Speak Low

by Melanie Harlow

  I looked back at him again. For one agonizing eternity of a second, he struggled with his decision.

  Well, maybe it was half a second.

  He bent forward, grabbed my head with his other hand, and crushed his mouth to mine—oh my God that mouth, those full, luscious lips I’d stared at so many times—how was it possible for them to feel and taste even better than they looked? He kissed me hard, his tongue plunging between our open lips, stroking and sucking. Lust ricocheted throughout my body and centered between my legs. Reaching up to take his face in my hands, I kissed him so deeply and desperately I couldn’t breathe, but I cared less about consuming oxygen than I did about consuming Joey.

  He lunged off the couch at the same time I struggled to get up on it, and our bodies came together before we tumbled to the floor, frantic to climb inside each other’s skin. We ended up on the rug between the sofa and the coffee table, a tangle of twining limbs and searching hands and hungry mouths. Joey’s leg slid between my thighs and I squeezed it, lifting my hips. It felt so incredible I nearly exploded right then and there. My God, it’s Joey, I kept thinking. It’s Joey and me and it’s finally real and it feels so fucking good.

  Passion for him surged through me like a lightning storm. My heart pounded against his chest, or was that his pounding against mine? I have to get closer, there has to be a way to get more of him. The image of him shirtless in the kitchen popped into my head. I remembered eyeing the muscles in his back, how hot and hard his chest felt under my hands when I checked for bruises. I recalled the way his abdominal muscles rippled down his taut stomach. Oh, God, I wanted to touch him there, touch him everywhere, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I wanted him naked, next to me, on me, under me, inside me. My head fell back, my jaw dropping in disbelief at the way I wanted Joey.

  He moved down my body and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking it through the cotton, and I had to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out at the pleasure it wrought from deep inside me. Desperate to feel more of his weight on me, I shimmied underneath him, claiming his mouth again with my own and wrapping my legs around him. And then I couldn’t help smiling against his lips because I could feel the way he wanted me. Moving my hands around his sides to his round, muscular ass, I pulled him into me, gasping at the huge, hard feel of the bulge in his trousers. Oh my God, I could come just like this, just feeling his cock rub against me through our clothing, because it’s him and this is crazy and my heart is going to burst out of my chest and he feels so good and I never want him to stop and—

  “Christ, Tiny.” Joey braced his hands above my shoulders and looked down at me, breathing hard. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, digging my heels into the backs of his thighs. “But don’t stop.” He groaned, and I lifted my head off the floor and kissed his lips, his chin, his jaw. “Please don’t stop.” I pressed my lips to his throat and felt his pulse on them. “I want you.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since when?” I panted.

  “Yeah, since when do you want me?”

  I dropped my head to the floor. That was not the anticipated response. “What do you mean?”

  Lifting himself off me, he knelt between my knees. “Last time we talked about this, you said you wanted him, not me.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows. “I never said that.”

  “You certainly did. You accused me of judging you for getting what you want. I asked you if you wanted him, and you said yes.”

  Had I said that? Sighing, I closed my eyes. “I know, but…” God, this was so maddening—my feelings were so twisted up inside me. I had wanted Enzo, and everything he’d promised me. But now that he was offering, I wasn’t sure I wanted it anymore. Why was that? Was I simply that fickle? Or had I changed my mind because of Joey? I wasn’t sure, and I knew the worst thing I could do right now was say something I didn’t mean.

  I opened my eyes. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m confused.”

  “Well, that makes two of us.” He got to his feet and snatched his coat off the sofa, shoving his arms through the sleeves.

  “And what about you?” I demanded, sitting up. “You’re the one who was out on a date tonight, not me!” It was so irritating having to whisper when I wanted to shout. I scrambled to my feet. “Where did you take her?”

  “Nowhere, I just gave her a ride home.”

  “Did you kiss her? Did you?”

  “No.” Joey ran his hands through his hair. “Why the fuck do you even care?” He tried to push past me and go for the front door, but I didn’t let him. I caught him by the elbow, spun him around and threw myself at him, grabbing him by the back of his head and pressing my lips to his. He groaned in frustration but slanted his mouth over mine, and I sucked his tongue into my mouth. He tasted so good, like the rain, and oh my God I wanted to taste every inch of his body. His arms looped around my lower back, lifting me off my feet, and held me tightly to his chest. But when I tried to twine my legs around his hips again, he set me down and gently pushed me away.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, picking up his hat from the sofa. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  I twisted my hands together. “Where are you going?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Tonight?”

  “No. There’s something I have to do here first, but I’ll have to leave fast after that.”

  “Something with a gun?”

  Joey looked at me carefully. “He told you.”

  I nodded.

  “Then you understand.”

  I saw the pain of his father’s death in his face, and it squeezed my heart. “I do, but…this won’t help, Joey. It won’t stop here. You kill somebody, his friends retaliate. More death isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “I gotta do it, Tiny. I feel it in my bones.”

  I tried a different tactic. “So you’re giving up the drugs to Enzo? Letting him win?”

  “It’s already done.”

