Stephen began to whimper.
“Can you take us to him?” Elaine had never been to the Brooklyn Hospital before, but she knew it was near Fort Greene Park, where they’d had the picnic.
“It’s this way, see. I was coming to get both of youse yesterday, but that blow to his head was bad, and I wasn’t feeling too good myself, and the thing is”—he collapsed with a thud on one of the wooden chairs—“he’s gone and died.”
For a moment there was only silence. Elaine looked at the small man slumped in the chair. His words made no sense. She wanted to shake him. Pop was late or on a binge.
She felt as if her head would explode.
“Lainey? Lainey?” Stephen’s voice was a sledgehammer.
She couldn’t think. “Stephen, shut up!”
Startled into silence, Stephen gulped and wiped at his nose.
“The police took up a collection to get you through.” Meeks reached into his pocket and brought out a roll of bills and set them carefully on the table. “And don’t worry none about the hospital bill; they took him as a charity case.”
Her pulse pounded in her head. “Why did the police give us this money?”
Mr. Meeks looked away.
“What happened?”
His watery eyes circled back to her, blue pouches underneath, tender as bruises.
“He was a stoolie. That’s why they let him out the last time he was in. Some of the guys found out.”
A stool pigeon? Pop?
“And they’ll take care of the body for you. It might be best—”
“Pop’s no snitch!” Stephen kicked at Mr. Meeks’s shin, and missed.
Elaine’s stomach was a cold sea. Pop was gone. What did it matter what he’d done? Where would they go? Who would take care of them?
“I suppose you got relatives to take you in?” Meeks asked hopefully, sidling toward the door.
Relatives? One aunt dead, another married and moved to the Midwest, and her aunt Flo with kids of her own and no husband. She wanted to wail like Stephen, to lie down on the floor and sob. They’d manage; they’d been managing all along. She eyed the roll of bills. How much was there? The important thing was to take care of Stephen. She needed to make this man go away before he asked any more questions.
“Well, if there’s nothing more . . . he was a fine gentleman, your father. Wanted to help the law.” As he talked, he inched closer to the door.
Elaine, feeling like it was someone else’s hand, reached out and opened the door. Someone else’s words flowed out of her mouth. “Thank you. We’ll be fine. Yes, I’ll get in touch with my aunt.” Then she closed the door, drew Stephen on her lap like her mother used to do, and, dry-eyed, began to plan their future.
Chapter Thirty-Five
SET APART
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA—AUGUST 1955
Molly
The first time Robert came to our house, I kept a close watch on him to see if he really was a different kind of species, a miracle boy.
He had an elusive air about him that made him seem apart. And it was his very elusiveness I found intriguing at first.
Apparently, Robert had been asking to come ever since we had dinner at their house. Mom had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, I thought, especially when she heard Uncle Stephen would be at an all-day teacher meeting to prepare for the coming school year.
I knew Robert would have to cross the front lawn, where a handful of the faithful still lingered. Angus and I watched from the window as an old man reached out to touch his arm as he walked the path to our front door. Robert smiled. He didn’t pull away like I would have.
Angus and I had barely begun one of our perpetual summer Monopoly games. These games could last for days, the board left open on our kitchen table, and usually involved Ari and several other friends. But I hadn’t heard from Ari or any of my friends since the news of the miracle broke. I wondered how long I’d be ostracized. With a pang, I thought about Jesse’s words. Boys don’t like girls who are different. Apparently, friends didn’t either.
Robert was thrilled to join in our Monopoly game. He claimed the shoe and began amassing property as quickly as he could. One thing I liked about him right away was that he played the game like Angus and I did—to win. I had no time for people who played a half-hearted game. I threw in everything I had each time, and then tried not to feel too bad if I didn’t win. But I never managed not to care.
Angus had added his final hotels to Park Place when Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway. She leaned against the door jamb without speaking for a few minutes, watching us play. A newspaper ad for back-to-school specials at Sears dangled from one hand.
“What happened to your report card?”
All three of us turned to look at her. My stomach clenched.
“It’s August. It should have been here months ago. I’m calling the school tomorrow.”
“No one will be there,” I said.
“Then I’m calling Mr. Pedersen at home.”
My whole body began to vibrate. There was going to be no easy way out of this. “You can’t call the principal at home. He isn’t the one who sends out the report cards.”
She straightened up. “It’s his school and he should be responsible for what’s happening or not happening in it.”
The problem was, I knew she would do it. Angus was counting money and Robert was reading something in the rule book. Neither of them felt the warning tremors.
“Don’t call anyone. I have it.”
“Then why haven’t I seen it? Since when have you become the kind of person who keeps secrets?”
The color was rising in her cheeks. Angus and Robert both looked up.
“What secrets?” Angus asked.
Mom ignored him and kept her eyes glued to me.
“I learned from you!” Something was unspooling inside me. “And why are you asking now? Any other mother would have asked two months ago.”
She took a step forward. “Don’t try and make this about me. Did you or did you not hide your report card from me?”
I glared at her, noticing how when she was really mad, the area around her lips went white.
“I want to see it now.”
