by Becky Melby
Nicky shot off the loveseat. “I don’t need to listen to her trying to justify what she did. She didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth when it mattered. I don’t give a rip now.”
He stomped toward the door.
“Do you know why we don’t have two parents?”
He stopped, smacked the door frame with both hands, but didn’t turn around.
“Gianna told me. Dad wasn’t like he is now until after Mom left. Mom didn’t leave ’cause Dad kept having affairs. It was one. Just one night. He made one mistake and came to Mom on his knees, begging her to forgive him, but she wouldn’t listen. She froze him out, shut him down. Just like you’re doing to Dani.”
Nicky’s right hand balled into a fist. Without a conscious thought, he thrust toward the wall. Patching plaster crumbled onto bare feet. His knuckles throbbed. Biting back a string of words he never used anymore, he stomped into his room and slammed the door.
He had to get out of here. Away from women who thought they understood him. But first he had to delete the one he’d thought he understood. He dialed his voice mail.
“Nicky, it’s Dani. Can we get together? I need to explain—” He pushed 7.
“Your call has been deleted.”
“Nicky, I know you’re mad. I don’t—”
“Your call has been deleted.”
“Hi…it’s Dani. You’re probably ignoring all my—”
“Your call has been deleted.”
“I just got a call from Frank’s wife.”
Nicky’s finger hovered over the button, but he decided to listen.
“Frank has cancer. He’s dying.” Her voice dipped. “She asked…if we could send the diary right away. His birthday is in two weeks, and she wanted to give it to him then. Her address is…”
Nicky saved the call and threw his phone on the bed. His hand shook. Not from the news that a man he’d never met was dying, but from the raw, rasping pain in Dani’s voice. He sank onto the bed.
“She froze him out, shut him down.” Rena’s words scraped his nerves. He was eleven years old again, in this same room. His mother thought he was asleep. She’d walked in, smelling like the patch of lilies of the valley that grew behind the restaurant. “I’m going on a little trip, Nicky. You be good for Daddy and take care of your sister.”
He hadn’t moved. He didn’t know why. Maybe he knew it would do no good to tell her to stay. Maybe even then he knew she wasn’t coming back. Only when he heard Rena’s cries over his parents fighting at the bottom of the stairs did he get up.
“Nita. Stay,” his father had begged. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll make it up to you. I can’t take care of two kids and run a business at the same time. Think of the children.”
“No.” His mother had waved her plane ticket in his face and handed Rena to him. “You think of the children. For once, I’m thinking of myself.”
The screen door slammed. Nicky ran down the stairs and out on the street, screaming and running after the taxi as it turned the corner and disappeared.
“Shut him down…”
Did his mother know—did she care?—that she’d also shut down her son?
He’d put the diary in the top drawer of the desk in the storeroom, thinking someday, in the middle of the night, he’d finish it. Sometime when it didn’t hurt so much to think of reading it alone.
Now he walked through the kitchen as the lunch rush was winding down, nodded to the servers and cooks bustling around the room. He had one foot through the open doorway of the storeroom when his father walked into the kitchen with a tray in one hand. Nicky waved. He still hadn’t figured out why the man was hanging around so much. It was too much to believe he’d actually changed, was actually making good on a threadbare promise.
He headed to the desk in the corner. The crucifix caught his eye. “Are you Catholic?” she’d asked.
“I was raised in the church.”
Her eyes had searched his soul. “And now?”
He hadn’t answered. Not until that prayer had sprung from some sealed, forgotten place inside of him. Thinking about it now, he wondered if he’d dreamed that prayer. Was that really him? As he’d listened to her talk about her mother squelching her dreams, something had started to crack inside him, something that made him want to reach out, take her broken dreams in his hand, and mend them. In that same instant he’d known it wasn’t his job. As he traced the curve of her face, he’d replayed the conversation they’d had in the car.
“Think of what you know to be true about the character of God. What’s the first thing you learned about Him when you were a kid?”
“God is love.” He’d spat it back to her in a voice steeped in cynicism.
“If that’s true, then why do we need input?”
In that moment, in the replaying of her words, he’d suddenly seen the love of God for the first time in four years. Prayer was the only possible response.
And now?
If God was love, who was Nicky Fiorini to question what He was doing?
Opening the drawer, he pulled out the diary and dragged a chair over to the table in the center of the room. Shoving aside a two-gallon jar of pepperoncinis and a box of napkins, he sat down and opened the diary to the place Dani had marked with her church bulletin. Before he could start reading, Rena walked in, hair still unbrushed, eyes still smudged.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff.” She sat on a stack of boxes. “I just feel so bad. It’s my fault Dani lost her job and—”
“It is not your fault. She chose to join your…group.” He couldn’t bring himself to call it what it was. “She chose to come when you called her.”
“To protect me.”
Again, the tightness in his chest. “It’s my job to protect you. It was my job to protect Tony.”
“Only God can do that.”
Dani’s words. He’d heard her express it twice. Once to China, when she’d met her across the street. “It’s not our place to make someone else feel whole,” she’d said. “Only God can do that.” And then again when he’d asked her to fix Rena. She’d answered, “Only God can fix broken people.”
