“No.” I closed the door and sat on the step in front of the shop. Jesse dropped down next to me.
“I thought you might say that. So I came prepared.” Jesse produced two bottles of soda from his jacket, popped the tops off with a key, and handed one to me. I turned the bottle in my hand. Coca-Cola Bottling, Chattanooga, Tenn was written on the green glass bottle. Tennessee. It made me think of Mr. Hearne—and his watch ticking under the crepe myrtle at Shady Grove.
Jesse extended his bottle toward mine for a toast. “Kicks.”
“Kicks.” I nodded.
We sat and drank in silence. It was something I appreciated about Jesse. He didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with talk or some sort of silly exchange. We could just sit saying nothing, him reclining back against the door, his motorcycle boots crossed at the ankles and me balancing the glass bottle on my knee. It was just like on the bench in Jackson Square and on the porch at Shady Grove. And for some reason, the silence made me want to tell him everything.
“I haven’t been sick.”
He nodded and gestured with his bottle toward the chains near my feet.
“Pretty serious chains you got there. Saw them on the door for the past week. Everything okay?”
I shook my head. “I was robbed.”
Jesse leaned forward. “You okay?”
I shrugged.
“Were you here when it happened?” he asked.
“No, it was early. I was at Willie’s.”
“You know the guys who did it?”
I nodded slowly and took a swallow of soda.
“Tell me.” Jesse’s hand balled into a fist.
I turned to him. The glow of the streetlamp threw light on his face. With the exception of the scar, his skin was flawless. The light on his hair reflected a shiny sienna.
“Tell me, Jo.” His eyes, usually mischievous, were steady on mine.
It was Jesse. I could tell him. “It was my mother.”
His knee bobbed, and his head dipped for a moment, acknowledging he understood the situation. “With her boyfriend?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sure.”
He was quiet for a while. “What’d they take?” he finally asked.
I wasn’t emotional anymore, just numb with disgust. “Let’s see, they took the watch from Adler’s that Willie gave me for my eighteenth birthday, they took my pistol, they took a cigar box with my money, and”—I looked at Jesse—“they took an envelope with two thousand dollars. Two thousand dollars that Cokie, Sadie, and Sweety had given me to pay for my first year at Smith.”
The look on Jesse’s face wasn’t surprise or shock, just loath understanding.
“Jo, your momma’s guy is up in it. People say he’s part of the crew who micked that fella from Tennessee on New Year’s Eve. Rolled your mom into it, too.”
“Yeah, but he had never seen my watch. He didn’t know that since I was a little girl, I’ve hidden things under my bed. That’s something only my mother knew.”
Jesse rolled a bottle cap between his thumb and forefinger. “I get it, you know. When I was six, my dad found my collection of baseball cards hidden in my closet. He sold them for booze.”
“Exactly,” I said.
A couple of cars passed by, their headlights illuminating pieces of trash in the street.
“So, you got accepted to that college?”
“No, I haven’t heard yet. But what does it matter? I don’t have the money to go, and now I have to find a way to pay Cokie back.”
“Well, wait a minute. Maybe you could get a scholarship,” said Jesse.
“Doubtful. I didn’t have any extracurricular activities for the application, my lineage is filthy, and my only recommendation came from a smutty businessman.”
Jesse leaned back against the door again, his legs outstretched. We finished our sodas, not speaking.
Jesse stood up and reached his hand to me. “Come here.”
I put my hand in his and let him pull me up. We stood on the street, our hands entwined.
“Remember that great day out at Shady Grove, how we threw rocks at the tree?” asked Jesse.
I nodded.
He dropped my hand, wound up, and pitched his bottle at the lamppost across the street. It shattered to a crisp. “That’s your momma and her boyfriend.”
I threw my bottle. It missed the lamppost and smashed against a building.
“What’s goin’ on down there?” someone yelled from above.
We laughed. Jesse gave me a wave and walked away. “See ya, Jo.”
I stood on the step, waiting for him to turn around. He didn’t.
A parked car flipped on its headlights down the street. It crept slowly past me, the windows so dark I couldn’t see the driver. Once it passed the shop, it sped up and drove away.
I chained and bolted the door.
FORTY-EIGHT
James and a man from Doubleday came to get the books. Patrick said he couldn’t bear to see them being carried out. I looked at the naked bookshelves. Shelves without books were lonely and just plain wrong.
James handed me a check and grabbed the last carton. “I thought Patrick would be here,” he said. “We’ve argued over the list for months.”
“I think it’s hard for him. And he’s busy preparing for his big trip.”
“Big trip?” said James, setting the box back on the counter. “Where’s he going?”
“Surely he told you. He’s going to the Keys, then to Havana, and then he’s planning to spend the rest of the year in Trinidad with his mother.”
James stared at me. “Josie, you’re joking, right?”
“No. He didn’t tell you?”
James’s eyes were round with shock. “No, he didn’t.” Suddenly he was angry. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.” He yanked the box off the counter and slammed out the door.
I watched James pace the sidewalk. He was clearly emotional. What did he think Patrick was doing to him? My fingers involuntarily made a sign on the counter. I looked at my hand and then out to James in the street. Patrick wasn’t in love with Kitty.
? ? ?
Cokie drove us to the bus station. It was raining. Patrick rattled off instructions about the house and shop. I practically had them memorized. Miss Paulsen would be checking on the house. A visiting professor from Loyola would begin a sublease next week. The piano man would come the week before Christmas to make sure the B?sendorfer was tuned and adjusted before Patrick came home. I had a list of names in the Florida Keys, the information for Hotel Nacional de Cuba, and the address in Trinidad.
“You have to keep me updated,” said Patrick. “I want to know everything that’s going on, especially when you hear from Smith.”
Cokie unloaded Patrick’s trunk at the station. He clapped Patrick on the back. “You take care, now. Next time you see Josie girl, she’ll be home for Christmas from college.” He beamed. “Now, I got to git. Got a pickup at the Roosevelt.”
We walked into the station, out of the rain. “You still haven’t told him?” Patrick asked as Cokie drove away.
“I don’t know how. I think he’s more excited than me. Speaking of telling, I was surprised you didn’t tell James about your trip. He seemed really upset when I told him you were leaving.” I eyed Patrick carefully. “Do you think he suspects your feelings . . . for Kitty?”
Patrick avoided my gaze. “Give him my address in Trinidad if you want.”
We looked at Patrick’s bus ticket. He had quite a few stops but just three transfers. One in Mobile, one in Jacksonville, and one in West Palm Beach. Men in suits and ties and women in pretty dresses lined up in the bus station with their suitcases, all departing for some exciting destination. Patrick’s blond hair was combed neatly to the side. He looked glamorous in his tan suit and baby blue oxford.
“Thirty-two hours of luxury, and you’ll be out of this rain and on the beach,” I told him. “I’m jealous.”
“Yeah, these buses are so nice. I wish you were coming. Thank you, for everything, Jo. You’ve done so much for Charlie, the shop, and me.”
Patrick’s bus for Mobile was announced.
“I know I’ve let you down,” he said quickly. “You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt, I swear it.” Light reflected off moisture in his eyes.
A lump bobbed in my throat.