by Anna Martin
“But you’re—”
“Call Remy if you want,” Joe said, cutting her off. The last thing he wanted to hear was how much of an asshole he was when he was trying to do something nice. “Find out how long he’s going to be. I’m sure he’ll come and join us when he’s done. You can talk then.”
Magnolia carefully brushed her hand over the top of Stella’s head. The little girl’s dark brown curls were exploding out of a ponytail on the top of her head, and she had two butterfly clips, one on either side. The clips matched her dress, a simple cotton top with a butterfly patterned skirt. She was adorable. As usual.
“Can we color again?” Stella asked.
So she did overhear everything.
Joe grinned at her. “Sure, kid.”
“Fine,” Magnolia said, like the agreement was the biggest acquiescence of her life. “I’m calling Remy, though. And you need my phone number. I’ll be at Bridgette’s for an hour, no more. Then I’ll be back. I’m letting Estelle know you’re watching her too.”
Joe nodded. “That’s fine.”
“I don’t like you, Mr. Fitzgerald. But Remy trusts you, and I trust Remy with my life. With Stella’s life.”
“I understand.”
She slid out of the booth and shouldered her enormous bag again. Her phone was already in her hand, and she clearly had Remy on speed dial since she was talking to him within seconds.
Joe and Stella watched each other watching each other while Magnolia had a hushed conversation. When she turned back to him, she seemed happier. Or maybe just less stressed. “He’ll be no more than twenty minutes. And he said if you hurt one hair on her head, he’ll take you down to the closest bayou and feed you to a gator.”
Stella squealed with laughter and Joe felt himself grinning too.
“That sounds absolutely reasonable. Go take care of your friend, Magnolia.”
She nodded, handed him a bunch of keys, and turned to leave. After a few steps, she hesitated and turned back.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“No problem.”
“The pink key with the butterflies lets you into the apartment.”
He looked down at the keys in his hand.
“Of course it does.”
* * *
The lock on the door to the apartment gave Joe a moment’s hesitation. It was terrible. He was sure he wouldn’t need to use any force at all to get in; not even a full shoulder-shove and the door would break down. That wasn’t his main concern, though. Stella was holding on to his right hand, calmly waiting for him to let them both back into her home. Joe was forced to unlock the door with his left hand, awkwardly twisting the key in the lock then kicking the door open.
“Do you want to go find your crayons?” he said to Stella, who nodded and took off into the apartment with her doll.
That gave him chance to look around.
He only knew this space from blueprints, so it was interesting to see what it looked like in person. There were, thank God, several locks on the inside of the door, including a deadbolt and a chain. So it was marginally more secure than Joe had first thought.
The entrance hall opened up onto the main living space, a small, crowded family room with a sagging sofa and carpets that had seen much, much better days.
There was artwork on the walls, both Stella’s and some that Joe guessed could have been done by Magnolia. Despite the general feeling of disrepair that hung over the small apartment, it was warm and inviting. People clearly lived there, people who loved each other and made the best of their situation.
Magnolia had a small TV in the corner of the room, but more space seemed to be dedicated to a low coffee table covered in children’s activity books and toys. Joe turned a slow circle and looked into the kitchen, which was separated from the main living space by a breakfast bar. That room, too, looked past its best… it was probably past its best before Magnolia was born, to be fair. The countertops were old and the cabinets in a bad state of repair.
Joe winced slightly. It was a long way from the luxurious apartment he was living in. Even he would find it hard to charge a single mother on a low income with a new child more than a hundred bucks a month for such a dump.
Then again, it was a home, and a roof over her head, and it was better than a shelter.
Speedy thunking footsteps alerted Joe to Stella’s return. She had two boxes of crayons in her hands, one clearly well used and the other almost brand-new.
“Uncle Andre brought me new crayons,” she announced. “You can play with them if you like.”
His heart melted. “That’s so nice of you. Thank you.”
