Tribute

anybody else ’cause you’ve got money to spend, and expecting people to kowtow.”
    The well of Cilla’s sympathy began to dry up. “You don’t know me.”
    “Hell I don’t. I know you, your kind, your blood. You think you can come here where that woman whored around, let her kids run like wolves, where she cost my boy his arms and legs, his life?” His anger slapped out, bony fingers, in short, brittle blows. “You think you can buy some wood, some paint and use it to cover up the stink of that place? Shoulda burned it down years back. Burned it to the godforsaken ground.”
    “It’s a house, Mr. Hennessy. It’s wood and glass.”And you, she thought with no sympathy at all, are a lunatic.
    “It’s as cursed as she was. As you are.” He spat out the window, barely missed the toe of Cilla’s boot. “Go back where you came from. We don’t want you or your kind here.”
    He pulled out so fast, fishtailing, that Cilla had to scramble back. She slid on the slope, lost her balance and went down on her knees as Angie ran across the road.
    “Are you okay? Jesus, Jesus, he didn’t hit you, did he?”
    “No. No.” But her eyes were narrowed, iced blue, on the speeding van. "I’m fine.”
    “I’m calling the police.” Quivering with indignation, Angie pulled a hot pink cell phone out of her pocket. “He spat at you! I saw him, and he nearly ran you over, and—”
    “Don’t.” Cilla put a hand to the phone as Angie flipped it open. “Let it go.” She sighed, rubbed at her knee. “Just let it go.”
    “Are you hurt? You went down hard. We need to look at your knee.”
    “It’s okay, Mom.”
    “Seriously. I’ll drive you down to the house, and we’ll see if you need to have it checked out. That old bastard.”
    “The knee’s fine. I’m not hurt, I’m pissed off.”
    As if to stabilize, Angie took a couple of whooshing breaths while she studied Cilla. “You don’t look pissed off.”
    “Believe me. Whoring around, wolves, cursed, your kin . Asshole.”
    Angie laughed. “That’s more like it. I’m driving you down to the house, now don’t argue.”
    “Fine. Thanks. Does he act that way to you?” Cilla asked as they crossed to Angie’s Honda.
    “He snarls and sends what you could call burning stares, mutters. No spitting. I know he’s gone off on Dad. And I mean, God , do you know anybody with more compassion than Dad? Just because he was friends with Mr. Hennessy’s son, and the rest of them, doesn’t make him responsible for what happened. He wasn’t even there that night. And clue in, you weren’t even born.”
    “He’s got the sins-of-the-father thing going, I’d say. If he wants to drive by, stop and glower and think bad thoughts, let him.”
    At the end of the drive, Cilla opened the car door. She took a breath herself now, and realized she felt better, more level , she supposed, with Angie there. “Thanks, Angie.”
    “I want to look at your knee before I go.”
    “The knee’s fine.” To prove it, and to change the mood, Cilla swung into a quick tap routine on the patchy lawn, and ended with a flourish while Angie giggled.
    “Wow. I guess it is fine.”
    “Nice stems, doll.” Steve stepped onto the veranda, tattoos and tool belt. “And who’s your friend?”
    “We’re not friends,” Angie said, “we’re sisters.”
    “Angela McGowan, Steve Chensky. Steve’s a friend from L.A. He’s giving me a hand for a few days.”
    “Maybe longer.” Steve smiled, big and bold.
    “Angie’s just home from college, and heading out to meet some friends.”
    “I am. I’m late. You tell him about Mr. Hennessy,” Angie ordered, climbing back into her car.
    “Mr. who?”
    “I will. Have fun.”
    “That’s the plan. I’ll be back. Nice meeting you, Steve.” With a wave out the window, she did a neat three-quarter turn and drove out.
    “Your sister’s hot.”
    “And barely legal, so hands off.”
    “‘Barely’ would be the key word. You gotta love that McGowan DNA.”
    “No. No, you don’t. How’s it coming in the attic?”
    “It’s fucking hot. They need to finish getting the AC up and running. But it’s coming along. Get your tools, doll. Daylight’s wasting.”
    “I’m right behind you.”
    HE’D BEEN RIGHT about the heat. Cilla calculated she’d dropped a couple of pounds in sweat alone by the time she unhooked her tool belt for the day. She treated herself to a long, cool shower in her one nearly completed bathroom. Paint and light