Chapter Six
After attending mass with my sisters, I walked to the store to pick up the notebook I kept of our customer phone numbers and addresses. This afternoon I’d make some calls, see how much whisky I could sell over the phone before I even picked it up. I said hello to Martin and scooped up the notebook from a drawer behind the counter while he rang up a shopper.
Since I was there, I decided to face Bridget. My feet felt heavy as I plodded up the stairs. I wasn’t looking forward to lying to her, but there was nothing she could do to help, and she’d only worry herself sick about Daddy. On her apartment door was a note for me.
Took the kids to the park for the afternoon. Come for dinner if you like. B.
My shoulders released some tension as I exhaled. Saved—at least for now.
When I got home, I placed a call to Al Murphy, an old friend of Daddy’s who ran several small speakeasies nearby and always bought his whisky from us. His wife answered, but she said they were getting a little low on Canadian Club and placed an order for eight cases. If she’d have been in the room, I’d have kissed her. Next, I started making phone calls to customers on the list, concentrating on the wealthier homes first. By late afternoon, I figured I had about ten cases sold all together. See? You can do this. Chin up. About five o’clock, my stomach began growling, and I remembered Bridget’s dinner invitation.
It gave me an idea.
“Girls!” I shouted out the kitchen window into the yard. “We’re going to Bridget’s for dinner! Come in and wash up!”
We cleaned up and walked over to Bridget’s, where she served us meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes. A basket of fresh-made bread was on the table, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies sat on the counter. Watching Mary Grace gobble it all up, a wave of guilt washed over me. I never served meals like this—how the hell did you turn meat into a loaf anyway?
After dinner, Molly and Mary Grace took the boys outside while Bridget and I cleaned the kitchen. “Bridge,” I began, rinsing off a plate, “could the girls sleep here tonight?” They were always glad to stay with her because she let them wander down the street to the ice cream parlor, where local kids lingered on summer nights.
“Sure. Why?”
“You remember how I said I hadn’t kissed a boy in a long time?”
Bridget set down the plate she was drying and looked at me. “Ye-e-e-s.”
My face got hot under her stare. “Well, I have a date tonight. And I’d like the house to myself.”
She squealed and snapped my behind with her dishtowel. “Who is it? Anyone I know?”
“No. Just someone I met recently.” I kept my eyes on the bowl I was scrubbing. “So it’s OK?”
“Absolutely. I love having them here to help with the boys.”
“Thanks.” Relieved, I finished washing the dishes and kept the chat on safer topics. Bridget didn’t even question the story about Daddy going to Cleveland. She was much more interested in what I was going to wear on my date, where he was taking me, and what we’d do afterward. I told more lies than I could count.
After saying goodbye to the girls, I walked back home in the fading light. I had about an hour to change out of my church clothes, pull the four hundred twenty bucks from my stash, and get to the boathouse. At least the weather is good, I thought as I climbed the steps to the front door.
But my hands were shaking, and I dropped the key twice before getting it in the lock.
#
Joey was already on the boat when I arrived. He reached for me with one hand. “Need help?”
Shaking my head, I jumped on board, but I stumbled a little, bumping into him. “Sorry.”
He caught my upper arms to steady me, and his chest looked so broad and comforting, I almost laid my forehead on it. “Nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“If you don’t want to go, I can manage this alone.”
“No. It’s my operation. My responsibility.” Too much depended on this to leave Joey in charge.
I sat down on the bench at the center of the boat while Joey untied the rope tethering us to the dock. Like me, he was dressed in shabby dark clothing, and the floppy cap was back on his head. We didn’t talk the entire way across the lake, but he did hand me his jacket when he noticed I was shivering. I shook my head, but he held the jacket out until I took it and draped it across my shoulders. It was warm with his body heat.
At the Canadian docks we met Blaise, a jowly, pot-bellied French-Canadian who took the cash I offered and never looked up from it. He shuffled through the bills and tucked the wad out of sight, and as the money disappeared into his pocket, I fought the urge to throw myself at him and demand it back. How long had it taken me to save four hundred twenty dollars? How many cases had I smuggled, hauled, and delivered, knowing at any moment I could be questioned or arrested? And what were the chances I could earn it back by the end of the summer? Would I have to put off school for another semester? Or year? My insides knotted with anger as Joey and I loaded the whisky into the boat.
“Don’t turn sharply or go too fast,” I ordered as he started the motor.