  My heart fell to my heels. “What about Angelo? When he finds out, he’ll go to Sam, won’t he?”

  “I’m gonna talk to Angelo, try to make a deal by cutting him in on my first few whisky hauls in Chicago. As for Sam…” Joey fidgeted, and I knew he was struggling with what was safe to tell me. “Look, the less you know, the better,” he finally said. “But stay away from Sam, and if he tries to contact you, you should tell Enzo right away.”

  My mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re telling me to go to Enzo?”

  Joey grimaced. “I don’t like him, and I don’t know what kind of games he’s playing with you, but I do believe he’d protect you if you were in harm’s way.”

  I nodded, battling a fierce urge to cry.

  He moved for the door.

  “Joey, wait.”

  He turned to me and sighed. “This is useless, Tiny.”

  “I’m scared. And I don’t want you to go.”

  With one hand on the door, he said, “Give me a reason to stay.”

  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

  Give him a reason. Something, anything. Don’t let him walk out that door, because if he’s killed trying to avenge his father’s death, you’ll never have this chance again.

  “You could be arrested. Or shot.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Killing the gunman won’t bring your father back,” I said, desperate to get through to him. “And your father wouldn’t want you to die for him—he’d want you to live for him.”

  Joey set his hat on his head. “I wasn’t asking for a reason from him,” he said quietly. “I was asking for a reason from you.”

  With that he moved quickly for the door and disappeared into the rainy dark.

  #

  Upstairs, I crawled into bed next to Mary Grace and cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, I woke with puffy eyes, a sore throat, and Mary Grace’s stuffed bear tucked underneath m
y arm. Her small hand was resting on my shoulder.

  Love and gratitude washed over me. I tried to move without waking her, but her round blue eyes opened as I sat up.

  “Hi,” I said. “Thanks for letting me have your bear last night.” I held him out to her.

  “You’re welcome.” She took the bear and hugged it close. “You were sad about something. Was it the storm?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “No.”

  “Was it because of Mother? Because I cry about that sometimes too, and I don’t even remember her.”

  “No, it wasn’t that either.” I tugged on one of the rags in her hair. “You look like her, you know that?”

  “Yes. But I like hearing it.”

  I lay down again, propping my head on my hand. “She had red hair and blue eyes, just like we do.”

  She squeezed her bear. “It makes me feel close to her, even if I didn’t get the chance to love her.”

  If I’d had tears left, I might have shed them. “Oh, honey, you can still love her.”

  “Don’t you have to know a person to love them?”

  I continued stroking her hair, and it reminded me of Joey taking the rags from mine last night. “I guess you do, poppet, but loving your family isn’t the same as loving someone else.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “How do you know if you love someone?”

  “Well…” I tried to think of a good way to explain it, but I couldn’t. “I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s different for everybody.”

  “I always know if I love someone, because I miss them when they go away,” she said. “It makes my heart hurt.”

  My hand stopped moving. “I think that’s a good way to tell, Mary Grace. As good a way as any I’ve heard.”

  #

  After mass, my sisters and I went to the cemetery, and I couldn’t help looking over at the spot where I’d seen Joey last Sunday. But he wasn’t there. Disappointment made my feet heavy as we trudged through the wet grass to our mother’s grave.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Mary Grace asked. “How come he didn’t come with us?”

  “He never comes with us,” answered Molly.

  “Yes, he does. Sometimes,” Mary Grace defended. “And sometimes he comes alone, he told me.”

  “Does he?” Molly looked at me as we walked.

  “I’ve seen him here once,” I admitted. “But he’s been busy this week with the new location and moving out of the garage.” Why I felt the need to make excuses for the man, I didn’t know.

  “Daddy says we’ll have more money now that he’s got the new place,” Mary Grace said. “Maybe even enough to hire a housekeeper or a cook.”

  “What? When did he say that?” I stopped walking and turned Mary Grace to face me.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days ago, maybe? He said maybe it will even be Mrs. Schmidt who used to work with mother where she was a maid, at that big house.”

  Molly and I exchanged a surprised look. “That would be nice,” I murmured, starting to walk again. We let Mary Grace run ahead of us and moved to walk shoulder to shoulder.

  “Does this mean he’s letting you move out?” she wondered.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Daddy never tells me his plans.”

  We walked silently for a moment, our shoes squishing in the soggy ground. “Are you going to tell him about last night?”

  I sighed, lifting my skirt so the hem wouldn’t get wet in the tall grass. “I guess not. But if it happens again, I will. You understand?”

  She grabbed my arm and tilted her head to my shoulder. “You’re the best sister ever. Thank you. I hope Mary Grace is right and Daddy is letting you go.”

  Of course you do. Then no one will be around to catch you coming in late! It was not a very nice thing to think, but I wasn’t in a nice mood. I hadn’t slept well, I was worried about Joey, and I still hadn’t decided what to do about Enzo. At mass that morning I’d prayed for clarity, but I didn’t feel any closer to it than I had last night. My feelings were a jumbled mess.

  When we reached our mother’s site, we pulled some weeds that had sprung up and stood silently together in prayer. Closing my eyes, I folded my hands together and lowered my chin.