She beamed. “Come on.”
Joe took a seat on the edge of the sofa and Stella dragged a purple plastic chair up to the coffee table. She fit neatly against it. Her little legs swung back and forth with apparent contentment. Since there was a coloring book already on the table, one with outlines of different kinds of birds, she flipped it open and started to work on a new picture.
Huh. This babysitting thing is easier than people make out.
Joe leaned back and, with one eye on Stella, unlocked his phone and started to work through his unread e-mails.
“Are you going to color too, Uncle Joe?”
Joe almost jerked out of his seat. Uncle Joe. Shit. “Huh?”
Stella blinked her big brown eyes at him. “Are you going to color too?” she repeated.
“Uh, in a minute. Why don’t you finish that one, then we can start one together after?”
“Okay!” she said happily.
Easy as pie, Joe thought.
He flicked his briefcase open and pulled out a sheaf of papers. The figures he needed were printed on the top of the paper, so he quickly memorized the numbers and went back to replying to his e-mail.
Stella hummed to herself happily as she worked. Since they were both in a good mood, he answered a few more e-mails. At least his afternoon would still be productive.
When he looked up, his notes were scattered all over the table and Stella was starting work on a whole new drawing … on his notes for the upcoming Houston Pineapple Joe’s.
“What the—” he started, then caught himself before saying something that shouldn’t be heard by “little ears” as Magnolia called them.
“Work on one together now, Uncle Joe?” Stella repeated.
For a moment, he floundered. He wanted to yell at her for drawing all over his reports. They were important. His fingers twitched and he ground his back teeth together. Then Stella held out a crayon—a green one—and his heart melted a little more.
It wasn’t her fault. He’d given her paper from his briefcase before; she had no way of knowing the contract paper was any different. She didn’t understand.
“Thanks, sweetie,” he said, taking the green crayon from her little fingers.
Stella beamed at him again.
By the time Remy arrived, Joe was happily covering details of the Atlanta takeover with big, bold drawings of fish. Stella loved his fish and kept giving him new colors of crayon to expand his aquarium.
Fuck the paperwork. He could print it out again.
“Are you having fun?” Remy called as he let himself into the apartment. Apparently he had his own key.
“Yes!” Stella yelled. “Hi, Uncle Remy.”
“Hi, Squirt.” He came over and took a seat next to Joe on the sofa, bumping their shoulders together affectionately. “What are you drawing?”
“Fish,” Joe said authoritatively.
He could see Remy fighting a smile and ignored it, instead finishing off his purple fish and taking Stella’s proffered pink crayon and starting a starfish with it.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yes, Uncle Remy. Lots of fun.”
“Good. Joe, you can go if you want. I can take over from here.”
“Oh.” He sat back, surprised.
“Or,” Remy continued, “you can stay.”
“Well,” Joe said slowly, “Stella is slowly i
mproving on all of the paperwork I was going to send off to my boss today.” Remy’s lips started to twitch into a grin. “So really, I don’t have anywhere to go, or anyone to see, until I get it reprinted.”
“Fantastic news,” Remy said. “Who wants some lunch?”
* * *
Any alone time with Remy had to wait until after Lumiere was closed and he’d dragged his tired body into Joe’s apartment.
“I need a shower,” he groaned. “I smell like pork fat.”
“Let the romance begin,” Joe teased.
“Pfft. If you wanted to show me romance, you could come in and scrub my back.”
Joe didn’t have to be asked twice. He took Remy’s duffel bag from him, dropped it on the ground, and led him into the bright white bathroom that came with his apartment.
“Let’s get these off,” he said. “You look wrecked.”
“We had cassoulet on the menu tonight. I was hauling cast-iron pots around for hours. I’m probably going to be sore in the morning.”
“Let me get the shower started. I’ll give you a massage.” Joe stripped his clothes off and hopped into the spacious tub. He got the water all adjusted and held his hand out for Remy. Remy pulled the hairband out of his hair and let it fall, loose, around his shoulders. Then he took Joe’s hand and stepped into the tub.
