Tough Enough (Tough Love Book 3)
Page 16
Sophia pushed some pieces of squash across the cutting board with a spatula, keeping them from bouncing off to the floor. “I, I don’t know.”
“There is no way in hell Sophia likes that animal,” said Allie. She always thought she knew everything, but Marley had her own mind on this topic and she thought Sophia liked Lloyd very much.
“Besides, she’s with Ben,” Allison continued. “Are you two fighting? It’s not hard to imagine Ben starting a fight, even with you.”
“No, we’re not fighting, but we’re not not-fighting either.”
“What do you mean? Not not fighting? You are fighting or not fighting, that’s it,” Marley said.
“It’s not that simple,” Sophia said.
Yes, it is, Marley thought. It’s that simple.
“Besides,” Sophia had found her smirk again, “you’re changing the subject, mujer.” Sophia leaned one of her skinny hips against the table. She and Marley were alike and not alike. Sophia was taller, thinner, less curvy and her face was compelling, with a full upper lip and plump lower lip and narrow chin. Marley had more curve to her and was just a bit shorter, with skin more deeply browned than Sophia’s olive complexion. Marley had big dimples and a wider mouth. But both of them were beautiful, had long dark hair with body, and Marley knew darn well that a man who found her attractive would often find Sophia to his liking too. She turned her back on Sophia, struggling with her feelings. She liked Sophia, they were friends, and they’d been working together since they were both in high school, but it was getting harder and harder for Marley to feel sympathy for her friend. She rolled her shoulders as she squatted down to scan the shelves beneath the worktables, looking for another jug of olive oil.
“The only subject that interests me is where is the olive oil,” Marley replied.
From the other side of the kitchen, Allison sighed. “It’s downstairs. I’ll go get it.”
Marley heard the kitchen door swing open. Beside her, Sophia kept talking.
“The macho Mr. Lloyd is gay,” she said. Marley rolled her eyes as she stood up.
“The only way that man is gay is if there are no women left on the planet and his hands are broken,” Marley said. She’d never heard such idiocy. Mashing garlic cloves was the only suitable action at this juncture and she went at it with a vengeance.
“You haven’t seen him with his so-called friend, Tom.”
Finally, something she could speak with authority on. “I have too seen them and I know that you only have half a brain when it comes to men,” Marley retorted. “Tommy Kretlow is one hundred percent gay and one hundred percent in love with Doug. This I know for sure. I have seen them eat together. But Lloyd? He has no clue. For a smart and machismo male person, he is as dumb as a post when it comes to Tommy. This I would bet you train fare for a year.” She whisked away the papery skins of the garlic and glanced at her friend. Sophia was frowning.
“You don’t think Doug Lloyd is gay?”
“No! Get it through your head, girl. That man likes women. He likes women like me. This I know for sure.” Marley began filling a pot and started creating the butternut soup she loved. It was silky and decadent and healthy and so good. Tonight, Allie would give her a quart to take home to her mother and daughter. Allie would give her a roast chicken and wild rice and asparagus. The family would have a feast tomorrow on Marley’s day off.
“Did he make a pass at you?” Sophia’s eyes were round and wide.
“Sophie, every man makes a pass at me.” Marley gestured with the ladle in her hand. “Every man makes a pass at you.”
The kitchen door swung in as Allison clomped into the kitchen, carrying three gallons of oil.
“She’s right about that,” Allie said, setting the gallon jugs on the table.
“Diay, the only one nobody makes a pass at...”
“Don’t say it, sister,” warned Allison.
“Is Allison, becau’ she mean...” Marley crowed.
“Truth, girl. But my baby likes me that way,” Allison replied with a grin and Marley finally, finally felt a bit better. Let Sophia figure out men on her own time. Marley couldn’t help her, and in fact, was the last person who should even speak to Sophia about men, given her own past. A past that didn’t seem to want to let her be, Marley mused. Her past was an open issue and that couldn’t continue. But for today, she’d stir the soup and keep her eye on just making it through the weekend.
