by Kara Hart
“Call a cab, Ricky. You don't know what you're talking about. You need to go home,” I said. I really didn't want to have to take him home.
“Call yourself a fucking cab!” He slipped onto the gravel, shattering the bottle of wine he was holding. He lay on the ground now, groaning loudly. He turned his head and smiled. “I know what dad is promising you,” he whispered.
I started my car. “Go home, Ricky. You're not well.” His call girl stood near the entrance, probably wondering what the best way to sneak off was.
I left him there. Most likely, he would wake up in a pool of his own vomit. He'd probably find his wallet missing and try to kill “the hooker that took it.” This was my fucked up family, the empire that was clearly crumbling from beneath my father.
I didn't want to end up like Ricky, drunk and alone almost every single night, with no hope of climbing the ranks. Maybe my father had a point. How hard could marriage really be? And kids? God. It sounded awful to me. Changing diapers and going to school plays and PTA meetings wasn't exactly what I planned for. But every time I saw Ricky, he was worse than before. I didn't want to end up like him either.
I heard my father's voice in my head, “A man needs a good woman by his side.” My mother was a good woman to him. There weren't many like her anymore.
No matter how bad my family got, I had to remember that I took the sacred oath. I heard the words that were read back to me. I saw the burning effigy and they made me the man I was. I could've objected if I wanted to.
But I didn't. If anyone was going to make this family something again, it would have to be me. First on my list, however, was this unfinished business in Monroe.
Dahlia
“Morning time” was a strict routine of hitting the snooze button four to five times, waking up way too anxious because I’m late making breakfast, pulling Jen out of bed successfully, and rushing out the door. Today, was different. Today was my day.
I walked into Jen’s room to find her fast asleep, holding her stuffed lamb. She was an angel, despite her daddy being a devil. I gently caressed her hair and slowly lifted her up into my arms. Six years old was no joke, and she still expected me to carry her to the shower every morning!
“Time to wake up, baby.” I whispered soft and sweet.
She groaned, annoyed that I had picked her up and ended her dreams. “Mommy, no. Five more minutes,” she moaned.
I carried her into the bathroom and started the shower. “No, sweetie. You have school this morning. And you have that big math test, remember?”
“I don't want to, Mom!” She rubbed her hazy eyes and opened the shower door angrily. I ran to the kitchen and started scrambling eggs with enough speed to impress the famous Gordon Ramsey himself. I threw bacon down into the hot skillet and breathed in deep as the delicious smell filled the kitchen.
Soon, I found myself dicing fruit and making a “healthy” peanut butter lunch for Jen. I realized long ago that I had no idea what I was doing. Being a young single mother, everything was a guessing game.
When I was nearly done making breakfast, I heard Jen scream from the bathroom. “Mom!” I quickly turned off the pans and ran into the bathroom.
“What's wrong? What happened?” I asked, wide-eyed and frazzled.
I walked into what looked like a crime scene or an episode of Intervention. My makeup was scattered all over the floor, some cases broken open. Half of my favorite lipstick had been dragged across the counter. The straightener had been turned on and it was burning a hole in the carpet. And there was my daughter, with a worried look on her face. “I made a mess, Mom.” Every item of makeup I owned was on her face and she looked like a total wreck. Ten minutes to get her to class. Just ten minutes.
“Oh, honey!” I turned the straightener off and grabbed a cloth with makeup remover. “How many times have I told you, if you want to dress up, you need my help. And never before school. You're not old enough yet.” I sighed and rubbed the mascara from her eyebrows, shaking my head.
“But Stephanie wears makeup to school!” She protested.
“Good for her,” I said, wiping off the last remainder of lipstick. “We do things different in this house.”
I picked her up and put clothes out to get dressed. “Hurry and get dressed. We’re late,” I said, running to grab her breakfast. 5 minutes to spare. I threw her eggs and bacon on a plate and handed her a fork. “Eat fast.” She took a few bites and handed it back to me. “More. You need brain food today.”
