Say Ye (3 page)

2

Lorenzo rubbed the back of his neck. He’d spent two torturous years fantasizing about Lita. But she was an angel, unreachable from his private hell. He fingered her hair, wavy and shiny, the color of an espresso, her skin, bright and smooth, like a peeled toasted almond. Closing his eyes, he saw her flashing dark doe eyes, full lips, her delicate features belying her strength. Her petite, curvaceous body nestled, soft and warm, against him. He shuddered slightly and tried to stop his thoughts, but how could he now?

Yet he had to when he remembered the way Lita searched his eyes with hers, so tearful and trusting. Besides, he wouldn’t betray Lee’s friendship and he knew the complications of dating a younger woman, which was why he never did. Especially one as innocent as Lita. He knew from her admission as well as what Lee told him she was inexperienced and nearly clueless about men.

When she was nine or ten, she used to make them snacks, all the while dancing and singing songs from “The Little Mermaid,” sometimes bugging them by doing cartwheels while they tried to study. He spent a lot of time in this house during high school, at first to get away from his father, later because he genuinely liked Lee and Lita, liked spending time with them, their cheerful banter so unlike the moody silences or angry invectives he encountered at home.

He didn’t want to think about any of that, so he let himself savor being near her, the joy in holding her, in feeling her soft breath warming his neck as she slept, her body pleasantly heavy against his.

He kissed her hair. She was clean and fresh--her scent reminded him of his favorite vanilla-infused cappuccino. Strangely, he drifted off, none of the fiery longings which made him toss and turn every night, no bitter tirades at himself. In his dreams, maybe, but for now being with Lita filled him with an odd sense of lightness and rightness. As he should feel with an angel in his arms.

Lorenzo woke with a start several hours later, surprised he’d been able to sleep on Jane’s droopy couch. The dim grey light of a foggy early morning crept through the partially open curtains. Lita observed him, a puzzled expression on her face. He hoped he hadn’t talked in his sleep.

She smiled then lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“No apologies. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Would you like some coffee?” She rose and stretched, her fingers reaching, a flower about to bloom.

She was so young. Her skin glowed; her hair fell in gentle curves. The rare times he spent the night with women, they didn’t look like that when they woke up.

“No, thanks.” He ran his hand through his hair. He wouldn’t flirt with her like he had the last time they’d seen each other.

“What about a fruit smoothie? I make those a lot, before I take a walk in the morning.”

“Sounds good. The walk too.” He went into the bathroom, wondering how he could feel so easy with her when thoughts of her had kept him on edge the last two years. He shrugged as he walked out, down the hall, and into the kitchen, the whir of the blender tearing the quiet. It didn’t matter. This is how it would have to be, seeing her every few months, just friends.

After gulping down his drink, Lorenzo ran out to his car for his gym bag. Lita went upstairs to change. He managed to do the same in the tiny downstairs bathroom. When she floated back downstairs, he was ready to go. They walked over to Oak and entered Golden Gate Park, striding toward the Conservatory of Flowers in silence, though it was never really quiet in the city, which suited him. It was early still, the grass dewy. The hems of Lita’s sweats dampened as they walked across a lawn to another path.

As they passed the large white domed building, he studied her. The early morning light sparkled in her hair and highlighted her smooth skin, while the chilly breeze caused her cheeks to glow as pink as her form-fitting sweat suit. Lorenzo clenched his hands into fists and looked away. He hadn’t wanted to hold hands with anyone for years, not since college, before his mom died.

“Do you come over here often?” he asked.

“Sometimes. I love the rose garden especially, but I always liked the park in spring more, when all the flowers are blooming.”

“I bet the cherry blossoms in the tea garden are your favorites.” He would buy a basket full and sprinkle them over their bed, where she lay, her skin as sleek as the unfurled petals…He quickened his stride and stared at a clump of eucalyptus trees.

“I guess it’s no secret pink is my favorite color.”

Lorenzo glanced at her.
Though the smell of trampled, drying leaves drifted in the air, he almost believed it was spring when she smiled at him. She radiated light, innocence, and trust. Everything he lacked.

“So, how’s working at Jane’s bookstore?” he said. Lita and her mom never got along, but Lee had managed to talk Lita into moving home and letting Jane groom her to take over the store someday. Lorenzo knew enough about legacies to not want that for Lita.

“You have to ask?” From someone else, her comment might sound bitter, but he heard her veiled giggle. She’d matured, no longer her rebellious fifteen-year-old self, who used to rail at Jane and her mocking of Lita’s dreams of marriage and family. Lee had been right to convince Lita to finish high school at an all-girl’s boarding school and stay out of the area for college. But now Lee had persuaded her to return. Lorenzo frowned.

“That bad?” he said, attempting a sarcastic tone.

“It’ll be a good career. Not too many other choices with my degree in English Lit. Lee still thinks I’d make a good teacher, but he didn’t see me in a classroom.” She laughed, twinkling and soft, like the patter of sprinkling skies on a pond.

“I bet kids love you.” Who wouldn’t?
Me, no love here for anyone.
His stomach churned. He must be hungrier than he’d thought.

“Maybe. I love them, but love wasn’t enough to manage. A few kids at a time I can handle, but not twenty. Don’t tell Lee, but I still want to get married and have a family.” She’d been asserting that for as long as he’d known her, even though her family gave her grief about it.

“You’re young.” It’s what Lee said about her. Lorenzo didn’t need to tell his friend anything. Lee knew full well Lita’s hopes. Having her back home was part of Lee’s plan to change her mind and provide Jane some help at the bookstore.

“That never stopped you from defending my dreams to Jane and Lee. I’ll never forget how you stood up for me.”

