Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  "I’m the slave now." Mallory pouted.

  "Baloney. All I’m asking you to do is pitch in around here once in a while. Make your bed before you go to school. Set the table and do the dishes sometimes. Start supper if I’m tired."

  "What? That’s a lot. You can’t expect me to do all that."

  "I do expect you to," Anna said, her mouth set. "I know for a fact many girls your age help out at home far more than I'm asking you to. I don’t think it’s expecting too much of you. There are some nights when I’m tired that I’d really appreciate a hand."

  Mallory’s eyes flashed angrily. "You’re always tired after working at that damn job."

  "Eliza Mallory Anne." Anna thrust her forefinger in Mallory’s face. "Don’t you dare swear at me. The next time I hear something foul come out of your mouth, you’ll be punished."

  "But it’s true." Mallory was crying now. "You’ve been tired all week. You shouldn’t have taken the job."

  "I told you before that I didn’t have any choice. I have to work to put food on our table. We each have to do our part to keep this family together."

  "Yes, you had a choice." Mallory stood with clenched fists and tears running down her cheeks. "You have a college education. You could have gotten a better job. I know you could have. You didn’t try hard enough."

  Anna gazed at Mallory, incredulous. "You think I didn’t try my darndest all these months I looked, day after day? Are you crazy? You think I like working my tail off for peanuts?"

  "I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe you have some sort of martyr complex because of Dad."

  "Why should I want to become a martyr because of what happened to your father?"

  Mallory leaned forward, her eyes hard and hostile. "Because you’re alive and he isn’t!" she screamed. "It isn’t fair." She spun around and ran out of the room.

  Anna stood, shocked, and felt as if Mallory had punched her in the solar plexus. In fact, she almost wished her daughter had. Anything would have been better than this kind of pain, of hostile, bitter rejection from her own child.

  It was clear now she’d been right when she thought Mallory blamed her for being alive. Maybe this was at the root of all the problems she’d experienced with her daughter these past few months.

  She’d always known how close Mike and Mallory were. She was so much like him in temperament—brilliant, charming, restless. She recalled all the evenings at the kitchen table, Mike explaining computers to Mallory, and Mallory basking in his attention, eager to please.

  Considering that Mike had been gone more than nine months, it seemed to Anna that Mallory was carrying her grief like a coat she was planning on wearing the rest of her life. Mallory, after all this time, still took it out on everyone else.

  In those days following his funeral, she’d known Mallory had more trouble than the rest of them dealing with her grief—even back then, it was more encompassing and more obsessive than it should have been. Anna had blamed it on her age and her closeness to Mike. However, she’d not been prepared for the length of time it was taking her daughter to recover. Anna didn’t know how to deal with grief that extreme.

  She shook her head. Time. Maybe all she needed was more time, which was all she had lately anyway. Mallory certainly wouldn’t allow understanding or sympathy to scale the wall of her bitterness. Waves of angry words washed over the barrier, but they seemed to leave a higher wall in their wake.

  Chapter 6

  After a hectic two-day break filled with housecleaning and washing in mid-August, one of the hottest summers Anna could recall, Tuesday dawned with a persistent line of late summer thunderstorms. The parking lot was full when she got to work and Anna traveled up and down Court Street twice before she finally found a parking space a block past the lot. It meant she’d have to run two blocks in the rain to feed the meter—that ‘ugly gray thing' that ate quarters like jelly beans.

  Then, what she’d known all along would happen someday, did happen. Juanita Carlotti, Chris’ mother, came into the diner about mid-morning for a cup of coffee. She shook out her burgundy ruffled umbrella, took off her London Fog trench coat and set a huge beige and black designer dress box on the chair next to her as she sat at a table in Anna’s station.

  When Anna walked over to hand her a menu, Juanita recognized her and stared in astonishment at her checkered uniform.

  “Anna,” Juanita said, “I didn’t know you were working . . . here.”