“Ugh!” She grimaced, taking a few more small bites. It would have to do. We were definitely on the verge of being late.
I grabbed her lunchbox and threw a jacket over her. We ran to the car and got in. I threw the keys in the ignition and turned. The engine turned a few times and then nothing. “No. Don't do this to me. Not now,” I said aloud.
I turned the keys again. Still, it wouldn't start. “Mommy, it sounds broken.” Jen so gracefully let me know. It only took ten more tries to realize it wasn't starting any time soon.
I closed my eyes tight and nearly screamed. Okay, so today wasn't going to be my day after all. “We’re going to have to walk fast,” I said.
“Is it a race?” she asked me.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, thankful she was making a game out of this madness. Two minutes to spare. “It's a race to the front door of the school. Last one there is a rotten egg!”
I jumped out of the car and started jogging. Jen loved a good challenge. She ran behind me yelling “You cheated! You can't start before me, Mommy!”
“Better catch up!” I laughed. It was only five blocks up. There was no way we'd get there on time, but we’d at least get there.
In front of us was the intersection. “Slow down, mommy!” Jen cried out. The exhaustion came out of nowhere. All the running caused a cramp in my side, making me stop right then and there. Jen, of course just kept running.
“Come on, Jen. Slow down. Wait for me,” I said, coughing from being so out of breath. It wasn't long before the cough turned into a full blown asthma attack. Oh Jesus, I thought to myself. It wasn’t often I had them, but when I did, it wasn't a good.
I fell to down on the sidewalk, trying my damnedest to catch my breath. I fumbled around in my purse, looking for my inhaler. Where is it? I left it at home. My throat was closing fast and tears spilled from my eyes, my face burned hot with the effort. Even Jen could sense something was wrong. She stopped running to try and help me.
Just one minute to spare…
Jen knew what to do. She dug through my purse, first trying to find my inhaler. When should couldn't find it, she flailed her body around to try and get someone’s attention. Lucky for me, a car stopped.
“Everything okay?” A deep voice, a man’s voice, echoed above me. I looked up, choking on my own oxygen, and saw him. I didn't have time to protest. Within seconds, he jumped out of his car to prop me up underneath him. He pulled me back against his chest and wrapped his arms around me. In one hand was an inhaler. The other hand kept me sitting up so that my air passage was open.
“Breath in. Nice and slow.” He shook the inhaler and I took a deep breath. Slowly but surely, my throat opened. “There you go. One more time. You’re lucky I suffer from infrequent attacks. I always keep one of these guys with me.” I took another breath from the inhaler and felt the oxygen flow back into me.
“You alive?” he asked while rubbing my back. His warm touch sent shivers through my body.
“I'm fine,” I said, quickly pushing out of his grasp. “Just had a moment.” God, why did he have to be here? I was so embarrassed.
“Looks like it,” he said. “But you're okay? You need a ride?”
“No, we’re fine. What is it with you? Are you following me or something?”
He laughed. “Just got back from Detroit. I was about to go home and pass out, but then I saw your lifeless body on the side of the road and thought I might help you live. Forgive me for coming to your rescue.”
Jen grew imp
atient with me. “Mom, why did you tell him we don't need a ride to school? I'm late for my test!” She pouted, stomping her feet. Fuck, I didn't expect him to see that I had a kid.
He smiled to himself and crossed his arms, looking smug. “A daughter? You didn't tell me you had a daughter!” He bent down toward her and said “What’s your name, kid?”
“Don't talk to strange men, sweetie-pie,” I said, shielding her from him.
She, of course, was just itching to disobey me today. She grabbed her school bags and squealed “My name’s Jen. What's your name?”
“Honey, remember when you learned about stranger danger?” I warned. He gave me a look that basically said ‘Oh, come the fuck on.’
Jen was already running into his backseat, the defiant little devil. “Come on, Mom! Last one in is a rotten egg!” She called out, giggling to herself. I took a deep breath and stood face to face with the giant, and tried to conceal my fire-red face.
