His Brother's Keeper

“Not really. Bad day and all.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He was trying hard, inviting her to vent. “It’s complicated.” The less he knew about her troubles, the better her negotiating position.

The incident that had churned her stomach and made her wreak havoc with her desk toys was hearing from her teachers the rumor that she was about to be fired.

Word about the lost funds had beaten her to school, too.

Her teachers’ reactions had troubled her. There was no outrage, no anger. Just shrugs and resignation. Typical. That’s how they treat us.

They didn’t think less of her for it, but only because they hadn’t thought much of her in the first place. That stung. And she was determined to come through for them. That meant making a deal with Gabe.

“I’ve got time,” he said, but she knew better.

“You’ve got work. Please eat while we talk.”

“You keep it for when your day gets better.”

“Thanks. My cupboard’s pretty bare. New apartment.”

“Sure. Takes a while to settle in.” They were outdoing each other being nice. It was getting sickening.

He seemed to realize that, too, and his expression went intent. “Look, I was out of line yesterday…what I said at the end.”

“We were both upset.”

He nodded. “The most I can pay is a thousand.”

Thank God. He would pay. Hope surged. “Fifteen hundred,” she shot back, keeping her face neutral.

“No way.” His eyes flared, but only slightly, so she knew he was still in the game. “Twelve hundred. And that’s final.” His tone and locked jaw confirmed his words. He couldn’t pay more.

“Deal,” she said. “We’ll prorate this month to $600. Pay me on Monday.”

“I’ll need to shift some funds.” He frowned.

“Then make it Wednesday.” A concession would make him feel better about the deal. “Thank you. This means a lot to us.” She could pay stipends to an assistant and an aide and use the rest for food and supplies.

“You had me over a barrel.”

“Only because I was over one myself.”

They stared at each other, settling down from the bargaining, weighing the balance between resentment and acceptance and how they would relate to each other from here.

“If you need help clearing the space, Dave Scott can assist you.”

“Dave?” He half laughed. “I’ll pass. He’ll want to give me coaching tips.”

“You, too? If he pats me on the shoulder once more and says, ‘You’re new, you’ll learn,’ I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” She was certain Dave had started the rumor that she was going to be fired.

Gabe laughed. “That’s where kickboxing is handy. One shot to the family jewels and he’ll be at your command.”

She burst out laughing, then covered her mouth. “That wasn’t very professional. Pretend I didn’t laugh.”

“Your secret’s safe.” He smiled and she got that rush of attraction again, saw him reacting to her, too.

“Anyway, Dave speaks well of you. He says you keep his, quote, ‘biggest pains-in-the-ass out of my hair,’ end quote.” Another teacher had praised STRIKE’s effect on one of her students. Plus, the coach is sooo hot, she’d said. When he comes into the lounge, I swear I drool on myself.

“Makes sense he’d like that. The fewer kids he has in detention, the more time he has to plant real-estate signs.”

She winced. “I need to talk to him about that. Teachers complain that he disappears from campus to work his side job. Not helpful, especially since I need him on board to fully implement my system.”

“Tell him what I tell my boys—work hard or get out.”

“I wish it were that simple. I need him on my side. Otherwise, he can foment turmoil and start rumors, make my job much harder. So I have to show him respect while convincing him to do his job. There are nuances.”

“Nuances? Jesus. I could never do your job. I wouldn’t know a nuance if it kicked me in the crotch.”

Her gaze dipped unconsciously to that part of his body, then up to his face. He’d seen what she’d done and heat flashed in his eyes.

She flushed, fighting off her own response.

Gabe cleared his throat. “So…nuances. How you dealt with Alex and the protest had nuance, for sure. It didn’t hurt that he’s got a crush on you.”

“I noticed that.”

“Now he wants to know if you need to meet with him again.”

“You mean as leader of the rebels?” She smiled. “I could thank him for his cooperation, I guess.”

“That’d be good. You can reinforce what it takes to be a leader. The kid’s on the razor’s edge of trouble. He’s got a lot of anger. A friend just jumped into the Double Deuce and he wants Alex to join.”

“That’s not good.”

“Plus, he’s been tagging with a crew of toys.”

“Toys?”

“Kiddie graf writers. The city’s cracking down on graffiti crimes—major fines and jail time. Juvenile hall will wreck him.” Gabe’s gaze went distant and stormy.