He was a few steps ahead of her. “You were a sweet girl. Never understood why they gave you a hard time.” Lorenzo knew Lee’s reasoning, but he couldn’t get a mother ridiculing a daughter like Lita. Lorenzo’s cousin Sophia would probably trade him or any number of her other disappointing cousins or nephews for someone like Lita.

She maneuvered herself to his side. He glanced at her. And how many of his cousins, like Joe, Vincente, Pete, or even Gianni, would happily marry Lita and bring her into the family? His gut burned. Hopefully, he’d never find out.

“So, how’s business, I mean, everything with you?” she said.

“Things are fine.” He ran his hand across the back of his neck. Damn, he was almost blushing. He didn’t want to be reminded of his father’s clubs, not around Lita.

“And your dad?”

“Still the same. His body’s weaker but his will isn’t.” The bastard.

“The rest of your family?”

“Everyone’s well, thanks.”

“I wish I could’ve met them all. Lee always says he has a good time, everyone’s so warm and fun.” Her wistful tone made his arms tingle, aching to hold her. What the hell was wrong with him? He should never have let himself think about her. He couldn’t even recall what the woman he’d screwed the night before last looked like. But he could close his eyes and Lita’s image would shimmer, every sweet feature and luscious curve as clear as when she walked beside him.

“It’s never dull at Sophia’s and they all love Lee.”

They both fell silent. Lita might be hinting at an invitation, but he couldn’t risk that. Seeing her with his family, or too often, could only lead to trouble, for them both.

They didn’t talk on the way back to Lita’s. His fingers pricked in the silence, the odd feeling of when koi in the ponds at the tea garden used to nibble his fingers while he fed them. The pungent odor of pot swirled around them as they traversed the edges of the park. He remembered the same smell emanating from Jane’s room that night six years ago. He sprinted up the stairs of Jane’s faded purple Victorian house.

“Veggie eggs and toast?” Lita asked as they walked into the kitchen. The surfaces gleamed, unlike the last time he’d been here with Lee a year ago. Jane had been sick, not that she ever cleaned anyway, but he’d never seen a room so filthy: moldy coffee in mugs, sticky counters, the white stove encrusted in blackening spills, dishes piled in the sink. He shook his shoulders.

“Something wrong?” Lita glanced at him as she placed eggs, spinach, and tomatoes on the counter, scrubbed clean. Grabbing the whole wheat bread, she tossed a couple slices into the toaster oven.

He shrugged. “Want me to put on coffee?”

Lita smiled, bright and full of laughter. “Still like it creamy and sweet?”

“Drinking it black these days,” he said. No flirting.

She clattered a pan onto the stove. He leaned against the counter by the coffee maker, tracking her from hooded eyes. Her hand moved in a fast arc as she beat the eggs. She drizzled olive oil into the pan, sautéed the spinach, added the eggs, stirred, and sprinkled on the tomatoes as she turned off the burner. The toaster pinged. She plated everything as she’d cooked, with efficiency and a quiet enthusiasm. How she managed to make her movements sexier than one of the dancers at the club caused him to rub his forehead in disbelief. He distracted himself by pouring the coffee.

“Milk and sugar?” he said. She nodded. He made her a cup the way she’d done the last time he’d seen her, the Thanksgiving of her sophomore year of college. One teaspoon sugar and a quick pour of milk. A similar silky brown to her skin with a deep tan. He edged the mug by her plate and sat across from her at the drop-leaf table in the corner.

“Thanks,” she said. Her lips enclosed a bite of eggs with slow sensuousness. He stared at his plate. Strawberry jam glistened on his toast. “You’ve always been there when I really needed you.”

He quickly shoved eggs into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, hoping to combat the rising bile. A piece of mashed strawberry dropped off Lita’s toast as she raised it to her lips. He wanted to look at her, but instead the fruit blazed against the white of the plate, like the bashed head of the creep who’d tried to rape Lita when she was fifteen. Lorenzo’s ears hummed with her muffled cries to Lee that night six years ago. Apparently, Jane’s pervert boyfriend had tried a few times before they’d caught him. Lorenzo gripped his fork and forced another bite. Their silverware clinked, the old refrigerator buzzed, masking the sounds of their eating.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” he said.

She dabbed her lips with a white cloth napkin. Her eyes sparked and she pushed away from the table with a scrape of her chair. Snapping on pink rubber gloves, she turned on the faucet and grabbed the yellow sponge.

“Sorry I’ve inconvenienced you.” Her elbow punctuated the empty space as she scrubbed the pan. “Don’t worry about Rich. I can handle it.”

He grasped his plate and rose. Edging behind her, he placed the plate near the sink, his arm inches from hers. She stiffened her back, her elbows slackened. He reached around and shut off the water. Steamy, bubbly water filled the sink. She slid his plate under the suds. It clunked on the bottom.

“No one’s going to hurt you.” His breath caressed strands of her hair. A strangled sound issued from her. He cupped her arms in his palms. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She leaned into his chest. Her back softened as her breath released. When he’d agreed six years ago to have his father hire someone to off that pervert boyfriend of Jane’s, Lorenzo didn’t realize the hell he’d walked into. He inhaled. Lita’s clean, vanilla scent quelled the acid in his throat. His father had made him view the body before they’d disposed of it. Lorenzo’d vomited in the darkness of the alley. His father’d never let him hear the end of that show of weakness.

Lorenzo pressed his fingers into Lita’s yielding flesh. He’d pound the life out of Rich himself if that’s what it took to keep her safe. Lorenzo might be beyond redemption, but he believed in Lita, in her goodness. Even if it damned him forever, he’d protect her.