In the next minute, there was the sound of singing in the stairway, and the door opened. Yolanda stuck her head inside, her long hair swinging and a crooked grin on her face. “You guys decent?” she asked, guffawing, then burst unsteadily into the room, her leather coat barely covering a supershort black dress with black suede boots.
Giulia rolled her eyes. “You started drinkin’ already?”
“Okay, so I had a lil’ somethin’ somethin’.” Yolanda grinned. “Don’t worry, Missy’s drivin’. She’s outside, she hadda park.”
“Yo.” Giulia touched her arm. “Can you hear me?”
“Gimme a break. I’m not that out of it.”
“Listen, remember that opal ring?”
“What oval ring?”
“The opal ring I lent you, Trish’s ring. You wore it to the party, last Halloween.”
“At Rock Lobster? When I was the gypsy?”
“Yeah.”
“Told you I’m not that drunk.”
“Whatev. Trish wants her ring back.”
Yolanda blinked, confused.
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
“Did you lose it, you idiot?”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“I’m trying to remember.” Yolanda squinted hard. “That was the night with the appletinis, and it was so cold out, and we came back here, right?”
Giulia nodded. “Right, Yo. We came back here because we drank too much and we all crashed in T’s room, right here. We didn’t go back to T’s house because we knew Bobby would throw a fit.” She turned to Trish. “Remember, T? You, me, and Missy slep’ on the floor, and we let Yo have the bed because she passed out and we couldn’t move her?”
Trish kept frowning. “Yeah, I guess. But what happened to my ring, Yo?”
“I took it off in here,” Yolanda answered, pointing at the table. “I put it right under the lamp. I figured you’d see it in the morning. Didn’t you?”
Mary felt stricken, thinking of the implications.
Trish seemed to freeze. “You’re wrong. You didn’t do that.”
“Did, too,” Yolanda said.
“You’re too drunk to remember.”
“I’m not that drunk, and I remember.” Yolanda pointed again at the night table. “I put it right there. I was sure you’d see it. Anybody comin’ into the room woulda seen it. Ask your mom. I’m sure she saw it.”
Giulia looked over, nodding. “Yeah, T, your mom probably found it. I’m sure it’s safe.”
Trish looked stricken, and Mary didn’t know what to say. Suddenly Missy stuck her head in the doorway and called out, “Let’s get this party started!”
Trish scrambled off the bed and onto her feet. “Everybody, go. Now. I don’t wanna go out partyin’. I don’t feel good. I need to just chill, by myself.”
No. Mary rose, facing her. She wasn’t about to leave. “It’s not that easy.”
“Don’t tell me,” Trish shot back, nervous. Her gaze shifted to the girls. “Get out, all of you.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Missy asked, entering the bedroom.
“Get out!” Trish shouted, and Giulia recoiled.
“What’sa matter, T?”
Yolanda shook her head, her expression muzzy. “No way, girl. Time to party.”
“Get out, all of you!” Trish exploded, and the girls jumped, confused. Missy fled outside, followed by Yolanda.
“Jeez, T.” Giulia was bewildered. “All this, ’cause of a ring? What’d I do?”
“Just go, G. You and Mary, get outta my house.” Trish stepped forward suddenly and pushed her.
“What the-” Giulia stumbled back, hurt.
“Go!” Trish screamed, and Giulia’s lined eyes flew wide open.
“Giulia, please go.” Mary gave her the nod, and Giulia headed out the door.
Trish turned on Mary. “You, too. Go.”
“No, Trish.” Mary set her jaw. “I’m not going. This ends here and now.”
“Get out.” Trish shoved Mary against the desk, pushing her off balance, and her arms pinwheeled, knocking the bulletin board off the wall with a loud clunk.
“Trish?” Mrs. Gambone called from downstairs. “What’s goin’ on up there?”
“Ma, don’t come up!” Trish shouted, but Mary grabbed her arm.
“She talks to me or I tell the cops. Which is it?”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Trish shot back, her teeth clenched.
“Come up, Mrs. Gambone,” Mary shouted, going to the door with Trish on her heels.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“W hat’s going on here?” Mrs. Gambone appeared in the doorway. She looked down at the bulletin board on the floor, then up at Trish and Mary in surprise. “Are you fighting?”
“Ma, don’t tell her anything,” Trish said, frantic. “Don’t say anything.”
Mary ignored her. “Mrs. Gambone,” she said, “where is Trish’s opal ring? You had it and the cops found it in the alley, beside Bobby’s-”
“No, Ma, it’s not true,” Trish interrupted, but Mrs. Gambone only blinked in response.
Mary said, “It is true, Mrs. Gambone. Tell me how it got there, in the alley.”
“Ma, no.” Trish wailed and threw her arms around her mother. But Mrs. Gambone stood oddly still, her lined face a mask, and in the next second, her features seemed to surrender, her eyebrows sloping down, her eyelids sagging, and her thin lips drawn at the corners of her mouth.
“I need to sit down,” she said, wearily, and when Trish released her, she walked to the bed.
“Tell me what happened.” Mary pulled up the desk chair, and Mrs. Gambone eased onto the edge of the bed like a much older woman. She folded her hands in her lap, and her shoulders slumped, her chest almost concave in the pink sweatshirt.
Trish sat beside her, her arms around her. “Ma, you don’t have to tell her anything, you know that. They can’t prove anything.”
“Yes, they can.” Mary looked directly at Mrs. Gambone. “They know about the ring. All the girls know Trish didn’t have it. Sooner or later, the truth’s going to come out.”
“No, Ma-,” Trish began, but her mother cut her off with a wave.
“I want to…I just don’t know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” Mary answered, her heart beginning to hammer. “That night. Trish’s birthday.”
“No, that’s not the beginning.” Mrs. Gambone shook her head, and Trish seemed to grow still at her side. “The beginning was a long time ago, when Bobby turned on Trish, yellin’ at her, makin’ her miserable. Abusin’ her. That was the beginning.”
“Okay.”
“I couldn’t do anything. Trish couldn’t do anything.” Mrs. Gambone stopped and looked at her daughter with love, then reached out and brushed a stray tendril from her forehead. “Right, baby?”
Trish nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
“It’s okay now. He’s gone.”
Mary felt a chill, waiting, and Mrs. Gambone’s gaze returned to Mary, her manner almost conversational.
“I could see how unhappy she was, but she didn’t complain. Trish was never a complainer. She was always a tough girl, a strong girl, like me. Never asked nobody for nothing’. Always supported myself. Never had a man support me. I’m proud a that.”
“You should be,” Mary said, meaning it.
“Trish’s father, he was the same as Bobby. Nice in the beginning, to sucker you in, then it all turns to crap. He ran aroun’, he drank, he started knockin’ me aroun’. I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t take it. I wasn’t one a those wimps you see on TV. I threw his ass outta here. I made my own money, down at the shop. I didn’t need his.”
“I understand.” Mary did. That Mrs. Gambone had lived a hard life was written all over her face.
“Trish couldn’t do that with Bobby. She couldn’t throw him out, not with him connected. She was trapped and she knew it. So did I.” Mrs. Gambone eyed Mary hard, her crows’-feet deep. “How do you think that feels? A mother, knowin’ your baby’s dyin’ a little, every day? Day by day?”