“I wouldn’t go to the freak show.” Michael flexes his arms again. “You could be eaten by that wolf boy, or maybe even by that fat woman. What else do you think a woman that fat eats but us kids?”
“A boy?” Sissy asks, wincing. “A fat woman?”
“There aren’t kids there,” Beth says, popping another bubble. She glances over to Dawn, who raises her arms.
“You’re lying.” Still, Sissy is no longer sure. Didn’t her mother also tell stories of this, stories of people who wandered the countryside, tricksters with children who ran barefoot, their faces smudged with dirt, their bellies tanned and thick? Is it possible, she wonders, that all the Gypsy children were stolen away from other places and other homes? Given over to the fat woman for dinner? Changed into wolves, along with other unseemly shapes: roosters and bears and mice? Or put to work performing manual labor, lugging buckets across dusty fields, stumbling as the water sloshed around? The thought of it all sends her into a small, shrill panic.
“I hear they keep that wolf boy locked in a cage for his own protection, and for yours.”
“Go on!” Dawn says.
“He’s lying.”
“Is there really a wolf boy?” Beth asks, excitement overtaking her.
Michael kicks back his stand and lets his bike lean, one sneaker positioned on the ground now. Sissy notices he’s drawn triangles on the scuffed rubber rims. From his shirt pocket, he pulls out a candy cigarette and sticks it into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue first. “Crazy-looking men, too,” he continues. “You get a little bit of every sort.”
Beth takes a step back, debating. “We need protection.”
“You should think about something,” Michael says, “because you’ll never outrun them. You all run like girls, that’s for sure.”
“We can run,” Sissy says. Her tone is snotty and dismissive. “We can run faster than you.”
Michael pulls out another cigarette and snaps it before popping it into his mouth. He grins at Sissy and then takes a bite of it, right in the middle.
“You’re awful,” Sissy says, staring at the chunks of pulped candy he shows her on his tongue.
Bells jangle against the door, and Mr. Morris sticks his head out, his white mop of hair brushed back in a wave. “Don’t lean against the glass,” he says. “You can look, you can buy, but don’t lean, Sissy Kisch.”
Sissy apologizes and begins to tell him how much she likes the Ferris wheel, a compliment issued in the hope that Mr. Morris might see fit to gift it to her right then and there, but his head is already gone and she hears bells singing as the door closes.
Michael stands on tiptoes, suddenly alerted. From the market down the street, three women emerge, their wrists cluttered with silver, one of the women with a knotted handkerchief around her neck. They hold bags stuffed with radishes, cucumbers, and carrots. When she sees the women, Sissy jolts up straight and nudges Dawn. “They’re here!” she says.
In one quick moment there is a rush of feet, and the girls run in the opposite direction. Michael pedals behind them, screaming, “Faster… faster… faster!” He looks back once and, in doing so, almost crashes into a trash bin. The girls run around the corner of the eyeglass store and stop in the alleyway. They pant, squatting now, their backs leaning against the brick. Beth wipes her mouth and then holds her sides. Michael peers around the building.
“Are they gone?” Sissy asks, breathless.
Michael snickers. “You’re always scared,” he says.
“So are you. Look at you, back here with the girls.”
He ignores this. “I can’t believe you ever even leave the house, you’re so scared.”
Sissy leans against the building and folds her arms across her chest, an action meant to mirror his. “Michael,” she says, offended, “don’t be a Neanderthal.”
