The Bar Harbor Retirement Home for Famous Writers_And Their Muses

by Terri-Lynne Defino

  “I do. Scads of them. Oh, Aldo, we have so much to talk about.” Tressa looked down at the little suitcase at her feet.

  He dutifully picked it up, offered her his arm. “When did you get in?”

  “Last night. I stayed at a little hotel over that way.” She pointed. “The one with the fountains out front. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve been gone awhile.” But he knew it. Les Fontaines. Posh, even if it was owned by the same family that opened it as Downtown Gardens when he was a kid. “Let’s go someplace warm and catch up. We can figure out what we want to do.”

  Tressa squeezed his arm, rested her glorious head to his shoulder. “This is the happiest day of my life.” Ma laff, not my life. Tressa had been raised so far in the south it erased every shred of New Jersey she might have taken with her.

  They walked to Woolworth’s and took a seat at the counter. The years fell away—the wrong years. His sister, his only surviving family, sat beside him, a woman grown, and all he could think about was meeting Cecilia for malteds and egg creams at that same counter. He expected Margaret Mary Donahue to come out from behind the counter, her chewed-up pencil between her teeth. She always eyed them like they’d just robbed the place. She didn’t trust guineas or Polacks as far as she could throw them and, considering her size, that wouldn’t have been far. But Margaret Mary didn’t take their order for a root beer float and coffee. No one walked in that Aldo knew. When he left Paterson, he’d known only Agnes from Falls View. And Cecilia.

  She’d be there for the Christmas party. He knew it like he knew his sister sat beside him, chattering about her life down south with the people who’d rejected him. He should have been listening, but his mind wouldn’t stick to her while it was chasing love through the years. All the adrenaline that should have had him hightailing it out of Paterson swished around in his body, through his brain. Maybe Dominic Giancami wasn’t dead, but he had to know someone had tried to kill him. The younger son—Joseph—recognized him. Aldo tried to remember if he’d ever met the kid back in the day. Maybe he’d seen him with Cecilia. Somewhere. Somehow. They hadn’t been discreet until the first time they made love. God, making love to Cecilia was the closest to heaven he’d ever gotten. There had been other women through the years. Every size, shape, color. None of them had been memorable. None of them had been her.

  What would he have done if he’d known, back then, he hadn’t killed Dominic Giancami? Would he have read any of her letters? Returned them? Could he have stopped the marriage she’d been forced into?

  “Do you want to go to a Christmas party tonight?”

  Tressa’s chatter stopped, her mouth still open. “A party? Where?”

  “Remember that guy in the parking lot at the falls?”

  “The one who bumped into you?”

  “That’s the one. Dominic Giancami.”

  “Why would he invite us to a Christmas party?”

  Aldo grinned. “Maybe because he and his boys think you’re the prettiest thing that ever set foot in Paterson, New Jersey.”

  “Oh, you.” She waved him off. “I don’t know about—”

  “He’s a gangster,” Aldo added. “Richest guy in town.”

  Tressa grasped his arm, squealing softly. “A gangster? Really?”

  “Think of the story you could write, Miss Journalist. High society and crime. An age-old combination that never gets boring.”

  “You had me at gangster.” She pouted. “But I haven’t a thing to wear.”

  “You look gorgeous just the way you are.”

  Tressa plucked at the baby-blue dress, all pleats and pearl buttons. “Goodness, no. This is a traveling dress and will never do for a soiree. If I’m to go to a party at a wealthy gangster’s home, I need appropriate attire. Where does one go to buy something pretty around here?”

  “That depends on what you have to spend.”

  “Money is not a concern,” she said primly.

  “Then Meyer Brothers,” he answered. “Come on. We can walk.”

  Aldo paid for her float and his coffee, even if money was not a concern for her and was for him. Anticipation robbed him of all caution. He hadn’t seen his sister in fifteen years, in truth, hardly even thought about her, and now, together at last, he couldn’t keep his attention on her either.

