Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

I nodded and turned off the light, my throat closing. “She’s not the only one.” When I started for the back door, Joey stopped me with a hand on the shoulder. My heart began to beat faster. I shouldn’t have turned off the light.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Or to them.”

“You can’t tell the future.”

“I’m not talking about telling the future. I’m making you a promise.”

My throat was too tight for words.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

I struggled to speak. “Do you…do you want a key?”

“Yes.”

I retrieved our extra house key from a pantry shelf. When I handed it to him, our fingers brushed, and I pulled mine away quickly.

“Thanks. Now try to get some sleep.”

“Won’t be easy with Mary Grace in my bed. She kicks,” I said, feeling the need to make a joke.

“You can always come down and sleep on the sofa with me. I can’t promise to keep my hands to myself, but I won’t kick you.”

I love your hands. “Joey?”

“Yeah?”

“You better go.”

Chapter Eleven

I woke the next morning to the sound of music and the smell of frying sausage. Breathing deeply, I stretched, checked the clock, and blinked in surprise. After nine already? It was hard to believe I’d slept that long, considering everything that happened last night, but for the first time this week I felt somewhat rested. The spot next to me was empty except for Mary Grace’s stuffed bear, so I pulled on my robe and headed down the stairs, hoping Molly had put coffee on with whatever they were scrounging up for breakfast.

First thing, I need to get those forty bottles sold, place another order, and—

I stopped short at the doorway to the kitchen, my mouth falling open.

Joey stood at the counter with a red apron over his clothes, stirring something in a mixing bowl. Molly was pouring coffee, and Mary Grace sat on top of the kitchen table nibbling a sausage patty. Someone had turned up the radio in the front room, and Henry Burr’s throaty Irish tenor filled the air. I pulled my robe tighter around me.

“She wakes!” shouted Joey. He wiped his hands on the apron and faced me. “And she looks funny in the morning. I didn’t know a girl’s hair could stick out that way.”

The girls giggled as I tried to smooth my wayward hair. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast, although it’s not easy with the scarcity of groceries in this house. For cryin’ out loud, Tiny, no wonder your growth is stunted!” My sisters screeched with laughter while I frowned.

“So what are you making then?”

“Well, when I saw the bare cupboards and the poor hungry children living here, I ran down to Bridget’s and begged for food. Mary Grace helped me fry the sausage, Molly made coffee, and now I’m making pancakes.” He gestured toward the mixing bowl.

“You know how to make pancakes?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not hard, Tiny. You measure, mix, and throw them on the griddle.” He’d removed the bandage from his temple. The welt had gone down but the jagged cut above it looked red and angry. He was still wearing his clothing from last night, although he’d wet his hair in an effort to tame it.

“Joey said he’d teach me how to make spaghetti sauce this afternoon,” said Molly, beaming as she sat down at the table.

“Gravy,” he corrected. “And I have to get some ingredients first, so that won’t be till later. We’ll make supper.” He turned on the gas under a cast iron skillet and threw a hunk of butter in it. As it melted and sizzled, Joey stirred the batter and sang along with Henry, loudly and totally off key.

“Lord, Joey, that’s awful.” Molly put her hands to her ears. “You’re worse than Tiny, and she’s pretty bad.”