Page 18 of Belonging to Them
She sighs.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I say.
“No, Ella, I’m not mad at all,” she says.“I knew this day would come eventually.”
“You did?”
“You’re a dreamer.”There’s a smile in her voice.“You have more ahead of you than what my company can provide.”
I don’t know what about me makes her think that, but there’s no denying the warm bubble of happiness in my heart at the idea.
“I wish I could guarantee you everything,” she says, “but Maids in Heaven can’t afford that kind of safety net.I’ll have to hire someone to replace you, and I can’t just fire them if you decide to return, you know?”
“You’re right, that wouldn’t be fair.”
“Now, I don’t think you’re going to fail.But there are no guarantees in life.And if for some wild reason, something happened and you needed this job back, I would hire you in a heartbeat.There just might not be the hours you’re used to.”
“Okay, thank you.I guess I’m mostly wanting to know I wouldn’t be burning any bridges.”
“Oh, Ella.No.You’ve been a delight to work with.”She pauses.“Should I interpret this conversation as your two weeks’ notice?”
“Heck no,” I say.“Not yet.I’m still doing some thinking.”
“Smart woman,” she says.“Call me when you’ve made your decision.”
“Will do.”
“And Ella?”
“Yes?”
“I’m hoping you choose to follow your dreams.”
It’s something my dad would have said to me.Throat suddenly tight, I say, “Thank you,” and hang up before I burst into tears.It’s time to get back to cleaning, not dissolve into a puddle of salt water.
After work, I tell Squid and Cora that I have to check out a place in Old Thirty-Three.I still don’t have a clue what the story is with Tommy.For all I know, he’s just off on an adventure, and those idiot loan sharks or whoever they are, are just messing with me.It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to scare me.
Cora maneuvers Ironwood’s shiny black SUV through widening streets as we escape downtown San Esteban and move into the Old Thirty-Three neighborhood.Named for the numbered street, 33rd, which forms the spine of the area, the Old Thirty-Three boasts tiny, single-story houses with tiny yards.The only thing big about Old Thirty-Three are the trees—towering oaks and maples that throw shadows onto the streets and onto the older, dingier cars parked along the curbs and stuffing the narrow driveways.
Every time I come here, I’m hit with nostalgia—I grew up in this neighborhood, clinging to the lower end of middle-class.
Tommy, last I checked, still lives in this neighborhood, although in an apartment, not in the house we grew up in.Our childhood home had to be sold soon after Dad got sick.
I give Cora directions to a shitty little apartment complex on the corner of 32nd Street.She pulls up to the curb and looks doubtfully around.“Is this the place?”
“Yeah,” I say.“You can park anywhere.”
There’s a spot a couple of houses down, so Cora parks and the three of us get out of the car and walk to the apartment complex.
“Do you want to tell us what’s going on?”Cora asks.
I hesitate.But keeping this a secret isn’t serving anyone.Whoever has Tommy—ifsomeone has him—hasn’t spoken up or made any new demands.I can’t figure this out alone, and I know I can trust Ironwood.So I say, “I’m looking for my brother.I’m kind of worried about him.It’s probably nothing, but I want to check in.”
Cora gives a short nod.“This will have to go into our report, as a safety concern.”
“I understand.”I’m pretty sure Tommy is already listed as a safety concern, after what happened in that alley with Sebastian and those goons.
The apartment has open hallways, so we march up to the second floor.A pregnant woman passes us going down the stairs, so the three of us scootch to the side to give her more room.Once we’re all the way up, we have to travel around to the other side of the complex.There, we stop in front of what should be Tommy’s unit.There’s no name placard on the door, but I don’t recall there being one last time I visited.The only difference is a potted, vibrant red geranium next to a well-worn welcome mat.