  He tried. They walked and they talked. He told her about the orphanage and Falls View and joining the navy. She already knew a whole lot about his military career, how he’d impressed his commanding officers with his culinary skills. Her daddy, the cousin who didn’t want him, had done his time in the navy, too. And what a coincidence that was, after all. But she’d cooed proudly when he let it drop that he’d been assigned to a diplomatic ship more like a yacht in the Mediterranean, cooking for officers, dignitaries, and politicians of all kinds.

  “Will you cook for me?”

  “If I can find a kitchen to do it in. When do you have to go back to school?”

  “Around the same time your leave is up. Maybe we could sublet an apartment somewhere. Oh, New York City!”

  “Don’t your parents—”

  “Cousins.”

  “Guardians. Don’t they want you to come home?”

  Tressa burrowed her hands deeper into the white fur muff. “They can’t always get what they want, now, can they? I wanted to see you, and they wouldn’t let me. I’m a grown woman, and if I want to stay up north with my brother until he ships out, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  He didn’t remind her about the money she spent being of no concern, or that her guardians were footing the bill for her college degree, not to mention this trip north to see him. Did she think of such things? No, of course not. And he was glad she’d never had to. Better a spoiled, southern princess than the girl she’d have been had he been old enough to raise her.

  Aldo left Tressa squealing madly over the New York, Paris, and Milan fashions coloring the racks in Meyer Brothers Department Store and headed back toward the bus depot where he’d stashed his duffel bag. Somewhere far, far in the reaches of his memory, he remembered a jewelry box his mother kept, meyer brothers embossed in gold. The box her engagement ring came in, maybe. Something small and precious. But that it was from Meyer Brothers was even more important. It meant she’d warranted the expense. At least, that was what his adult mind told him. When he was a kid, he simply liked tracing the gold letters with his finger.

  Aldo unlocked the rented locker at the bus depot and put Tressa’s tiny suitcase in with his duffel. Staying at the YMCA wasn’t going to be an option, he decided. Not with his sister in tow. Somehow, he’d thought she’d have relations to stay with. Wasn’t that what young women did when traveling? Did they stay in hotels on their own? It seemed rather scandalous to him. And dangerous. But she had done so the night prior. Worse came to worst, she would do so again. Apparently, she could afford it. At least her guardians could.

  Letting that old dog lie, he set out for the only place he might still find a familiar, safe face. Head down and collar up, he hurried along the once-familiar streets to Falls View. He could smell the grease and the meat long before he got there. The scent tugged a smile from his lips. Life might have been a little grim, back then, but it wasn’t all bad.

  He pushed through the door with a whoosh of cold air and heads lifted to see who’d just come in. Aldo took off his hat, as an officer and a gentleman did when entering a building where ladies were present. High school girls were ladies, nonetheless, and several of them were still looking at him, a man in uniform, like he was the daily special on the menu. A woman came out of the kitchen, pad and pencil in hand. A woman not Agnes.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “But do you know if Agnes will be on duty today?”

  The woman chuffed, her chins wagging with the shake of her head. “Agnes died two years ago,” she said. “You want food or something? Otherwise I got things to do.”

  Aldo looked up at the menu board. Prices were largely the same, as was the menu itself. Even he could
afford to splurge on this old memory. “I’ll take a dog all the way, fries, and a chocolate malted.”

  “You got it, kid.”

  She called the order through the window. Aldo rested his chin to the heel of his hand, eyes fixed on the menu board so the girls still ogling him wouldn’t get any ideas. Agnes was dead. Strange how little that actually mattered to him when once she was his only friend.

  He’d been the only one of his navy buddies to earn a spot on that diplomatic ship. Aldo said good-bye to Dooley and Zigs and even Cavanaugh without much more than a handshake and a halfhearted promise to keep in touch. He’d left the orphanage, high school, even Paterson in the same manner. Seventeen years parted from the little sister he thought he’d never see again, and he could leave that moment and not look back. There’d been only one anchor in his life. Maybe that was all his heart had room for.

