BLINDED (Elkridge Series Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

  “Don’t start, you two,” Mara warned, her temper more fragile than the bunch of baby’s breath in her hand. She rubbed her temple to ease the ache. “Would you just go, Tony? Us girls have plans. Also, don’t forget to be here early tomorrow to do the inventory and accept the flower delivery. I ordered some white roses and a variety of gerberas that will need new bucket labels. I don’t want to mix up the colors. Plus, you have four fax orders to deliver before noon, and I’m sure there will be some last minute Valentine’s oops-orders. There always are. Promise me you’ll be here at six.”

  Tony groaned. “You know I hate mornings. How about seven? And don’t forget to lock the door.”

  Mara opened her mouth to say something but the click of the rear door made her pause. So typical.

  At least he might make dinner on time before Gina decided to give up and freeze the entire meatloaf. Now if she could only convince Kym that DVDs without dreamy images of Viggo or Orlando were worth consideration, the evening might end up bearable.

  “Your brother’s bossy,” Kym said with a fair amount of disgust. “Was that Joey Gaccione I saw getting out of a rental car this afternoon?”

  Leave it to Kym to be the first to spot an attractive male. “Yep. He was buying flowers for his mom.”

  “That woman scares me. I think I’d try buying her off with flowers, too. Did he buy something for his dad?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because that guy is downright hostile, especially if he’s been drinking. Best bet is to avoid him if you want to stay beyond the reach of his backhand.”

  “I think Mr. Gaccione is the reason Joey never came home.”

  “I bet you’re right. Mrs. Gaccione’s not so bad, although she did demand perfect grades and college scholarships.”

  “She’s strict, but who could blame her with so many kids to manage, feed, clothe, and educate? I bet if everyone didn’t get scholarships the family’s educational fund—times five—could have rivaled the national debt.”

  “My mom didn’t care what my grades were as long as I kept my knees locked together.”

  Kym’s high school “uniform” of short skirts and low-cut tops made Mara smile. “You were a rebel back then.” She turned to push a rose stem into the green floral foam. “Isn’t Anna Gaccione four years behind us? She’s the youngest, right?”

  “Yep. She’ll finish college this spring.”

  The disappointment tugged at Mara’s heart. At eighteen, she’d had big and somewhat naïve dreams of getting her degree, then a high-profile career, a house in suburbia with a three-car garage, and, eventually, a large enough family to fill an oversized corner lot. Now she was stuck in the real world with the harsh truth.

  “At least Tony and I got my freshman college debt paid off, as well as his student loans. I can’t imagine us having to make that loan payment each month on top of everything else.”

  “I wouldn’t want that giant wad of debt. Besides, with your smarts and looks, you don’t need a degree,” Kym concluded.

  "So you keep telling me. But I’m not as smart as Joey. He must have a high triple-digit IQ."

  “Yah, uber-smart, but bless my G-string, the guy looks yummy-hot. With those tight-fitting jeans all snug around that cute, round butt. Mm-mm-mm."

  "Quit." Heat brushed Mara’s cheeks as she imagined all that yumminess.

  "So what’s he up to these days?”

  “He’s a detective in Seattle.”

  “Does that mean he has a set of handcuffs? Oh, baby. He can play the lead role in my fantasies anytime he wants.”

  “Kym Li Zhang, what would your mother think if she heard you talk like that?” Mara scolded, ruining the seriousness of the statement by laughing halfway through.

  “I wanted to come over, but I had four mani-pedi’s and two wax appointments scheduled. From what I saw, he’s better looking now than before. That’s just mind-boggling.” Her best friend grabbed her arms and rattled her entire body. “You have to tell me every single word he said. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

  By tell me, Kym meant, was he seeing anyone? And how could she accidently bump into him?

  Even if Mara could answer her friend’s questions, nothing would come of it. Kym attracted men who were betta fish, those colorful little creatures that look gorgeous, but lived alone because they tended to be territorial, aggressive, and pick fights with anything walking by their fish bowl.

