“Let me get some.” Leo reached for the bottle, and Gia handed it over. He tipped his head back and squeezed, closing his eyes while it pooled on his tongue. They’d done this as kids, sneaking snacks from the cabinets and doling them out in the backyard, Leo’s room, or down by the canal: Oreos for a Hershey’s bar, Halloween candy for a soda, the trade mattering less than the fact that they’d gotten away with it. They were in on the same secret again, them versus their parents, the warm haze of last night snatched away. It made Gia want to do it again, sneak another few minutes of real living.
They walked to school togetherish, keeping their distance from one another as school came into view. There wasn’t anyone Gia was particularly excited to see, so when Leo split off for the boys, Gia joined Lorraine’s huddle outside the high school entrance. At least she could hide a little longer before being on her own in eighth grade.
“I heard there’s a thing on Friday night. One last float before the boats come out of the water.” The girl was chewing gum, cracking it loudly, blowing bubbles, and swallowing them back like a lizard rolling out its tongue. She was a hostess at the clam bar with Ray and liked to flirt with him even though she had more pimples than a toad, but she curled her hair and rolled a tube over her lips until they were mirror shiny. Alessandra. Gia wondered if Agnes would prefer a daughter like her instead.
“Are you going?” Lorraine asked.
“Maybe.” Alessandra shrugged. Ray’s words about being mysterious filtered back to Gia. She obviously wanted to but wouldn’t admit it. “Depends who else is.”
It was already hot. The makeup was sticky, like flour stuck to a rolling pin. She waited for someone to make a joke about it, but no one did. The bells rang. People filed through open doors, where nuns waited in habits at the top of the steps, the breeze rustling the dark fabric, guarding a tomb. Sister Gregory wasn’t there.
“There’s another thing on Friday.” Gia copied Alessandra’s shrug. “At the dock.”
“Says who?” the other girl asked. Gia didn’t know her name. In her uniform, she could have been any of them. Lorraine turned to Gia, the surprise sharp in her eyebrows.
“Heard it around.” Gia shrugged again.
“How old are you? Ten?” Alessandra threw her head back and laughed, the bones under her skin catching the sun. Gia turned red. She shoved her hands in her pockets and fingered the osprey feather. She’d never be cool or mysterious. Stupid Ray. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“It’s Ray’s thing,” Lorraine added. “You’ll hear about it. It’s getting around.”
The snickering stopped. Neither of these girls was as popular as Ray, no matter how much they curled their eyelashes. Alessandra looked between Gia and Lorraine. The other girl inched closer. The circle closed as the nuns rang the bells again.
“I heard about that,” the other one whispered. “What’s it all about?”
The girls were hooked now. Gia’s heart kicked up. Maybe it wasn’t so hard after all.
“Dock three on Friday night,” Gia said. “Find out for yourself.”
Lorraine winked at Gia. “I’ll catch up with you,” she said to Alessandra and the other girl, waving. To Gia, she said, “C’mon, I’ll walk you in.”
They fell into step for the short distance between the high school and the middle school.
“Ray talked to you too, huh?”
“Yep.” Gia nodded. “He said he’d cut me in if I told people.”
“Did he say how much?” Lorraine’s arms swung a little at her sides.
“No, but I’m gonna use it for boat money. For gas.”
“Always ask for details,” Lorraine said. “Because you know as well as I do that Ray knows math, and if you’re working for him, you should know what you’re selling. Any idea why he wants people at the dock on Friday?”
Gia shrugged and stared at the school steps. First her parents and now Lorraine. Maybe she wasn’t so smart after all. Deep down she knew Aunt Ida’s shadow in the window wasn’t why Ray hadn’t told her. Suddenly she was struck by how artificial everything was here: starched shirts and skirts, makeup, the sticky lip gloss, the way people talked to each other without saying what they really meant. It immobilized her, reminded her of the sparrows on Mr. Angliotti’s lawn again, made her wish for the simplicity of the marsh.
“You remember how Uncle Frank taught Ray to play chess, and then Ray ‘taught’ us so he always won?”
Gia nodded. Anger stacking as the pile of pieces next to the board grew, at Ray’s smug smile as he slid his pawns around and made them queens.
