Chapter 30
30
W ithout really thinking about it, I walked to Bridget’s. I stuck my head into the store, waved hello to Martin at the counter and took the back stairs up to her apartment. The scent of roasting potatoes hit me just outside the door, and I breathed deeply. Her place always smelled so good.
I walked into the kitchen without knocking. “Hello?”
“Hello.” Bridget stood over an ironing board at one end of the kitchen. It folded down right out of the wall, which was handy, but when the stove was on it made for some hot, sweaty ironing in the summertime. She wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “What are you up to?”
“Just taking a walk. Smells good in here.” I wandered over to a chair and dropped into it.
“Thanks. Stay for supper?”
“I can’t. I should make something for the girls and Daddy, although God knows when he’ll return.”
“He’s busy with the new shop, huh?”
I pressed my lips together. No good would come of blabbing to Bridget about the gambling if Daddy didn’t want her to know. “Yeah.”
“And what about you? Now that everything is... settled, are you thinking of returning to school this fall?”
“If I can afford it, perhaps.” Clearing my throat, I went on. “I’m actually thinking of moving downtown. Getting a job that pays a little better so I can save up easier.”
I figured she’d protest right away, but she just nodded, dropping her eyes to the blouse she was working on. “Oh?”
“Yes. I’m...I just... It’s like I told you that day before all that other stuff happened. I’d like some independence.”
“I can understand that.”
I looked at her, surprise. “You can?”
“Sure I can. I was your age once too, you know. Not that long ago, in fact.”
“I know, but you were always so in love with Vince. I never knew you wanted to live on your own.” Bridget tilted her head this way and that. “Well, it wasn’t so much that I wanted to live on my own. And I was in love with Vince. But we certainly had very few opportunities to be alone without Daddy lurking or you three monkeys hanging all over us, not to mention Vince’s overprotective mother, who never thought an Irish girl was good enough for her Italian boy.”
I smiled. “Really?”
“Really. Oh , she gave us such a hard time. So did Daddy.” She set the iron on its stand and fanned her face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s hot in here.”
“Why did Daddy give you a hard time?”
“Well, Vince and I wanted to get married and he didn’t want us to. Not because Vince was Italian—he was Catholic, at least—but because he didn’t want to be without me at home. Same reasons he’d give you if you announced your intention to leave. I was doing the lion’s share of the work and had been since Mother died. ”
“I never knew you asked permission to leave and marry Vince. I thought you got pregnant and had to marry him.”
Bridget selected a handkerchief from her laundry basket and laid it flat on the board. “I did.”
I scrutinized her closely. Was she blushing? After all this time, she was still ashamed of it? Or was there another reason?
It struck me hard.
“You did it on purpose.”
The color in her cheeks deepened to purple.
“You did it on purpose!” I gasped. “Bridget, I don’t believe it!” My mouth refused to close, and I slapped the table with my palm. “You asked Daddy if you could leave home to marry Vince and when he said no, you got pregnant on purpose so he’d have to let you go!”
“Shhhhhhhh.” Bridget glanced out the window behind her. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”
“I just can’t believe it.” Blinking in surprise, I stared at my older sister, seeing her in a new light. “Was it Vince’s idea?”
“No, it was mine.” She shook her head as she smoothed out the wrinkled in the white cloth. “And I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The years we had together were worth it. The children are worth it.”
I nodded, sadness squeezing my throat.
“And I knew you were able to handle things at home without me.” She looked at me then. “And you have. You’ve been wonderful, Tiny. You kept that house running and those girls in line and made good marks in school too. You deserve a life of your own.”
Sighing, she dropped her eyes to her ironing again. “I just don’t know that Molly is as capable as you were at her age.”
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. Her worried eyes peered out the front window. “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?”
She brightened. “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 on a night like this? 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 responsibility 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 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 needed two hands to untie the knots Mary Grace had fashioned. Jesus, what did she do? 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 took 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.
I looked back at him again. For one agonizing eternity of a second, he struggled with his decision.
Well, maybe it was half a second.
Then he bent forward, grabbed my head with his other hand, and crushed his mouth to mine—oh my God that mouth, those full, luscious lips I’d stared at so many times—how was it possible for them to feel and taste even better than they looked? He kissed me hard, his tongue plunging between our open lips, stroking and sucking. Lust ricocheted throughout my body and centered between my legs. Reaching up to take his face in my hands, I kissed him so deeply and desperately I couldn’t breathe, but I cared less about consuming oxygen than I did about consuming Joey.
He lunged off the couch at the same time I struggled to get up on it, and our bodies came together before we tumbled to the floor, frantic to climb inside each other’s skin. We ended up on the rug between the sofa and the coffee table, a tangle of twining limbs and searching hands and hungry mouths. Joey’s leg slid between my thighs and I squeezed it, lifting my hips. It felt so incredible I nearly exploded right then and there. My God, it’s Joey , I kept thinking. It’s Joey and me and it’s finally real and it feels so fucking good.