  Mara shrugged and stripped damaged leaves from the flower stems. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me. Keep him all to yourself.” Kym released her arms. “You look cute, by the way. That cream sweater with your jeans looks fabulous.”

  “Thanks.”

  She’d considered her usual: black socks, jeans, and a black shirt uniform. “It’s weird. Since I can’t see, you’d think I wouldn’t get tired of wearing the same stuff day after day, but I do. I guess I miss those days of shopping for clothes and shoes.”

  “You get to shop.”

  “Yeah, while you and Gwen select my clothes. It doesn’t matter. You both have better fashion sense than I ever had.”

  “We make sure you have your own unique style. I should bring over the dress Gwen found for me on her last trip to Denver so you can feel it. She must spend hours scouring those secondhand stores. Did you know she goes to the high-class neighborhoods to find the best quality deals? That’s good business, and why her consignment store does so well.”

  “I could still hug her for those embroidered labels she made to help me figure out what color I’m wearing.”

  “You were a bit colorful there for a while.” Kym couldn’t hide her giggle.

  “Go ahead and laugh. I feel like a clown some days. The worst is when I wear something backward or inside out, and then someone finally mentions it late in the day.”

  “Well, you look fabulous today. Did Joey ask about your accident?”

  Her chest tightened and closed inward. “Surprisingly, no. Then again, he probably just felt sorry for me.”

  “Stop with the negativity. Did you tell him you were singing at Mad Jack’s next Saturday?”

  “No, of course not. He’ll most likely be gone by then.” A snort and rattling of bags caused her to re-examine the instant panic that clogged her throat every time she thought about locals hearing her sing. What if she forgot the words? What if she sucked? “Z…you know how it is.”

  “I don’t know why you turned Jack down for a weekly gig. Singing in front of all those people is gonna be awesome advertising for the store. Three-percent of the bar tab could make some nice coin.”

  “You know I don’t have enough material. I’m scrambling to come up with something for this week.”

  “You’re just making excuses and scared. What did your parents always say?”

  “That I can’t grow if I’m too scared to succeed.”

  “They were right. You have a gift and should share it.”

  Another twinge of anxiety made her eyelid muscles flicker uncontrollably. Kym didn’t understand that singing in public was like putting your heart on a dartboard and inviting people to use it for target practice. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so nervous. I’ll be singing to you, Tony, and Gina, and possibly three other people who bother to show.”

  “There you go again.” A warm hand tugged on her wrist. “Where’s that go-get-‘em confidence of yours?”

  “You know Valentine’s Day is not my favorite holiday. Besides, I’ve been on my feet all day, and I’m tired.”

  “I know you don’t like V-Day.” Kym moved beside Mara to hug her waist. “That flower arrangement is beautiful. Who’s the lucky recipient?”

  “I wouldn’t use the word, lucky. It’s for Mrs. Gordon. Her husband’s liver cancer returned. He died last night.”

  “Wow. That’s sad. Gone so fast.” Kym laid her head on Mara’s shoulder, and then let go, started rustling things and thumping cans again. “I’ll start dinner so we can watch a movie. Does Buddy need to be
fed?”

  The whack-whack-whack of the dog’s tail against the counter made Mara brush her fingertips over her wristwatch face. “I missed your dinnertime again,” she told him. “Maybe I should get a watch that chimes. What do you think?” Buddy gave her a high-pitched whine. “Follow Kym. I’ll feed you in a minute. Go home,” she gave the command.

  Both Buddy and Kym walked the eighteen steps to the back stairwell and began the steep thirteen-stair climb to Mara’s apartment. The click of claws across the tiled floor and wooden steps accompanied her thoughts, while she stored her tools in their designated spots. After carefully placing the arrangement in the refrigerated case, she followed. When she reached the upper level, she grabbed a can of dog food off the shelf just to the left of the door, and took a couple steps toward the counter. With Kym preparing food, the kitchen felt cramped.

  “Smells good.” Mara enjoyed a long, satisfying sniff.

  “I’ll slide the burritos into the oven. Twenty minutes and we should be eating.”

