The Greeks of Beaubien Street

by Jenkins, Suzanne

  It was two days before Dana’s murder during one of Nick’s many absences that Paula decided to do a thorough cleaning. She was thinking they should sell. The house was ridiculous; many roomed and rambling, much too large for them. She started in the attic bedrooms, once her favorite place with sloping ceilings and cozy dormers. The walls were white painted wood paneling and the furniture reflected the cottage theme. Each room had built in bookcases and over the years she had stocked the shelves with volumes meant for her nieces and nephews. But none of them wanted to come to stay. The house wasn’t on water and was far from town, too quiet and boring for them. The bedrooms were perfectly decorated but lonely spaces. Liz and John and, rarely, Peter and Joan used them when they’d had too much to drink. The empty, unused rooms emphasized her failures in Paula’s mind.

  The second floor housed the master bedroom, a spare room Nick sometimes used when Paula didn’t feel good or his snoring was out of control, and his large, bright office. It was one of the first rooms she decorated when they bought the house. There was a low ceilinged storage area in the front of the room where it faced the street and two small dormer windows looked out on the manicured lawns. She placed leather winged back chairs in the windows but they were never used. Nick was never home long enough to sit in one.

  “What does a cop need with an office?” he’d asked her. Her father had one and left her great memories of time spent visiting him in his own space. Nick never had a place in the house that Paula could say, “That’s Nick’s.” He didn’t putter in the basement or have a work area in the garage. He knew where the alcohol was kept so he could make his brothers and their wives cocktails when they visited, and that was about it. He was like a visitor there himself.

  So it was in this atmosphere of disconnection that Paula felt perfectly justified in cleaning out the storage areas in the dormer spaces. It never crossed her mind that she would find something Nick didn’t want her to see. He rarely used the office; why would he hide anything there?

  The first thing she came across was a box of Nick’s memorabilia his mother had assembled for him over the years and when he finally got his own place, she felt safe handing over to him. It didn’t look like he had opened it since. She rummaged through it and saw it was nothing more than some old schoolwork papers, drawings he had done as a small child, awards he had received for good behavior, and a few silly mementos. Basically, it was a box of junk only a mother would care about. When she couldn’t throw it away, she left it to the son’s wife to do so. Paula wondered if Liz and Anna had similar boxes in their houses. She shook her head in disgust; her mother-in-law was a peasant.

  Behind the box of schoolboy junk were two cardboard boxes that had been moved from their first house, a two story condo in town, and never opened again. Paula was feeling exasperated. It didn’t occur to her that the meaning behind the hidden boxes had their origin in the same place the lack of Nick anywhere in the house came from. He didn’t feel safe there. The thing that was really him was stashed under the eaves. Paula took a razor blade cutter and slashed both boxes open. She lifted the content of one of the boxes and found it was all of Nick’s State Police Academy notebooks. There must have been fifty of them. He had also packed away his diploma and several important looking certificates. She looked up at the wall behind Nick’s desk. She’d hung a portrait of herself painted especially for Nick when she turned thirty. There was also a framed photo of Nick on the golf course at the Dearborn Country Club with his brother Andy, and another one at a course in Ann Arbor with Pete. She was suddenly embarrassed that she never thought in all these years that his police academy diploma might have been important to him. Oh well, she couldn’t read his mind, could she? Packing the notebooks and other papers back into the box, she pushed it out of the way and brought the last box forward. It was packed with legal sized envelopes, papers paper-clipped together, personal looking letters written on stationary and other intriguing looking items. One stuck out; it was a woman’s handwriting, written to Nick at his barrack address in Brighton.

  Paula got up from the floor, grunting from the difficult position she had been sitting in, and shoved the other boxes back into the storage area. She picked up the last box and took it up the flight of stairs to the attic bedrooms where she would be free to spread out. Nick never came up here, and if by chance he came home early, she didn’t want to have to explain. Her heart was beating a little faster, though.

