deserve your anger. So drop the caveman routine. This is a gang neighborhood. Gangs tag buildings. Get over it.”

  “‘Caveman’?” Cal swiped a pair of gloves, picked up a razor and began scraping at the symbols as she sprayed the solvent. “I’m not going to forget what happened during that confrontation on my first day here. I’ve spent my life around violence. I can see who likes it and who doesn’t.” The paint came off in red-and-black curls that looked like devilish cake decorations. “I don’t care what bull Ramon has fed you, he likes violence.”

  Cal made another swipe and jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll take care of this. You go get things ready for the kids.”

  “Fine.” She grabbed the box of cupcakes off the hood of his car and went inside.

  FreeZone was cool and quiet. She opened the blinds, switched on all the lights and put the bakery box in the display case, then circled the room, making sure everything was ready.

  Instead of heading into her office, though, she leaned on one of the battered tables and watched Cal through the window. The paint was peeling steadily away, lying on the sidewalk in giant spirals. There were only a few smears left on the window.

  She couldn’t leave this tension simmering between them. The kids
would pick up on it immediately. She headed toward the door, but before she got there, a group of girls appeared.

  They stopped to talk to Cal, and he smiled at them as he worked. There was no sign of anger or unease as he chatted, and the girls giggled as they pointed at the window. Their smiles faded when he spoke, but he nodded toward the door, and they scampered in.

  “Hey, Ms. Devereux,” Harley Michaels called as they entered. She was twelve, and one of the youngest kids who came to FreeZone. The three girls with her were fourteen. “T-Man and Speedball came back, huh?”

  “I’m not sure who it was,” Frankie answered. “But the graffiti is gone, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Ramon’s gonna be mad,” one of the older girls said with relish. “I bet he’ll fight them.”

  “Ramon isn’t fighting anyone,” Frankie said. “He gave that up when he quit the gang.” Did he know what the Vipers had done? Could Cal possibly be right? Had he been part of it?

  Damn it, she wouldn’t let Cal poison her mind against the teen.

  “You girls are early today,” she said.

  “We didn’t stop by the mini-mart for a snack,” Harley said. “We came straight here.” She glanced out the window at Cal, and the other three girls giggled.

  Oh, God. Of course the girls would crush on Cal. They put their heads together and whispered, then turned to stare at him again.

  Fighting a smile, Frankie herded them toward the homework area. “I’m glad you didn’t stop at the mini-mart. You can get a head start on your homework, then you’ll have more time to just hang out.”

  “Okay,” Harley said. The group settled at the end of one table, but there was more giggling and whispering than homework being done. Frankie finally sat next to them.

  “Harley, do you have English homework?” When the girl nodded, Frankie asked, “You need help?”

  “I’m good today, Ms. Devereux,” she replied. She glanced at Cal again. “If I have a question, I’ll ask Mr. Stewart.”

  “He’s focusing on math,” Frankie answered.