“Remember that about Ray. It always sounds better than it is. Plus he’s counting on people not knowing any better. So be careful, Gia. If you need money, you can work at the bakery with me.”
“My mom talked to you?”
“She did.” Lorraine smiled. It sounded like joining the Lollipop Guild coming from Agnes, but from Lorraine, it wasn’t so bad.
“Would that be OK?”
“Only if you take me for a ride in your boat with all that gas money.”
Gia smiled so big. Like she’d swallowed the whole sun.
“I’ll bait your hooks too,” Gia gushed, knowing Lorraine hated putting the hook through fish eyes, even if they were dead. They could bring snacks and cold sodas in a Styrofoam cooler and hide in the bay until the sun went down.
The bells rang again. The people outside thinned out.
“Go be a good student,” Lorraine said. “I’ll talk to my boss today.”
Lorraine walked the other way, head down, hair swinging, her knapsack slung off one shoulder. Her blouse was perfectly tucked in, her arms and legs summer tanned, glowing. She tipped her head back as she walked up the stairs, catching the sun one last time before slipping inside. But if Lorraine was right about Ray, and she probably was, then why was he teaching her how to drive? Especially when her father would have taught her in an empty parking lot in the old LeBaron.
Gia tried to walk like Lorraine, as best as she could. The only part she didn’t feel self-conscious about was letting the sun turn colors under her eyelids. Black, yellow, red, and black again before she blinked the sun away and found her place indoors.
The dock behind the clam bar had one rotten bulkhead and warped planks, and no one used it except clam shuckers for cigarette breaks. The fish smell could make anyone nuts, according to Ray. If Gia sat at the tip of her dock, she could see the clam shack farther down the canal. Tonight, it was hopping. Dinghies pulled up, flashed lights, and Ray came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on an apron, leaned down to greet the boats, handed them something from his pocket, and waved them off.
When the dinner rush started, Tommy set up shop instead, flipping peanut shells into the water, legs dangling, so small Gia could only see the top of his head, the clam bar’s floodlight giving him a halo. Leo was there, too, sipping from a straw, jumping on the loose planks in the dock until they popped free.
Gia picked her way over splintered wood and frayed ropes tying off boats and crab traps, as dogs barked from fenced yards. She was curious how it worked and figured Tommy could use the company, like with the bikes sometimes, when she’d pass him parts as he worked so he didn’t have to hold metal bolts between his teeth.
“Gia,” Leo sang. “Gia, G-G-Gia . . . Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy Gia.” Leo shook his legs like Elvis, his bony knees popping through his jeans. There was sweat on his nose and his hair was damp, his face flushed, but not from dancing. If her father didn’t like how he’d looked the other night, he should see this. Gia ignored him.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m going to New Park. Wanna come?”
Leo sang louder, so loud Ray threw the screen door open and banged his fists together. That shut him right up.
“Can’t,” Tommy said. “Got business.” A boat light shone on the water, bright on the inky black. There was no moon, just enough light to make out two shapes in the boat, then two boys in leather jackets, beer cans rolling on the bottom of t
he boat. They didn’t live here, but they knew Tommy.
One leaned forward, wobbling to catch the dock and playfully slap Tommy’s hand. “How’s it going, man?”
“Grooving.” He rocked back on his heels. Ew. Gia rolled her eyes.
“Who’s your lady friend?” The kid smirked, not mean, just lollipop-after-a-tetanus-shot slimy. Gia took stock of her bare feet and frayed jeans, an old sweater. She wasn’t anybody’s lady friend. Gross.
“My cousin.” Tommy smirked back, and then she was forgotten as money slipped into Tommy’s pocket, something else passed between them, and the boat kicked off the dock.
Leo unzipped his fly and peed into the water, making a show of it. Gia turned away, a mild disgust furrowing her brow. What the hell was wrong with him, and why didn’t it bother Tommy?
“What are you giving them? And what’s wrong with him?” Gia hissed as another boat chugged up the canal.
“Shhh,” Tommy hissed back, but he couldn’t meet her eye.
“Is it the basement thing?”
