“Do I eat what?” I ask, thinking there must be more to that question.
“Anything, do you ever eat? You’re built like one of those Hollywood people with the eating disorders. You don’t throw up your food do you? Because the braciole I made are very expensive and I don’t want to waste them on someone who won’t enjoy them.”
“Corinne,” a man says as he steps into the entryway with us. I’m grateful for the distraction, considering I am speechless. The man and Click share many features, though he’s thinner than Click and the lines in his weathered face are much deeper. A gorgeous golden retriever with the sweetest disposition follows him. “Leave the poor girl alone. You sound like my mother used to sound when she was talking to you.”
At that, Corinne’s mouth clamps shut and she seems to be rendered speechless, as I am. A miracle. “I’m Vitty. Please excuse my wife; you’ve captured the heart of her baby boy, and she’s trying to mark her territory.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” We share a quick and knowing smile that shows my appreciation for his intervention. I start to extend my hand and then pull it back quickly, remembering handshakes aren’t appropriate for some reason. “I actually love Italian food. I spent some time in Italy when I was younger.”
“Well then, we’ll have lots to talk about over dinner,” Vitty says, clapping his hands together as though everything is working out perfectly, though it certainly doesn’t feel that way to me.
“Dad why do you still have that dog? You’re allergic. I don’t understand why in the world you got it in the first place,” Click says, and I’m taken back by the sharp edge of his usually very kind voice.
“Her name is Hemi,” Vitty says defensively. “I take a pill every day and it helps with the allergies.” He simultaneously scratches the dog behind the ear and rubs his red eyes with the other hand.
Three women, clearly Corinne’s daughters, step out from around the corner. They are thinner and slightly taller versions of her, but the way they look at me is identical to the way she does.
“Hello,” one says as she plasters a transparent fake smile on her face. “I’m Gabby. It’s nice to meet you, Jordan. And so good to have my brother back home, finally.” She pulls Click in for a hug and I read his face: annoyed.
“Hey Gabby,” Click replies, kissing his sister’s cheek. “Hey, Tavia, Lona.” He pulls his other sisters in. “Where are Tommy, Mick, and Joey?”
“They’re all working tonight. They’ll see you guys tomorrow night for dinner instead,” Tavia says through the tight lips on her pinched expression.
I take note that another large family dinner is already scheduled for tomorrow. Apparently it’s implied.
“And Bianca? Should I assume she’s the reason I’m back? It would have been easier if you’d told me what was going on over the phone.” I can see Click rushing to the point. He really doesn’t want to stay here.
“We didn’t want to risk you getting too busy and not showing up,” Lona snipes as her eyebrows rise up nearly to her hairline.
“Yes,” Vitty says, lowering his voice slightly. “It’s Bianca. She’s up in Chucksville . . . dancing. She won’t listen to reason.”
“Dancing?” Click asks, looking perplexed. “That’s what she’s always done. Good for her. She’s a great dancer.”
“Not dancing,” his mother cuts in, spinning like a ballerina. “Dancing,” she reiterates as she moves her body in a provocative way I wish I could unsee.
“Huh?” I can tell Click doesn’t get it, and I feel terrible he’s about to hear news that I’m sure is going to infuriate him.
I lean in and whisper, “I think she’s a stripper.” I pray I didn’t misread the clues they were giving, because it’ll be hard to come back from that error. But I see Corinne nod and hang her head in sorrow.
“What? No she isn’t. She’d never do that. Jonah wouldn’t allow that for a second. Who told you she was stripping?” Click’s words come quick and full of disbelief.
“Dale from the hardware store saw her and came to let me know. Jonah left her. Just up and left her with nothing but the kids and the house. Not an ounce of savings. We had her over for dinner to confront her about the dancing and she lost it. Hasn’t been back since. I’m worried about her and the girls,” Vitty says, wringing his hands together nervously.
“She’s moved out of the house and into an apartment up in Chucksville so she can be closer to that awful place where she works. We’ve offered to let her and the kids move in here, but she’s not interested. Stubborn brat. Another one who’s too good for this house,” Corinne says, adjusting a doily on the table next to her as she mumbles something in Italian.
