Page 39 of Working for the Mob

We worked apart from each other, but in the same room. Mostly we ignored each other, except for the times she caught me staring at her when I didn’t think she was paying attention.

I glanced out the window; the sun was already beginning to set. It was time to go home or she’d be walking home in the dark––she had refused to allow me to walk her home since that first day. My stomach still formed a hollow void every time I thought of that conversation.

“I’d like to thank you,” Genevieve said, interrupting my thoughts. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“For … uh … for what?” I asked. Did I hear her right?”

“For showing such confidence in Lucy. No one has ever given her this level of responsibility before and she has clearly lived up to it,” Genevieve said, solemnly.

“We just needed bread for the café. That’s it,” I said.

“No, that’s not it. You believed in her. You empowered her. She’s never been anything more than a doll on a man’s arm, and now she’s baking for the entire town. You did that.”

The words hung over me. I just saw a problem and fixed it. That was it. I wasn’t some hero that came in to make this girl’s dreams come true.

“She earned it herself. I didn’t do anything,” I said, but Genevieve shot me a wry smile.

“Thank you anyway. I better go,” she said, and she stood up, gathered her belongings, and left without another word.

Chapter 12 – Genevieve

Iwoke to a loud rapping at my door on Saturday morning and looked outside my bedroom window; it was still dark out. It couldn’t have been eight o’clock. Jamie let us have the day off. The first day off in a week, and I wasn’t going to wake up until I absolutely had to.

I covered my head with my pillow; hopefully the person would catch the hint and leave me alone. However, the loud rapping continued. Three knocks. Three knocks and silence. Three knocks. I was going to kill whoever was at the door.

Once it was obvious they weren’t going away, I pulled on a robe and stomped to the door as the knocks persisted. I opened the door to the second to last person that I wanted to see in the world.

“It’s Saturday, Art. What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

Art’s weekend attire could hardly count as ‘dressed down.’ He wore dress shoes, slacks, and a vest. It was the rugged business casual flavor that I wanted a taste of.

He held up three pieces of paper. “We have tickets for the nine o’clock train into the city. Get your sister up and let’s go,” he said, and gestured to the car behind him.

“I’m going to go back to sleep,” I said, and began to close the door.

The door caught his foot. “Genevieve, we need to buy Lucy arealoven. That way, the two of you won’t have to take five hours baking bread every night. And the only place to buy an oven is in the city.”

“Then go buy one. You don’t need me to do that,” I said, and failed to close the door again.

“I want input from the baker,” he said, and I wanted to throttle him.

“I’m not the baker!”

“I’d be more comfortable if both of you came along,” he said.

He was right. The thought of Lucy going into the city with a mob-boss did make me queasy. He stood there on the doorstep, probably as caffeinated as he needed to be.

“Fine,” I said at last. “But you need to buy us coffee on the way there.”

Three hours later, we exited the train into lower Manhattan. As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, it became hard to breathe and form solid thoughts. This was where I had run from. This was where my parents shut me away to become Mrs. Housewife and unsuccessfully tried to find me a suitor.

The river of people hurrying down the streets made me claustrophobic compared to the openness of East Lannington. As we navigated the walkway, we were jostled, pushed, or peddled at. Nobody smiled or waved as we passed them, and most of the interactions were people yelling at one another.

I did not miss the smog of the city. Every time a car drove by, the tall buildings trapped the thick black cloud around us, making it hard to breathe. At least in East Lannington, the wind blew the car smog away quickly.

By the time we got to the hardware store, I had my fill of the city and was ready to turn back home.Home?No, that wasn’t right. To return to the countryside.

Bright lights illuminated the appliances that lined the wall. Every cookware item a kitchen could possibly need stacked displays. Pursuing customers flooded the aisles, hardly leaving room to walk.

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