“Yeah. Last one in is a rotten egg, Mom.” The way he said that word made me cringe. It was as if he had just discovered gold and wanted to brag about it. Then he said “Hop in. I don't bite.”
“You better not,” I said.
He sped to her elementary school. First grade was beginning to be a true test for me as a parent. When we got to the school, we were five minutes late. At least Jen sort of had an excuse for her teacher.
“Okay, you have everything? You have your lunchbox, your backpack, and all of your books?” I asked her. She nodded and fumbled at the locks and jumped out of the car.
“Mom, I have to go! Bye!” She ran up the steps of the school without looking back. My angel, the one good thing I've done for the world. She was already such an adult.
“I can walk to from here, thanks,” I mumbled, though I didn't leave the car.
“No need when you have your own personal driver. Plus, I'm in the mood for another one of those omelettes.” I didn't make any attempt to cover up my loud groan. “Come on, you know you've missed me.” He had a smug look on his face as he peeled out of the school parking lot.
“Can we turn something on?” I asked him, ignoring his whole ‘you’ve missed me’ comment. I didn't miss him, not one bit. I didn't miss his strong biceps, his stupid soothing voice, and his incredible smell of oak and aftershave. Why would I miss that? There were plenty of better things in Monroe.
“Of course. I've got just the thing,” he said, clicking through the stations. It wasn't very long before he found what he was looking for.
I fell back against the rental car’s leather seats as I was suddenly blasted with the sound of heavy bass. The kick drum of a Top 40 club track played loudly. “What the hell is this?” I shouted.
“Hope Lawrence!” He yelled over the rambunctious beat. Ugh. He had this dumb look painted on his face and he was knocking his head with each drum hit. “What's the matter? You don't like good music?” It was the kind of song that teenage girls played in their car on the way to Starbucks. It definitely wasn't something I expected to hear coming from a tough Italian guy’s speakers.
“I can't believe you listen to this,” I said, trying not to laugh. His illustrious movements and dancing had now turned into full on head banging once the chorus kicked in to full volume.
“Dance with me, Dahlia! Don't leave me hanging,” he yelled, smiling like a true idiot. “Woo!”
I shook my head with disapproval. “Woo? Really?” He frowned at me. “What? I don't call what you're doing dancing,” I said.
“You really are a mom, aren't you?” he teased. I chose not to answer him. “Oh, come on Grandma. What's the problem?” We were close to the café now. Only problem was I still had about 15 minutes until it opened.
“I'm not a grandma!” A smile broke onto my face. I couldn't help it. He was such a shit!
“I’m sorry but I'm not really believing you right now. But, I guess it doesn't matter what I believe,” he laughed.
I turned off the radio as we pulled up to the café. I said “You're right. It doesn't. Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car and sat down on the bench next to the front door. Just leave me alone. Start the car and roll on out of here, big boy.
But he didn't. He stopped the car’s engine and got out to sit next to me. “What're you doing? Following me, still?” I asked him.
“Need any help openin’ the shop?” He smiled, his white teeth glistening at me.
“No. I just need to move the trash cans to the front and wait for Carmelo to get here, If he gets here,” I said, staring ahead.
“Alright then.” He muttered. I thought he was going to leave, but he didn't. Instead of walking back to his car, he walked into the back alleyway.
“Where are you going now?” I asked, knowing full well I'd find out soon enough.
Within seconds, he came out holding two large trash cans above his head. He looked like a maniac. “You know those have wheels, right?” I asked him.
“But that's no fun.” He began lifting each trash can as if it were a pair of weights at a gym.
“Don't do that. You're embarrassing yourself,” I laughed.
“You don't like a man who helps his woman in a time of need?” He asked me, setting down the heavy trash cans on the side of the curb. He rolled his sleeves over his shoulders and wiped a bead of sweat from his face.
“First of all, I'm not your woman. Second of all, I didn't need your help. I do this by myself all the time.” Of course, I wasn't going to admit how difficult it was for me every morning. Even though the cans had wheels, the trash was the hardest thing for me to do. More often than not, it took Carmelo’s help to move it to where it needed to be.