“Why did Jonah leave her? Was it because she was stripping?” Click asks as the blood rushes to his frustrated face.
“No, she started dancing after he left. She says she needs the money,” Tavia chimes in with snarkiness in her voice. “But I’d sure as hell find another way if it were me. Disgraceful.”
Click rubs his temple as though this might help him process the information. “That doesn’t make any sense. Bianca and Jonah have been together since high school. He’s a part of this family. He already made it through the damn fire of getting accepted by all of you, why would he bail on her?”
“No one knows. She wouldn’t say,” Gabby hums out as she heads into the dining room, and we all follow. “Let’s not talk about it anymore right now.” She gestures over to the kids.
“Yes, there will be time to sort it out after we eat,” Corinne commands with a wave of her hand. “Jordan, tell us more about yourself. Do you work? All women seem to work now. Sitting home and raising kids isn’t good enough for this generation anymore.” Corinne shakes her head disapprovingly as she serves heaping piles of grilled asparagus onto everyone’s plates.
“I used to be a project manager for a very large investment firm in New York City but I’ve recently left.” I leave out that I was fired. “I’m leaving my options open for a little while. I might do some traveling.”
“And a last name like Garcia?” Corinne continues, eying me again. “Your people are Spanish?”
“I . . .” Hesitating, I wonder what story I should tell. I swore when I left Clover I’d start living my authentic life, being who I really am, and discovering what I truly love. But maybe this isn’t exactly the best time to test the waters.
“Garcia is a name her family took on when they came to the United States. Her father was an activist for women’s rights, and because of the danger that comes with that, Jordan, her mother, and sister fled Afghanistan. Her sister lost her leg in a blast over there, and, not long after they arrived in the United States, her father was killed in Afghanistan.”
“What were Spanish people doing in Afghanistan?” Corinne asks as she halts the serving process and waits for much needed clarification.
“She’s not Spanish, Ma, she’s Afghani. When her family arrived in the United States, for protection, her father insisted they change their name and hide their heritage. But I don’t see a reason why she’d need to hide it here.” Click’s words are a warning even I can decipher. He was telling his family they’d better not challenge this news with any ignorant statements.
“I don’t think I understand,” Corinne murmurs, bracing herself on the back of her husband’s chair, looking as though she might take a spill. “You have people back there, where my baby has been fighting? They could be the ones blowing things up for all we know.”
“My family was never associated with terrorism or extremism of any kind,” I say flatly, though I do have the urge to jab my fork into Click’s leg for putting me in this position. “Most people there do not want violence, they want peace.”
“It seems odd if you’re not ashamed that you would lie about your name,” Corinne accuses as she begins serving everyone again, slapping the food a little harder onto the plates.
“Sometimes we do things to honor our parents wishes even if we don’t understand or agree wit
h them. I’ve never been ashamed of my culture or my country. But my father loved us so deeply that he wanted us to be safe. And so I’ve done as he asked.” I’m not a stupid girl. Lesson one in sales and acquisitions is to know your audience. What do they respect and hold dear? If there would be anything to soften Corinne it would be exploiting her understanding of a parent’s desire to protect above all else.
“Hmm,” Corinne hums as she loosens her grip on the serving spoon, “I swear you kids don’t understand what it’s like until you have some of your own. The lengths we’ll go to for you, it’s impossible to describe. Speaking of which, do you see yourself having a big family? You don’t have the hips for it, but once you pop one or two out, the hips just stay wide for the next four or so.”
The feminist in me wants to rattle off the hundred reasons this conversation is offensive, but instead I bite my tongue and lift my plate to receive the food she’s offering. “I do love kids.” I smile, and I can hear Click let out a small grunting laugh. He will pay for this.
Chapter Two
Click
“You did really well,” I assure Jordan as I open her car door, kissing her cheek when she passes. I know she’s pissed but I don’t let that rattle me.
“Is that a joke? Because I thought that was pretty disastrous. Your mother hates me. So do your sisters.”