Like with Robert. She was sure that’s what he was thinking, with the anniversary of Robert’s funeral a day away. Robert and Alex were alike, now that she thought about it—both angry, both artistic, both small. Robert’s nickname had been Chapo—shortie in Spanish.

Gabe’s gaze returned to her. “His mother’s useless. His current stepfather beats him. Thanks to STRIKE, he holds his own with his big brother, but now the asshole wants Alex to help him steal cars.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not unusual around here. So use his crush, throw in some nuances, and maybe you can help him stay straight.”

“I’ll do that.” She paused. “You care about him.”

“I care about all my guys.”

“I get that, Gabe. I do.” She caught his gaze and held it. “And I care about my students—not just their test scores.”

“Point taken.” A connection snapped into place between them—crisp as two pieces of a puzzle. They understood each other better.

“I need to get back to the job. Reheat the gyros in the oven, not the microwave. The pita absorbs more juices that way. Enjoy.”

“I will. Thank you. I’m glad we could work this out.”

“Me, too,” he said. Then he was gone.

She’d gotten what she was after—rent money for her program—even though she had to sacrifice some space. But like every encounter with Gabe, there was more to it than getting the cash. Kicking STRIKE out would have felt wrong. Because of their past? Because his fighters loved STRIKE and he loved them? It didn’t matter. Not really. For better or worse, STRIKE was in. She would just have to make the best of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

EARLY©THE©NEXT©EVENING, Gabe parked in the lot behind Giorgio’s Grotto for the family dinner before the cemetery visit. He wasn’t sure these events were good for his mother. They always made her melancholy. She’d been clean for five years, but Gabe stayed vigilant against a relapse.

Tonight should be more lighthearted, since she and Giorgio were fresh from their honeymoon. Thank God for Giorgio, who’d coaxed her into his life with his good cheer and great food.

Gabe paused to kiss his fingertips, then touched the tattoo of Robert on his arm. “Always in my heart, hermano,” he whispered. “Siempre.”

Inside the restaurant, he breathed in the great smells—garlic, lemon, mint and seasoned lamb. The place won Best Greek Food in every review there was, and it was as homey and welcoming as Giorgio himself. The walls were painted bright blue and sparkling white, the lights glowing golden.

“How is my new stepson?” Giorgio stepped out of the kitchen to give Gabe a hug. The man walked in a bubble of optimism, despite the fact he’d lost his first wife to cancer five years ago. “Myself, I’m a happily married man.”

“I’m good. How’s Mom?”

“As well as you’d expect today. I respect the sadness of your family, so no jokes tonight.” He made his mouth a straight line.

“Please…we need to laugh tonight most of all.”

Giorgio led him toward the private dining room, then put a hand on his arm. “I have to warn you. The girls styled Mary’s hair. It’s very…modern.”

“Okay,” he said. When he saw his mother, he was glad he’d gotten a heads-up. Her hair had stripes of purple, orange and black and had been smoothed in waves against her head. “Wow” was all he could manage to say.

“Didn’t the girls do…great?” his mother said uncertainly.

“It’s…stylish.” It looked like a Halloween fright wig. For God’s sake, did his sisters have no sense?

“She said we could practice what we needed to practice, okay?” Trina said defensively. “It’s temporary color, so pick up your jaw.” Trina’s hair was in cornrows so tight they had to hurt.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“But the waves are perfect, right?” Shanna said. “I did those.” Her own hair was a cloud of kink reaching to her shoulders. He hoped to hell they were getting good grades. They were certainly practicing enough.

“We need to work on you, Gabe,” Trina said. “Hardly any guys come into the beauty school for cuts and we need men for our portfolio.”

“I’m cool, thank you.”

“Come on. One haircut? You’ve got great thick hair. And so shaggy. You’re making me salivate.”

“Please, no drool at the table.”

“If you get to cut, then I get to color,” Shanna said. “You would totally rock blond highlights, Gabe.”

“I like my hair like I like my coffee—straight and black.”

“You’d look hot.”

“I don’t need to look hot.”

“Yes, you do,” Shanna said. “You need to start dating. It’s been a year.”