  Onions, avocados and green chili sauce were quite a way down the culinary ladder from crab cakes and filet mignon—the meal her mom had so carefully selected for Mara’s Valentine’s Day wedding—which would have been as perfect as her mother wanted, if not for a drunk driver and a spineless fiancé. She tried hard not to blame Mark for being scared and taking off. But she did. He deserted her when she needed him most.

  Mara opened the cabinet and removed two plates. “What movie are we going to watch…or, in my case, listen to?”

  “Since it is Valentine’s Day, I figured a good cry never hurt a girl, and you said your favorite movie of all time is The Vow.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course I remembered. It would be sacrilege for your best friend to forget. I figured our favorite comfort meal, a box of tissues, and a gallon of cookie dough ice cream should get us through the evening. If not, the twelve-pack of beer I put in the fridge should push us over the edge.”

  Mara opened her arms, and Kym moved in for a hug. “I appreciate you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I wish…”

  “What do you wish?” Kym stepped out of her embrace.

  “Sometimes I pretend there’s someone out there who doesn’t mind that I’m blind or can barely walk some days. Someone who would love me as much as Leo vows to love Paige in the movie.”

  “My mom said love’s not a romance movie. That life’s messy,” Kym sighed. “But what does she know? I bet there’s someone out there for each of us. We just have to be strong enough, courageous enough and patient enough to grab him when he comes along.”

  “Well then, let the waiting begin. But I get first dibs on the chips and salsa. And please tell me you got the spicy black bean kind, not that wimpy sugary mild.”

  “I got both. So don’t go opening jars if you don’t know which is what this time. Or if you do, sniff before tasting. You can smell the heat in that black bean salsa from across the room.”

  “Burritos, beer, beans…I’ll be smelling something all right.” Mara grunted with a thick layer of chagrin on top. If she couldn’t see to open a stupid jar, how could she nab Mr. Perfect when he walked by?

  Kym suggested patience and courage.

  She didn’t need any stinking patience or courage.

  What she needed was a miracle.

  Chapter Three

  Uneasiness settled in Joey’s gut. Facing his family after all this time made him uncomfortable. Truth was, there hadn’t been a reason to return until now.

  Joey stared through the windshield, squeezing the car keys in his hand, trying to convince himself to put the keys in his pocket instead of back in the ignition. He took a deep breath, grabbed the flowers, climbed out of the car and popped the trunk to grab the kids’ gifts. As soon as he did, the family and his oldest sister’s ancient black lab, now gone white around the muzzle, poured out the front door.

  First through the gate, his mom rushed forward, her arms spread wide. “Joey, my baby boy.”

  His ma’s arms encircled his waist, her head barely reached mid-chest. He smirked. Twenty-eight and still a baby. Yet a good few inches taller, or his ma had shrunk.

  “Hey, mom,” he leaned down to brush a kiss across her cheek.

  Pia, Joey’s oldest sister, and her husband, Franco, came first, carrying the newest addition—Divo, aged two, according to last month’s Facebook post. Eight-year-old Sophia held back, hovering on the porch. Joey’s younger sister Camilla came next, holding Luca’s hand. Luca, Pia’s middle child, tugged on his aunt’s arm, and the angry face implied his stubborn nephew was a clone of him at that age. He searched for Anna, his youngest sister and brat extraordinaire, but she hadn’t put in an appearance. His dad was also missing, but that wasn’t surprising.

  Relief over his father’s absence opened the pressure valve a little, but again reminded him nothing had changed. Every house on his childhood block looked like some contractor had plopped down Monopoly pieces in even rows, then painted them different colors to create the illusion of diversity. Uneven brick pavers led to the front door of his parents’ house. A chain link fence, originally intended to keep in the family dog, still surrounded the yard. Cars that should have been consigned to a junkyard were lined up one behind the other on the long concrete driveway at the side of the house. A single black mailbox stood sentry, albeit askew, at the end of the drive.

  “Here you go, Ma.” He transferred the flowers into her hands, before distributing the roses to his sisters.

  “Oh. What beautiful flowers.”

  “How are you holding up, Ma?”

