Free Speak Low by Melanie Harlow Page A

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, offering 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