“I’m fine.” He had dated, though his sisters didn’t know. Right after the breakup with Adelia he’d hooked up with women who wanted no more than one-night stands. Before long, the sex had begun to seem pointless. He’d gone without for a while now.

“Wait! That reminds me,” Trina said. “Adelia! I saw her at the DMV. She misses you, asked me all about you. She’s doing a mural on 20th Street and Indian School. You should stop by and see her.”

“I might.” Though the breakup had nearly killed him, they were on friendly terms now. He’d thought she was the one, his soul mate. They had the same background, the same world view, wanted the same things in life.

“And she told me that guy was a total mistake.”

She’d begun to make a name for herself as a Latina artist and muralist when she cheated on Gabe with a guy who’d bought one of her pieces.

“Could we drop this, please?” Adelia had claimed she’d strayed because Gabe was too closed off to truly be hers. Bullshit, he’d thought…at first.

Over time, he’d realized she might have a point. He’d given all he had, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough. Maybe he didn’t deserve a soul mate. His head hurt thinking about it, so he’d stopped.

“Pretty please,” Shanna whined, returning to the subject of his hair.

“Still no.” He adored his sisters. He’d taken care of them during the years his mother was out of it. They’d been cooperative and uncomplaining right up until puberty, when they’d been hell on wheels for a while—belligerent, rebellious, secretive.

They’d hated high school, but hung in to graduate. They loved beauty school and wanted to open their own shop one day. He’d love to have enough cash to set them up.

“We’ll do any favor you ask,” Trina said. “Washing? Ironing?”

“I like to iron.” Turning a crumpled wad of fabric into a crisply smooth shirt was stupidly satisfying to him.

“You’re so domestic,” Shanna said. “You cook, you iron, you keep your house pretty clean. You’ll make some girl a great wife.”

“Shanna, don’t insult your brother,” his mother said.

“No worries, Ma. My manhood is secure.”

“Ew. Don’t talk about your manhood at the dinner table,” Trina said.

Meanwhile, Giorgio and a waiter brought out the food: delicate lamb chops—Gabe’s favorite—melt-in-your-mouth moussaka, flaky spanikopita and minty dolmas, along with a big Greek salad. Another waiter poured sparkling grape juice for all, since they avoided alcohol around their mother. Giorgio lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to our beautiful family. Those who are here and those we remember.”

They all murmured agreement.

“I miss Robert every day,” his mother said softly.

“He used to draw cartoons of us.” Trina sighed.

“He was so talented and so smart,” his mother said.

“You didn’t think so when he got drunk and stole your car,” Gabe said to lighten the mood.

“He borrowed the car. And that was because of that girl. That Cici.”

Gabe groaned inwardly. Cici again.

“She was wild, that one. Always looking for trouble, out all night. Where was her mother? She showed up with the lawyer right quick. Got her daughter off, left Robert to rot behind bars.”

Gabe felt a rush of shame. That very afternoon, he’d been casually flirting with Cici, ignoring what she’d done to his family. He looked around the table. What would they say if they knew?

“Tell us about your trip,” he said to change the subject. “How was Greece?”

“It was gorgeous, was it not, my love?” Giorgio asked his wife, who blushed. Giorgio and Mary took turns describing their accommodations, the visits to Giorgio’s family, the clear blue water of the islands, the boat they’d sailed on, the meals they’d enjoyed.

Gabe let the conversation wash over him, grateful to Giorgio, who was solid, full of love and patient as time. Plus, he was magic with a lamb chop. Gabe ate the last bite, then leaned back in his chair.

Before Giorgio, Gabe would cook supper for his mother and the girls a couple nights a week. He missed that, he realized. His birthday wasn’t far away. He always cooked a family meal then. Afterward, he’d start a new tradition, maybe dinner at his house once a month.

After supper, they climbed into Gabe’s van to go to the cemetery, each carrying a memento for the grave. The vase Gabe had had engraved rested beside him. They were quiet on the drive. The sky was gold and pink with sunset, but there were dark clouds and the air smelled of ozone. Rain was on the way. Unusual for March.

The cemetery was old and small, tucked into the barrio, colorful with flowers, trinkets and painted saints.©There was one other car and a cab parked on the narrow lane, and he spotted a family standing around a grave.