Chapter 9
Something about the smallish windows in his bedroom was starting to bug Ben. Maybe it was the way the room felt closed in despite the view. He wanted to see life, a tree or bird or even just grass. From his place in bed, head on the down pillow, arms up, hands behind his head, all he could see was the color of the sky. This morning, the sky was blue. It did nothing for him.
He grunted and glanced beside him. The other side of the bed was unmade, which meant she had slept on the couch—again. For the first time since they’d moved in, he wondered if she’d found someone else and the thought gave him a stab of pain. Not that it mattered, he supposed. Time was short for the two of them. He didn’t have the heart for another go-round with Sophia, didn’t have the drive to try to fix whatever was broken with her, with them.
He swung his legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor. Getting up was the first step. After overhearing her mention the day off, about a week ago, he’d taken the day off himself. Foolish. Ever since the day in the shower, he’d been making himself sick over their situation. One day he felt hope, the next day a muffled deadness, and underneath it all, the overriding question was—when? When would they finally find the way to end it?
After a quick pass through the apartment, no she wasn’t there, and a cup of coffee, he showered and stopped downstairs to visit Allie. She opened the door, still looking behind her.
“Hey,” he said.
She reached out the door and took his wrist, her rough fingers warm. “Zach’s in the highchair. I don’t want him to fall.” She gave him a tug and disappeared. Inside, the apartment was pure Allie. Both of their homes were large open floor plans with big windows in the living area. In Allie and Derrick’s unit, the outer walls were brick, the floors were slate with large sections of carpet, bound on the edges to make giant rugs. The furniture was covered in shades of tan and brown, all the fabrics full of texture, like velvet or burlap. On top of the rugs, floated giant white fluffy throw rugs, on the couches white fluffy pillows. The kitchen was arranged against one wall, with a island. The other side wall held the TV and living area. Allison was already stirring something on the stove, one hand restlessly gesturing toward the highchair as if the chubby-cheeked dark haired boy would suddenly climb out and fall. Given that his daddy spent all day as a steel monkey, maybe Zach would. Ben came in and pulled out a stool.
Here, at least, there was life. She was dishing up scrambled eggs and tiny bits of toast to her son. Even in this, fathering a child, Derrick had managed to be ahead of him. Feeling worse and ashamed of his thoughts, Ben positioned himself beside Derrick’s son and kept the food from sliding off the highchair tray while Allie made him eggs over easy and a biscuit.
“So?” Allie asked.
He glanced up. A tiny toast point went past his nose. He turned to see Zach laughing at him, slapping his palms on the tray. Allie didn’t even bother to admonish the kid.
“Aren’t you gonna correct him?”
Allie just gave him the stink eye and Ben found his first smile of the day.
“Never thought I’d see the day that Allie the Tough backed down from a confrontation,” he teased.
She plopped both of their plates on the counter and settled her butt on a stool. “I’m finding that there’s this new thing,” she said. “It’s called picking your battles.”
She looked so seriously unhappy about this turn of events, he couldn’t hold in a chuckle.
“Everything for a reason, Allison, everything for a reason.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said.
“That’s some high praise coming from you, buddy,” she said. “There was a while there I thought you and I would have to duke it out.”
His answering smile was small and he felt a bit nostalgic. “Those were some wild days. When George...and then the fire...” The building they were sitting in now had burned almost to the ground with his best friend and Allison both inside. They’d escaped, and he was so grateful. Then they’d rebuilt, and he’d been blessed by that too. After the building was done, Sophia had agreed to move in with him. He shook his head.
“What’s going on, Ben?”
“Things between Sophia and me, it’s not working out the way I thought.”
Allison just looked at him, her normal movement and twitching stilled. Compassion and understanding were written all over her face. He couldn’t look at her, so he busied himself wiping Zach’s pudgy fingers clean, then he got up, got a wet towel and using just one finger wrapped in damp paper, gently cleaned the yellow yolk from the plump, red cheeks. Little guy. Zach was a cute little guy.