“Sorry I’m so worn out lately. The restaurant is kicking my butt,” he said. Joe went to open his mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it,” Remy muttered.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“That I should sell you the restaurant? Pretty good guess, don’t you think? But even if I wasn’t at Lumiere, this is what I love. This is what I want to do. It’ll be like this always.”
“Isn’t that exhausting?” Joe asked.
“Sometimes, but isn’t it always worth it when you’re doing something you love?”
Joe didn’t know. He’d never done anything he loved. He wasn’t even sure what that thing was. He didn’t love his job. Loving something and being good at it were two completely different things. If someone asked him what he loved, he wouldn’t have an answer.
Instead of talking, he led Remy under the water. “Here. Get under, and then I’ll scrub your back.”
Remy slowly washed the grease of the day out of his hair, eyes closed. Joe watched as rivulets of soap dragged down his torso. He wanted to touch, more than Remy was probably up for, but he settled for washing Remy’s back as he’d promised, and for giving his shoulders a deep, slow massage.
“Thank you,” Remy said, half asleep, as he leaned back against Joe in the water.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Joe said.
“’Kay. Oh, I brought cake home with me. You want cake in bed?”
Joe grinned. “If you’re in there with me.”
“You’re cheesy,” Remy muttered.
“Now he’s not being nice anymore,” Joe teased. “I would like cake, though. The chocolate one?”
“Is there any other kind?”
So instead of finishing his night with sex, as he’d planned to all day, Joe finished it in bed with a tired Remy and a plastic container filled with far more cake than either one of them should’ve eaten. Somehow they managed to laugh and talk and nibble their way through the whole thing until the container was on the floor and Joe and Remy were passed out, snoring, with their ankles and their fingers linked.
* * *
“Take a look at this,” Sal said. They’d met at Joe’s apartment that time, and Joe let himself acknowledge how uncomfortable he felt about that. Yeah, Remy wasn’t anywhere near, he was at Lumiere and would be until it closed, but still. It was their place, the place they’d woken up together that morning and fallen asleep over cake the night before. It wasn’t Sal’s place. Not the place where Joe did somewhat slimy things to get what he wanted. If this wasn’t the last meeting, then he’d make sure the next one was somewhere else.
“What is this?”
“Counteroffer. My dad agreed to it, so if you do, we’re ready to sign.”
Joe looked over the papers. Their countering price was a lot higher. Fifty grand higher. If this was what it took to get it done, then Joe would pay it. It was still far lower than the true worth of the building.
“What’s this?” he asked. There was a line about Sal in the contract.
“I’ve spent a lot of time on this. I wouldn’t do it for free if it was for a client.” Sal shrugged as though the answer was simple. Just the way it had to be.
Oh, you asshole. He was getting, yep, ten grand out of the deal—a chunk of his father’s money. Not a bad bit of change for him at all. Joe thought about how Remy would react when he heard what Sal had done. Probably punch him in the face.
“Your father is okay with that?” Joe asked.
“He is.”
Joe wondered how closely Tom had looked over the contract. If he knew his slippery middle son was going to get a big payday from the whole thing, he might not be so quick to listen to him when he went on and on about how Lumiere was falling apart. No wonder Sal was so eager to deal with it himself rather than continuing to get the whole family involved. No fucking wonder. Still, Joe didn’t have the luxury to be picky about what went down on the seller’s side. He had Howard breathing down his neck and a property to buy. No matter how much he didn’t like it.
“You left the provision for Magnolia in there, didn’t you?” he asked as he flipped to the page where he’d added that into their usual contract.
Sal rolled his eyes. “Dad wouldn’t have agreed to anything else.”
“I know.”
“So you’re okay with the rest of this?” Sal asked.