Natalia woke this same morning with a blinding headache, a piercing pain through the right side of her skull—brought on, she assumed, by the noise the previous evening, the smoke, the shots of vodka consumed by everyone at the table but Frank. The men showed up unexpectedly: Lennie holding the booze; Jim behind him, already swaying as if hearing music; and Sammy, limping in, his cane scuffed at the bottom around the rubber nub. Sammy nodded at Natalia as he took off his cap. They all sat and made small talk until work inevitably came up in conversation. A serious and towering man with a deep voice, Lennie kept pulling at his suspenders while the men discussed the plant, the possibility of re turning to work, the rumors that had been passed around, those of outsourcing overseas. This necessitated that they find other avenues of employment. Jim, the youngest of them all, had applied for work at the fire company already “Sure as hell no layoffs as long as houses burn. God knows you can’t outsource flames.” He said this in a swaggering way. He lifted a glass and drank to that. Sammy was nearing retirement anyway and thought he’d take the early option, get out while he still could. His hands were riddled with arthritis and had choked up on him unexpectedly, making any work difficult. As he spoke, Natalia saw how his fingers shook slightly, with a mind of their own. Frank was still helping Lennie with some contracting work, here and there, but both he and Lennie would need more permanent employment if the rumors sent around the plant were actually true. Natalia listened quietly as the men made plans, realizing that none wanted to say what was really on their minds—that they were desperate to make ends meet for their families. While Frank nursed his beer, shots got passed around the table. Their stories of work unfolded as the crickets sounded thick through the open kitchen window and streetlights blinked on like shocked eyes jolting open. The sky flashed with heat lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance, in long waves.
It must have been the thunder, or the scraping fingers that woke Sissy up. She ambled downstairs, sleepy, rubbing her eyes, wanting not Natalia but Eva. “Bed,” Natalia told her a bit too sternly. “No complaints.”
Sissy stood and looked around at the men. “Eva’s still out. Her bedroom is empty.”
Frank finished the last of his beer before setting the glass down hard on the table. “Where is Eva, anyway?”
Natalia didn’t know, of course—perhaps with that boy, Greg, or perhaps down at the beach with friends—and so she fell silent, not wanting to make any fuss in front of the men, for either of their sakes. Sissy slumped against Frank, then, waiting patiently until he pulled her onto his lap and tousled her already tangled hair. His chin rested atop her head as he shuffled the cards, dealt, and looked over his hand. He inhaled, his nose pushing into her hair. As he did, Natalia saw Sissy’s eyelids flutter like small moths. Her head fell slightly. “Come on,” she said, scooting her girl up. “To bed.”
“Where’s Eva?” Sissy asked again as she dragged herself up the stairs. “I want to sleep in Eva’s room.”
“Out with friends.” In Sissy’s bedroom, Natalia pulled up sheets that still smelled of sun and breeze. She sat down for a moment and waited uncomfortably, suddenly unsure of what to say at all.
“What time is it?”
“Time for bed.” Natalia leaned forward, her hand pressing into the covers. “You know, you’re getting too old to sleep with your sister. Besides, it’s just some thunder talking back to the flashes of light.”
“It’s angry,” Sissy said. “And Eva likes when I sleep with her. She says I keep her safe.”
“Maybe so. Maybe the thunder is like an old man who curses at the light. What do you think?”
Sissy shrugged.
“Well, that’s nonsense,” Natalia said. She waited a moment before she got up and brushed her hands together. “You need to grow up and not be scared of everything, Sissy Kisch.” Despite saying this, she turned on the clown night-light next to Sissy’s chifforobe, illuminating its starkly white face and bloody-looking nose.
“Eva said clowns are possessed.”
“Eva is trying to frighten you.”
Sissy didn’t answer. She turned her head toward the window and seemed to consider things.
“Want a story before you sleep?”
“No,” Sissy said. “Not tonight.”
Natalia studied her child, who was hunched down in the sheets, her eyes thoughtful, watching. She hesitated. Finally she shut the door and waited outside, but she heard only the rain tap against the window. She was losing both her daughters. She knew that for all the years she waited, yearning for them to grow up, for all the times she thought after they grew up, she could do anything she wanted, she would have a measure of freedom again, she was losing them and she was surprised to find it hurt. What would be left was her and Frank again, the two of them, as before.
Downstairs, Frank sat with his elbows on the table, fanning the cards. The rest of the men were laughing about something—a joke shared before she entered the room.
“Your wives are going to put out search parties for you,” Natalia suggested.
“We should put out a search party for our kids,” Frank said, looking up, still annoyed.
