Normally, whenever someone in my family was sprung from prison they hid out for awhile, kept a low profile just to make sure another goon didn’t have an old vendetta to fulfill, but apparently Dickey felt confident enough to forgo the usual precautions. This fact alone was disconcerting, but I figured we still had a few months to plan a festive mobster gala, plenty of time to get used to the idea of him being a free man and coming back to the orchard. I was thinking we could possibly put this carnival off for like, forever.
“Maybe sometime in the spring or summer, if we’re not too busy,” I said.
“Don’t be silly. It’s tonight.”
My stomach pitched. This was getting completely out of control. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“What choice do I have? The bastard can cause me a lot of trouble if he wants to.”
“I thought that was all settled when he was locked up,” I told her, but my words didn’t seem to stick. She took a few more sips of espresso as she kept the chair rocking, faster now. I could see the tension building on her face. Her forehead actually moved, a nearly impossible achievement considering all the Botox that had been pumped into it.
“It was, but you know how your cousin can be.”
“A shit?”
“And then some.”
I sat back on the sofa, grabbed a pillow and contemplated our options. “Mom, he can’t come here. Not now. Not when we’re on our way to Hawaii.”
“Since when?” Her face brightened. I was on to something.
“Since right now,” I said, pumping up my enthusiasm. Not that I particularly wanted to go to Hawaii with my mom, but at this point I would do anything to keep her away from Dickey. “I was just about to make the reservations. I’ll take you and Aunt Babe with me. We can leave tonight.” I figured she’d jump at the chance for a free trip to paradise. Who wouldn’t?
She stared at me for a moment then blinked a few dozen times, a habit she indulged in whenever she was contemplating her options and wanted to stall. “I need another espresso,” she said, holding out her empty cup.
She was going to take some convincing. “Mom, you can’t get involved with him again.”
I didn’t know all the facts, but Dickey and my mom had owned some sort of business in North Beach in San Francisco when I was a kid. It took her several years to clear her name after the business dissolved, and even now she sometimes had trouble getting a line of credit.
“Don’t be silly. You sound like Federico. He said the same thing and I’ll tell you what I told him. I’m not getting involved. I’ll throw the bastard his party and that’s it. He’ll be gone in the morning.”
“You hope so,” I said.
“I know so,” she shot back in that voice she used whenever she needed to get her point across. Her intense reaction told me there had to be more to this story than she was willing to spill. Ever since I admitted I had a drinking problem, my mom tried to keep me in the dark when it came to family tensions. I suppose she thought any little crisis could get me going again. I tried to convince her it didn’t work that way, but Mom had her own opinions and nothing changed her mind.
I stood and went to the kitchen area to make her another espresso, and myself a cup of badly needed tea. When I returned, she was staring out the window. I handed her the espresso.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said attempting a bright smile. “I can take care of myself.”
Yeah, right. My mother was sharp when it came to running this business, but when it came to family and her emotions she was a bowl of mush.
Sitting on the sofa again while holding onto my mug of green tea, I leaned in closer to her this time, wanting desperately for her to reconsider the freedom party. I thought some kind, indulgent words might encourage her to see the error of her ways. I reached out and gently lay my hand on her knee, knowing how much my mom loved warm physical contact. “I know that, Mamma. You’re a strong, intelligent woman. You know how much I admire you. It’s everybody else that I’m not too sure about. Dickey is a powerful force. Perhaps you should reconsider this party.”