Page 92 of The Deadly Candies

For a long time, she sat there, staring at the clipping struggling over what to do next.

27

Queens, New York, 1949

[SOUND: A PAYPHONE’S STATIC CRACKLE. DISTANT HIGHWAY NOISE.]

CARMELO(whispered, tense)

…Kathy? You there?

KATHY(breathless, rushed)

…Melo? It’s me. I’m sor?—

CARMELO(cuts in, voice rough with relief)

—Christ, Kathy. Ten minutes. I’ve been worried; you are never late on a call.

KATHY(exhausted, hushed)

…Had to beg Ely to borrow the Jensens’ truck just to get to this payphone. He’s… well, he ain’t happy. Things’ve been bad, weird Aunt Janey…(swallows)Nevermind. Listen—I’m comin’ home. Was s’posed to leave tomorrow, but Big Mama’s sugar’s up. Doctor won’t let her travel yet. Gotta wait another week. Don’t worry, the wedding won’t happen without us. ButMelo?—

CARMELO(sudden, bright hope)

—Mama mia, you mean it? Finally. You’re coming back to Harlem. For good?When?The wedding—shit, it’s thewedding isn’t it—when is it?

KATHY(laughs, tearful)

Matteo didn’t tell you? Soon. As soon as Big Mama’s well.(lower, fierce)Ain’t no nightmare lasts forever. When I see you, hold you—(voice cracks words garbled, states where it’s legal)—Melo.Paris. New Orleans don’t give a damn. We’ll get married?—

CARMELO(sharp, urgent)

—Gotta go. Love you.

[CLICK. SOUND: THE LINE DIES. A LONG, HOLLOW DIAL TONE.]

Kathy double-blinked.The phone was dead. She hung up the receiver, her fingers lingering on the cold metal, then wiped the tears of joy from her eyes. Through the smudged glass of the phone booth, she watched Ely pace by the truck, his boots kicking up dust. Ever since he’d learned about Debbie marrying José—because of Matteo—he’d been sour with her. Convincing him to drive her to the five and dime and then dashing across the street to the payphone hadn’t been easy.

She hated exploiting his feelings.

But she needed him. He was her best friend. Her salvation in Butts.

And yet—Carmelo was herheart. Ely had to understand that.

Kathy pushed open the phone booth door, stepping into the humid afternoon. The sun glared, forcing her to squint. Ely stopped pacing and stared, his jaw tight. Before he could turn away, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. Please stop being angry with me.”

For a heartbeat, he stood rigid—then his arms locked around her, crushing her close. She could hear his heart hammering beneath his shirt, a wild, unspoken profession of his feelings for her.

“Kathy, you—” His voice cracked. “You deserve theworld. But?—”

She lifted her head, touching his face. The conflict in his eyes—love, frustration, helpless want—made her own pulse spike.

“I love you, Ely,” she said softly.

His brows raised.

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