She couldn’t tell if the beer was affecting him or not. She sat down, positioned her hands on her lap.
Lennie patted her arm in a way that made her feel like a man. “We’re not praying, Natalia,” he said good-naturedly. “Unless it’s for sevens. I’d say a few Hail Marys for a straight. I’d say a damn rosary for more money.”
“Oh, I know.” Natalia smiled. “I was thinking about the girls.”
“Play,” Lennie said. “Deal her in, man.”
Natalia looked over at Frank. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he dealt to everyone seated. “You can do what you want to,” he told her, concentrating on his hand, not bothering to meet her gaze. He inhaled and blew a line of smoke. “No one ever argued about that, either.”
She pulled the chair forward and heard the irascible scraping of wood against the floor. Lennie held up the shared shot glass. “To money. To work.”
After he slammed the glass down, Natalia poured a shot for herself. “To sleep,” she told him, raising the glass again, realizing her arm felt simultaneously heavy and strangely light. The hot liquid went down her throat, burning it. She studied her cards: one short of a flush.
“You didn’t answer,” Frank said. “About Eva.”
“You know teenage girls,” Sammy said, intervening. “They never want you to know what’s going on, where they are, who they’re with. My oldest was the same way.”
“When do they outgrow it?” Natalia asked, trying to lighten Frank’s mood.
“Never, far as I can tell.”
“People start to get ideas about girls who are running around the town,” Frank said. His jaw tensed, and Natalia sensed that the more the other men laughed and made light of things, the worse Frank’s mood became. He probably was worried that they might think he was unable to control his house—first Natalia, now Eva, the endless succession of womanly antics, the clever acts of subterfuge. Perhaps he even thought they were laughing at him, as she often thought the neighbors did at her. The men joked, but she detected in them no real judgment. If anything they probably thought it was Natalia who was the terrible parent, that she was the one who could not enforce Frank’s rules and wishes.
The men made small talk—the upcoming football season, favorite quarterbacks, bets on which teams would do well. With each hand the table seemed to tip toward Sammy, his stack of change piling up so much that Lennie, slightly annoyed and more than a little drunk, asked him if he counted cards. Jim’s tolerance for shots deteriorated completely; he excused himself and bolted out the back door, and Natalia heard a putrid expulsion into the bushes.
“Kid can’t hold his liquor,” Frank said. “Deuces wild. Ante up.”
It was more than an hour after her curfew when Eva sauntered in through the back door, her long hair wet from the rain, dripping down her neck and chest. Her dark bra was visible under the wet fabric of her shirt. She was, in Natalia’s estimation, obviously high, which at least settled for her the question of who Eva was with all night, and where she probably was. Frank’s jaw tensed again; his eyes swept across her outfit, and Natalia wished only that Eva would remain silent and skulk upstairs. Instead, what happened was that the rest of the men stared at Eva, and Natalia became aware of their gazes, their faint desire.
“What are you looking at?” Natalia asked them. “Nothing to see.”
“No one said there was,” Lennie told her. He returned to his hand, made a bid.
Eva, swaying a little, laughed. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
Frank stood up abruptly and slammed his hand down, causing stacks of quarters to tumble, roll, and then fall.
Eva didn’t flinch, though the table fell to silence: Lennie studied his cards for an inordinate amount of time, and Sammy scratched his neck with a gnarled knuckle.
“Enough,” Natalia said, rubbing her temple. “Go to your room, Eva. For Christ’s sake, just go to your room. Do you live to disrupt things?”
“You always defend him, don’t you?” Eva asked, not moving at all, her eyes as locked on Natalia as the men’s eyes were just a moment ago. “He could probably do anything, and you wouldn’t care.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank asked.
There was a lingering silence again, a void in the conversation that surprised Natalia completely. Then Sammy cracked a joke, one that neither Natalia nor Frank found amusing, and Eva hoofed down the hallway, the smell of smoke wafting from her. Natalia rubbed her temples again, got up, and emptied Jim’s ashtray. She poured a glass of water. Of course she would defend Frank to Eva, to the men. Could Eva expect less of her, standing there reeking like she did and wisecracking? What was Natalia supposed to attend to but a girl with a smart-alecky mouth, a girl with exposed knees and thighs? And yet the look on Eva’s face chilled her—the animosity, the evident disdain that left Natalia with new questions.