Passion for him surged through me like a lightning storm. My heart pounded against his chest, or was that his pounding against mine? I have to get closer, there has to be a way to get more of him. The image of him shirtless in the kitchen popped into my head. I remembered eyeing the muscles in his back, how hot and hard his chest felt under my hands when I checked for bruises. I recalled the way his abdominal muscles rippled down his taut stomach. Oh, God, I wanted to touch him there, touch him everywhere, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I wanted him naked, next to me, on me, under me, inside me. My head fell back, my jaw dropping in disbelief at the way I wanted Joey.
He moved down my body and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking it through the cotton, and I had to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out at the pleasure it wrought from deep inside me. Desperate to feel more of his weight on me, I shimmied underneath him, claiming his mouth again with my own and wrapping my legs around him. And then I couldn’t help smiling against his lips because I could feel the way he wanted me. Moving my hands around his sides to his round, muscular ass, I pulled him into me, gasping at the huge, hard feel of the bulge in his trousers. Oh my God, I could come just like this, just feeling his cock rub against me through our clothing, because it’s him and this is crazy and my heart is going to burst out of my chest and he feels so good and I never want him to stop and ? —
“Christ, Tiny.” Joey braced his hands above my shoulders and looked down at me, breathing hard. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, digging my heels into the backs of his thighs. “But don’t stop.” He groaned, and I lifted my head off the floor and kissed his lips, his chin, his jaw. “Please don’t stop.” I pressed my lips to his throat and felt his pulse on them. “I want you.”
“Since when?”
“Since when?” I panted.
“Yeah, since when do you want me?”
I dropped my head to the floor. That was not the anticipated response. “What do you mean?”
Lifting himself off me, he knelt between my knees. “Last time we talked about this, you said you wanted him, not me.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “I never said that.”
“You certainly did. You accused me of judging you for getting what you want. I asked you if you wanted him, and you said yes.”
Had I said that? Sighing, I closed my eyes. “I know, but...” God, this was so maddening—my feelings were so twisted up inside me. I had wanted Enzo, and everything he’d promised me. But now that he was offering, I wasn’t sure I wanted it anymore. Why was that? Was I simply that fickle? Or had I changed my mind because of Joey? I wasn’t sure, and I knew the worst thing I could do right now was say something I didn’t mean.
I opened my eyes. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m confused.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” He got to his feet and snatched his coat off the sofa, shoving his arms through the sleeves.
“And what about you?” I demanded, sitting up. “You’re the one who was out on a date tonight, not me!” It was so irritating having to whisper when I wanted to shout. I scrambled to my feet. “Where did you take her?”
“Nowhere, I just gave her a ride home.”
“Did you kiss her? Did you?”
“No.” Joey ran his hands through his hair. “Why the fuck do you even care?” He tried to push past me and go for the front door, but I didn’t let him. I caught him by the elbow, spun him around and threw myself at him, grabbing him by the back of his head and pressing my lips to his. He groaned in frustration but slanted his mouth over mine, and I sucked his tongue into my mouth. He tasted so good, like the rain, and oh my God I wanted to taste every inch of his body. His arms looped around my lower back, lifting me off my feet, and held me tightly to his chest. But when I tried to twine my legs around his hips again, he set me down and gently pushed me away.
“I can’t do this,” he said, picking up his hat from the sofa. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
I twisted my hands together. “Where are you going?”
“Chicago.”
“Tonight?”
“No. There’s something I have to do here first, but I’ll have to leave fast after that.”
“Something with a gun?”
Joey looked at me carefully. “He told you.”
I nodded.
“Then you understand.”
I saw the pain of his father’s death in his face, and it squeezed my heart. “I do, but...this won’t help, Joey. It won’t stop here. You kill somebody, his friends retaliate. More death isn’t going to solve anything.”
“I gotta do it, Tiny. I feel it in my bones.”
I tried a different tactic. “So you’re giving up the drugs to Enzo? Letting him win?”
“It’s already done.”
My heart fell to my heels. “What about Angelo? When he finds out, he’ll go to Sam, won’t he?”
“I’m gonna talk to Angelo, try to make a deal by cutting him in on my first few whisky hauls in Chicago. As for Sam...” Joey fidgeted, and I knew he was struggling with what was safe to tell me. “Look, the less you know, the better,” he finally said. “But stay away from Sam, and if he tries to contact you, you should tell Enzo right away. ”
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re telling me to go to Enzo?”
Joey grimaced. “I don’t like him, and I don’t know what kind of games he’s playing with you, but I do believe he’d protect you if you were in harm’s way.”
I nodded, battling a fierce urge to cry. He moved for the door. “Joey, wait.”
He turned to me and sighed. “This is useless, Tiny.”
“I’m scared. And I don’t want you to go.”
With one hand on the door, he said, “Give me a reason to stay.”
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Give him a reason. Something, anything. Don’t let him walk out that door, because if he’s killed trying to avenge his father’s death, you’ll never have this chance again.
“You could be arrested. Or shot.”
“I don’t care.”
“Killing the gunman won’t bring your father back,” I said, desperate to get through to him. “And your father wouldn’t want you to die for him—he’d want you to live for him.”
Joey set his hat on his head. “I wasn’t asking for a reason from him,” he said quietly. “I was asking for a reason from you.”
With that he moved quickly for the door and disappeared into the rainy dark.
Upstairs, I crawled into bed next to Mary Grace and cried myself to sleep.