We sat in the front two rows right next to the open coffin, as if we were truly the Cardinal’s family. Once everyone had settled into the pew, I realized I was trapped in the seat next to the aisle, with a dead body, maybe twelve or fifteen inches away. Even if it was Cardinal Stefanucci. He lay there like a heavy weight. Even though he was probably as light as a feather, floating around heaven right now. (Unless he had a few outstanding sins and was burning in Purgatory.)
People filling the church gave the feeling of being pressed close. Their breathing, their resounding voices when they recited in unison the words of the Hail Mary over and over again. It felt like huge cotton puffs filled in all the space around us. I gulped in, trying to find air to keep me alive. I looked across the pew in front of me. Mother was seated with her eyes closed. Why was she even here? She had spent the day in bed in the dark of her room. Daddy had to escort her on his arm out of the car, into the church, and up the aisle. She leaned on him, like he was holding her up. People thought she was crying about the Cardinal, but I know it was her little Cocoa Puff making her sad. Unfortunately the Cardinal wouldn’t be able to answer this question: Would we be separated from our baby sister for all eternity just because she wasn’t baptized? Can someone that small even be baptized?
We were only on the first decade of the rosary. I knew they were going to drag this out—they usually did. When you’ve got everybody’s attention, you’ve just got to milk it, that’s something I’ve learned from going to church. Monsignor Boyle was probably going to give some kind of sermon. Christopher Feeney sat with John-the-Blimp over to the side with their hands on their laps. They were both laughing under their breaths, then they sat up, looking serious like they were an important part of this ceremony.
It really bothered me. Christopher Feeney on the altar in front of us all. So we had to look at him, lily white and scot-free of any responsibility for his baby, soaking up all the attention. I took one of the envelopes in the pew in front of me, and one of the sharpened pencils. Usually I would write notes to Jeannie on the envelopes where it said “cash” or “amount” and pass it back and forth, making a joke out of it. Sometimes we invented new words, we were so bored. Today I wrote Feeney is a baby then scratched over the is and put has. Feeney has a baby. Feeney has a baby. I repeated it, so it would seem true. I knew it was. I put the envelope back. Maybe if someone else discovered it, he would have to admit it.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. My knees were sweating into the stuffed leather kneeler below me. My shoulder brushed against Jeannie on my right; I was trying to escape the dead body on my left. Jeannie pushed back. I can always count on Jeannie not to give me an inch. I looked across the pew in front of us at all our elbows and arms hanging over the edge one after another, jammed in like sardines. I felt hot, in spite of the marble pillars surrounding us. Maybe I was a fish squished in a can with all my fish brothers and sisters, not quite dead, out of breath from being out of water, but waiting for the lid to be closed forever. Like Stefanucci. I closed my eyes. How could I escape? I felt my heart beating stronger and quicker in my chest and I was afraid it would burst out.
Just then it occurred to me that the solution to my problem with my reputation had worked itself out when the Cardinal died. He would never visit our classroom, and I would never be exposed in my lies. What a relief. No one would find out that I made up every single story I told about Father Stefanucci. Teresa Feeney would not be able to lord it over me in front of all her friends. I wouldn’t be humiliated when the Monsignor and the Cardinal came to our classroom to ask questions and reminisce about how we all followed the Cardinal’s progress through Reports From The Vatican delivered by Miss Annie Shea. All of a sudden, this feeling came over me like none of it mattered at all. Instead, I wanted to cry.
I tried to distract myself from breaking into sobs, by looking up at the high ceiling above the columns. There was no one up there but my thoughts. My guardian angel was on a cruise, probably. Blessed Mother could be in Africa, saving someone from the boiling pot, even though at the same time she was cradling the Baby Jesus in a statue on the side altar, right over there. I had no idea where Jesus was, after all this dying he caused. My thoughts were probably sacrilegious. While all the high-ranking men were going on with their sermons about this important dead person lying fifteen inches to my left, I finally had to admit that the thing that had been haunting me was Lily. When I held her small body in my arms and had a look at her strange face. When I met and talked with her adoptive parents, while her real mother sat in her hospital bed, wondering and despairing. All her life Bee Bee would be remembering that other baby and thinking it was her Lily. All her life she would be missing her. All her life, Lily would answer to the name Christine, without knowing why it didn’t quite fit.