“You know,” Ben said. “I always thought I’d be married before Derrick.”
“You know,” she answered, “I never thought I’d be married at all.”
She meant it to be ironic and funny, but it landed like a blow. One among many.
“She took the day off,” he said.
Allison didn’t ask Ben who he meant.
“I don’t know where she is, what she’s doing, or why she took off. She never told me. I just overheard it.” Fuck. That sounded so lame. He was instantly sorry he’d said it. A tight bubble of frustration rose up in him and he stepped back from the highchair, hands in fists at his side.
“Maybe you need to ask her,” Allison said, and then she stood. “You know, I’m a terrible person to come to with this problem.”
“Why? Because you’re friends with her? Maybe you know what’s going on Allison. I think maybe you can tell me.”
“I don’t know, Ben. Sophia is a friend. She’s my sister-in-law, but she doesn’t confide in me. Sometimes...” Allison stopped and shut her mouth.
“Sometimes what?”
“Sometimes I think you and she aren’t the perfect match.”
Well, there it was. He’d come to Allison because she was forthright and he’d thought he wanted that. Now that it was out there, his own opinion expressed by someone else, he wished he could turn their conversation around.
“Look, I’m taking Zach over to Mastrelo’s,” Allie continued. “Rose is babysitting him today and Derrick should be getting off work a bit early today.”
“I know, the job’s winding down,” said Ben. “We have to wait for the next one to start up next week. I thought I’d take advantage, surprise Sophia, but she was gone when I woke up.” Shame burned in him.
Allison studied him. “You’re going nowhere hanging around here and I have a delivery coming in. How about you come with and unload the truck for me? You can put the stock away and save me and Marley the trouble. Plus, she’ll have Karito with her today so it’ll be better if I can watch the counter with her.”
“So, the offer is to spend the day working at Allison’s Kitchen since I’ve got the day off from my own damn job?”
“No, the offer is since Sophia isn’t home, come and hang with us, work off some of that tension and I’ll make you an amazing dinner to bring home. This way, at least you and Sophia can have a nice dinner, a nice evening and maybe remember what you love about each other.” She seemed pleased with herself and, for Ben, pretending that this nice evening together was a possibility felt better than the truth he was trying to run from.
“Admit it, you just want me to keep Zach and Karito busy until Rose is ready.”
Allie shrugged and arched her eyebrows. “So? What’s wrong with that?”
Nothing, he supposed, except he wished like hell one of the kids he’d be playing with today was his own.
The sun was midway to the horizon, the Hudson River was picking up the white light and reflecting it back in the ripples and chop, sparkling, ever-changing. New York afternoon exercisers were jogging, walking, swerving around him. For his part, Doug was focused on something far more interesting. A pale ivory rain coat and skin-tight blue jeans tucked into cream boots. Those boots were marching right toward him. When they arrived, the person Doug was waiting for would walk on by.
He supposed it was inevitable that he and Sophia Moss would wind up at the same place, the same time, for the same reason. After all, he was sending her weekly updates on his investigation into his lost funds. Doug sighed and looked away from Sophia. There, across a tiny bit of grass, near a pretzel vendor, a heavy-set man in a hoodie watched him. He and Doug had regarded each other for several minutes, and Doug believed him to be the connection he needed to link Marco Camisa Senior to the man in Sophia’s photo.
“Shit,” Doug muttered. He glanced back to where Sophia was drawing nearer. He could almost make out the expression on her face now. She was focused on him. Any minute, the woman would call his name or some other thing that would signal to the dark-skinned man that he’d been set up. So, Doug let his face show confusion and concern. More hypocrisy, more play-acting. It seemed it was his destiny. He hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and shook his head—no—toward the heavy-set guy. In return, the man nodded his chin once and started to walk away, as if he’d been looking at the water, and it was time to move on.