“Gia,” Tommy warned.
The screen door of the kitchen slapped shut. Ray came down the little hill in his dirty T-shirt and white pants.
“All good, man?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said.
“Hey, kid.” Ray turned to Gia. “Go home, a’right? This isn’t girl business.”
Gia opened her mouth and closed it.
“We got it figured out, but you did good. A couple of your friends came by tonight, so . . .” Tommy counted out bills and handed them to Gia. She stuffed them in her pocket. Since when did a family thing not include her?
“Go bowling or something. Catch a flick. There’s more coming.” Ray nodded toward home, then to Leo. “And shut him up, would you? He’s gonna get the whole thing shut down.”
Leo picked up a plank and flung it into the water, where it floated with a nail sticking through it. Why couldn’t he just tell Leo himself?
“Come on, Leo,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“If she says go, we go,” he sang. “If she says go go go . . .”
“Shut it.”
She looked between Ray’s sharp cheekbones and Tommy’s round zeppole face. Tommy stared off at the canal, waiting for the next boat, a can of Tab at his feet. Since when did he drink Tab? Or wear jeans instead of sweatpants? A new white T-shirt. He was trying, Gia realized, to be a different person, much like her with the makeup on her face, only Tommy seemed to enjoy the new version of himself, which made it seem more permanent.
She flipped Ray the finger before huffing back the way she’d come as Ray called something Gia didn’t catch. Leo slurped from the straw, too close to the dock edge. Oh well, Gia thought. Let him fall in. Can’t be worse than the shower. But he didn’t fall in, not when it was more annoying to follow right on her heels.
Up ahead, Crazy Louann was pedaling down the block, ratty bicycle streamers trailing as she meowed and scattered cat food from the basket with three plastic flowers. Her gray-streaked hair stuck out in every direction, and she’d wrapped herself in mismatched scarves, though it was hot. She was all fabric and wild violet eyes, and it was impossible to tell how old Louann was because she’d always been here doing exactly this. It creeped out Gia to watch the cats trot from bushes and smack their teeth on crunchy bits in the street before slithering off again to cooler bushes.
Leo was on the lawn, barefoot like she was, wiggling his toes in the grass, watching Louann’s bicycle tires spin.
“Wow,” he said, reaching out to where they’d been, raking his fingers through something imaginary in the air. “Wow.”
He looked past Gia without really seeing her and meowed softly. The cats were coming now, gathering around the scattered food, the streetlight shining on their matted fur, chunks missing from fights, skinny, gangly things with shadows of rib cages, snatching bits of food. Leo’s head darted in every direction, to the bushes, to the trees, to cars, to every place the cats were collecting from, pooling in the street, lured out by Crazy Louann, only it had never been a thing of wonder before. Never had it been something to stop and look at and wow over. Gia stared at her brother, who would’ve laughed at Louann before because they all had. It was a joke, always, So-and-so wants to be just like Louann when she grows up, because nobody did, but now Leo was meowing softly in the street, watching the cats gather, dart away. He sank down to the grass and watched.
When they were kids, her father had told them to stay away from raccoons in the daytime because they had rabies, even if they weren’t foaming at the mouth or walking funny or doing anything odd. Don’t poke it with sticks. Don’t provoke it. Don’t ride your bike past it. Just go home. Gia stared at her brother now, sitting in the grass, meowing at Louann and her cats, and did just that: she went home, feeling as if she’d walked through a spiderweb and needed to wash the whole thing off—Leo, Ray, Tommy, the boats in the canal—knowing it wouldn’t change Leo in the grass or Tommy pulling another boat into the dock.
Inside, Agnes was polishing silverware at the table, rubbing furiously at a fork. Her father was on tour, wouldn’t be home until morning. Gia paused in the doorway, opened her mouth, closed it, backed up a little farther from the silver polish. Not that she wanted to snitch, but just so her mother might see that she, Gia, had been good this week with the makeup, every day, hanging her clothes.
“Remember magic?” Agnes smiled, held up a fork, the tarnish transformed into shiny silver in one slow swipe. Gia used to think it was magic. Now she knew better.
