Page 72 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

" M ama?" Sandy called out.

Kathy paused in her dusting and looked back at her daughter.

The little girl had managed to climb up on Ely's wooden chair and was leaning precariously toward the window, her small hands pressed against the glass.

Kathy had been so absorbed in her Saturday morning cleaning ritual that she hadn't noticed Sandy's adventure.

"Sandy, get down from that chair," she said firmly.

"Man!" Sandy exclaimed, pointing outside.

Kathy's brow furrowed. "Man?" She crossed the room, absently rubbing her hands on her faded apron, and peered out the window.

A dark sedan had pulled up their dirt drive, and a man in a crisp military uniform was stepping out.

Through the glass, she could see Ely approaching from around the side of the house, his stride purposeful.

Without hesitation, Kathy scooped Sandy into her arms and hurried to the screen door. Standing just inside, she could hear every word exchanged between the men.

"Ely Brown?" the white soldier inquired, his voice carrying the authority of rank.

"Yes, sir, and you are?" Ely responded cautiously.

"Name is Donovan. Sergeant Patrick Donovan. I'm out on scouts. Heard your name more than once in town. Good things, of course."

"What you looking for?" Ely's tone remained guarded.

"Men. To serve their country. Special forces.

We're considering forming a troop for a special Negro unit.

Talking about two years of your life and the kind of benefits where you can rebuild anywhere.

" The sergeant's gaze shifted to the screen door, and he tipped his hat slightly at Kathy. "That your family?"

Ely glanced back, his eyes meeting Kathy's for a brief moment before returning to Donovan. "Yes. And I got no plans to leave them."

"Mind if I ask what your plans are?" Sergeant Donovan pressed, undeterred.

Ely remained silent, his jaw set.

"How about a sign-on bonus?"

"A what?" Ely's confusion was evident.

"You heard me, son. Two thousand dollars. For enlisting."

"I ain't never heard of nobody getting that much money for anything with the military," Ely said, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Like I said. Special recruits. This one moves fast. It's the kind of money that buys your loyalty and silence. You can never mention it was offered or you accepted, ever."

The sum was staggering. Ely had never imagined holding that much money at once. He didn't make that in a year of backbreaking work. It seemed impossible. His father's warnings about government tricks echoed in his mind.

"Tell you what, I'm here three days on recruitment. Here's my card. Give me a call. Staying at the Clover."

Ely accepted the card wordlessly and watched as the sergeant returned to his car.

Only when the dust settled did he turn and head back to the house.

Kathy had already retreated from the door, and Sandy's wails filled the small space.

He knew why—the child always seemed to mirror her mother's emotions.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Kathy confronted him.

"What did he want?" Her voice was sharp with fear.

"He's a recruiter, Kat," Ely said wearily.

"You swore to me. You swore when I told you what happened to Matteo. How he disappeared into that war, leaving Debbie behind, you swore you would never go into the military."

"Kat..."

"No! Ely, no! You hear me? No!"

She whirled away and marched into their bedroom.

The door slammed with finality, and Sandy's cries intensified.

Defeated, Ely sank onto their worn sofa.

Two thousand dollars represented more than money—it was freedom from debt, security for his family, a chance at something better.

It could pay off this land and give them the head start they desperately needed.

He closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh.

Kathy came to bed late, as had become her habit.

After the nightly ritual of tucking Sandy in and taking her own bath, she'd retreated to the living room, losing herself in the pages of her books and the scratch of a pen against journal paper.

Ely had dozed off waiting for her, the empty space beside him a cold reminder of the distance growing between them.

The silent treatment had always been her most effective weapon.

She wielded it skillfully, withdrawing affection and attention until he crumbled.

But tonight, he had to stand firm. He had to make her understand that this opportunity could be their salvation—a real chance to build the life they'd only dared whisper about.

The military had always called to him, ever since he was a boy watching the soldiers march through town.

When she finally eased under the covers, her movements careful not to wake him, she presented her back like a wall. He reached for her, his fingers grazing her nightgown, but she remained stone. He knew she was awake—her breathing too controlled, too aware.

