by Rita Lakin
The best part was the holidays, Mama’s branch of the family – the Franz side of the family – was Jewish, and Dad’s side – the Steiners – were church-goers. That meant eight nights of presents when the Hanukkah candles were lit at the Franzes’, and then, the most fun of all, Christmas day at the Steiners’, with mountains of presents under an over-decorated and toy-filled tree. All gone now.
What she had, instead, was always being alone. No one to play with. No one to talk to. No storybook parents or grandparents. Her childhood was something out of a Charles Dickens nightmare. That was and is her life.
Because by the time Tori was born, on that horrible day, in that awful place, an obviously unwanted child, everything went really sour. When their parents became criminals, and no longer lived at home. And Grandma Ida would soon run away.
That’s when the Steiners sold their small house, too, and moved in to this larger one, replacing Mom and Dad, and then Ida, to take care of the three children. They had no choice, but their resentment ran high.
Tori opened the triple-locked doors. It always reminded her that she had been told, in ‘the happy time’, everyone left their house and car doors unlocked. Even with the keys still on the front seats.
First she sniffed, hoping to smell something cooking. No, the usual odor of cigarette smoke and of cheap liquor. She dumped her torn school backpack near the front door and reluctantly headed for the kitchen.
Grandma Gertrude sat, as typical, in her dull brown faded wooden chair at the dull brown scarred kitchen table, its earlier shine long gone. A cigarette in one hand, the booze glass in the other. Staring into space. Nothing new about that. But this was odd – she was still wearing her morning ratty bathrobe and her feet were bare, her hair uncombed. And wait, where was Grandpa Maxel? With his stinking cigars and shouted curses?
Not that Tori cared. She peered into the beat-up fridge and dug out a rancid-smelling slice of American cheese. She scraped off the mold and slid down in her chair and chewed at it. ‘Mmm, so much better than yesterday’s cat food.’
No comment. None expected.
‘So, Tori, beloved grandchild, how was your day at school?’ Tori, a natural mimic, faked her grandmother’s harsh voice perfectly.
Now Tori ‘answering’ the faux grandparent, ‘It was a wonderful day. I aced my math test. Was voted the cutest girl in the entire school. The football hero asked me out on a date.’
Nothing. No response.
‘So, about dinner. Where’s my sirloin steak? Make sure it’s medium rare this time. The last one burned. And about the baked potato with sour cream and chives. You might try cooking the potato first.’
This was the game she played with herself, having improbable conversations with those semi-conscious robots she was forced to live with.
Then she became aware of a different stench. Oh, God, urine. Her grandmother had peed herself. And that sound? Like whining. Gertrude, rocking her body and making that god-awful noise.
Tori leaped up. ‘I am not going to change your bloomers, you hear! Let dear Maxel do it.’
‘IN THERE!’ Grandma shouted, pointing.
‘IN WHERE?’ Tori shouted back.
The old lady dropped the cigarette in the booze glass, dragged herself out of her chair and hobbled out of the kitchen.
‘What’s where?’ Tori followed her through the unlit hallways. What was the old bag up to now?
They reached the bedroom, the room her parents had once slept in. Taken over years ago, after Ida left, by the Steiners.
Grandmother pointed at the bed. Where Maxel was lying, his face to the wall.
‘THERE!’ She screamed.
Tori leaned over the bed and shouted at her grandfather. ‘No, no, none of that! You’re in charge of diaper-changing tonight.’
Tori pulled at him, turning the body around. His body flopping. ‘I don’t care how drunk you are. Get out of this bed!’
A body that showed no response no matter how hard she shook it. She finally realized that Grandpa Maxel was dead.
And behind her Grandmother Gertrude, still pointing, making that sound like a squealing pig.
SEVEN
Tori’s Story – Grandma and Grandpa Same Night
They were back in the kitchen.
‘Grandma, I’m so sorry.’ Tori tried to put her arm around the shaking woman.
Her grandmother shrugged her away, and sat back down on her chair, eyes fixed on the greasy, unwashed floor. Tori went to the stove.
‘Would you like some tea? Do you want me to call anyone?’