  He paid for his food, nodded to the ladies staring, and headed back out into the cold. Tressa had to be done, didn’t she? How long could a girl shop? He checked his watch, an Omega waterproof Admiral Salfrank had taken off his own wrist and put on Aldo’s despite such gifts being taboo. Rules were rules for some, not all.

  Five o’clock. He headed back to Meyer Brothers. Tressa, face flushed and beaming, was waiting for him. “Oh, you’re here. I got the most glorious dress. Just wait until you see it.” She motioned to a young man dressed like a bellhop, who handed Aldo garment bags, shoe boxes, and what appeared to be a velvet treasure chest. “Have you gotten us lodging?”

  “No,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what was proper. I was going to stay at the Y. I didn’t know you were . . .”

  “I was what?”

  Aldo smiled. He kissed her cheek. “A lady,” he said. “Until today, you were still a toddler to me.”

  “Oh, Aldo.” She squeezed his arm. “We can always get a room at the hotel I stayed in last night.”

  “I can’t afford—”

  “Nonsense.” She waved him away. “You’re my brother. You’ll stay with me.”

  “That’s not such a good idea.”

  “It’s not?”

  Aldo leaned in close. “No one is going to believe we’re brother and sister. This is a city, Tressa. There’s no such thing as innocence here. I’ll walk you to your hotel and go get a bed at the Y. How long do you need to get changed?”

  “Oh, an hour or two.”

  “The party starts at six.”

  She laughed again, the sound so merry Aldo couldn’t help laughing himself. “What’s so funny?”

  “Darling, no one arrives on time. That’s so gauche. You want to make an entrance, not stand around like a wallflower waiting for all the who’s who to get there. Trust me. I know these things.”

  Tressa led the way back to Les Fontaines. Crystal chandeliers, crushed velvet upholstery on the chairs and couches, gilded crown moldings, at least eight stories high. He’d love to know what she’d think about some of the rattraps he stayed in. A bellhop took her garment bags and boxes.

  “You need to change.” She pointed to his torn and dirty trousers. “Do you have dress blues or something?”

  “This is my dress uniform.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She plucked at his jacket sleeve. “Are you required to wear it?”

  “No, but I don’t have anything else.”

  Tressa looked up at him through her lashes. Her grin began in one corner of her lovely mouth, spread slowly to the other. Dimples deepened. Blue eyes twinkled. She motioned the bellhop over and pulled free one of the garment bags. “Yes, you do.” Now she handed him a shoe box from the pile in the young man’s arms, giggling madly. “The tuxedo should fit perfectly. I’ve a good eye for such things. And if the shoes pinch, we can send out for another size if you’re quick enough.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, mister. No brother of mine is staying at the YMCA.” She handed him a key. “Don’t argue. Go shower and change.”

  The bit of brass on his palm glinted in crystalline light. The muscles in Aldo’s throat constricted. He’d never been too proud to accept a handout. He’d relied on it far too much since the accident that took his family from him. His life had been a series of making-dos and thank-you-kindlys. He cleared his throat. “Our stuff is in a locker down at the bus depot.”

  “Key?” Tressa held out her hand. Aldo fumbled about in his pocket and handed it to her. Holding up a five-dollar bill in one hand, she handed the locker key to a second bellhop with the other. “Fetch our bags and have them brought to our rooms.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Do it quickly.” She handed him the five. Imperial, and beautiful. He’d never have guessed she’d be so, until today, if given a million years of trying.

  Aldo took her hand, turned her to him. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m your sister.” Tressa’s brilliance faded, her lip trembled. She took both his hands in hers. “I never forgot, Aldo. Not them. Not you. I always knew no matter how happy my childhood, no matter how cherished I was, that you were in the world maybe not so happy, or cherished. I can’t make any of that up to you, but I can spoil you while I have you in my clutches.”

  He kissed her hands. “I’m glad your guardians did good by you, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be angry if they find out you’re spending their money on me.”

  “Whatever do you . . . Oh, dear.” She touched perfectly manicured fingers to her lips. “Is that what you think? That I’m a spoiled debutante off spending Mommy and Daddy’s money?”

  “I . . . No?”