“Alright. Fair enough,” he said, pulling a cigarette out.
“Do you always have to smoke those in front of me?” I gave him a disgusted look. Truth was I used to smoke two packs a day at the height of my craziness. I didn't really have a problem with smoking, so I didn't know why I was even trying to pick a fight. I just hated that I couldn’t stop staring at him. I hated that I actually found him impressive. Couldn't he just leave me and Jen alone?
He chucked the cigarette into the street, where it sat burning, sending curls of smoke into the air. “Sorry, Grandma. I forgot how harmful these things can be for the elderly.”
I gave him a fiery glance. “I'm not a grandma. I'm a young and beautiful woman with the world at my fingertips.”
He scratched at his chin, as if he were thinking heavily to himself. “Well,” he said, “you are beautiful. But you're still going to have to prove to me that you're not 85 and awaiting that coffin of yours.”
“You want me to prove it? Fine, I'll prove it.” I jumped up from the bench and stomped into the street. I bent down and picked up that burning cigarette and placed it in my mouth. “See,” I said, taking in a long drag. I coughed immediately, dropping the cigarette from my lips and falling to my knees.
He came rushing to my aid, once again. “I didn't mean like that!” He pulled out the inhaler and gave it to me again. “Here, just keep it,” he said.
I sat in his arms, feeling a little sick from the drag of tobacco but playing it up more than I needed to. “Do you have asthma too?” I asked him.
Even though it was a pretty common thing to have, I hated my condition. It had always held me back somewhat. But normally I had my trusty inhaler. Luckily, he had saved me this time.
“It's minor and mostly stress related,” he said.
“Stress? You? But you're always so smug.” I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, making sure my asthma didn't get the best of me. Fuck. Maybe I was a grandma.
“You haven't met my family,” he said. I sat against his chest, catching my breath. I suddenly felt his fingers move from my back, up to my neck. He squeezed gently, kneading at the pressure points in my neck, shooting waves of relief throughout my body.
Oddly enough, I didn't protest. “What are they like?” I found myself asking. He moved to my shoulders, rolling his knuckles over the k
nots. He pressed down harder now. With his other hand, he threaded his finger through my hair. A pulse of electricity shot through me, and my hair raised with a short-lasting burst of pleasure.
“For one, they’re Detroit-made Italians. Two, my brother is a certified psychopath,” he said, now using both of his hands to massage me. We were still in the middle of the road, but it was early enough that no cars would be driving past us for at least an hour. Every adult in town was at work right now and not many kids took summer school like Jen. If anyone did see us, it would be quite a scene to witness.
“That's not very nice,” I said. “I'm sure your brother means well.”
He shook his head and stopped massaging me. No! Don't stop. I secretly pleaded inside of my head. “When I left him last, he was face down in the gravel, cursing my name. Meanwhile, the prostitute he hired to come to family dinner just stood there staring at him. If he could kill me without any repercussions, I think he would do it. Trust me on this, he doesn't mean well.”
“Sounds like you guys need to see a therapist,” I laughed.
“Ha, I can only imagine what that session would be like.” He picked me up and set me on my feet. “There you are, my lady.” He bowed. Carmelo pulled into the alleyway and got out.
“There's my boss, Carmelo,” I said.
Without saying a word to either of us, he shakily unlocked the door and turned on the lights. “Mind if I sit inside while you open up? I promise I'll tip you guys big,” Lucas asked. It was weird how okay I was beginning to feel with him being around me. I shook off the feeling as Carmelo gave me an angry look.
“No customers before eight,” he said, walking inside.
I shrugged at Lucas. “Rules are rules. Sorry.”
But Lucas was persistent. He leaned in the door and yelled out “What's wrong, Carmelo? You won't even notice I'm there.”
“Rules are rules,” he said simply, tapping the store hours. Something had been going on with him. Either he was sick or there was something bigger he wasn't telling me. He looked pale, almost like he had been startled.