  Anna’s smile felt a little crooked. “Yep. Over three months now. Insurance money doesn’t last forever, you know.”

  “Oh, I meant to call and tell you how sorry I was to hear about your husband.”

  “Thank you. My mother told me you’d sent a card. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you," Anna replied.

  In a few months it would be coming up to a year since Mike died. Juanita'd had plenty of time to call if she'd really wanted to. "It was a real hassle looking for a job,” she added. “I was about ready to give up when I got this.”

  “But Anna, honey. You have a college degree, don’t you?”

  “My kind of education isn’t much in demand right now. As the man in the employment office said, I have no marketable skills—and no experience.”

  Juanita looked scornfully around her. “But a waitress job in a diner? Really, Anna.”

  Suddenly Anna’d had it up to her hair roots with everyone’s condescending disdain for her job. “This is a respectable place,” she said with her hands on her hips and her order pad clenched in her fingers. “We serve good meals here at a decent price. I work hard and I’m proud of every penny I bring home because I’ve earned it. I’m not exactly begging on street corners here.”

  Juanita’s mouth hung open. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Maybe not, but nonetheless, your attitude comes through loud and clear. You look down your nose at waitresses, when you notice them at all, even though they earn an honest living. There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress.”

  “Anna, you’re putting words in my mouth.”

  She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

  Clearing her throat, Juanita fumbled with the belt of her gray wool skirt. “I only meant the pay is way less than you’re used to.”

  “True,” Anna conceded. “But every cent I get, I’ve earned. I’m not ashamed of this job. In fact, it feels pretty good.”

  Juanita brightened. “It’s wonderful you’re managing this well. You know, Don might be able to find you something at—”

  “No.” Anna held up her hand. “Thank you for the offer. I’m making it on my own.”

  "I see." Juanita glanced at her slim gold watch. "Oh my, it's getting terribly late. I didn't realize. I guess I won't have time for coffee after all." She stood, picking up her umbrella, coat and dress box. "I've got to get going. I need to go to the mall to find a blouse to match this suit."

  Juanita turned to leave, reached into her wallet, and pulled out three ten dollar bills, tucking them under the silverware on the table. "I know I didn't order, but here's a little 'something' for taking up this much of your time." She reached over and gave Anna a peck on the cheek. "Good luck, honey. You're being brave, so brave."

  Restraining herself from physical violence, Anna stood stiffly and watched her rush out of the diner. Great. She knew Juanita would go home and tell her daughter the lurid tale, and Chris would tell Mallory. It was all she needed; she and Mallory were already on rocky ground as it was.

  Anna picked up the thirty dollars and stalked over behind the counter, holding the bills out to Lucy. "Here. You take this. I don't want it."

  Lucy shook her head in sympathy. "Oh no, sweetie. Your friend wanted you to have it. I can't take it."

  "She's not my friend. I don't want it."

  "Then I'll give it to Betty."

  "Betty's
not here. She went to the bank. You keep it. Go on. Serves the snob right."

  "No."

  A young man at the counter, who was sipping a spoonful of beef vegetable soup, held his hand out. "Hey. I don't know what's goin' on, but if you two are giving money away, I'll take it. I could sure use it."

  Anna turned to look at him. He wore his brown hair long and sported a goatee-type mustache and beard. His flannel shirt and jeans were torn and faded, but clean. She hesitated.

  "Good idea," Lucy said. "Mark's a great guy. I'll vouch for him. He and his family could use the money. He can buy some groceries with it."

  Anna noticed the guarded, hopeful look in his eyes, so she handed him the money. He took it quickly, as if afraid he would change her mind and grab it back. He flashed her a grateful smile. "Thanks, lady. That's the only good thing that's happened to me in weeks."

  She held her hand out, returning his smile. "My name's Anna. You're Mark?"

  "Yeah, Mark Spencer," he said, taking her hand. "And thanks again." He patted his shirt pocket. "This'll buy a bunch of spaghetti sauce and macaroni."