“Kids,” Lennie said. He let a breath of air escape from his lips, long, with a small whistle. “I got nothing tonight, no Lady Luck for this man.”
“Yeah,” Frank said, settling down again. His face was flushed. He tossed down his cards: two tens.
In town, after leaving Sissy on the street with the girls, Natalia walks into Orr’s and heads downstairs. She hopes the aspirin will take effect and revels in the cool air that alleviates, somewhat, the throbbing in her head. She takes in the long rows of overflowing bins, the parade of women clucking contentedly, the cheery music blaring through the loudspeakers. In the bath and kitchen section, she rummages until she finds new towels, ones the color of canned peas, but cheap and matching and good enough for their intended purpose. She catches sight of a few women from the neighborhood: Milly Jenny, Ellie. Natalia imagines how news must travel from porch to porch, buzzing wildly like swarming bees. Milly, however, has been snubbing Natalia—at least Natalia believes—still harboring a grudge over the two-hour babysitting stint that turned into three more hours of worry, until Eva showed up, collected Sissy, and had to explain that their mother was gone. After Natalia arrived back home, Milly lurched over her railing and told her: “Don’t expect I’ll be babysitting anytime soon.”
Natalia adjusts the shoulder strap of her halter top and watches as the old woman barrels down the aisle, her face red from extended walking. Natalia’s mouth goes dry as she anticipates Milly’s questions.
“Quite a summer,” Milly says, pursing her lips together. She holds two frilly valances in her thick hands and regards them. “What do you think?”
Natalia glances over and makes a face. “Beautiful, should go with the house.” She moves a step away, browsing. She fingers the velvet towels, their ends braided in golden thread.
“I guess you’re right,” Milly says, tossing them. “They are ugly aren’t they? Sometimes I just see the price and go a bit bonkers. These days I’m in such a rush, I’d pick anything up in a hurry. We’ve been busy, you know, Mr. Morris and I. The bicentennial, the extra business it means at the store. We don’t just sit idly. I wish.”
“I sho
uld apologize,” Natalia says, though she isn’t sure if the apology is for the statement about the curtains or more than that, and apologies to people she doesn’t know well often get stuck in her throat; they feel insincere, always ill-timed. She wonders how long Milly has been waiting to dispense this comment about used hours, how much she’s turned over in her head exactly what she would say. “The babysitting,” she says finally. “I was grateful that Sissy was with you.”
Milly’s lips purse together again.
“I shouldn’t have burdened you,” Natalia continues.
“Well, I’m not a woman who likes disruptions like that. I am very busy most days.”
Natalia notes Milly’s flared nostrils, her heady hair spray and coifed hair. Around them women and children push past. “No,” Natalia says, a little ashamed, “neither do I like disruptions, and of course you’re busy. It was wrong of me.”
“It was. And I appreciate you saying that. But, really, I wanted to talk to you, not about babysitting, but about something else.” Milly leans closer, seems to debate.
“I haven’t spoken to Ginny either,” Natalia says. “She hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, for more than a few moments, I hear.”
Milly shakes her head and sighs loudly. “Not Ginny. Though I agree, we need to do something there.”
Natalia hesitates. If it is not about Ginny, and not about babysitting, then by the process of elimination Milly—this woman who has never quite been a friend and who certainly has never been a cherished confidante—wishes to speak about Natalia and Frank, or about Natalia’s long months away. She feels her neck tense, her scalp itch. She busies herself with the towels, impatiently folding them. “Yes, then, what?”
“Your girls,” Milly says softly. “I’m worried about your girls.”
“What about my girls?” Natalia asks warily. She dare not look over now. She couldn’t bear to see Milly’s expression.
Precious Page 21
