WASP," Johnny said. "I'll have you know I spent my formative years in catechism at St. Charles parish church," Johnny said.
Every Italian eye in the room focused on his face.
"You're Catholic?" Rachele replied. "No way."
Johnny shrugged. "I can still remember the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit that were awakened at my confirmation." He ticked them off on his ringers. "Wisdom, understanding, right judgment, courage, knowledge, reverence, and fear of Our Lord."
"Give the man a St. Christopher's medal," Eve said. "He knows more than I remember after thirteen years of parochial school."
Tea's neck prickled. Catholic? She didn't care if he was Buddhist or Baptist, but somehow, finding out he was Catholic made her wonder what other things he'd been keeping from her.
'This is the worst day of my life," Rachele suddenly whispered, squeezing shut her eyes.
Tea reached over to rub her arm. Had the mention of parochial school made Rachele remember "Honor thy father?" Tea had experienced problems with that one herself, after Salvatore had disappeared and left them to face the FBI alone.
Maybe the minds of her sisters had gone in that direction too. Eve looked off into the distance. Joey scowled.
'Those FBI SOBs gave me the worst day of my life," she said.
"No, Joey," Tea whispered. Not now. Not more secrets tonight. Not with Johnny so close to her.
Johnny's hand stroked down the length of her hair. She wanted to move up, move away, but she couldn't let him guess how tense she was.
Eve frowned. "The FBI are showing up at your Starbucks again?"
"No." Joey's eyes were gazing at a place in the distance. In the distant past. "Remember that day they burst into the house? I was hiding under my bed."
Johnny's hand stilled in her hair, midstroke.
Eve sounded offhand. "Of course I remember. We all remember, Joe."
Tea let out the little breath she'd been holding and felt Johnny's hand resume its soothing stroke.
But then Eve spoke again, her voice lower. "They pulled you out by your ankles. I'm sorry, Joe. I should have stopped them. I hate that I'm such a coward."
Damn it, Tea thought. This wasn't the time or the place or the people she wanted to discuss this around. But she hated hearing the guilt in her sister's voice. Anger started rattling its cage inside her again as images shuffled in Tea's mind. Memories. "You were in the closet, Eve. You didn't know they were dragging her out by her feet."
Rachele made a muffled noise. Johnny's hand moved to rest on Tea's shoulder.
The touch renewed Tea's resolve. "But let's not talk about this tonight," she said, mustering all her big-sister bossiness. Maybe at some point they should have talked about the events that changed their lives, but their mother had started the silence they all still kept.
Except for Joey, who now couldn't seem to keep her mouth still. "They didn't care about us or our feelings," she said. "They only wanted to find the stashes of cash they were sure we were hiding, no matter who they had to grab by the ankle or pull by the hair."
"Damn," Johnny muttered near her ear, apparently repulsed.
But the sisters kept on talking. "And the Loanshark book," Eve added. "They wanted that too, but they only found the cash and left us with nothing."
"God. Damn. It." Johnny spit the words out. His hand pulled away from Tea's shoulder. She could feel his disgust.
And almost, almost, could laugh about it. She'd wanted to cool things between herself and Johnny. She'd wanted to put him off before she got hurt. The funny thing was, it only took getting more personal, more intimate with him to find the way to make that happen.
Now that he knew more of her secrets, her heart was safe.
Not surprisingly, the subject of the FBI raid put the final damper on an already depressing evening. Rachele, who looked exhausted, assured all of them that she'd be fine alone. Certain that their mother would check in on the younger woman later, Eve left, then Joey, then finally Tea and Johnny.
It was a silent walk to the parking lot.
He hadn't said a word since his muttered, "God. Damn. It," and she hoped he'd leave it that way.
She had no need of platitudes. He didn't need to say, "Hey, maybe we'd better take a break from this distraction thing," for her to read the writing on the wall. FBI, stashes of cash, the Loanshark book. A man wouldn't want to be mixed up in ugliness like that.
She didn't expect