  Please, Mother, I begged. Help me to do things right. I know I don’t always act the way I should. I know I’ve been reckless and self-indulgent and unwise. I know I’ve had unkind thoughts about my family. I want to be the kind of person you’d be proud of, but I don’t know where to go from here.

  Sniffing, I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand.

  For years I’ve been telling myself that all I want is to get out and live life, because all I’ve known of it is our house and our family and our neighborhood. Since Bridget left, I’ve been mother, housekeeper, cook—yes, I know I’ve been remiss in that area—and I tried not to resent it, but I suppose I did sometimes. And I suppose I went a bit crazy because I’ve felt trapped, and misbehaving made me feel free and full of life.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wet earth. Exhaling, I made one last plea.

  And Joey…dear God, Mother, please help him. We’ve made such a mess of things between us, and now he’s planning to do something foolish and dangerous, and I didn’t know what to say to talk him out of it. Please watch over him—I promise to be a better person and stop tormenting him if you’ll protect him the way he protects me. I promise to stop doing things that confuse him, like showing my jealousy over girls he dates, or looking at him with wicked thoughts, and I especially promise to stop kissing him.

  Even though I want to. I really want to.

  As I crossed myself, a strangled sob escaped my throat, and then another. Saying nothing, Molly and Mary Grace each took a hand and led me away. I saw tears on their cheeks too.

  #

  I managed to pull myself together for the streetcar ride home, dabbing at my face with a handkerchief and tilting my hat low over my eyes so no one would see how swollen and red they were. From the stop we walked to Bridget’s for a visit, and the second I saw her, I burst into tears. My loud keening bounced off the walls in the kitchen as she shooed her wide-eyed boys into the front room with Molly and Mary Grace and dragged me back to her bedroom.

  “Stay here,” she said. “Let me just get everyone a little lunch and I’ll be right back.”

  Tossing my hat to the floor, I threw myself onto her bed and wailed into the spread. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about exactly. Joey? My mother? My father? The situation with Enzo? My dying dream of independence? Because I knew now I had to say no to Enzo’s offer. How could I move into his apartment when I didn’t trust him? Gorgeous looks aside, I hardly knew him, and most of what I did know scared me.

  And what if I moved in there and felt ashamed of myself? What if he never managed to break things off with Gina and we could never be seen in public together? What would happen if what we felt for each other now died out as quickly as it sparked? Or what if I wanted to leave, and he didn’t want me to? I cried harder, knowing that Enzo would not be a man who gave up his possessions without a fight.

  Because I saw quite clearly that’s what I would be—his possession.

  The door flew open and Bridget opened her arms to me. She sat on the bed and I crawled into them, weeping on her shoulder, a little more quietly. After a few minutes, she squeezed me and stood up, going to her dresser. Pulling a clean white handkerchief from the top drawer, she returned to the bed and touched up my face.

  “There, there,” she soothed. “Nothing can be all that bad. What’s happened, love?”

  I took the handkerchief from her and swiped at my eyes and nose. “It’s a lot of things. I’m scared and exhausted and overwhelmed, and I don’t know what to do, and I feel as though I’ve made such a mess of my life and Mother would be horrified with me.”

  “Oh, come on now. She wouldn’t, either. She’d be so proud of the way you’ve handled things at home, Tiny. I know she would. And I think she’d want
you to have the chance to get out on your own if that’s what you want for yourself.”

  “You don’t think she’d tell me to stop being selfish and stay home where I’m needed, like Daddy did?” My words came out between halting breaths.

  “No, absolutely not. If anything, she’s up there feeling horribly guilty for leaving us girls to take care of things and be a mother before we were ready.”

  “She didn’t leave us by choice.”

  “No, of course not. But trust me, motherhood has a way of making you feel guilty about many things you have no control over. You’ll see, someday when you have your own children.”

  I sniffed. “If I have children.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? Don’t you want a family?”

  “I guess so. I’ve always been so busy with this one, I’ve not really thought about my own.”

  “Never? Not even about getting married?”

  “Why would I? I’ve never been in love the way you were with Vince. I don’t even know what love feels like.” Fresh tears welled in my eyes, and then spilled over.

  “Oh, honey.” Bridget circled my shoulders with her arm. “You’ll know when you find it. It fills you up, so many good feelings, from your toes to the top of your head, until you think you might burst from it. You won’t be able to keep it inside of you—you’ll want to shout it and share it and give that person everything you have to give. And it still won’t feel like enough, but you’ll want to keep trying to show him how much he means to you. And the way he’ll love you back…” She sighed. “You’ll think it’s impossible that he loves you the way you love him, but he’ll do everything in his power to convince you otherwise. And love makes you do drastic things—look at what Vince and I did!”

  I tried to smile. “Love sounds like a lot of work.”

  She laughed. “It does take work, I won’t pretend it doesn’t. Both people have to be willing to make themselves vulnerable, to open up. It’s not easy to put your heart out there, to offer it up and ask for another’s heart in return. Especially for men—they never know exactly what to say, and sometimes it comes out terribly wrong.”