  “Fine. Fine. We’re not going to be talking about your brother today. Maybe later. Not today. It’s your first day home. You’re a good boy to bring gifts, and look you’ve put on weight.” She patted his belly as if time hadn’t passed, and a tragedy hadn’t struck. He understood, and decided it best to play along, ignoring what everyone had on their minds but didn’t want to discuss.

  With a suitcase in one hand and a bag of gifts for the kids in the other, he could do nothing but follow the rest back inside the house.

  “I’ll feed you more vegetables and salad,” she continued. “Do you have a girlfriend yet?”

  Meaning why aren’t you married yet, and when am I going to be a grandmother? The muscles between his shoulder blades locked and bunched into a wadded mess. “No, Ma. No girlfriend. Can we go in? It’s kinda cold out here.”

  “Of course. Everyone inside,” his mother said, shooing her ducklings into the house. Five seconds later, she forgot all about babies and rattled on about who was divorced, pregnant, ill. Things he had no desire to know, but pretended to be interested in for his mother’s sake. On the way past Sophia, he handed his niece a rose and winked, then paused for a second to appreciate the flustered blush.

  The first step into the house time-warped him back ten years. The forest green carpet still clashed with the burgundy couch covers and the white lace covering vintage end tables. His paternal grandmother’s teal, pink and brown afghan still hung over the back of his father’s recliner. His maternal grandmother’s little glass and porcelain trinkets still crowded the shelves, tables and every other flat surface. The mismatched objects reminded him of a garage sale table cluttered with stuff that was of little value to anyone except the owner.

  In the kitchen, white cabinets and countertops held two generations of kitchenware. The “new” gas stove his dad installed when Joey was five still leaned along the far wall. Freshly washed dishes, pots and pans were stacked in a drainer for lack of a dishwasher.

  He dropped the paper bag full of gifts on his great-grandparents’ ten-foot, oak dining room table, which was still surrounded by a conglomeration of chairs in various shapes and sizes, enough to provide seating for everyone. The orange tablecloth was new…new, as in the plastic eyesore hadn’t been there when he left for college. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Working,” Pia said while shoving a straw into a juice
box for her youngest. “He called to say he’d be here soon.”

  He called? That’s new.

  The man worked dawn till dusk. Eating, sleeping, and severe disciplinary measures were about the only reasons he showed up, and when he did, the family stayed out of his way… like Deogie, Pia’s dog, now collapsed in the corner, well away from busy little feet.

  A dense layer of melancholy hovered just below the hum of voices. Everyone seemed busy doing the mundane to avoid thinking too much. Thinking, especially about Sam. At least, that’s what Joey was trying to do.

  Camilla’s face suddenly appeared inches from his nose. “You made me lose a bet. I bet Pia five bucks you wouldn’t show for the funeral. Thanks a bunch for costing me money.”

  Typical Camilla, always in his face or, on his case, about something. “I told you when I called I’d be here, so it’s not my problem you bet against me.” The sentiment to express how much he’d missed her brusque attitude got stuck in his throat. Punching her, like the fourteen-year-old Joey used to do no longer seemed right, so he added, “Mom tells me you’ve taken over the office at the restaurant.”

  “Taken over? Not likely. I’m managing the best I can,” she said quietly. “You know Mom. It would take a power wrench to get her to let go of anything.”

  More Than Meatballs—his mom’s pride and joy—had been his family’s second home. Before he turned eight, he bussed tables, washed dishes, sliced foodstuffs and anything else required to keep the place open.

  “Yep. I know how Mom operates. She never says a thing to you, but she tells me you’re doing an excellent job making sure the business stays profitable.”

  “Typical.” Camilla rolled her eyes. “You hungry?”

  “Let me guess—penne, spaghetti, or lasagna.”

  His sister snorted a shallow laugh. “Pretty much. I’m going to make a salad. Let me fix you a plate.”

  A salad would suit him just fine. Contrary to his mother’s earlier assumption, the bulkier body of a cross-trained triathlete had replaced the lankiness of the teenage soccer player.