The first few years, Robert’s friends came to the cemetery to honor him. At the funeral, Robert’s friend Mad Dog, new in the Doble, had muttered about revenge, a piece shoved into his waistband. Gabe had gotten in his face, made him swear not to retaliate. He’d obeyed out of respect for the Ochoa name, but he’d held a stone-cold hatred for Gabe ever since.

Now he ran the Doble.

Gabe put the desert poppies his mother had brought into the stone vase and watered them at a standing faucet. Mary studied the fresh copy of Robert’s school photo she’d brought to replace the sun-faded one in the silver frame. “He would be thirty-one. What a fine man he would have been.”

“But see what a fine man you still have.” Giorgio nodded at Gabe.

“You have always been my rock,” she said to Gabe. “If only Robert had had your strength and good sense. You looked out for him.”

But not enough. Not nearly enough. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked out over the grass. The acres of graves always hit him hard. All these people dead and gone. What had their lives meant? What had Robert’s meant? His own?

When Gabe gave his boys a place to sleep, a number to call, a loan, a job reference, he hoped he was making up in small ways for failing Robert. Was there more he should do?

Sensing his distress, Trina reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “Look at this mess. Can’t you hear your split ends crying? ‘Help us. End our suffering.’”

“Cut it out,” he said, smiling at her effort to cheer him. His sisters had been his joy during those hard years. They still made him grin.

They started toward the stand of mesquite trees that hid Robert’s grave, Gabe leading the way, the marble vase cool and heavy in his hands, followed by the twins. Giorgio held Mary close and they walked more slowly.

Gabe made the turn around the trees, startled to see that a woman knelt at Robert’s grave. She’d laid flowers down. They were rust-colored snapdragons—the same flowers Robert used to bring to their mother.

Hearing them approach, the woman turned. It was Cici. He should have recognized the flyaway hair. “What the hell are you doing here?” he said, burning with fury.

“Gabriel!” his mother said from behind him, thinking him rude.

“It’s Cici, Mom.” He kept his eyes on the interloper.

His mother gasped.

“You need to leave,” Gabe said. How dare she invade their private tragedy?

“I came…to…g-give respect,” Felicity stuttered.

“Respect?” Gabe’s mother said. “You left him to suffer in jail. Where was your respect then?” She advanced toward Cici.

Gabe caught her arm. “Easy, Mom.”

“You dare to come here? Boo-hoo-hoo. Poor me. My boyfriend was killed.”

“Leave. Now,” Gabe said again, but Felicity seemed frozen in place, her face dead-white, her eyes wide and wet.

“When I visited him in jail, he only asked for you,” his mother went on. “‘Where is she, Mom? Have you seen her, Mom? Has she called?’”

“We…moved… I couldn’t… I was… It was…” She was struggling to speak.

“He was just a toy to you. A toy you threw away. He was never the same because of you. Always with gangbangers after that. And mean. Bitter. That was the end of him and you caused it!”

Gabe’s mother dropped to her knees in the grass, sobbing. Giorgio kneeled and put his arm across her shoulders.

“Don’t cry, Mom,” Trina said, crouching down. She clutched a purple teddy bear Robert had won for them at the fair. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Felicity said. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just…” She gave him a helpless look. What? She thought he would tell her what to say?

He couldn’t bear to see his mother crumpled on the ground, the way she’d been those first few months. Felicity had brought it all back, damn her.

Furious, he scooped up the flowers and thrust them at her. “Just go. You’ve done enough damage.”

“I’m sorry for the pain I caused,” she said, a few flowers slipping from her trembling hands. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” She gave him a look so anguished he felt an unwelcome stab of regret, then she stumbled across the grass, trailing snapdragons as she went. The waiting cab carried her away.

Gabe dropped beside his mother. “She’s gone now.”

She lifted her tear-streaked face. “Why did she come here? What is she doing in Phoenix?”

“It’s the anniversary, Mom.” He wasn’t about to mention that she had a job at Discovery, that he was working with her. “But forget about her. We’re here to honor Robert.”

Giorgio put the vase of flowers on one side of the headstone. “Perfect.” he said. “Look, Mary, at how perfect.”

“I’ll put the picture in.” Shanna took Robert’s photo from their mother’s hands and put it in the frame, while Trina placed the teddy bear.