But she’d been willing to let God use her to get to Rena. She’d chosen to come when Rena called her, in spite of the risk.
And that, not the fact that she’d joined the gang or that she hadn’t told him what she was doing, was what really bugged him. Because he’d been too wrapped up in himself to take the time to find out what his sister was up to and to put himself in a position to protect her.
“Only God can do that.”
“Only God.”
“What’s that?” Rena leaned over the table.
“A diary.” Nicky suddenly felt too tired for the anger. He got up and grabbed the mended chair, motioning for Rena to take his. “Dani found it behind the house across the street.”
“Oh yeah. Chi told me about it a long time ago.”
“You knew about this?”
Rena shrugged. “Chi found it in the attic with a bunch of ancient fashion magazines. She said the girl’s daddy was a bootlegger. That’s all I heard. Chi’s not much of a reader.”
He told her about Francie and gave her a quick summary of all they’d read so far.
“That’s crazy. Can I read it?”
“I need to finish it now and mail it today. The man, Francie’s nephew, has cancer. We need to get it to him before…”
“Can I read it with you?”
He didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. He positioned the book between them.
July 29, 1928
T is hurt. Bad. His brother was shot, too. Cops interrupted them, but T called it a successful mission. Thanks to me, he said. If he knew the cops showed because of me, I’d be dead. He left something with me. Said he’s coming back for it. And me. I don’t know when. I’m so scared.
“T’s the bad guy?”
Nicky nodded.
“What was the mission?”
; “Dani found a newspaper clipping about a jewelry store holdup.” He’d never seen the clipping. Nicky flipped through the pages, on the off chance Dani had stuck it back where she’d found it. It wasn’t there. “I didn’t see it, but I remember the numbers. Forty thousand dollars worth of diamonds and jewelry were stolen.”
“Wow. Think what they’d be worth now. And this guy gave them to Francie? When she worked here?” Her eyes sparkled.
“Don’t get too caught up in the drama, kid. It happened over eighty years ago. I don’t think Francie left a pile of jewelry in a kitchen cupboard for us.” He started reading again.
Renata helped me find a way to hide the things T left. They are safe. I don’t think I will ever see him again, but I’m afraid to believe we are finally free.
Only scattered entries filled the next six weeks. Most were about Francie’s seamstress business. On September 14, 1928, Francie had written:
Life would be perfect if not for the problem sleeping in the same room with me. Today I’m doing a second fitting on Mrs. A. Tomorrow Renata and I are going to a Women’s Society Meeting at the First Congregational Church. I called Mama yesterday. She actually talked
That was all. Nicky turned blank pages, hoping for something more. Rena shrugged. “Well, you know the kid survived.” She pulled the book toward her and stared at Francie’s picture in the back. “She’s kinda pretty. How old was she when this was taken?”
“She was fifteen when she started writing in here and”—he glanced at the last date—“nineteen when she wrote this.”
“I wonder”—her fingernail slipped under the edge of the picture— “if she wrote on the back.”
“Don’t do—”
The photo popped away from the back cover.
“She did write something. ‘Behind the storm there—’”
“Look.”
In a slight recess in the center of the white rectangle the picture had once covered sat a brass key.
CHAPTER 32
A literal key?”
Nicky’s phone, set on speaker, sat in the middle of the table. Frank Brekken’s voice boomed out of it. “Any idea what it’s for?”
“No idea. It’s a skeleton key, hollow on one end, about two inches long. It doesn’t seem large enough to be a door key. Do you have anything that belonged to her—a suitcase or jewelry box or anything? Because we have good reason to believe that at one time your aunt was hiding something. Possibly a substantial amount of stolen jewelry.”
Silence. Had he caused the guy to have a stroke? “Mr. Brekken? Are you okay?”
“Yes.” He coughed. “I just can’t imagine how…but that could be the reason Luca’s dad… But don’t tell me anything now. That settles it. We’re flying to Wisconsin, Lois. Next week.”
A woman’s gasp filtered through the phone followed by insistent words not clear enough to make out. “We’ll talk when I’m off the phone, sweetie.” Frank laughed. “She’ll come around. Women always do if you treat ’em right.”
“That hasn’t been my experience, but I’m glad it works for you.”
“Guess we’ll have to have a man-to-man when we meet face-to-face.”
Again, the woman protested in the background.
“I’ll look forward to that, sir.”
“Good. Better give me the address. Seems impossible all this time has passed. I remember watching your great-grandfather make ravioli like it was yesterday. Can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but, boy, do I remember that ravioli with Renata’s tomato sauce.”
“I’ll make some special for you while you’re here. Still the same recipe.”
“Makes a grown man misty-eyed. A meal at Bracciano will do me more good than all those drugs they want to stick in me.”
“My grandfather is convinced the only medications a person needs are garlic, oregano, and olive oil.”
“Sage advice.” The deep laugh filled the storeroom. He didn’t sound like a man who knew he was dying.
“Why don’t you just give me a call when you know when you’ll be coming in, and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
Rena’s elbow connected with his ribs. “We’ll pick him up,” she whispered. “You are not going to meet them without Dani. If you don’t call her I…”
Over the whir of his sister’s warnings, he said good-bye to Franky Brekken.