“Yes. I’ll pay your price,” Joe said. It was in the budget. Barely. But if Howard wanted the damn property, he was going to have to pay for it. “You have a contract. I’ll sign this. Let’s set a meeting with Tom.”
“Excellent.” Sal stuck his hand out. Joe didn’t want to shake it, but he did. “It was great to work with you.”
Joe couldn’t say the same thing, since he really didn’t like the guy, but he nodded. Sal, after all, had just saved his ass.
“Hey, Rem. Can I talk to you?” Remy looked up from reading a food blog on his iPad. It was a rare quiet night at home. He wasn’t used to it anymore with Joe being around so often. He’d flown back to LA for two days for some meetings. Remy couldn’t believe how much he missed him.
Grace was standing in his doorway, which was unusual on its own, but the look on her face made Remy pause. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and she looked nervous. And sad.
“What’s up, Chicken?” Remy asked. He moved his iPad to his nightstand and gestured for Grace to come sit next to him. His sister was sassy and moody but she didn’t usually do weepy. It had to be something serious.
“You’re going to think I’m so dumb for freaking out, and I’m pretty sure you already know anyway, but I just have to say it to somebody.”
“Of course I won’t think you're dumb. What is it?”
Grace took a deep, shuddery breath. “I don’t know if I can say it,” she whispered. “Shit.”
He knew what his sister wanted to say to him but couldn’t. He’d been waiting for her to come up with the courage for days. Hell, weeks. He’d wanted to tell her he knew, just prompt the whole thing. He couldn’t do that to her, though—push her and not be patient—so he stroked her shiny dark hair and he waited.
“I’ll just hang out here. We can talk about different things for a while if you want.”
Grace shook her head. “No. I need to say it. I just… can’t wait anymore. I’m being stupid.”
Remy didn’t answer. He figured at that point, being silent was the best thing for his baby sister. Wait for her to talk. Don’t interrupt.
“I’m… fuck. I love Susannah.” Grace choked and put her face in her hands. Remy rubbed her shoulders.
“Of course you do, baby. We all love Susannah.” He rubbed her back and wai
ted for her to breathe again. Finally she sat up and wiped her eyes resolutely.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I like girls. Just girls.” She stared down Remy as though he was going to be disproving. She had to know he’d never judge. Never.
He smiled. “Hey, you came to the right sibling with that one, you know. I’m… happy for you. I want you to be yourself and be happy.”
“I… I think I really am.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you and Susannah a thing?”
“‘Thing,’ Rem? You’re thirty. We’re together if that’s what you’re asking. Yes.”
Yeah, that’s what he thought. He’d figured it when he saw them with each other. Their feelings had been loud and clear. “When did it happen?”
“July. We’ve always been so close. It just felt right.”
“Does, is, Susannah, does she only like girls too?” Remy asked. He wanted his sister to be happy and safe, and he didn’t want anyone to hurt her for any reason, even if he couldn’t walk around protecting her forever.
“I think she might kind of like boys, but she said it was mostly girls for her too. She said she’s loved me for two years, well, as more than a friend.”
Remy pulled Grace in for a long hug. “Love you, sis. I’m glad you felt okay coming to me with this.”
“What were you gonna do? Tell me being gay is a sin?” And just like that Grace was back.
Remy laughed. “Yeah, probably not.”
“I kinda figured you’d guessed anyway. Thanks for being patient.”
“Any time.” Remy thought of something. “Hey, do we need to talk about you spending the night over there now? It’s not the same as it was.”
“Oh God. Can we please not?” she asked. “Can I get away with it until I tell Mom and Dad?”
“Which will be?”
“Soon. I promise.”
Remy nodded. “Yeah. I’ll let it go until then.” It wasn’t exactly his ideal scenario, letting his fourteen-year-old sister sleep over with her girlfriend, but he wasn’t her father either, so he figured he’d let their parents deal with it when the time came.
“Hey, you know, it really seems like Joe likes you,” Grace said.