“Would you like to join me?” Agnes gestured toward another chair, Gia’s usual spot. She was still in her work clothes, a pink blouse, pearl earrings. It was so lonely, polishing silver on a Friday night, nearly repulsive.
“There’s something . . .” Gia looked toward the door. “On the lawn.”
Agnes pushed back the chair, curious and worried. It could’ve been a dead cat or a new car with a bow on it, and Gia felt a little bad leaving Agnes to figure it out alone.
Upstairs, a note fluttered on Gia’s door. She peeled back the tape and unfolded it.
Lou said yes. See you tomorrow at seven a.m. I’ll train you. —Lorraine
Gia smiled, imagining the two of them in the warm cocoon of the bakery, surrounded by sweets. It was official. She had a job, a real one, like her father and mother. Now she could say things like, I can’t. I have work.
See, Leo? she thought smugly. See how easy?
In her room, she pulled the money out of her pocket. Two twenties were folded neatly together. Forty dollars just like that. More than she’d ever make at the bakery. More than she got on her birthday or Christmas, but it felt wrong. The tree across the street rustled in the breeze, shaking loose a yellow leaf, reminding Gia again of the sparrows scattered on the lawn. She shoved the money in her drawer and closed it tightly, hoping it wouldn’t feel as gross in the morning.
“Go to bed.” Agnes walked Leo up the stairs, pointed toward his room at the end of the hall. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Agnes crossed her arms as Leo did as he was told.
“Is he drunk?” Agnes whispered. It surprised Gia that her mother was genuinely confused. Shouldn’t she know?
“I don’t know,” Gia said. It was true. Agnes nodded, looking at Leo’s closed door, at the humming coming from inside, before smiling weakly and closing Gia’s door.
“Good night,” she said. But her mother was still in the hallway, standing guard because Leo was supposed to be grounded, but now this. She must’ve given up at some point, because the silverware was packed away by morning, and the smell of polish lingered in the kitchen, holding back the tarnish for the time being.
Chapter Seven
“And no matter what”—Lorraine dropped her voice to a whisper as the bakery door swung open—“pull back the sample tray when Cheap Joe comes in here, ’cause he’ll clear the whole plate and not buy a single thing. Drives Lou nuts.”
Lorraine snatched the tray of
f the counter and handed it to Gia, who busied herself with moving the day-old butter cookies around, sweeping crumbs off the plate, refilling it, while Joe flipped pages in a newspaper.
Big Louis had mirrors everywhere, which made the whole place feel like a spy movie. She’d catch herself tying a bakery box or sliding a new tray into the display window and think, So that’s what I look like. So serious. Like she was wiring a bomb. It was distracting, this new information about herself.
“So vain,” Lorraine teased.
“I can’t help it.” Gia laughed.
“You get used to it. Big Lou does it so no one steals.”
Lorraine made the bakery look easy. She knew where everything was, what the busy times were, when fresh trays would come up from the basement; she counted change so fast it made Gia dizzy, and she knew what to box up just by who came in the door. When it was quiet, she hopped up on the counter and ate whatever she wanted after pulling off the plastic gloves that made Gia’s hands feel like slugs in baby powder, even though Big Lou said no one could eat on the job.
“Just tell him your blood sugar’s low or you’re feeling faint. He’s too scared of women’s bodies to call you on it,” Lorraine said between bites of a fresh chocolate éclair, handing one to Gia. And they were perfect. The cream so fresh it was still warm. Gia ate the first one slowly, then gobbled a second before the door opened again.
“See?” Lorraine hopped down as Cheap Joe finished the newspaper and headed for the counter. “You’re learning.
“And the other thing about him,” Lorraine whispered under her breath, “is that he likes to haze the new girls. So get ready.”
“Any day-old bread?” Joe asked in a stained flannel shirt that made Gia hot just looking at it in the mirror. Joe was older than anyone Gia knew. Old and gray and talked loud enough to drown out the jets taking off from JFK.
“We don’t sell anything that isn’t fresh, Joe, you know that,” Lorraine called.
But Cheap Joe wasn’t looking at Lorraine.
A Frenzy of Sparks: A Novel Page 8