  She unpacked the box, and the feminine appearing letters went in a pile to be looked at later. She was almost afraid of them. There were several eight by eleven envelopes with official looking return addresses, and a huge bundle of receipts. She started with the receipts, which appeared to be hand written rent receipts made out to a group home in Plymouth. It took a few seconds, but then it hit her. Nick must have been helping his brother with Christopher’s expenses. He’s such a good uncle! Paula thought. But the more she leafed through them, she saw that he had been paying out a lot of money for years. He received some money from his parents’ estate that made their life more comfortable then it might have been, but they weren’t Roosevelt, for God’s sake. She thought of the overtime they both worked over the years. She was a little baffled by the generosity for the boy, but Chris was his nephew after all.

  The first legal sized envelope had correspondence from a law firm in Northville regarding Christopher’s expenses. Now Paula was stymied. She had no idea what she was going to find. The last legal envelope spelled it out for her. It was DNA testing Nick himself had initiated five years earlier. It stated that there was a 99.98% probability that Nick was Christopher’s father. Paula still didn’t get it. Her initial thought was that Nick had provided the sperm for Gus and Christy to use for insemination. Then it hit her in the face like hot water; Nick had a son. It was her fault that they never had a child. In the next second, the feminine stationary caught her eye. Oh God. She reached for the pile; there may have been ten or twelve, and she leafed through them looking at postmarks. She arranged them from the newest to the oldest. They were written over a fourteen month period. She picked up the newest first. With shaking hands, she pulled out the thin piece of paper and unfolded it so the writing was on the surface, facing Paula’s eyes. She didn’t know if she had ever seen Christy’s handwriting, but something was telling her she was looking at it now.

  Dear Nicholas, We are doing the right thing. It would have been tragic to break up two marriages. I know I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself hurting Gus. I am sick at heart about the baby, though. That is the only thing that keeps me thinking maybe we should be together. We could be together with our baby. I’ll never forgive myself for my role in his problems. It’s our sins that caused it. Our selfishness. Have a happy life, Nick. Give Paula the love she deserves. And then the coup de grace. Love always, Christy

  Paula was astonished. When the hell did this happen? She counted back from the present and what she thought Chris’s age was. How old was he, anyway? Paula rummaged through the rest of the papers until she found something that looked like another legal envelope. It was a letter from Gus and Christina’s attorney serializing their agreement that Nick would pay for half the baby’s hospital bills or put him on his health insurance. Paula looked off into space. She thought she may have just discovered the reason for her husband’s eagerness to take care of health insurance issues when other bills were all her responsibility. He had the kid on his policy. For over - and here she had to count on her fingers - thirty five years, he had deceived her.

  She couldn’t stand the thought of reading the rest of the letters yet and would save them for another time. She boxed up the receipts and legal papers and took them back down to the office, shoving the box behind the others in the storage space. She went into her bathroom and washed her hands and face. Looking at her reflection, all she could think of was, Why? Why’d he do it? And the answer. How trite! she thought. Of course, Christy threw herself at him. Christy did it.

  She remembered hav
ing to go to that apartment in the dead of winter for Christmas Eve when the old folks were still alive, and Eleni Zannos not acknowledging her daughters-in-law except for Christy because she was Greek. Nick told Paula it was obvious to everyone that Paula hated being there, why did she think his mother wasn’t fawning all over her. It was like Corktown vs. Greektown all over again. His Uncle Joe from Windsor used to put up his baby finger and pointing to its tip say, “If I had this much Irish in me, I’d cut the whole finger off.”

  One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to tell Nick what she’d found right away. She’d think about it for a few days. She was glad Nick was away, afraid she’d be unable to hold it in. She thought of writing him a letter at first, but nixed that. Too dramatic. One thing Paula wasn’t was a drama queen. Nothing else was coming to mind, however. She wasn’t a vindictive person. She didn’t know how to surprise someone unless it was with a birthday cake. She decided to let things take their own course, but they bubbled up soon after at the family gathering. That snot Dana got herself murdered; Liz and Paula agreed she was probably messing around on Andy. And then suddenly, in the presence of the biggest snot of them all, Jill, the realization came to her. But it backfired. Paula had forgotten Gus might object. He’d grown some balls at the worst time and took charge. She had felt so embarrassed when Gus told them to leave. And then to have Sophie and Maria look at Paula like she was the one to blame; it was too much. But she should’ve expected it. They’d come to the defense of their brothers no matter what the evidence against them.

