Page 21 of The Deadly Candies

Her cries slowed, the storm passing. She pulled back, wiping her face with her sleeve. The school stood clearer now; its bones lit by fireflies rising from the field.God knew her dreams, she realized. Maybe Butts wasn’t a punishment—just a different kind of soil.

“Thank you, Ely,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for bein’ ungrateful.”

He smirked, though his eyes glistened. “You ain’t ungrateful. You’re human. Hell, if that boy rides in tomorrow, I’ll hand you a bouquet myself. But if he don’t…” He nodded to the school. “…we needyouhere. Not the Jensens’ wash girl. We need the one who made us play school ’til our hands cramped. The one who still writes secrets in the margins of Debbie’s letters. That you, Kathy?”

She stared at the building, seeing chalkboards instead of raw wood, laughter instead of silence. Her heart split—not in half, but intomore.

“Yes,” she breathed. Then louder, grinning through tears: “Yes!”

Ely whooped, sweeping her into a spin. Her squeal tangled with his laughter, echoing over the fields. For the first time since Harlem, joy surged—not borrowed, not fragile, buthers.

9

August 1949 - Mama Stewart’s Diner (Brooklyn, New York)

Debbie stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk. She stood there staring at the diner her cousin Kathy had written about in her letters.Mama Stewart’s.

It was the place where Kathy and Carmelo had shared their stolen moments. Kathy had begged her to come there months ago to see if Carmelo had left any messages. But Debbie’s anger had won out.Why should I go begging to the Ricci family?She’d thought back then.If Carmelo cared, he’d have found a way to reach her.

Now, standing here, she wished she’d come sooner. She had no idea Carmelo had been hurt and was unable to contact Kathy. And she hadn’t known how bad things had gotten for Matteo.

Debbie glanced both ways before crossing the street, her hands clutching her purse tightly. The diner was open, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Through the window, she could see patrons laughing and eating. Debbie took a deep breath, straightened her dress, and pushed the door open.

The bell above the door jingled, and a smiling couple brushed past her on their way out. The man was white, his arm draped casually around an Asian woman’s shoulders. He tipped his hat to Debbie, and the woman gave her a friendly smile. Debbie watched them walk down the street, hand in hand, unbothered by the world around them. She smiled faintly and stepped inside.

A young black man near the door stood up, grabbing a menu. “Just you, miss? Or are you expecting someone?”

“Ah, yes, I am,” Debbie said, her voice soft but steady.

“Booth or table?” he asked, his tone polite but detached.

“Booth, please,” she replied, forcing a smile.

He led her to a booth near the back, and Debbie slid into the seat, her eyes darting around the room. The diner was alive with chatter and laughter, the clinking of silverware against plates, and the faint hum of a jukebox playing a Nat King Cole tune. Her gaze landed on Mama Stewart, who was holding court at a nearby table. The woman was exactly as Kathy had described her—portly but curvy, with medium brown skin that glowed under the diner’s warm lights. Her hair was thick and perfectly groomed, swept into a stylish updo that framed her round face. She had a smile that could light up a room, and though she looked to be in her fifties, there was a youthful energy in the way she moved and spoke.

Mama Stewart caught Debbie staring and gave her a nod. Debbie quickly looked away; her cheeks were hot with shame. She picked up the menu and pretended to study it, though she read it upside down.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” Mama Stewart’s voice rang out as she approached the booth. “Welcome to Mama Stewart’s.”

Debbie kept her eyes glued to the menu. “Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do I know you, sugar?” Mama Stewart asked, her tone light but probing.

“No, ma’am,” Debbie said, still avoiding eye contact.

“Well, then it’s rude to act like you don’t want to know me. Look me in the eye, please,” Mama Stewart said, her voice firm but not unkind.

Debbie’s gaze slowly lifted. Mama Stewart’s eyes were warm but piercing, as if she could see straight through her.

“Sorry,” Debbie whispered.

“Don’t be sorry, honey. Now that we can see each other, we can speak to each other. What brings you to Mama Stewart’s? A sweetie?”

“Uhm, yes ma’am. I’m meeting someone,” Debbie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mama Stewart studied her for a moment, her head slightly tilted. She plucked the menu from Debbie’s hands, turned it right side up, and placed it back in front of her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Debbie said.

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