It was a festering secret; I could barely contain all the anger and sadness I felt about it, but there was no one to tell it to. “Dear Blessed Mother,” I said, but the words bounced back to me. I felt like I was going to burst.
Monsignor Boyle said, “Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit.”
We replied, “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”
Our voices died down. All the feet and bodies shuffled as we sat down with a noise that rippled up and down the church. I looked over at the statue of the Blessed Mother, her neck eternally cricked, smiling down at the Baby Jesus.
Then I remembered the photograph getting smeared in my sweaty hands. The photograph of Mother in the hospital gown looking down at a baby in her arms. What happened to that baby? None of us ever heard anything. As far as we all knew, there was no baby; the only thing left of it was the lock of hair in the wax paper envelope. And that baby is our half-sister or half-brother. Mother’s heart must have been broken all the way through when her baby was gone so many years ago. First her husband died, then her baby disappeared. Did the baby die? Or, did Daddy make her give it up like he’s making Clara give up hers? If we were forbidden to even talk about it, then Mother was forbidden to talk about it, too.
I looked over at her, slumping in the pew, quietly sobbing next to Daddy. I realized her expression was one I had never seen before, like she was far away and there was no way back. Even as she mumbled her prayers, I was afraid of the world coming apart.
There wasn’t anything I could do about our little sister up in Limbo forever. There was nothing I could do about Cardinal Stefanucci to bring him back. Or anything for the baby attached to that small hand in the photograph.
Maybe I was only twelve-going-on-thirteen, but there had to be something I could do for Clara and her baby.
Chapter 29
proof
December 5 – Dear Blessed Mother… Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. You know what neighbor I’m talking about. It applies to him, too.
I had never been to the Feeneys’ house, but I knew just where it was. Walking to school every morning we passed by their street. It was the second house on the left, a big house that stretched low along the ground and somehow managed to look like an elf residence, or the house of the Seven Dwarves. It was nestled among a grove of oak trees that created shade and gave it a cozy, fairytale look. The roof draped down like it was thatched, although it had regular shingles. The windows with lead in-between small panes of glass weren’t stained, just regular see-through with no color. The front lawn was trimmed, the paint had been applied within a reasonable amount of time; in other words, it wasn’t peeling. It looked like a normal house in any fine neighborhood.
I stood on the front stoop and put my finger on the red doorbell button. The sound echoed inside. I heard footsteps, then Teresa Feeney’s face peered through the lead glass windows, and she opened the door. Still dressed in her pink-pleated uniform skirt, white blouse, and black and white saddle shoes. She seemed genuinely happy to see me.
“Annie Shea!” she said. “C’mon in. I wa
s just finishing up my math assignment, but I could take a few minutes off.”
She thought I had come to see her, and now that she was being so nice, I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her why I was really here.
“I’ll be right out,” Teresa said, turning her back on me and disappearing into the house. Her shiny hair bounced around on her shoulders. “Do you want some Kool Aid?”
“No thanks,” I said. I peeked around the door. Their living room wasn’t whisper-smooth; the floors were hardwood, and the walls had fingerprint smudges in the usual places. For sure toys and books were lying around, but it was way more neat than ours. Teresa came bounding out.
“Where are the rest of the kids?” I asked Teresa. I didn’t hear the usual shouting and footfalls and door slamming that is the background ambience of a big family.
“Oh, Mom went to pick them up from school. Everyone stays after for one thing or another: band, drama society, choir. She picks them up around 4:30. I took the bus home ‘cause I didn’t have anything today. Hey, let’s go sit on the wall.”
