Angie’s third sister, Maria, looked up from the catalogues and files spread out on the floor and scowled. They’d never been close, and that look reminded Angie why.
Maria was the serious, religious one in the family. Everyone thought she’d become a nun. The family was shocked when she eloped with a saxophone player from Pier 17, a jazz nightclub on the Embarcadero. No one knew Maria even liked jazz.
Now, she acted as publicist for her husband—and had turned the name Dominic Klee into a household word for jazz buffs. They now owned the Jazz Workshop, where Klee’s Quintet played when they weren’t touring. Maria straightened the catalogues into a stack and then turned her full attention on Angie.
“Did Papà send you here?” she asked, her eyes narrow. “He can’t believe we’re not starving.”
“I didn’t even tell him I was coming,” Angie said.
Maria flicked her waist-length, straight black hair off her shoulders to fall smoothly down her back. With no makeup, rows of silver bracelets, and heavy, dangling silver earrings, she grew more exotic every day.
“So, what’s this about, Angie?”
“I’m trying to learn about marriage,” she said. She knew Dominic had to leave Maria and their son at home while he toured, and, in a sense, Paavo was gone a lot, too, because of the long hours he worked. Angie found his schedule, or lack of one, hard to deal with. “I was just wondering if Dominic’s being gone so much bothered you?”
Maria shrugged. “What can I say? It’s his job. His life. It’s what he loves, and I love him.”
“But he’s working in nightclubs. There’s drinking, drugs, women throwing themselves at him. I mean, he’s very…um…” Angie wasn’t sure of the word to use around her religious sister.
“Sexy?” Maria offered.
“Well, yes.”
“Don’t I know it.” Maria’s face broke into a smile as she thought about her husband—a smile that Angie realized had nothing religious about it.
Her sister grew serious. “I trust him, Angie. I have to. For our marriage, it doesn’t matter if he’s home or away. I’ve found the perfect way to deal with it.”
“Oh, good.” Angie was desperate for answers. “How do you do it?”
“I pray a lot.”