Angus and Robert looked at each other. Without a word, they both got up and left.
“Fine.” We locked eyes. There was no escape now.
I stood and stalked into my bedroom. Flinging open the closet door, I burrowed behind my clothes to the back shelf. The envelope was lying unopened next to the biography box. I dumped the box on the floor and the Polaroids scattered with the dust bunnies. Let her figure out her own life. Tears pricked my eyes.
She was waiting outside my bedroom door. I handed her the unopened envelope. She ripped it open with one finger.
“You’re grounded.”
“I might as well be already. No one wants to come here with all the crazies in the front yard.” I couldn’t stop myself. “People already thought we were strange. Uncle Stephen didn’t have to prove it to them!”
She pulled out the report card. I knew there was only one grade that mattered to her.
“You got a C in English.” Her voice sounded incredulous. “There’s a note from your teacher. She says that you had an A, but you didn’t turn in the final project.”
Her eyes met mine.
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“It wasn’t good enough. I learned that from you. If it’s not perfect, it doesn’t count. That’s why we don’t count.”
“Is that what you think? I want you to be perfect?”
Tears were leaking down my cheeks now. I scrubbed them away with the heel of my hand.
She let her hand drop, reached out to touch me, and then drew her hand back. “I only want you to be better than me.”
“I’ll never be better than you.”
For a moment we locked eyes. Hers were soft now, softer than her words.
“Oh, Molly, you already are.”
The fire burned bright inside the candy house, and the old woman bade them sit at the table and eat their fill. Hansel and Gretel could hardly believe their good fortune. All the while the old woman watched them with her flint-hard eyes. They could do with a bit of fattening up. She fed them tender lies. How easily they slipped down the children’s throats. Then she gave them soft beds with real feather mattresses and tucked them safely in.
The round moon crouched by the window, guarding the children while they slept. An owl hooted in the dark. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, it would show them the path home.
Chapter Thirty-Six
ORPHAN
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK—OCTOBER 1919
ELAINE
Every night at dusk that first week after Pop died, Elaine found herself listening for his whistle on the stairs to their flat. Some days she was sure she heard it; the door would burst open and he would saunter in. She pictured them sitting around the dinner table while he told stories about trying to tame Harry Ames’s cantankerous horse. Then she’d tell him how hard it was trying to figure everything out by herself, and she’d ask him what to do next. He’d tell her not to worry because he had a plan and would take care of everything. But it had never been that way.
Orphan was an ugly word. Hollow and cold on the tongue, like a bone with all the marrow sucked out. Now, like Hansel and Gretel, they were alone. And the woods felt dark and treacherous.
There had been no service for Pop, but Elaine had agreed, when Tim Meeks asked, to put him in the same grave with her mother and baby Claire. A grave she hadn’t visited in the last six months, but one that was always there, imprinted on her eyelids.
On Saturday, Elaine walked with Stephen to his first altar boy class and shopped for food while he was busy. Then, in the gathering dark, they walked home.
“Remember that you don’t say anything about Pop to anyone—not at the church, not at school.”
“I know.” Stephen kicked a stone for several steps. “When Father Kearny asked, I said Pop was working overtime. Mom wouldn’t like me lying to a priest.” The rest of the way home, he told Elaine about everything he learned.
She nodded as he talked, but her thoughts were elsewhere, planning how to make it through the next week and the week after that. Her mind could never rest. At night she lay awake thinking about their future. How long could they escape notice? She’d told May that it would be easier to start school in January, after the holidays, and that she was studying to catch up with her class. That bought her a little time without questioning.
Their rent had gone from fifteen to twenty dollars over the last six months. All over Brooklyn, rents had skyrocketed. The newspapers were filled with stories of renter strikes. Mr. Seward called the landlords profiteers, but said the Socialists were no better, trying to gain political office off people’s misery. All Elaine knew was that her salary alone wouldn’t be enough. She’d have to take in sewing on the weekends, and maybe Stephen could get a delivery job after school.
Most of the time she thought about Howie. May said he was in the middle of midterm exams and very busy. When Elaine couldn’t sleep, she pretended she was part of the Gossley family, wore new dresses, and went to school every day riding in a fine car. And thinking about these things helped her mind drift into a more comfortable place where sleep was a possibility, unless she thought about the kiss. Then she lay awake staring into the dark, wondering if it would happen again. And if she wanted it to. Now every time they met, however briefly, the kiss hovered between them like a tiny moth Elaine couldn’t ignore but was powerless to capture.
After Howie passed his exams, the Gossleys talked about college. Howie wanted to be an architect and design skyscrapers like his uncle Sherman. His father’s brother had an office in Manhattan, and he’d invited Howie to visit him for a day to see what an architect really did. Ever since, Howie could talk of nothing else. He was coming home for lunch more frequently again, and Elaine looked forward to their short times together, but the moth was always there, always a distraction.
“Come keep me company while I eat, Princess.” Howie poked his head into the morning room where Elaine and Mr. Seward had just finished the papers.
“Can I?” Elaine looked up at Mr. Seward, who merely grunted in response. Elaine took that as an affirmative and left the room to the mynah’s calls of “Retreat! Retreat!”
