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“Jeez, Mal.”
“You’re in New York now. The people here are crazy. You’re going to have to toughen up if you want to survive.”
“That’s not tough. That’s just aggressive driving.”
“Beeping your horn is hardly considered aggressive driving. They put the horn here for a reason.”
“I highly doubt they put the horn there to accompany your middle finger.”
She laughed. “You bet your ass they did! Oh, look! There it is!”
I leaned forward to see out the windshield as she signaled to turn into a parking spot. The name painted on the glass door of Dad’s new bakery read La Dolce Vita in puffy teal letters. I was admiring the storefront when a silver car quickly turned in front of us, taking the spot we’d been waiting for. Mallory hit the brakes, again, and I braced myself with my hand on the dashboard.
Mallory rolled down her window. “Fuck you, asshole! I’ll find where you live and kill your whole family!”
“Jesus Christ, Mallory!”
She opened her mouth and placed her hand on her chest. “We will find another spot. No need to take the Lord’s name in vain, Charlotte.”
I giggled and sat back in my seat. “You’re nuts!”
Mallory whipped into another spot. As I stepped out of the car, I was hit with a foul stench. “What is that smell?” I pinched my nose. “It smells like hot garbage.”
Mallory smiled as she puffed out her chest. “That’s the smell of Staten Island. Home of ‘The Dump.’”
“I heard they closed that down years ago.”
“They did. Imagine what it smelled like while it was open.”
I grimaced as I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head. We stepped inside the bakery, and a silver bell knocked against the glass as the door closed behind us. The smell of fresh paint wafted up my nostrils. Everything looked shiny and new. The glass display cases were bare, waiting to be filled with dozens of cookies and cakes. It paled in comparison to our old bakery in Florida, but it was untainted by bad memories of frightening men who snapped bones in half for fun. This was all we had now. It was a good enough place to start over.
Dad emerged from the kitchen. “Hi, girls. What do you think?”
“It looks great in here, Mr. Thompson.”
I motioned to the wide storefront window. “You should get some tables and chairs to put by the window here. Maybe a couple outside, too.”
“Yeah. This way, people can enjoy the lovely aroma of pollution with their morning croissants,” Mallory quipped.
Dad chuckled. “All right. I’ll let you pick out the tables if you want.”
I ignored his offer. “The teal paint looks great.”
“Mom’s favorite color. Are you ready to be my main cashier?”
I shook my head fervently. “No, thanks.”
“Can I work here, too?” Mallory asked.
Dad smiled. “Of course.”
“We’re not working here,” I said.
“Come on, Charlotte. I could use the extra money, and we would have so much fun working together!”
Dad took a step toward me. “You always loved working in our bakery.”
I shot him a that was before I had my wrist snapped in half by two gangsters because of you look.