  Taking the car and driving home alone was invigorating. By the time she got to Brighton, the plan to get rid of his clothes was solidified. But she was immediately regretful. It was all he really had in the way of belongings outside of the three meager boxes of trash in his office. She decided to make dinner for Nick in case he came home, and to pick up his clothes and try to get them put away again. He must have left with Liz and John shortly after she pulled away from Greektown. He saw what she had done. After Nick helped her pick his clothes up off the ground, they went inside the house.

  “I don’t want any dinner, Paula. But we’d better talk.” He was pacing the floor in the kitchen, a big space dwarfed by their height. She was feeling claustrophobic. Maybe if they sat on the porch.

  “Do you want anything to drink?” she asked. He shook his head no. “Do you want to talk outside?” she pressed.

  “Okay,” he answered. She was feeling sick. It was clear he wasn’t going to plead forgiveness. Had they ever had an argument that he took responsibility for? She was determined to keep her mouth shut and allow him to have his say. They walked out of the kitchen with its pervasive fried fish odor and took their respective chairs on the porch, an underused space she had placed many of her hopes and dreams in, like the attic bedrooms. She’d visualized the two of them having breakfast on weekend mornings, or sitting there late at night with cocktails. The only time they actually used it was when Liz and John came. She had her morning coffee on the porch during the summer so she could have a cigarette before she left for work. She could smell a faint, stale smoke odor now.

  “I don’t care what I’ve done; that scene you made back at my brother’s house, making my niece your scapegoat, was really piss poor,” he said. Paula looked at him. She wished she had the courage to kill him. She knew where his service pistol was; it wasn’t that unheard of for a police officer to be murdered with his own weapon. But she wasn’t spending the rest of her life in jail because of him so she kept her mouth shut. There would be nothing she could say to defend herself; he wasn’t going to apologize for an affair that occurred so many years ago. They were at a stalemate.

  “So what are you going to do?” She thought it was safest to let him make all the decisions at this juncture. He didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking about what Liz said about getting older, being cognizant of the effort it would take to split up.

  “I’m leaving,” he said. He turned to look at her. He had no feeling left for her. “Do you want the house or do you want to sell it?” Paula couldn’t believe her ears. Getting a divorce was the last thing she thought he would say. Wasn’t that what she should be telling him? She didn’t trust herself to say a thing yet. The house was too big for two people, let alone one. Where would she go?

  “You just told me you were leaving. Can I have more than two minutes to decide the rest of my life?” A lie she’d told herself for years was that he was normal. ”He’s just a man,” she’d say when he would go off on a fishing trip for a week and not contact her the entire time. She’d convinced herself that incidents like his working double shifts that grew into three and four days away from home where he claimed he was sleeping at the police barracks were legitimate. Where was he? She’d never know now, because it was over. He was over her.

  For a moment she allowed herself to imagine what life would be like without that constant tension of living with a man who didn’t love her. She always knew he was deceitful. She made excuses for him constantly. Liz and John would come for dinner midweek and Nick would be nowhere to be found. Or she would have to drive alone to go to church with them and Nick would show up at their house six hours later. But his absence was never discussed. They never questioned his behavior. He was a state trooper. His later years on the force were spent doing investigative work and he always alluded to secrets and mysteries that he was unable to share. Now she wondered if it wasn’t some blonde instead.

  She saw herself living in a brand new condominium in Ann Arbor. She loved it there. She had a nice pension and would be taking part of his, too. Her car was new and paid for, she had everything she needed. He was sitting there looking at her, waiting for her to say something. To start a fight or begin accusing him. Instead, she smiled at him.

  “Okay, my two minutes are up. Let’s sell the house.” He got up from the chair.

