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“Frustrating, but he’s a good brother. With him, it’s family first, and Calico Club is his family on Saint Parras.”
“That must mean I’m family now too.”
He winks and nods. “You sure are. Welcome to the club.”
We chat a bit more about school and classes before I excuse myself and wander out back. The yard is mowed and maintained, with a big patio and plenty of comfortable seating, and a large firepit in the very center. I linger outside before looking back over my shoulder.
This place has secrets. I can almost feel them hiding in the walls. I got a glimpse of those secrets down in the basement, at the boxes and boxes and alcohol and other stuff, but Emilio didn’t give me a chance to explore very much. I want to look around the house and get a feel for where I’ll be living for the foreseeable future, but the draw of that basement is too powerful to resist.
I drift back inside, being quiet. I hear water running and the clink of a pan being washed in the kitchen. Nathan whistles softly to himself—it’s surprisingly good, a sad tune with a low warble. I do my best not to make any noise as I head toward the basement door.
This might be my only chance. Lesley and Emilio are out for a run and Nathan’s distracted in the kitchen. Who knows when I’ll be this alone again, maybe never. I grab the basement door handle and twist, opening it up.
Damp air hits me. The smell of salt and mildew wafts into my nose. I wonder if Lucy ever stood in this spot, staring into that basement. I think she did—my sister couldn’t leave a stone unturned. She was obsessed with the truth, regardless of her own safety, and she pursued things with a single-minded determination that was both impressive and extremely reckless.
It’s what got her killed.
She came to Saint Parras to become a journalist. Lucy dreamed of traveling the world, investigating dangerous cartels, interviewing killers and thieves and psychopaths, doing the dangerous wartime work so few people were willing to do. She had a sense of adventure and wonder far beyond our little insular Philadelphia world, although she loved her home city too—she worked as an intern for thePhiladelphia Inquirerfor a couple years, and even broke a story about a new gang up in Kensington. That was my sister, fearless and intrepid, and everyone loved her.
I can only imagine how she saw Emilio and his little crew. They must’ve looked like the perfect target for her budding investigational skills, and once she got their scent, I’m sure she couldn’t leave them alone.
Everything comes back to the article she wrote the week before she died. That article is stuck in my brain, and its subject is lodged in my body like a sickness.
I move onto the first step. It creaks under my weight. I hesitate, listening, but Nathan’s whistling continues and the house is otherwise silent. I remember sneaking into the basement of my childhood home with Lucy and sitting in the dark with her while she braided my hair, both of us hiding from Mom and Dad. She’d whisper,you’ve got such pretty hair, I want to cut it all off and braid it into mineand we’d laugh and laugh together and tell spooky stories until I got too scared and she had to stop. She’d hold my hand at night when I couldn’t sleep, and I’d wake up most mornings to her lying in my bed, staring at me. Lucy loved me more than anyone in this world ever will, and now she’s gone, all gone.
Because of these people.
I take another step down, and another. The cool air on my skin is so familiar I shiver. The memory of the orgasm, Emilio’s hands on my breasts, his lips around my nipples biting as the pain of the hot wax stung my bare, sensitive skin, it makes each descending step more and more difficult. Like my legs won’t work.
I don’t want to face this basement again. The memory is too fresh and painful and terrifying.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I freeze on the second to last step and slowly turn around.
There he is, staring down at me, sweat rolling in beads down his forehead, his eyes wide and tense with anger. I stare at him and seriously consider bolting into the dark, but there’s no escape back through the basement. There are only the remnants of a chalk outline and the lingering memory of my shame and my pleasure.
“Exploring,” I say, which is the truth, but I’m also snooping. My raspy voice trembles, but I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Get up here.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to go anywhere near him. But Lesley appears over his shoulder, glaring at me with a sneer.
“She’s not allowed down there,” she snaps out.
“I’m aware.” Emilio glances back at her. “I can handle this.”
“Can you?” She shrugs and walks on. “Good luck then.”
Emilio watches after her before turning back to me. His expression softens a touch, but he’s still unhappy. “Climb up here, Kaye. Right now.”
“I didn’t know this was off limits.” I begin the ascent. He steps back to make room for me and I stand there on the landing with him, breathing the smell of his musky skin. He’s warm, like a radiator, and he stares at me with even more heat in his eyes. “I was thinking about last night, and—”
It’s a clumsy attempt at seduction and he can see right through it.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit.” He grabs my arm tightly, fingers digging into my skin, and drags me away from the door. He kicks it shut and I stumble after him. “I’m not as naive as you apparently think I am, little Kaye. Now keep your mouth shut.”
I’m not sure if he’s asking me to be quiet because there are people awake now and listening, or if he’s afraid I’ll dig myself into a deeper hole. Either way, I take his advice and let him drag me upstairs, down the hall, and into my room. I stumble up against the bed and whirl on him, anger rising to meet his own, as he shuts my door and turns to face me.