  "I know the feeling. We ate a lot of spaghetti for a while there. I take it you're out of work?"

  He nodded. "Since spring. I'm a heating repairman and there's not much call for heating jobs in the summer and my old boss decided, because of the economy, he's not going to hire back the guys he laid off. Says he needs to cut back. Since then, I've tried everywhere I can think of to look for another job. I worked for a few weeks as a discount store stock boy during the Christmas season. Nuthin' since then. Jobs are scarce here, except for computer companies and they don't hire guys like me with no education."

  "I know what you mean. It took me six months to find this job."

  "Boy. You're lucky to have it. Don't listen to that snooty broad. She don't know what it's like to wonder where you're going to find money to put food on the table."

  "I know I'm lucky. Betty took a chance on me when I'd no experience whatsoever."

  "I wish there was something I could do here. The only men she hires are the dishwasher and the short order cook. The dishwasher is that slow guy who's been here for ten years and the cook's got twenty years' experience. I know she'd give me a job if she could."

  Anna leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "She probably would. She's a wonderful lady. Lucy said you had a family, Mark?"

  "Yeah." His face lit up with a smile. "I have a wife named Stephanie and two little girls. Stacey's two and Megan's eight months old."

  "I can tell you're proud of them."

  He grinned. "Yep, I am." Then his smile faded and his brown eyes clouded over. "I wish I could provide for them better. I try. I don't seem to be able to manage very well though. Shit. All I want is a decent job so I can feed my family. It doesn't seem like it's asking too much, does it?"

  "No, it's not. Don't worry. Something will turn up."

  "It'd better," he said, dropping his head into his hands. "The thirty you gave me is all I have for groceries this month." He noticed Anna glance at the coffee and soup. "Betty lets me have this for free. I know I could come in here every day and she'd let me have it as often as I wanted. I don't want to take advantage that way. I hate having to take it at all. In fact, I'm keeping track of how much I owe her. I'll pay it back some day. I will."

  Anna's throat felt tight. "There are many men who don't appreciate their jobs. All you hear is about how many people hate their jobs. It's a shame because people like you who'd really love to have any kind of job, can't get one."

  "Yeah," he smiled. "Ain't it the nuts?" He stood up quickly, patting the pocket where the money was again before donning a holey, damp denim jacket. "Thanks, Anna. You're a nice lady. I owe you one." Turning toward the door, he waved and said over his shoulder, "Off to the supermarket. Steph'll be surprised."

  Lucy stopped him. "You forgot the lollipops and teething cookies for your girls. Here." She handed him two Tootsie Roll Pops and a packet of the cookies.

  He smiled again. "Thanks."

  She watched him leave, whistling, and stuffing the lollipops in the pocket of his jeans. Lucy glanced back at her and shook her head sadly. Nodding to Lucy in understanding, Anna picked up the empty coffee cup and soup bowl and wiped the counter where Mark sat.

  The next day Anna came home from work to find Mallory sprawled on her bed, crying her eyes out. She threw her apron and cap on the dresser and sat next to her daughter, holding her quivering shoulders.

  "What's wrong, honey? Did something happen?"

  Mallory hunched her body into the bed, pulling away from Anna's hands. "How could you, Mom? How?" She cried harder.

  "How could I have what?” Anna asked, puzzled.

  "Oh, come on." Mallory flipped over, anger temporarily drying her tears. "You know what I'm talking about. Chris' mom. You insulted Chris' mom."

  "Oh, right." Anna's eyes dropped to the lavender gingham bedspread. "You talked to Chris, then."

  "Yes. Except she talked to me. You should have heard what she said to me. It was humiliating. I've only been in that school two years and I have lots of friends. Or I used to have. Everything will probably change now. Word will get around fast. Only the plague moves faster than gossip at school. How could you do it to me?"

  "I didn't do anything to you." Anna frowned. "What I said to Juanita was in response to an insult she'd directed at me. Or don't you care about that? I'll bet your friend didn't tell you the part about her mother talking down to me as if I were working as a slave, did she?"