Dani got out of the H1 and stood next to Evan, staring at the door to the upstairs apartment. Her gaze wandered to the restaurant across the street.
Evan put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe he’s—I mean she’s— not home.”
“I called. She’s home.” Is he? What was he doing with his free hours before work?
Her phone buzzed. Todd Metzger. She didn’t have to think too hard to figure out what he wanted. And she just might—for none of the right reasons—say yes. But she’d deal with him later—after she’d packed up her street kid clothes and fake tattoos and moved back to her upscale apartment and her verge-of-poverty reality.
“Did you tell China you were coming to evict her and her unborn child?”
“What would I do without you to give me strength when I’m weak?” She reached for the door handle. “No. I didn’t tell her.”
At the top of the stairs, she almost knocked. Evan reminded her it was her apartment. “Hey, China. We’re here.”
They found her sitting on the floor with a sketchbook on her lap. The walls were lined with at least a dozen drawings.
“Hey.”
For an instant, Dani was almost sure the girl smiled. She walked over to one of the pictures. A sketch of Bracciano as seen through the cracked front window. “You did this?”
“Yeah. Not much else to do around here. Hope it’s okay I hung ’em up. It’s just tape.”
“It’s fine. They’re amazing.”
China looked down at her pencil. A moment later, her head bobbed up. “I’ve been looking for a job.”
To Evan it may have sounded like mere conversation, but Dani knew it to be a declaration of hope. This was a girl who wanted a future. Dani grinned and nodded.
Evan walked up to a drawing of a fire hydrant. Its shadow flowed over the curb and onto a crumpled beer can in the gutter. “You’ve got talent, China. Real talent.”
“Thanks. Can’t feed a baby with pretty pictures, though.”
“Tell me about it. Wish I could feed myself on pretty pictures.” One finger tapped his chin. “Do you know a guy named Scope?”
“Heard of him. He got rolled out of the Sevens a few years ago, right?”
“I guess. He’s an artist, too. We should get you two together for an—”
Footsteps clamored up the stairs. Venus burst through the door. “Hey Cerise, or whoever you are. Welcome back to the ’hood.”
“I…” Shock evaporated Dani’s words. “Thanks.” It wasn’t the time to mention she wasn’t really back. She introduced Venus to Evan.
Even nodded. “What’s up, Venus?”
“Nothin’. Too hot to do anything.”
“Boredom seems to be a common theme around here.”
Venus sank to the floor a few feet from China. “Wait. Almost forgot. I made something for you.” She fingered a dozen or more beaded bracelets, slid off one made of solid white beads and handed it to Dani. “White is for new beginnings and for when you want to get rid of prejudice and preconceived notions. I read that in a magazine. I had preconceived notions about people like you. When you fought for Rena and Chi, I knew I was wrong.”
“Thank you. I’m speechless. I just assumed the Sisters—”
“Hate you?” Venus laughed. “Most of them do. But I see your true colors, you know.”
Still stunned, Dani circled the room, looking at pictures on the wall as others flashed in her head. Leah wrote poetry. Rena wrote songs. Scope painted. China sketched. Venus made jewelry. Evan took pictures. She was a journalist. An out-of-work journalist. She glanced at Evan. Was this a God moment or the meanderings of a tired mind?
The spark in his eyes said he was feeling it, too. “I’m thinking we need to have an art show.”
Dani shook her head. “I’m thinking bigger.”
“How bigger?”
“I don’t know. Teen center or nonprofit…something.”
“Or for-profit something. Magazine?”
“Store?”
“Both?”
Heads turning in unison, China and Venus silently followed the verbal ping-pong.
Dani nodded toward them. “What do they want?”
“Let’s ask them.” Evan dropped to the floor and sat tailor-fashion in front of the girls. “There are places you can go to play basketball and study and things like that, but what if—”
“We started something to provide jobs.” Dani sat next Evan. “Jobs that use your talents.”
Evan nodded. “Like a place to sell bracelets or a magazine or art gallery.”
China’s eyes lit. Her posture straightened. “What about people who do other kinds of art—like music?”
Adrenaline floodgates opened. Dani’s arms tingled. Her toes wiggled to a silent beat. “An all-kid performing and visual arts center.”
Evan put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Maybe a little over the top.”
Venus’s lips opened and closed, making a soft pop—pop—pop. “But you gotta dream big. Remember what you said about doing something to stop the cycle? I got a little sister that’s gonna end up jus’ like me or worse if somebody don’t do something. You guys gotta dream big for her.”
Odd advice from a girl whose highest aspiration seemed to be stringing glass beads.
“You’re right.” Evan tapped his chin. “How involved would you two want to be? If we set up a meeting at our church, would you talk and tell them what life is really like here?”
China seemed to shrink. “I guess.”
“We’ll do it.” Venus held up a hand and got a weak slap from China. “I ain’t afraid of talkin’ to nobody.”
“Well, okay then.” Evan copied the high five, holding his hand up for Dani to slap. “Looks like you got yourself a job, Cerise.”
