— FRANKIE —
1. BLACK SHEEP
We weren’t members of the mob. Not officially. But you’d never know it from our names—Jimmy, Tommy, Pauly, and Frankie. Our lives resembled some B-list mobster movie that no one had ever heard of before. And with a last name like DiGorgio and an absentee dad, we were not only the black sheep of our family, but we were pretty much destined to receive blame for everything that went wrong in Buckley, the small town where I’d grown up. Although to be fair, we were almost always responsible for most of the trouble.
Most of it. The rest was my dad’s fault.
My dad. Jimmy DiGorgio Sr. He was a good guy. A good guy who just happened to do illegal things. Things that led to weekly visits with him while separated by a pane of glass. Things that led to him wearing an orange jumpsuit with a number, instead of his name, printed on the back. Yup. My dad was a regular resident at the local prison.
He’d never killed anyone, at least I didn’t think he had, but society didn’t look too kindly on someone who repeatedly took things that didn’t belong to them. Especially when that person looked so damn respectable while robbing you blind. You’d think after the second or third time getting caught, my dad would have learned his lesson, but no. He’d get released with just enough time to knock my mom up again before his addiction took over and he got thrown handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser again.
Repeat offender. And impregnator.
My grandmother often asked my mom what she saw in Dad, and my mom would smile and say, “Charm.”
And that’s when I learned that being charming didn’t necessarily mean the same thing as the Prince Charming in the Cinderella stories. Don’t get me wrong. My dad could charm the pants off anyone, which come to think of it was probably how he and my mom got together in the first place. But it was that same charm that gave him the impression that he had the license to take whatever he wanted, no matter who it belonged to. He was like a real life H.I. McDunnough in Raising Arizona. But instead of holding up convenience stores, my dad was addicted to taking from the “Haves” because, in his opinion, we were the “Have Nots.” He had a knack for talking his way into a company, and while he was earning himself the title of employee of the month and climbing the ladder of success, he had his hands deep in the company till taking them for all they were worth.
Computer fraud. It was his superpower.
He could bewitch a security system as easily as he could a person. And he never played the same game twice. His name and M.O. changed as often has his prisoner number. He was too smart and charming for his own good. For anyone’s good really.
That’s why I never bothered with being charming. I couldn’t allow myself to become my dad no matter how much I loved the idiot. Frankie DiGorgio might have been a daddy’s girl, but I was nothing like my father. I was unapologetically and offensively honest, offensive being the operative word. I wasn’t out to make friends or win people over. What you saw was what you got. I didn’t regret who I was, but I did have regrets. And coming back to my hometown was making my regrets starkly clear.
I stood at the bottom of the steps, my hand on the wooden rail, as I looked up at the house that had been my home for most of my life. Four years had passed since I’d left, but it had been even longer since any of my brothers had lived here. Nana had been moved to the nursing home only a few months ago, but the house looked like it was abandoned for much longer. Guilt settled low in my stomach at the realization that my fear of coming home had led to the current state of the house. The house that my beloved Nana had lived in alone. If I had only been brave enough to come home sooner, maybe it wouldn’t look like it had a good chance at becoming the local haunted house.
The paint was peeling off the porch railing, the roof needed replacing, and everything had a look of general abandonment. That’s why I was here....why I had finally returned home. I had an entire summer to get the house back in living condition. My family was counting on me. If we were going to sell this place and give up our childhood home, I was at least going to make sure we got the most for it that we possibly could.
I shrugged, finally admitting that I had probably bitten off more than I could chew. And then I grinned to myself because...how very typically Frankie of me to do so. No one would be surprised.
Determined not to choke on my ambition within the first ten minutes, I started up the stairs. As soon as I put weight on the first step, the board snapped in two, and my foot plunged through the broken wood.
“Goddamnit!” I swore as I caught the railing and just barely avoided snapping my leg in half. I tried to dislodge my foot without ripping the skin off my ankle and managed to tear one of the balusters off the railing in the process. Well then. I guess I’m adding a few more things to the To-Do list.
After freeing myself, I sat down on the worn wood and tried to wipe away the cobwebs and bug carcasses that clung to my Converse sneakers. I let out a sigh and gazed around. Even though I knew it looked worse than it was, the place appeared as if it was a few screws shy of crumbling into a heap of rubble and that thought made me sad. The house was old, but back when my brothers, mom, and I lived here with Nana, this place was cozy. It was home.
I leaned back on my hands, and my fingertips found the old carving at the top of the steps before my eyes did.
FRANKIE RULES
I made Austin carve that there after he lost a bet to me. Of course, I didn’t think about the repercussions of defiling the infamous porch my grandfather had built by hand. When Nana found the carving, she made me mow the lawn the rest of the summer as punishment—a punishment my brothers never let me forget. But hell if it wasn’t worth it. FRANKIE RULES will forever be ingrained on this porch, and it’s there for everyone to see before they enter the house.
Even though she was irritated, Nana never made me sand it out, and I think in a way she liked my fearlessness and was proud to let those words live on. With a dad like mine, she knew that my confidence was the one suit of armor I needed against the rumors and looks of disdain that I often faced. The kids at school were rarely kind, but then again, neither was I.
I traced the letters and felt a bittersweet smile wrestle across my mouth. Oh, how Austin had bitched and moaned as I made him scratch out each letter with Tommy’s pocket knife. Austin was the voice of reason in our friendship, the one who avoided trouble, and yet he honored the bet and risked his ass to please me. He was one of the few people who could.
Please me, that is.
An unexpected sound echoed across the lawn. I blinked myself out of my memories and lifted my gaze just in time to see the curtain fall back into place over one of the windows of the house next door—Austin’s old bedroom window to be exact.
Wait. Is someone there?
My stomach flipped and not in a good way. I’m not sure why that idea would surprise me. After the Stones moved to Vegas for Austin’s and Dallas’s show, Dueling Cellos, the house had been empty. They hadn’t even rented it out. At least, that’s what I’d heard. But it had been years since they left. Maybe they’d finally gotten renters.
Or worse. They sold it.
I pushed up from the porch, brushing the dirt off the back of my pants, and slowly wandered to the edge of the yard as I craned my neck toward the front of his old house. The big decorative pots on either side of the door had fresh flowers, and there was a truck parked in the driveway that I hadn’t noticed before.
I glanced at the window again but didn’t see anyone. The Stone house looked just as perfect and pristine as it always did. Even when it was empty, it never looked abandoned. But then again, even when people were living there, you couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the fancy gardening and magazine-worthy appearance that gave it the look of life…whereas our house looked alive because it was always full of people coming and going. It’s possible that our house had always been run-down and I never noticed when I lived here because it was decorated with the people I loved.
The thought flashed in my mind that I should at least walk over and introduce myself to the new neighbor, but then I discarded that idea as quickly as it came. I was only here for the summer and there was no point in opening up new wounds by seeing a stranger taking over Austin’s past…my past. That would be more than I could handle. It would be the final nail in the coffin of my childhood crush.
Even though I promised myself I’d never be like my dad, there was the one deception I would allow myself. Deep down I knew Austin was gone for good, that I had probably ruined any chance at reconciliation, but as long as that house was empty, I had allowed myself the fantasy that he might one day come home. That he might come looking for me.
Nope. I wasn’t going to go over only to make myself upset for no reason. I was going to fix up Nana’s house, I was going to sell it, and my brothers and I would finally be able to get her the care she deserved.
It didn’t matter who was living in the Stone’s house.
I turned back toward my place and told myself all the lies I needed to hear to put one foot in front of the other and not look back.