Fuck me, thought Doug. Still, he knew how to take his losses. Trying to look like just an ex-con recognizing a member of law enforcement, Doug walked faster away from Sophia, lengthening his stride, keeping his face hidden by his shoulders. He risked a quick glance and caught his informant giving him one more look before he disappeared into the crowds crossing Twelfth Avenue. The crosswalk was long and bent slightly to the right as it took the mass of people across four lanes of traffic. The sheer girth of the black man made it easy to pick him out, now three-quarters of the way to the other side. What should have been a sigh of relief changed to alarm. Just entering the crosswalk was a tall woman in an ivory coat. Doug swung around—no Sophia behind him.
“Damn!” Doug burst into a run, from zero to flat-the-fuck-out.
Since he’d been trying to avoid Sophia, it never crossed his mind that she’d stop chasing him and chase his informant instead. Damn her. There was no use wondering if or even how she’d figured it out. The only course of action was to follow her as she trailed the fat man. The only prayer to offer in a case like this was that his informant wasn’t as bright as his...his nothing. She wasn’t his anything. She wasn’t his anything, and he needed to keep the big man from noticing that the redhead he’d been about to meet was now following him.
Traffic was hurtling past the intersection now. There was no way for Doug to cross, so he hustled to the right to see if he could keep both of them in sight as they worked their way toward the center of Manhattan. He could move down a few blocks and cross when the lights changed, but which way? Which way would his informant head? If he was heading to New Jersey, it would need to be a Path station, unless the guy drove. Or was a New Yorker. Or had a lunch date with the Queen. Fuck.
Meanwhile, his brilliant idiot was gaining on the man. There was nothing for it. Doug watched the oncoming traffic and timed his death-wish dash. Horns rose around him in a symphony of irritation as he balanced between lanes and leaped out again, angling himself to run with the traffic as he sprinted. Gaining the far sidewalk, Doug could see Sophia as she headed up a connecting street. He took a parallel one, leaving the sidewalk. He had no time to navigate around the pedestrians so he ran up the hill, of course it was a hill, between the parked autos and the moving ones. He hit the intersection in enough time to see her descend into the subway of all things. Why the Sam Hill would she risk being in such a confined place with
the man? Didn’t she think she’d be recognized? How in the fuck could Doug tail her down there? He had fucking bright red bristles and a red beard. He would be the only one on the train breathing like a freight train and the man knew what he looked like.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He tried to think of something. First off, lose the jacket. Second, cover his hair. Frantically scanning the pedestrians as he yanked off his coat, his eyes lit on the thing he needed. A guy with a hat. No, too highbrow. Another hat. Ugh, no, the knit cap looked like it might have lice. There, a scruffy thin loser with a Giant’s cap. He blocked the man and thrust his leather jacket toward him with one hand as he felt through the pockets, yanking out his keys, wallet, a small pebble and a shell. His fingers brushed against a business card.
“I’ll trade you this jacket for that hat,” he said. The kid gaped at him. Doug yanked the hat off the kid’s head.
“Hey!”
Doug hit him in the chest with the jacket, pushing him backward. “Keep it if you want. My card’s in the pocket. If you call the number, I’ll trade back and give you five hundred for your trouble.” He pushed the hat onto his head and left the kid gaping at him. He hoped to hell he hadn’t left anything else in the pockets.
With the ball cap on his head and without the black jacket, he felt a bit better about heading down. When he got down the stairs, he realized his metro card was still in the damn coat. He had to fucking go to the kiosk to get a new one. Fuck it. What were they going to do, throw him in jail? He vaulted the turn style while cat calls chased him. As he ran, his ears strained for the sound of transit cops behind him as he searched ahead for signs of either a gray hoodie or an ivory trench coat. The stairs divided. Uptown? Downtown? The Path? He did not want to follow a member of the Camisa family right onto his own turf.