“You fired her?”
Enzo seems surprised when I tell him about what happened with Martha earlier while I’m making dinner. Since my pasta alla Norma all those weeks ago was not a raging success, I’m making macaroni and cheese for the gazillionth time because the kids will eat it. It’s just easier that way.
“She wasstealingfrom us,” I say. “What was I supposed to do—give her a raise?”
He grabs some dishes from the cabinet next to the sink. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s always game to set the table and load the dishwasher after. “I am just saying, she had a good job here. And with Suzette and Jonathan. Why would she steal?”
“I don’t know,” I say irritably. “Do you think I have an insight into the psychology of a thief? Maybe she’s a kleptomaniac.”
He grins at me. “She never tried to corner me in the bedroom.”
“Not anymphomaniac. My God.” I roll my eyes. “Akleptomaniac. Like, those people who have a compulsion to steal.”
“That is a thing?”
“I read about it in my psychology class.”
“Yeah…” He pulls a handful of silverware from the drawer, although he never, ever seems to grab the right silverware. Somebody always ends up with two forks instead of a fork and a knife. I’m not sure how he manages that. Even if it was wrong when he took it out of the drawer, wouldn’t he notice that while putting it on the table? “So did you give her a final paycheck?”
“Enzo.” I turn away from my simmering macaroni and cheese to look at him. “Shestolefrom us. She took the necklace you gave me, and she probably took that money you had in the drawer by the bed.”
“It was only fifty dollars.”
I haven’t told Enzo what Martha said to me before she left. About the way she threatened me. I can’t quite bring myself to divulge all the details, and I’m not sure why. The children might not know about my time in prison, but Enzo knows everything. Yet he doesn’t quite understand the shame I feel over it. He doesn’t understand why I don’t want the kids to know and was in favor of telling them “before they find out on their own.”
Anyway, I’m not handing over a paycheck to a woman who stole from me and threatened me.
Enzo notoriously has a soft spot for women. Possibly because of his sister, Antonia, and how he felt that he could have prevented her death if he had protected her better. That’s why he defended Nico for standing up for that girl. He doesn’t seem to think that women are capable of doing anything bad, but he’s dead wrong about that one.
Frankly, after what we have been through together, he should know better.
“Look.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know why Martha stole from us. But it doesn’t matter. We already have enough financial problems on our own without somebody stealing from us. Whatever her issues are, I can’t deal with her right now.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What was your blood pressure this morning?”
“Enzo! That’s not the point.”
He hangs his head. “I know. I must do a better job bringing in money for our family. That’s why I’m working so hard to build my business, and then we will have no money worries.”
I feel terrible how much he beats himself up about our money issues. We’re not doing that badly. I wish he wouldn’t dwell on it so much. And I worry the kids will overhear and get nervous too—especially Ada.
“We’re doing fine.” I turn down the stove so I can put my arms around him. He quickly envelops me, and I rest my head on his firm shoulder. “You’re doing a great job. And I bet in another year or two, we’ll be fine.”
“Yes,” he murmurs. “Or maybe… sooner.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. Even though his business is growing, it’s not growingthatfast. One or two years is optimistic. We’re going to be pinching pennies for at least the next several years.
Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it.
THIRTY-ONE
The whole family is at Nico’s Little League game.
Ada doesn’t usually want to go, but today she was agreeable to tag along. I’m glad she’s here, because Nico hasn’t quite been himself since his suspension a few weeks ago. But she’s very clearly not interested in the game, based on the fact that she is sitting in the stadium with us, holding a paperback on her lap. Ada doesn’t go anywhere without a book in her hand.
“What are you reading?” I ask her.
Her long dark eyelashes flutter. She has olive skin like Enzo, which doesn’t show embarrassment the way mine does. But I can always tell when I’ve made her uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll put it away.”