“The only reason you think that is because you’ve never seen what it looks like when my mom actually hates someone. If you had, you’d be celebrating right now. She didn’t throw a single thing at you. She didn’t curse at you in Italian under her breath. You handled yourself perfectly, just the right amount of restraint and resistance. It’s a difficult technique, but you nailed it.”
“You talk about her like she’s a dictator of a small country.”
“What’s scary is, if she wanted to be she probably could.” I put the car in gear and can’t help but laugh at all the faces pressed against the windows watching us pull out of the driveway. “Are you tired or do you have one more adventure in you?” I ask as I tap my fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio.
“What did you have in mind?” Jordan leans over the center console and runs her long, sexy fingernails across my neck and up the back of my head, instantly sending heat through my body. Whatever I was thinking has evaporated for a moment while I mentally run through all the things I’d like to do to Jordan and her perfect body.
“Not that kind of an adventure. Though I can’t wait to get to the hotel and rip the buttons off that sweater.” I run my hand from her knee up her thigh and land on the heat between her legs. As I move my fingers tantalizingly for a moment I feel her hand tighten around the collar of my shirt, and a small moan passes over her delicate lips.Remembering what brought us to Tennessee in the first place, and the fact that I don’t want to stay here long, I reluctantly stop my fingers. “I’m driving out to Chucksville to see Bianca. I don’t believe for a second that Jonah just left her and the kids. He wouldn’t do that. Something else must be going on and, let me tell you, if she’s stripping . . .” I close my fingers tight over the steering wheel and every ounce of filthy thoughts I had about Jordan are gone. All I can think of is what my sister has been doing and why the hell she might be doing it.
“You never really know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship. Even if you think he’s a good guy it doesn’t mean—”
“You don’t know Jonah. He’s been there for me in ways no one else has. When my family is crazy, he’s always the one trying to smooth things over. When I was a kid, he and Bianca were dating, and if I had trouble with someone at school he’d come and stick up for me. When I was going to enlist and didn’t know how to tell my parents, I told him first, and he came with me to tell them. My other sisters’ husbands are okay guys, but I’ve been deployed for most of their time in our family. Jonah’s different. He’s like my brother. He’s amazing to his daughters. He’s never too busy to spend time with them. He throws on a tiara and has a tea party without any hesitation. He’s the kind of guy I’ve always wanted to be like, if I ever had a family of my own. So I’m not jumping to conclusions.”
“That sounds a lot like how you were with Adeline in Clover.”
“That’s because I’ve always looked up to Jonah. He’s a great guy and I’d be lucky if someday I’m half the dad he is.”
“Fair enough. What do you plan to do when you find Bianca?” Jordan asks, and I can already see she’s not going to agree with my tactics.
“I’m going to go to the strip club and, if she’s there, I’m going to drag her ass out and force her to tell me what’s really going on.”
“Wait, she’s older than you, right? She must be in her late twenties. She’s not some child being exploited. She’s an adult and she’s doing what she needs to in order to take care of her family.” I can tell any sexy thoughts in Jordan’s mind are gone now, too. The fire in her core, where she channels her convictions, has come to life.
“She’s my sister and she’s taking her clothes off for strangers. You can give me any spin on that story, give it as much women’s lib as you’d like, but there is literally nothing that is going to stop me from acting like her brother.” Much to my surprise Jordan’s lips purse as she nods her head, indicating she won’t argue with me. That’s a first.
“I can understand that,” Jordan croaks out, clearly trying not to shoot back the rebuttal I know she’s already crafted.
The rest of the ride is quiet, not awkwardly and uncomfortably silent, just peaceful. My mind is spinning with the intricate lecture I’m compiling for Bianca. I’m guessing Jordan is still processing the emotional attack she just endured at my parents’ house. She really did handle it remarkably well for someone who normally doesn’t take shit from anyone.
“This is it,” I growl out, as though the actual strip club has taken my sister captive and forced her into dancing for money. I’m angry at the painted brick walls and the rusted metal front door. As far as I’m concerned, every car in this parking lot is the vessel of a vile pervert who, if it comes down to it, I will beat down.