‘What for? It won’t help him.’
‘But maybe it would be good to have someone around.’ Tori was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. Or say. Hey, she thought, I’m just a kid here. I’ve never seen a dead person before.
‘No, leave me alone.’
‘You’re shaking. I’ll get you a blanket.’
‘No, go away.’
Tori poured herself a cup of tea and placed it on the table. She lifted the half-empty bottle of whiskey and held it up toward Grandma. She brought her a barely clean glass and removed the one with the cigarette butt.
The old woman grabbed the bottle from her and poured her own drink with trembling hands. She gulped it down and tossed another. Poured yet one more.
‘When did it happen? Did he just not wake up this morning?’ Attempting to make small talk, knowing she was doing it wrong.
‘Shut up.’
‘I’m trying to help.’
‘Don’t bother.’ She downed the third shot, and pulled herself up again.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To bed.’
‘That’s a good idea. You should get some rest.’ Then, the horrible thought. ‘You want me to make up a bed for you in Marilyn’s old room?’
‘I’m sleeping with him.’
Disturbing visions of things she’d read in books. Maybe lying in his own mess. Gross. ‘I’d be glad to do it. With clean sheets.’
Grandma Gertrude shook a fist at her. ‘I slept next to that man for sixty-five years. I’ll die next to him.’
She started out of the room.
Tori followed after her, grabbing at her arm. ‘Don’t talk silly. You have a lot of years left. I’ll get up real early and buy some food and I’ll make you a nice breakfast.’ She was summoning up every cliché she’d ever heard or read or seen in movies.
‘Don’t bother.’
She looked at her grandma, standing like a stone statue; glaring at her. Whispering now. ‘Grandma, why do you hate me?’ Somehow she finally needed to ask this question. A question hanging over her all her life.
Gertrude actually smiled, as if she had waited years for this moment. Spittle formed on her lips. ‘Because it all went bad when you were born. You put a curse on us. You doomed us to this hideous life.’
Tori clutched at her stomach, as if her grandmother had stuck a knife in her gut.
As if that wasn’t enough, her grandmother had more to say. ‘Don’t bother coming to wake me. I’m leaving with him tonight. I pray Saint Peter will be at the gates, waiting to let us into heaven.’
She watched, holding down her nausea, as Grandma Gertrude pulled off her bathrobe and climbed into the bed beside the dead man.
Tori was determined not to sleep that night. Every hour on the hour she stood at their open door and glanced down at her grandmother, her arms clutched around her dead husband’s body. Tori leaned in to make sure she was breathing.
Tori finally fell asleep, in spite of not wanting to, sitting up in an armchair in her bedroom. It was nine a.m. when she finally awakened, leapt up and rushed to their bedroom.
The breathing had stopped. Her grandmother was dead. She gasped, no, impossible! But sadly, true.
Tori’s first thought, she must call the police. Then, thought again. Maybe she’d better not.
To her surprise, Tori wanted to cry. She held it back. ‘I’m so sorry life was so crappy for you. Rest in peace, Gra
ndma. Rest in peace, Grandpa.’
EIGHT
Tori’s Story – The Sisters Early Morning
‘I can’t believe my eyes! I can’t believe it! Both of them dead!’ Her sister, Marilyn, shook her head in disbelief. And you didn’t call the police!’
‘I called you.’
Shirley was holding a small pocket mirror in front of her grandmother’s nose. The girls were lined up alongside the bed, staring down on this bizarre sight.
Tori had phoned her sisters and they had both dashed over. She found herself looking closely at them, something she hardly ever did. As they were getting older, they looked more alike. Marilyn at twenty-six, Shirley, twenty-three. Both were starting to get fat around the belly, like Mom. With Mom’s Wicked Witch hooked nose, and her straight hair and dark coloring.
Tori felt lucky; maybe she took after Dad, not that she’d ever seen a photo. He probably had her lighter, curly brown hair. As she watched her much older sisters pretend they cared, she thought of herself as Cinderella with those two wicked sisters. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all? She giggled. Wrong fairy tale.