  “I’ll get my clothes out tonight. Have your lawyer contact my lawyer.” He didn’t look at her again, but walked back into the house, leaving his soon to be ex-wife alone with the fried perch dinner. She stayed out there until she heard the garage door open and then close again. The sound of his car on the gravel driveway grew fainter. She finally went back inside, suddenly afraid. She locked the door to the porch and pulled the shades closed, going through the house making sure windows were locked, bolts were thrown. She closed the curtains on the first floor. Fear of her husband, a new sensation, pounded over her. Did he take his boxes? She ran to the second floor office and opened the storage closet door. Just one box remained, the one with his childhood mementos. The disregard that he had for his mother’s effort toward the box suddenly hit Paula and she started crying with regret. She was sorry she had referred to his mother as a peasant. For every woman Nick had hurt, from the younger Christy who he probably bowled over with his charms, to Paula herself and how many women in between, she wept.

  Chapter 35

  The next morning, Big Andy went into Dearborn for a golf game with his buddies, armed with a list of items his wife needed from their house. She’d spend the day in the city with her grandsons, getting them enrolled in school and preschool. They would be occupied from eight until four every day, leaving plenty of time for their father to take care of business in the store. Anna and Big Andy would come to help out with the boys and take part as their new life began. Andy had been such a blessing and now they had their two little grandchildren. Anna continued to be occupied with the church and the mosque. Her parents were alive and very demanding of her. She better see them every few days, or else! She smiled thinking about her parents. Her life was full of interesting, useful activities.

  Paula came to mind. What kind of day would she have? Her husband had been a cad, obviously. Big Andy confided of several instances where he had helped his brother out of jams regarding women. She didn’t want to hear any more. The revelation that Christopher was not Gus’s son but Nick’s had stunned her. Andy swore he knew nothing about it.

  “You’re telling me t
hat your brother had an affair with your other brother’s wife and you knew nothing? You suspected nothing? I don’t believe you.” Big Andy looked at his wife and saw fear in her eyes. It was too intense, the whole family thing. He was grateful his brother hadn’t involved him. Maybe his mother had known about it. It explained some things he had seen his mother do, like making sure Christina was always in her sight when there was a family gathering. He thought she had been overprotective of his sister-in-law, but the flip was she allowed Christina to drive to Plymouth every day. Andy was sure Nick and Chris were meeting there as well. He wondered if anyone else had put two and two together. He always thought it was a little weird that his brother was able to make the trip every day and Gus wasn’t. Gus’s excuse was the store. He could never get away from the damn store.

  Andy wondered if Gus knew that his wife and Nick were together in Plymouth. Andy didn’t share this observation with Anna, but Christina was the prettiest of the wives. She was the youngest, the fittest, and she was the only Greek. For some reason, in spite of being an Arab, Anna had been accepted immediately by Big Andy’s sisters. Liz, Paula, and Joan not so much. Sophie called them the English under her breath, or worse, the white girls.

  Anna was over the drama by the next morning, puttering around her son’s new digs and glad that he made such a swift and thorough move from a place full of bad memories. She thought he was acting fine for someone who had just lost his wife. But her son had underestimated his capacity for grief. The funeral was surreal. There was a closed casket, for the expected reasons, but he felt drawn to it and spent all of the visitation standing at its head, trying to stay strong for his boys. In spite of their disintegrating marriage, he still loved Dana. He had been angry with her, devastated by her behavior, but there hadn’t been enough time to process the issues. She died before he could confront her, before he could have the last word. He worked around his new apartment with his mother; Gus gave him three bedrooms that were clustered around a small full bath in the back of the apartment. Anna was already shoving things around to make it more user friendly for a family with two kids. They’d use the smallest room as a sitting room, set up with the TV and living room furniture from the Novi house and piles of toys that would be organized and sorted before the day was out. The boys were adjusting already; Greg, the older of the two loved the store, and Gus was happy to have him come down and keep him company. He gave Greg the same tasks his parents had given Gus as a child: dusting canned goods and dragging a little bucket of soapy water around to wipe off the legs of the tables and chairs. He had a small brush he could scrub with if he was in the mood. The floor was concrete, so it didn’t make any difference if he spilled water and suds all over the place. When he was finished, Gus would give him a mop to do the floor with. He knew to be careful if customers came in.