  “Oh, Aldo. Well, of course you wouldn’t know any better.” She kissed his cheek. “I see we still have oodles and oodles to talk about, but for now, don’t worry about the money. It’s mine, all mine, thanks to my granny and pawpaw and being twenty-one. I can spend it any way I wish without ever worrying it’ll run out. Honest Injun. All right?”

  “I sup—”

  “Lovely!” Tressa squeezed his hand and let it go, brushed a tear from her eye. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll go make myself presentable for the gangster Christmas party. I’ll meet you down here at a quarter to seven.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laughed, calling behind her as she hurried to the elevator, “And don’t forget, if those shoes don’t fit, call down to the store and have them bring you new ones. You’ll never enjoy the party if your shoes are too tight.”

  Aldo watched the doors slide closed on Tressa and the stupefied bellhop. He looked down at the key in his hand, the garment bag, the shoe box. How could it be? Tressa, his baby sister, a young woman of twenty-one and already far more sophisticated than he would ever be.

  He closed his hand around the key. What the hell. He was already risking his life to attend a party; might as well sell his dignity in the process.

  Chapter 21

  Bar Harbor, Maine

  July 6, 1999

  Be the light in someone’s darkness.

  —Cornelius Traegar

  Clouds billowing and white by day swirled into sunset’s palette—yellow ocher, vermilion, alizarin crimson, a line of ultramarine blue where night slipped fingers over the edge of the world. Olivia had learned to see a sky the way an artist did, to better understand the words necessary to a sunset, a sunrise. The Prussian blue of storm clouds. The gray of a moonglade on the ocean. She’d never been a great artist, but she was the best among the others in the watercolor class she took. Olivia Peppernell née Stuart was never anything but the best.

  She took a long drag, willed the cannabinoids to soothe the demons along with the pain. It had done the trick, not so long ago. Now, whether chemical resistance or stronger demons, it wasn’t working quite as well. It didn’t soothe as much as distance her from them, let her see, so clearly, that a life doing what she wished as long as she did what she was told was not independence; it was a bigger cage with sturdier locks not even love could pick.

  A final drag, a long e
xhale, and Olivia put the roach out on the rubber heel of her sensible shoe. She’d never been one for stilettos, but orthopedic was definitely not her style either. Thank Charles for that, too. Sixty-two years waiting it out for him to die first. At least she’d outlasted him. The bastard.

  She started to rise, flopped back into the Adirondack chair. An electric shock of pain shot through her mighty buzz and pulled a gasp from between tight lips. Switch had been right about the newest crop; it didn’t make her sleepy, but it did fuddle her a bit. That was fine by her. She deserved the cushion between her and the world at this point in her life. Anyone who had a problem with that could suck her dick.

  “Olivia?” Cecibel’s disembodied voice cascaded from the darkling sky. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, dear. Just fine.”

  “Why are you on the ground?”

  Olivia patted the scrubby grass. “Oh. I . . . I suppose I am.”

  And then there she was, Olivia’s fallen angel, lifting her gently to her feet, holding her until she steadied.

  “Hey, Sal?”

  The static crackle of Cecibel’s walkie-talkie vibrated Olivia’s nose. She sneezed.

  “What’s up, chicken butt?”

  “I need you to come out to the arbor with a wheelchair. And what’s with your obsession with my butt lately?”

  “It’s an old expression. I think it’s from a cartoon. Who’s the wheelie for?”

  “Just come out, will you? Alone. Unless you want me to do it and miss my date with Fin.”

  More crackling. Or maybe it was Salvatore cackling.

  “So you admit it!”

  “I’m manipulating you.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute or three.”

  Olivia allowed Cecibel to help her into the Adirondack chair, suppressing the desire to giggle. Olivia Peppernell did not giggle. Not even as a child. It was entirely gauche and utterly unacceptable. Clearing her throat, she attempted to smooth the ridiculous mess the wind made of her hair. “I’m fine. You can run along.”

  “I don’t really have a date. Just meeting Fin on the beach for our nightly walk.”