Suddenly Marilyn pushed at Shirley’s hand holding the mirror. ‘Stop it, already.’ And Tori came out of her reverie.
Shirley was miffed. ‘I just wanted to make sure. I never heard of anyone saying they’re going to die and then lie down and just do it!’
Marilyn turned to Tori, suspicious now. ‘What did you do? You said you wanted them dead. Did you find some way to poison Grandma, so she would die, too?’
Tori thought about smacking her, then decided not to. ‘Don’t be an idiot. I told you exactly how it went down.’
‘Grandma actually told you she was getting into the bed with him in order to die with him. Right then and there?’
‘That was her story, Morning Glory. Just like Romeo and Juliet. Two dead people in spooning position. And hoped Saint Peter would let them into heaven. If it was up to me, the pearly gates would be locked and they’d be on their way to hell.’
Marilyn couldn’t stand it. ‘But they hated each other! I’ll bet from the day they married. They never stopped cursing each other. Why would she want to die with him?’
Shirley added her bit. ‘Used to throw plates at each other. I wish she had given me her Fiesta Ware set of dishes, instead of breaking everything against the kitchen wall.’
‘Why didn’t you call a doctor?’ Marilyn asked. ‘Or the police?’
‘Are you crazy? I thought about it. Their doctor could make them undead? The cops would think the same stupid thing you did and arrest me? Thanks a bunch.’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Shirley whined. ‘I can’t stand looking at them, and besides, the room smells.’
In the hallway Marilyn added, ‘The whole place stinks.’
Tori pinched Marilyn’s arm. ‘You noticed that, did you? This is what I’ve been living with. You might have noticed if you ever came here to visit. And don’t ask for anything to eat, or drink, there’s nothing. We ran out of food stamps a week ago. I beg kids to share their lunches with me at school. A few do.’
Automatically, without even discussing it, they reached the kitchen and her two sisters sat down. Tori paced. Marilyn frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Tori, I never believed you when you said it was this bad. Forgive me.’
‘I forgive you.’
‘Because we’re much older than you, I didn’t think we had anything in common.’
Shirley couldn’t resist. She looked in the fridge, then closed it quickly. ‘Disgusting.’
‘Might have been nice if either of you ever invited me to lunch. I would never ask to be invited to come over for dinner, considering your loving husbands would be there. God forbid I might make a pass at one of them. Ugh!’
Shirley looked like she was about to argue, but Marilyn stopped her. They both knew she was right.
Her sisters sat quietly for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts. Tori leaned her back against the kitchen sink, arms folded, ignoring the dirty dishes.
Shirley asked, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘What am I going to do? I’m the baby in the family; I’m looking to the two of you for help.’
‘We could call the pastor of their church,’ Shirley suggested.
‘Too late to hear their final prayers.’
‘We have to report their deaths to an undertaker or someone. There has to be a funeral, I guess.’ Marilyn lifted her arm from the table and rubbed at a dirty stain on her elbow.
Tori jumped away from the sink and pounded on the table. ‘Wait! I just realized! You better do nothing. Not until I make some kind of plan for myself.’
Shirley was confused. ‘What do you mean? What plan?’
She was thinking out loud. ‘They won’t let me live here alone. I’m a minor. I can’t move in with either of you. You made that clear. I can’t live with Mom in prison, ha ha, funny! They’ll drag me through those Child Services. My life will no longer be my own. What will they do? Get me adopted? Stick me in some stranger’s home who’ll get paid to keep me, and I bet it’ll be with another pair of drunks. You can’t tell anyone, not yet! I need time to think.’
Marilyn spoke sadly, ‘You’re going to run away? They’ll catch you like they did all the rest of the times.’
Shirley’s head hung down. ‘I said something to Kip.’
Tori turned to her and shook her shoulders. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Not too much.’
‘What, exactly?’
Shirley hesitated. ‘I told him only Grandpa was dead. I wasn’t sure what you meant when you said they were both dead.’
Tori kept shaking her. ‘You have to take that back!’
‘I don’t know how—’
Tori didn’t let her finish. ‘Are you sure he was listening? He usually tunes you out.’
