Page 104 of The Killer Cupcake
He didn't seem to hear her over the chaos of his own thoughts. Back and forth he went, past the corner boys who'd abandoned their dice games to stand around and watch, past the old women who'd pulled their children inside. Through the open windows came the voices of men—her father's lieutenants crowding their parlor. Outside, more men loaded crates into Buick trunks, the metallic sounds unmistakable. She didn't want to know what those crates held.
"Ely!"
He jerked to a stop, focusing on her with visible effort. The hardness in his face melted. "Hey, it's okay. We're okay."
"No. We're not." She gripped her knees to stop them shaking. "You saw what happened at the cemetery. They declared war right there over Uncle Pete's grave. Daddy won't let this go. He'll turn every gun in Harlem against the Italians. My mother knows it. Big Mama knows it. Don't pretend you don't."
Ely's examination made her squirm. "He affected you."
"What?"
"Carmelo. Seeing him today—it upset you."
"I don't give a damn about Carmelo!" But even she heard the protest ring hollow. "That's done. I married you, didn't I?"
"We both know why, Kathy." No accusation, just quiet truth. "At least be honest."
"I've been nothing but honest, Ely. From the moment I chose you, I shut that door. Locked it. I don't care about his looks or his anger. This baby and I—we're yours. That's the only truth that matters." She stood, needing to move. "So let's go home to Butts. Let Harlem do what Harlem does."
"Abandon them? Now?" He gestured at the brownstone, at the neighborhood, at all of it. "Your father's drowning in grief. Your family is under siege. And you won't even sleep in your childhood bed—you're camping out all day at the bakery, hiding in bed with me at Debbie's parents'. The Freemans became my family when I married you. We don't run. We unite.”
"At what cost?" The tears ambushed him. "You think I chose this? You think I don't know I caused it all?"
That stopped him cold. "What?"
Everything tumbled out in a rush. "That attic. The sneaking around, the lies. New Orleans, Chicago, North Carolina…”
“Stop it, Kathy!” he pleaded.
“No. If I'd listened to you, if I'd been the daughter they raised me to be, Uncle Pete would be at Daddy’s side right now."
Ely crossed the space between them in a heartbeat, sinking to one knee on the step below her. His hands found hers, solid as anchors. "Look at me. Kathy. Look at me."
She linked her gaze to his.
"You didn't kill Uncle Pete. You didn't start this war. You loved a boy your family called an enemy—that's not a crime. You've already paid too high a price for being a good person. We're not looking backward anymore, not with our child coming. Understood?" Ely asked.
She nodded, not trusting him or herself.
"Tell your mother about the baby. She needs something good to hold onto. Let me stand with your father. Then, when the payback is done, we'll go home even if Harlem burns. You have my word."
"Why tell her? Why now?"
"Because our child is not a secret to be ashamed of. You saw what happened with Junior reaching for Matteo. The whole cemetery saw. Debbie had to leave in shame." His voice grew fierce. "That will never be us. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you, Ely." The smile surprised her.
He stood. He kissed the ring he spent his entire savings on to put on her hand. He pulled her against him, and she let herself be held. When they separated, she scrubbed her face clean and straightened her spine. Hand in hand, they climbed the steps and crossed the threshold she'd been avoiding. The house of her childhood waited, transformed now into a council of war. But she was done running from it.
CHAPTER 40
REVENGE OR REPRIEVE?
Kathy opened her bedroom door and froze. The familiar scents—lavender sachets, old books, her mother's cooking she’d sneak from the fridge to eat on the bed while thumbing through magazines—rushed over her. Despite evidence of houseguests scattered about, the room's essence remained unchanged.
She could see it clearly: three years old, Daddy triumphant after escaping the tenements, tossing her onto this bed like she weighed nothing. His fingers found every ticklish spot while she begged for mercy through helpless giggles. Then both of them sat beside the bed, hands clasped, blessing their new home and praying that Mama would hurry with lunch. God, she'd been lucky.
The luck had turned double-edged.