  "How on earth could she have insulted you?"

  "She made comments about my job. What else?"

  "Oh yes, your job," Mallory snickered. "She was probably right."

  "No, she wasn't." Anna felt furious heat rise to her face. "And I shouldn't have to tell my own daughter this again. But if I have to, I will. Only this once more. This discussion has been happening far too often lately. This is the last time I'm bringing the subject up, and then I want it closed forever. You'd better listen. Do you hear me?"

  Intimidated for once, Mallory swallowed and nodded mutely.

  "Working at Betty's is a decent, honest job. I like Betty, she's a nice woman, and I won't hear of you bad-mouthing her diner because it's not Maxim's. I work hard there and I earn my paycheck, every bit of it. It's not the best paying job in the world, but it's the first one I've ever had and it's a start for me. I'm proud I've been able to do as much as I have to keep this family in food and clothing since your father died. It hasn't been easy, although I'm making headway, one step at a time. My job is part of it all. And if you think the job isn't good enough for me, that's your problem, not mine."

  "But Mom," Mallory pleaded, tears starting again as she reached out her arms, "is waiting tables all you ever want for yourself? And us? A job in a diner at minimum wage?"

  "Of course not. Naturally I'd like to find a better paying job with more of a challenge someday. However, I'm not ashamed of this job."

  Mallory crossed her arms in a pig-headed gesture Anna easily recognized. "I don't understand how you can stand it there."

  "It's not bad, really. The pace is hectic, but the people are nice. And I'm making it there. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do."

  "But you come home exhausted every night."

  "There's nothing wrong with that. It's a healthy fatigue. And I wish you'd tell your friends there's nothing wrong with what I do. I think you should ask them to apologize to you."

  Mallory's back stiffened, and she pushed away to the other side of the mattress. "No. I couldn't ask them to."

  "Why not? What kind of friends are they if they won't admit they were too hard on you?"

  Sliding off the bed, Mallory faced Anna, her fists clenched. "I could never tell them anything like that. I was humiliated en
ough already today. I'm not going to bring it up again." Her face wore a closed-in, wanting-to-escape expression.

  Anna sighed and remained silent as Mallory backed away. "Mom, I'm going to go to Terry's. She's got some new CDs and she invited me over to listen to them. I might stay for dinner."

  Anna didn't like her going to Terry's but she knew Mallory felt a need to get away for a few hours. "Don't stay too long. You have homework."

  "I'll take it with me." Mallory grabbed her math book and her jacket as she headed for the door.

  "Wait. How'll you get there?"

  Mallory stopped, looking like she was itching to flee. "I'll catch a ride somewhere. Don't worry."

  "Hitchhike? Oh no, you don't. I'll drive you."

  Mallory backed through the hallway, her hands up. "No, Mom. Please. I want to be by myself. I won't hitchhike. I promise. I'll walk. And Terry's mom'll probably give me a ride home."

  Anna hesitated and Mallory took the opportunity to flee.

  Putting on her jacket as she ran, Mallory headed down the street. She didn't stop running until she'd gone through the entire labyrinth of sedate South Side streets, and reached Vestal Avenue. Jogging past the shops, and past the streets to the hospital, she finally got to the section of old, cramped homes where Terry lived with her mother in a back apartment on the second floor of a dilapidated house.

  Terry's mother—wearing a black, green, and hot pink caftan and matching headband which harkened back to the seventies—answered the door. "Eliza Mallory. How nice. Come on in. Terry's in her room."

  After knocking on Terry's door, Mallory entered, stepping over a pile of fan magazines to get to the unmade bed where Terry's pillow propped up a huge Panasonic stereo.

  "Hi. I didn't know you were coming." Terry pulled the earphones off and smoothed her frizzy hair back in place.

  "I, uh, didn't know I was going to come. I needed to get out of the house."