It looked like Shirley was about to argue again, and then didn’t bother. ‘Well, he was working on his Harley.’
Tori relaxed. ‘If he brings it up, tell him he heard you wrong.’
Shirley nodded her head. ‘I’ll just say he’s kind of sick … a cold, that’s it. Not that he’d care.’
Marilyn got up. ‘I need to get home.’
‘Me, too,’ Shirley copy-catted, also getting up.
‘Give me time to decide what to do.’
Tori walked them to the door. Shirley turned and headed back. ‘Wait. Hang on a mo, I wanna take her Jiminy Cricket Christmas platter. She won’t need it anymore.’
Tori glared at Marilyn. ‘I have one idea already and you’re going to help me. I want to go see Mom. Maybe she’ll give me an idea or something. Besides, I need to tell her I’m getting out of here.’
Marilyn backed off, half out the front door. ‘No way. I’ve taken you enough times. I swore I’d never go to that damn prison again. I can’t stand it. She’s mad as a hatter.’
‘You don’t have to sit next to her, just go, so I can get in.’
‘No. I don’t know how she gets drugs and booze in that place. But she’s in Looney Tunes land now. Last time she didn’t even know who I was. So, definitely, not.’
‘Don’t mess with me now. I’m your sister. You have to do this one last thing and then you’ll never see me again.’
Marilyn took Tori’s hands in hers. ‘I’m so sorry. About never being there for you. But I know her loyal lawyer visits her often. We don’t have to.’
‘I don’t care. You will take me to Mom.’ She pointed a thumb back toward the bedroom. ‘They’re ripening pretty fast in here.’
They turned at the sound of a crash. Shirley walked back to them, with a shrug, looking sheepish. ‘Dropped it. No biggie, they’ll think it goes with all the other plates Grandma trashed on the floor.’
Marilyn pushed Shirley out the door. ‘Moron!’
Tori called after her as she headed for her car. ‘I mean it, Marilyn. Hurry. I need to get out of here!’
She closed the door, stood there for a wh
ile, thinking. Well, first things first. Dear Gertrude and Maxel, those cheapskates, boasted how they never trusted banks. Time to search for her inheritance.
NINE
Tori’s Story – Off to Jail We Go
Two weeks before
As Tori watched hysterically, Marilyn drove round and round the prison’s vast parking area searching for an empty spot.
Tori was practically jumping out of her seat. ‘Find something, dammit. We’ll be late.’ She was aware of sweating in these too-tight, uncomfortable clothes, fearful her underarm stains would show. The weather around Stockdale was hot and sticky and Marilyn’s crappy air-conditioner hardly worked.
Tori pinched her arm. ‘Hurry. Over there. Someone is leaving.’
Marilyn kept driving in the same direction.
Tori punched her shoulder. ‘What are you doing? Can’t you make a U-ey? It’s only four cars down.’
‘Yeah, sure, but it’s an illegal turn. Want me to get arrested?’ Marilyn hiccupped with laughter. ‘Good one. We’re already in a prison yard; they can just drop me directly into a cell. Maybe I can room with Mom.’
She swiveled, looking forward. ‘Wait, never mind, look, there, three down, your side, another opening.’
Marilyn sped up and waited for the driver to back out.
Tori looked into the driver-side window of the beat-up old Volvo. ‘Damn, it’s some old biddy driving. She’ll take forever.’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Marilyn laughed again. ‘Grandma Gertrude used to say that.’
‘Don’t even mention her. Don’t tell Mom she’s dead. Don’t tell Mom anything. Pretend everything is okay.’
‘All right, already. I have no intention of saying a word. I’m warning you again, she won’t know who we are.’
Tori held her breath as the elderly woman maneuvered agonizingly slowly. ‘She’s so damn slow.’
‘Try to stay calm.’
Tori recited as if it were a mantra. ‘Five more minutes. Five more minutes and they won’t hold our VPASS! Four more minutes! They’ll toss us into the “walk-up” line and we’ll be here for hours. You know how strict they are about being here at least thirty minutes before an appointment! Three more minutes!’