“The Apple’s Bottom. Classy. Looks like a busy night here,” Jordan chirps as she follows my gaze across the parking lot, taking inventory of how many people I might need to beat the hell out of.
“Bunch of losers,” I hiss as I pull my car into the only open parking spot, doing so too quickly and sending Jordan’s hand to the door, bracing for impact.
“Don’t tell me this is your first time in a strip club, because it will change my opinion of you for quite a few reasons.” Jordan is trying to remind me that I might not like my sister being in there, but odds are I’ve been in the audience of one of these establishments at some point too.
“I’ve been in the military for the last six years; I’ve seen my share of strip clubs. But there are usually two types of guys in there: guys like me who are with a crowd just because it’s the thing to do, and guys who are trolling for girls. They’re delusional enough to think the dancers are actually interested in them. They start grabbing and pawing at the girls and usually get tossed out.” My hands clench the steering wheel and my knuckles go white from my tight grip.
“If you go in there like this, you’ll kill someone,” Jordan whispers, and the softness in her voice is so out of character it’s enough for me to agree with her. I know it’s not easy for her to control her gut reaction and temper, so when she does, I take notice.
“You’re right, but why does that seem worth it right now?” I grab the handle and let my fingers hesitate for a moment as her hand reaches across and rests gently on my shoulder.
“I’ll go in and see if she’s working tonight. If she is I’ll find out when her shift is over. There is no point in being here if she isn’t even working.”
I feel the vice that’s clamping down on my chest spin a few notches tighter at the thought of Jordan going in that place. “No way, you’re not going in there.”
“I think
you might be overreacting a little. It’s not a cult that brainwashes people. I would say there is zero percent chance they’ll recruit me to hop on stage.”
“You could be a stripper. You look great naked and you’re out of work. I just don’t want you going in there and thinking it’s glamorous.” She pinches the meat on the back of my arm and twists it firmly. I know what I’m saying is stupid, but I’m not feeling very rational right now.
“I am perfectly qualified to be a stripper, and it is well within my right to choose to be one. But I also am not some starry-eyed teenager looking for a good way to pay her way through college. I think I can step through those doors and not be seduced by the smell of sweat and the shine of glitter. I am a grown woman who is quite capable of handling herself.” The snap is back in Jordan’s voice, and I’m actually glad to hear it. I know that’s her true self, and I don’t ever want her to feel like she has to hide that from me.
“Get in there and right back out. If you’re gone for more than five minutes I’m going to be inside, punching the first couple guys I see.” I wish this were an exaggeration, but my fists are clenched and my adrenaline is pulsing fiercely.
“I’ll be right back,” Jordan assures me as she brushes her fingers across my cheek and loops a finger down my neck to my chest. She pokes it firmly, digging her nail into my muscle. “And you better be sitting right here behaving yourself. Like you said, I’m out of a job, I can’t go wasting my money on bail.”
Watching her disappear into the club makes my already elevated blood pressure ratchet up even higher. I’m taking her five-minute window very literally as my eyes dart between the watch on my wrist and the door. After the three-minute mark, as the beads of sweat start trailing down my back, I give in. My girlfriend and my sister are alone in a strip club and I’ve reached my max. I swing my door open, hop out, and slam it behind me with a smashing thud.
I thunder toward the Apple’s Bottom and yank open the door, not caring if it comes off its hinges. I know they shouldn’t be, but my hands are balled into fists and my nerves are jumping with the energy that used to overtake my body on late night raids while deployed. I spot Jordan standing on her tiptoes and leaning over the bar to try to hear what the bartender is telling her. The smell of stale beer radiates up from the sticky floor as beams of neon lights slash through the dust in the air. This place is a shithole and that enrages me more. Would I feel better if Bianca were dancing in an upscale gentleman’s club? Probably not, but knowing this is where she comes every night makes me feel sick.
Facing Home (The Clover Series Book 4) Page 2
