Page 3 of Married to the Mafia Devil

As I reach the door, he calls my name. “Emma?”

I turn, praying he’s changed his mind. “Yeah?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Tell your dad if he comes in again, I’ll have him arrested.”

When Mom fell ill, Dad had to quit his sales work to look after her. Amelia and me did our best to help with the bills and we got by.

Between her waitressing and my job, we were able to cover things until Dad got back to work six months ago. Then Amelia got attacked and couldn’t go to work anymore. My OCD got worse than it’s ever been, panic attacks coming on top, just to add to the fun.

Dad’s drinking came roaring back as well and he got canned without telling us until we figured it out for ourselves. I’ve been giving him all my pay the last three months to at least make sure we keep a roof over our heads. And for what?

I look up at the sky. Mom would be so ashamed of me if she was here. I promised her just before she died that I’d look after the family, take care of my sister, keep my dad from drowning in grief. Beg the city to keep a corner of the plot they’re trying to sell. Rebuild her park as a memorial to her.

I desperately wanted to make her proud of me. Go to college, become a counsellor, help people like she did before she got sick. Now all I have is an eviction notice in my pocket and no job.

The morning sun, now fully risen, mocks me with its brightness. I pull my jacket tighter around me, a futile attempt to hold myself together as my feet make their own way down the street to the only place that might make me feel better. I try to call Dad on the way but of course he doesn’t answer. God alone knows where he is right now.

The bell above The Book Nook sounds cheerful as I push the door open. Mom used to spend hours in here when we were younger. I remember pottering around her legs when I was little. It’s how I met Pamela. She used to come in here as a kid too.

Pamela is talking to a customer. “I couldn’t sell you this,” she says, her nose wrinkling. “It’s mindless exploitative tat. Now go over to the Classics and apply yourself.”

The man she’s talking to frowns like he’s not sure whether to complain or laugh. “Go,” Pamela says, giving him a nudge.

He heads away, half a smile on his face.

Pamela waves when she sees me. “He needed help,” she says as she walks over. “Thinks Jeffrey Archer is the greatest writer of the last fifty years.”

“He has sold a lot of books,” I reply.

“So did Hitler.” She leans over my shoulder. “Proust,” she shouts at the guy. “You’ll love him.”

The man grins, coming over to the counter to pay for his purchase. “Listen,” he says as he hands over the cash. “If you’re not doing anything later…”

Pamela shakes her head. “Come back in when you’re ready for volume two.” She gives him a wink. “I’ll be here.”

He heads out with his purchases and I give Pamela a look. “What?” she asks. “What did I do?”

“You know you only get away with being mean because you’re pretty. You do know that, right?”

She laughs. “I am merely helping the great American public move in the right direction. Can I help it if they interpret my insults as flirting?” She frowns at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work? What’s up? Jenkins give you time off for good behavior?”

I sink onto the worn couch in the corner, a fixture as much as any book in here. I hand her the eviction notice. “He fired me because Dad’s been stealing again.”

“Shit.”

“It gets better. Petrelli wants us out because we’re three months behind. I don’t know where Dad is and I’ve no idea what he’s been spending our money on.” I feel a panic attack clawing at me.

Pamela sits beside me. “Okay, deep breath,” she says, an arm around my shoulders. “Remember the breathing exercises we talked about. In and out, like gentle sex.”

“How would I know what that’s like?” I ask as I start to gasp. “The closest I ever got was that kiss from Santa when I was six.”

“I had no idea you wanted more from Mr. Ho Ho Ho. Early developer were you?” She puts an arm around me. “And dirty Santa aside, you’re breathing normally again.”

“So I am. You distracted me. I hate you.”

She squeezes my shoulder, her usual optimism undimmed. “You’re not in control of everything in this world, Emma. I know you want to be, especially on the days I find you straightening every single book in here.”

“They need straightening sometimes.”

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