“There’s a dance at school next week,” Howie said with his mouth full of soup. “None of the girls are as pretty as you.”
Elaine looked down at her bowl. She didn’t want him to see her smile.
“I suppose I’ll have to go. When are you going back to school?”
Tucking the smile away, she looked up. Her answer would have to be careful. “Maybe in the spring, but I hear it’s better to start in the fall. That way you’re with the rest of the class.”
“But you’ll be a whole year behind then.” He wrinkled his brow. “Maybe I could keep you caught up.”
“Would you? I like to study. I wouldn’t be much trouble to teach.”
“I bet you wouldn’t. Who wouldn’t want a pupil with as many fine points as you have?”
This time Elaine was not quick enough to disguise her blush.
Howard laughed. “But in exchange, I want some information. What did you give my grandfather for his birthday that made him so pleased?”
“It was nothing.” Had Mr. Seward shown it to anyone?
“Nothing wouldn’t make him so happy. He liked it way better than the mynah.” Howie caught her arm. “What was it?”
“Nothing much. A poem I wrote.”
“A poem? The old man got all worked up about a poem?” Howie studied her face and dropped her arm. “You’ll have to recite it to me sometime.” His smile this time didn’t reach his eyes.
The next afternoon, he arrived at lunch with a math book and dropped it on the table. “Show me what you know.”
Elaine slowly opened it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done sums, but I used to be good at them.” What if she’d forgotten how? The problems blurred and swam on the page. When the text settled, she realized the book was just a little ahead of where she’d left off in school.
“I think I can do these.” She pointed to the first problem set in the book. “And the rest with some practice.”
“Right, then. Have them done by Thursday, and I’ll check your answers.” He grabbed some bread, then gathered up his coat and cap.
Elaine hugged the book to herself. If he didn’t care about her, he wouldn’t bother tutoring her, would he? And he didn’t bring up the poem this time. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Her evening ritual changed. While Stephen did his homework, Elaine puzzled out math problems at the wooden table. Math was like anything else: the more you practiced, the better you got. All that mattered was that Howie became impressed with her progress. Would he ask her to the dance? He’d said none of the other girls were as pretty. When her studying was done, she began to work on remaking one of her mother’s dresses, so she’d be ready when he asked.
Meanwhile, missing Pop was a dull ache, nothing like the knife twist of her mother’s death. Pop had really left them when their mother died. Any mourning now was for herself and for Stephen, for how life had thrown them a curve ball.
Friday afternoon, as Elaine was leaving for home, Howie surprised her in the Gossleys’ entry. In a pinstriped suit with a cherry red tie, Elaine was sure he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
“How do I look?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Not bad. Why aren’t you at school?”
“Half day, and what do you mean, not bad? Is that all you have to say?” He ran his hands down the legs of his trousers. “I bought these for the dance tomorrow.”
Elaine smiled. She’d finished the hem on her dress last night.
“Want to see a picture of the girl I’m taking?” He dug in the pocket of his coat and pulled out an envelope. “Sally Wilson.” He d
rew out a small photo. “Her father’s a friend of my old man.”
It was uncomfortably still in Elaine’s chest. Had her heart stopped beating? She leaned over his arm and stared at a photo of a sweet-faced girl with dark hair cut in the latest bob.
“She’s pretty.” The words hurt her mouth.
“What color flowers should I get her? Don’t all girls like pink?” Howie put the photo back in the envelope and returned it to his pocket.
How could she have been so mistaken? Was he really asking her to pick out flowers for his date?
“You don’t know anything about girls. Not all girls like the same things. If you paid more attention to anything but their looks, you’d know that!”
“No need to go for a full attack. I merely asked a simple question.” He smoothed his hair in the entryway mirror. “We won’t be able to study today. I’ve got to clean the car if I want to take it tomorrow.”
“I have other plans anyway,” Elaine lied.
“Oh, you do, do you?” Howie looked at her quizzically, but when Elaine didn’t say anything more, he shrugged. “Well, I’ll see you Monday for geometry.”
Howard still loitered in the entry. Elaine pictured him with Sally. Her chest ached.
“You’re an idiot, Howard Gossley!” She yanked open the front door.
“Girls,” he said. “Never understand them.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
WINGS
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA—AUGUST 1955
Molly
The wind had been grinding its teeth all day. It was a wild, warm wind, nothing like I’d ever seen before in a Bay Area summer. It was the kind of wind expected in the fall, a wind to strip the leaves from trees, baring them for winter. But here it was, kicking up its heels in the middle of an August afternoon. Along with the wind, the sky had changed, swelling to a purple bruise. Mom said it reminded her of thunderstorm weather, something we never experienced in San Jose.
I should have known what a strong wind would do to Angus. It was the signal he’d been waiting for all summer. But I had been preoccupied with my own things, and hadn’t been thinking about Angus and Robert at all. Robert had arrived around noontime; Mrs. Crater had dropped him off on her way to get her hair done. Just like always, she reminded him of his special status in the eyes of God and man and then kissed him on the cheek before she drove off with a screaming little R in the backseat.
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