Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

What does Joey want?

Immediately, my stomach flipped. I curled my toes and squeezed my thighs together, bringing my legs tighter into my chest. Knock that off. Even if Joey had felt something stronger than friendship for you before, which he’d never actually said, your behavior tonight was enough to splinter it.

The hideous weight of what I’d done dropped onto my chest like an anvil and stayed there, pressing the air from my lungs. Tears burned beneath my eyelids. Without Joey’s help last week, I never would have gotten the ten thousand dollars to free Daddy. And he’d never asked for anything in return. Yet I’d repaid him tonight with duplicity, giving up his secret to Enzo in exchange for my own pleasure, for promises whispered in the dark. The shame of it rained down on me—I gasped for air as if I were suffocating.

Hold on, just hold on, said a voice inside me. You did what you had to do to keep Joey safe, right? Inhaling deeply, I held my breath for a moment and counted to ten before letting it out, slowly. Yes, I did.

Somehow, it didn’t make me feel any better.

Weeping into my pillow, I wondered how I’d ever make things right again between us.

#

By the time I left my room the following morning, Daddy was up and out of the house. I’d missed nine o’clock mass, which I felt some guilt about, but instead of dwelling on it, I dressed and took a streetcar down to Mt. Elliott Cemetery, where our mother was buried. Usually the girls and I did this together on Sundays, and when I entered the scrolling gates and saw other families at gravesites, pulling weeds and sprucing up flowers, or even just holding hands as they strolled or sat on a bench in quiet contemplation, a lump formed in my throat.

Swallowing hard, I walked toward the section where our mother rested, keeping my head down. It was sunny but breezy, and I had to hold one hand on my hat, which was wide with an oversized brim. It wasn’t until I was nearly upon her simple Celtic cross that I saw someone already there. I froze, my Sunday dress flapping about my knees in the wind.

Daddy stood, hat in folded hands, feet apart. From the side, I could see his head was bowed, and I had the feeling that his eyes were closed. When I took a step closer, I saw I was right. His lips moved in silent prayer, or perhaps confession or apology—he certainly had any number of things he might have told her in order to unburden himself. I couldn’t even imagine what she’d have said back. Would she forgive him his sins and shortcomings as a father, as a man?

And what about your own?

An ache took hold of my heart, and the lump returned to my throat. What would she say to me if she could speak from beyond the grave? Would she tell me I was selfish to leave home? Would she ask me to think of my sisters first? Or would she agree with me that I’d done enough and it was time to move on with my life? She’d married young, like Bridget, and had a family almost as quickly. In fact, it was my mother who’d always talked of being a nurse if she’d had the opportunity or the education. She was always so proud of my high marks in school and my determination to go to college. After she died in childbirth with Mary Grace ten years ago, I made up my mind that I’d do as she’d wished she could have.

At the time, I’d had no idea what an uphill climb it would be.

I said a quick prayer for my mother’s soul from where I stood and turned to leave, having no desire whatsoever to converse with my father here. My mother deserved peace in her final resting place, and I wouldn’t disturb it with another argument. Because I hadn’t changed my mind—I still wanted to leave home.

And it wasn’t only that I wanted to be with Enzo, although I’d be lying if I said my newfound sexual freedom wasn’t influencing my decision. But the longer I stayed at home, the more I feared life was passing me by. I couldn’t shake the sense that something was out there for me, and if I didn’t try to find it now, I might lose my chance at it forever. Sure, I was only twenty, but I’d seen plenty of unfinished lives snuffed out too soon.

To stay out of sight, I tugged the hat down further over my eyes and made a beeline for the exit. But when I turned to glance one last time at my mother’s stone, I saw another familiar figure standing over a grave about ten yards off to my left.

His back was to me, but I knew those wide shoulders that tapered to a trim waist. I’d seen that muscular back naked in my kitchen last week, the night I’d treated Joey’s injuries after a fight. Biting my lip, I recalled the way I’d run my hands over his bruised ribs.

He was dressed more in the style I was accustomed to seeing him in—the plain black pants, a cream-colored shirt that even from here I could tell had seen better days, and brown braces cutting into his solid shoulders and making a Y down his back. His head was bare, his dark mop of wayward curls blowing in the breeze, and I figured he was holding his floppy old cap in his hands.

Were his eyes closed? Were his lips moving in silent prayer for his slain father? Was he asking forgiveness of the man who’d taught him about stars and had no doubt hoped for more for his son than the life—and death—he’d had himself? Or was Joey asking for guidance at his father’s feet, the way I sometimes did at my mother’s? In that moment I felt a kinship with Joey that I rarely felt with anyone other than my sisters, and before I knew it, my feet were stepping through the grass in his direction.

I came up beside him, and although I knew he recognized me from the way his back straightened, he said nothing. Perhaps he, too, didn’t want to sully his father’s final resting place with heated words.

But I needed to apologize.

“Hello.” I braved a sideways glance at him.

Silence. I might as well have greeted the statue on my right.

“Joey, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant he didn’t believe my apology was sincere, or he didn’t believe I had the gall to approach him here. Neither interpretation boded well. “Please let me apologize. I never meant to tell Enzo anything last night.”

“Pretty obvious your self-control ain’t what it ought to be.”

Deep breath. “I thought I was doing the right thing. He was threatening to hurt people in order to get his money back, and I was scared for you. He knows who stole that load.”

Joey shrugged. “So you’re a hero now too—he saved you, you saved me. Well done. You two deserve each other.”

I stepped in front of him so he’d be forced to look at me. “Joey, please. I’m…I’m sorry too about last night on the roof. I wish I—”