We went out to a cement wall at the front of the property that divided their yard from the sidewalk. It was low enough for us to hop up onto, and it had ivy on it. We climbed up with our legs dangling over the sidewalk. The cement was cool and scratchy under my dress.
“I’m so sorry about Cardinal Stefanucci,” she said, sounding genuine. The welcoming tone of her voice surprised me. Then, I had to realize I had never actually had much of a conversation with Teresa at all. Other than that embarrassing thing that happened at Candy’s summer pool party. I guess me and Teresa just looked at each other from afar.
“Yeah, me, too.” I said. “He was a nice man.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, certainly not what was on my mind.
“Wanda is coming over later,” she said. I cringed inwardly with jealousy; Teresa was beginning to take over my best friend Wanda. But then she said: “We’re going to go to Sew Nifty to get some material and patterns later. You want to come?”
“No, thank you,” I said. My envy evaporated instantly once she included me. It was the kind of thing I would love to have done with the two of them.
I swallowed. “I’m here to see your brother.”
“Sam?” (Sam was my age, and for a while there, I liked him).
“No, Christopher. I’m here to see Christopher,” I said as casually as possible.
“Christopher? Didn’t he go out with Clara?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “He did, but...” She looked at me, expecting me to say more. I just stared back.
“I haven’t seen Clara for a while.”
I shrugged. “I just have something to tell him,” I said. Another quizzical pause. She looked into my eyes, giving me the chance to tell her.
Finally, “So you’re here to see him, then?”
“Yeah, but I would like to go to Sew Nifty with you and Wanda,” I said lamely. “It’s just… I can’t go today.”
“Okay, well he’s here,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll go get him.” She hopped off the wall. So did I. I pressed my uniform skirt down with my hands, wishing I had changed out of it into something more attractive. My hair was probably greasy by now. This morning I noticed an “inner city” zit on my forehead in the space between my eyebrows. I touched it, hoping it had gone down, but it was sore. I sighed. There wasn’t much I could do to glamorize myself, and it struck me as odd that suddenly I wanted to.
Christopher Feeney stepped down the front walk. There was something about his stride that made me look at him. He moved towards me like he wanted to see me. He was smiling,
“Hi, Annie!” he called to me from the steps.
“Hi, Christopher,” I said. They were the first two words I had spoken to him in my life. Now he was closer, and I detected some kind of pleasant smelling after-shave or cologne. His hair was short and blonde, and his eyes were dark brown. He had a dimple, and if I were going to describe an officer candidate, it would be Christopher Feeney. He’d be stunning in dress whites.
I had been shaking with anger and anticipation when I came up the walk to ring the bell and now I felt all soft and melted down. I don’t know what happened, but it sure was curious. I found myself liking him. He seemed so cheerful.
He looked right at me, like I was the only person in the world and he said, “So what can I do for you, Annie? You’re Clara’s sister. I’ve seen you a few times—at the opening of Shea Family Motors, I noticed you. Right?”
Oh, Mary Mother of God, I thought, he noticed me?
“It’s about Clara,” I said, my arms crossed, unsmiling.
“I miss Clara,” he said, with an extra-sincere sound in his voice, and I could feel my whole body wanting to believe him.
“I think she needs you right now,” I said.
“She went up to Ventura for a retreat,” he said. “I didn’t want her to go.”
“Well,” I said. Then there was this pause. I didn’t have the faintest idea what I was going to say.
“Well?” he asked me. “After all this time, now she needs me?”
“I thought I should come to you, first,” I said. “She’s been there a few months now, you know.”
“I thought she wanted to be a nun.”
“Who told you that?”
“Well, why else would you go on a retreat with nuns?”
“Did you ever write to her to find out?”
“She never wrote to me.”
“But you could’ve written to her.” Words were leaping out of my mouth with a mind of their own.
“She broke up with me. I didn’t break up with her.”