"Two thousand dollars, Kathy," he began, his voice low in the darkness. "I enlist for two years. Just two years. Then I come home, and we're free."

"Don't sell me lies," she said, her voice sharp despite its quietness. "There is no freedom in this world. Everything has a price, Ely. Everything. There are whispers of war in the newspapers. Another war brewing."

"I won't do it without you," Ely insisted. "I'll never do anything that goes against our family. But I need your support."

Kathy turned onto her pillow, and even in the moonlight filtering through their thin curtains, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes.

“Since our phone got cut off, once a week, I walk to that payphone on Main Street.

I stuff it with every coin I can spare to listen to Debbie cry about how scared she is for Matteo.

She tells me he no longer writes. Three months of silence, Ely.

Three months. It's killing her, bit by bit.

Two kids at home, and she's trapped in this terrible limbo.

He left two years ago. Why isn't he home now? "

Ely found himself staring up at the ceiling, its familiar cracks and water stains offering no answers.

The Mill had cut his hours. Everyone was so poor now in Butts; there were no more luxuries.

Ely refused to let her father help or even say they needed it.

Brenda snuck money to her in her letters that she used to help them manage.

They were all just surviving. She was making pennies as a teacher.

Life was hard. And she refused her father’s offer to move back to Harlem. What choices did he have?

Kathy's hand found his chest, her touch gentle despite everything. He covered her hand with his own. "I never mention Carmelo to you," she said softly. "Out of respect for our marriage, mostly, but there's another reason."

He turned to look at her, waiting.

"He was a dreamer. Always had some plan that would set us free, some scheme that would change everything.

And I chased those dreams with him, believed in every word.

But what happens when dreams don't materialize?

We begin to create a different reality, one that blinds us to the dangers of our actual circumstances.

With you, this is real. Nothing is built on dreams and wishes.

And I feel safe in that. Do you understand?

I feel safe because you and I are real. What we have is solid.

We survive because we know dreams don't come true unless you work hard, unless you build them with your own hands. "

Ely gave her a sad smile that she probably couldn't see in the darkness. "I'm sorry he took away your ability to dream, Kat..."

"No... that's not what I'm saying," she stammered, frustrated.

"It's okay. I see it. I've always seen it. You lost something when you gave up on your dreams. He wasn't the only dreamer in that relationship. You were, too. I want you to dream again, Kathy. I want you to have hope. To believe in something—in me."

"I do," she said, but the sadness in her voice betrayed her.

"This dream of mine—to be in the military, to serve as a soldier—I've carried it since I was a kid, Kat. Then this man rolls up our drive and offers not just the opportunity but a reward for making the sacrifice. A sacrifice that could help me give you back your dreams. How can I resist that?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, surrendering inch by inch.

"A man wants to provide for his family," he continued. "You never belonged in Butts, Kathy. I know we're happy now. You're the head of the school. I know we're planning on having a baby. But I keep stopping us from taking that step because I want to give you more before we do."

"I don't need more, Ely. That's the whole point," she said gently, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"The war in Harlem has cooled. Your father and the Italians have stopped the killing.

Your father is in charge now, and he's tried to send for us twice.

You won't go home. You need family, Kathy.

You need more than what I can give you here, and I'm not going to sit back and watch you slip away, watch you disappear into yourself. "

Kathy rolled to her back with a deep, shuddering sigh.

"I'm not saying you still think about Carmelo Ricci or that you fear Harlem because of him. But I do, Kathy. I still think about the warning he gave me in that alley. About how scared you’ve been to go home and see your parents.”

“I don’t trust him. I don’t trust myself,” she sighed.

“It’s okay. I need you to trust me. I need to free my wife.

We don’t have to go back to Harlem. But we have to start somewhere fresh, for us.

That’s real freedom. To just be a family.

And if we're going to settle somewhere, let's do it where we can build fresh.

Two thousand dollars, Kathy? Who turns down that kind of money? "