“Take a look, Mom,” Gabe said, but she was too lost in grief to do more than glance at the mementos. Rain flicked Gabe’s cheek and the breeze picked up. “The rain’s coming. We should go.”

“I never wanted to see her again,” his mother said.

“You won’t have to,” Giorgio said, helping her to her feet.

Gabe, on the other hand, would see her the next day. What the hell would he say to her?

GABE©FOUND FELICITY’S©NOTE when he got to the gym the next afternoon:

Words cannot express how sorry I am that I upset you and your family. I doubt anything I say will ease your anger toward me, but I hope we can maintain a civil, professional relationship here at school.

Sincerely,

Felicity Spencer

He was glad he didn’t have to talk to her. He couldn’t stop seeing his mother sobbing on her knees, like all those terrible weeks when Gabe had been helpless to soothe her bottomless grief.

It was nine at night now and he was driving cab in the pouring rain. No picnic, considering how Arizona drivers behaved. Used to dry roads and sunny skies, they acted as if the apocalypse was upon them—tailgating, speeding, weaving lanes or testing their brakes with quick slams.

Fridays were usually big cab nights, but not when it rained, so Gabe was about to call it quits when dispatch called in a pickup at IKEA. He was nearby, so he took it, wipers clacking in time to the Latin hip-hop he had on his iPod.

He shared the lease on the late-model Rav4 with his friend Mickey Donaldson, but he was the one who kept it polished, peaceful and sweet-smelling. He liked things squared away.

He liked the rain, too, despite the annoyance, because of how clean and crisp the world looked afterward and how great the desert smelled.

The rain made the blue-and-yellow IKEA colors glow brilliantly against the cloud-darkened sky. He pulled to the curb. The entrance was so crowded with carts and people loading goods into vehicles that he didn’t immediately notice the woman who approached his passenger window.

He lowered it and saw Felicity.

“Gabe? Oh.” She jerked away, as if the door was electrified. She had several plastic Target sacks in both hands and a loaded IKEA cart behind her. “I had no idea. I’ll get another cab.”

“Not in this weather, you won’t,” he said, climbing out. He couldn’t leave her stranded. Together they loaded her stuff into the cargo area—boxes of unassembled furniture, bags of pillows and kitchen goods. The Target bags were mostly groceries.

In the cab, Felicity pushed her wet hair from her face. “Thanks. I bought too much to carry home on the bus. I got my security-deposit check from my old apartment, so I went crazy. My place looks too much like a Motel 6 room.” She shot him a glance, then stared straight out. “I thought you had a job doing landscaping.”

“I do. Whatever puts groceries on the table. No car?”

“Saving up for one.”

She was broke? Living in a rinky-dink place? That surprised him, considering how well she dressed. Her family had money.

“So where to?”

She gave him an address not far from the school. After that, a heavy silence descended, broken only by his music and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. Stupid, with such a long drive ahead of them, so he said, “I got your note,” in a neutral voice.

She didn’t respond. After a few seconds, he glanced at her and was startled to see tears running down her cheeks. He jerked his gaze forward, not wanting to embarrass her.

When she spoke, her voice quavered. “I would never have… If I’d known… I really regret that I—” She stopped and he could tell she didn’t want him to know she was crying. She’d hidden her tears the day she’d crashed the car, too.

“Forget it. It’s over,” he said, wanting to be done with it.

“But your mom… She was so upset.”

“She survived.” He paused. “Giorgio’s good with her.”

“Really?” She sounded so relieved he felt a pang of sympathy. She blew out a breath and brushed at her face. “Wow. That rain’s really falling.” She was pretending it was rain that streaked her cheeks.

“It is.” He felt another pinch of emotion.

“I always loved when it rained here,” she said softly.

“Me, too.”

“Yeah?” She shifted in her seat to look at him.

“Sure. Especially the summer storms.”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s so magical with the sky brown and yellow and ominous, lightning zipping everywhere, rain in sheets, palm trees rioting and that great wet-desert smell.”

“Yeah. All that.”

She faced forward again. “It’s unusual in March. I’m glad for the change. March is…hard.” He heard her swallow. Did she associate spring with Robert’s death the way he did?

He steeled himself against feeling sorry for her. If she’d been so damned devastated, why hadn’t she written Robert in juvie? Or given him a number to call? She was just trying to make herself feel better about what she’d done.