“She’s not interested in being a nun,” I said.
Why was I so afraid to tell him what was God’s honest truth? Maybe he loved Clara and really did miss her, like he said. Maybe if he knew, he would be so happy and want to help Clara and want to be the dad to his own baby. I kept telling myself that I had to tell him. To give that baby a chance to go through life with its real parents. There was only one thing to do.
“I’m coming to you first,” I said, “because she doesn’t want to give up the baby, but they’re going to force her to.”
“The baby?”
“She’s going to have a baby. She’s pregnant. And you’re the father.”
His shoulders had relaxed and he had his hands in his pockets, but now he pulled them out and stiffened right up.
“What?” he said, immediately turning away from me.
“It’s almost ready to be born.” Now he was pacing the sidewalk.
“She doesn’t know I’m telling you this.”
Over his shoulder, behind him, a face appeared in the leaded glass window. One of Clara’s girlfriends, Mona Allegretti.
“Who else knows?” he asked me, like he was choking. He cleared his throat.
“What difference does it make?” I asked him. I knew exactly what difference it made, but I wanted him to feel the weight of his actions, as Mother and Daddy would say.
“Oh, that’s Mona,” I said to him, waving, as if he didn’t know. I looked back at him like, really? Mona?
“Mona? She’s here to… we’re in a study group together.” He waved his hands in front of his face like he was swatting a fly away. “Biology.”
“Have you written Clara? If you miss her, you might write? She’s up there by herself.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Apparently you’re too cool,” I said. Another pause. A station wagon turned at the street corner and headed towards us. It was Mrs. Feeney, with the kids. “What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do? I’ve just found out about this! I haven’t even talked to Clara.”
“Yeah, you haven’t.”
“What do you know about anything?” He seemed angry at me. “I have no idea what I am going to do.” He stopped pacing and looked at me squarely. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“Madcap and I went to see her. Obvio
usly Daddy and Mother know she’s pregnant, but she hasn’t said anything about who the father is. We promised not to tell. But I’m not exactly telling you. You’re the father. You’re an integral part of this.” It was the first time I had used the word integral in my life. His eyes were looking all over the place, trying to figure it out. “I really think Clara wants to keep her baby,” I said. “Since you’re the dad, you could help her. Daddy said he’d kick her out if she kept the baby. Obviously he wants her to give it up.”
“Oh, man,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly.”
“I’m not ready to get married.”
“That’s what Clara thought. She said you want to ‘play the field.’ She’s probably not ready to be a mother, either.” He paced around some more in the silence between us. Mona came out onto the porch. The screen door slammed shut behind her. She waved at us from the top step. The car turned into the driveway. Voices of the Feeneys spilled out the windows as they waved.
“Christopher!” Mona called. “Are you coming in? She was all sweetness and smiles. “C’mon! It’s your move! Teresa doesn’t like chess.” Mona walked right up to Christopher and slipped her arm in his. I guess she was his girlfriend now. My stomach felt like a big lead ball.
“Aaa!” he cried out, pushing her away. “I’ll be right there. Go on back in.” Now he seemed angry at Mona, even though she didn’t do anything but open her mouth and put her foot in it. “I’ll be right in,” he called after her. I could hear the sounds of the car doors opening and slamming down the driveway, and the laughter and chatter of the famous fourteen Feeneys, the most devout Catholics in Pasadena. I couldn’t help myself; after Mona, all I had left was sarcasm.
“Listen, Annie. It’s just between you and me here.” He put his arm on my shoulder, like I was his favorite pal.
“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” I said, shaking off his arm.
“You can’t let anyone else know about this.”
“Why not?” I knew perfectly well why not. It would hurt our reputation as much as it would hurt the Feeneys. It would be a scandal to end all scandals. But I said, “Why can’t anyone else know? It’s a real baby she’s having. I’m pretty sure it’s going to want to know who its father is.”
A Theory of Expanded Love Page 22
