“So she knew,” Val said. “She thought of me as a commodity too.”
“She was desperate,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “And she really wanted what was best for her children. Now I can find it in my heart to forgive her. Then I just hated her, not for selling one of her children, I knew how much we needed that money, but for seeming to be so casual about it. She cried that night, but she never cried again, at least not where I could hear her. And she made all of us lie and say the baby had died, which I was sure was a jinx and the baby would die as a result. I was always relieved when Rick sent us pictures, and I could see you were still alive.”
“But you stopped hating,” Val said. “How could you?”
Sister Gina Marie laughed. “Hating takes a lot of energy,” she said. “And I was still raising Donny and Vince and Marcie. Not to mention going to school and looking out for Charley Junior, and Mama for that matter. Time passed, and I began to forget what the baby looked like, how tiny and sweet she’d been. I put all my energies into Marcie. I was determined she’d escape from us all. And I succeeded. She went to boarding school on full scholarship and now she’s at Marymount. I think you’ll like her.”
“Do I have to meet her?” Val asked.
“That’s entirely up to you,” Sister Gina Marie replied.
“I’ve been an only child all my life,” Val said. “And now I have all these brothers and sisters, and they’re not little kids any more. They have kids of their own. And I don’t know if I’ll like any of them, but they all terrify me. And I don’t think Daddy would much like me to get close to them. We haven’t talked about it, because we haven’t talked about anything, but knowing Daddy, he’d see it as a betrayal. Which it might be. I threw up three times yesterday, and all I could remember was how Carmela said Charley had an upset stomach. I mean, is that my inheritance from him? A weak stomach?”
“You look like him,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “You and Vince both.”
“Carmela showed me a couple of pictures,” Val said. “Of Charley. And no insult intended, but all he looked like was a hood.”
“That’s what he was,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “A small-time hood.”
“That is great,” Val said. “My heredity is small-time hood. My environment is big-time hood. I guess that makes me a mid-sized model.”
“It makes you whoever you want to be,” Sister Gina Marie declared. “My father was a hood and my mother a hysteric, and I became a nun and a teacher.”
“I don’t want to be a nun either,” Val said.
“Neither does Marcie,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “Callings aren’t genetic.”
Val hesitated. “I have a couple of questions I really want to ask you,” she said. “Personal ones. May I?”
Sister Gina Marie nodded.
“Are you here because of me?” Val asked. “Did you know I was a student here when you began to teach?”
“I knew,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “I didn’t become a teacher just to run into you, but I knew where you were. Rick’s always been good about keeping Mama informed. And when I graduated with my teaching degree and was told there was an opening here, I asked for it. I was lucky. Most of the other sisters who graduated at the same time were dedicated to eradicating poverty and asked for inner-city schools. So they needed someone to teach the daughters of the wealthy.”
“So it’s no coincidence that you’re here,” Val said.
“None,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “It worked out very well, actually. I like it here a lot. And I get to give Mama reports occasionally about how you’re doing. She loves to hear about you.”
Val wasn’t sure she cared to know that. “I still have one more question,” she said. “I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is.”
“Ask,” Sister Gina Marie said.
“Did you become a nun because of who your parents were?” Val asked. “Is it some form of penance for what they did?”
“Oh, no,” Sister Gina Marie said. “I pray for them, for the salvation of their souls, but that’s all I can do. I haven’t sacrificed my life for them, if that’s what you mean.”
“Would you have become a nun no matter what?” Val asked. “Even if you’d had parents like Caroline O’Mara’s?”
“The night that Louie Castaladi took the baby, I prayed for her,” Sister Gina Marie said. “I’d always prayed in school and at church of course, but this was different. I prayed for the baby the next night too, and the night after that. Then I found myself praying for Poppa’s immortal soul, and every night before going to sleep, I prayed for the two of you. And those prayers comforted me. I started thinking about Marcie next, how much I wanted for her, and I began to include her in my prayers. Vince was next, then Donny, and finally even Charley Junior and Mama. And I didn’t just pray in my bedroom either. I’d stop in at church on my way home from school, and I’d light a candle and pray. After a while, I didn’t pray for individuals anymore. It was more than that. And I realized the only time I felt complete was when I was praying. Not just at peace. Any time away from the house was bound to offer me some peace. It was more a sense of wholeness, of being where I belonged. I spoke to Sister Bernadette about it when I was sixteen. She was my history teacher, and I really loved her. She said she wasn’t surprised, and I knew then where I belonged.”
“I wish I knew,” Val said. “I used to.”
“You will again,” Sister Gina Marie said.
Val shook her head. “I tried praying,” she said. “I went to church yesterday for Mass. Connie likes to go, so I went with her. But it just felt like more lies.”
“That may change,” Sister Gina Marie said.
“Here’s the problem,” Val declared. “A week ago my mother was dead, but I knew who she was. She loved me, and we used to run away to the movies together. And my father was great. He spent time with me, and when he had to be away on business he always called, and I respected him and loved him. Now I find out my mother was someone so frightened of my father, or so brainwashed, she didn’t even ask where the baby she was told to raise came from. And my father is a man who buys everything he wants—politicians, babies, the loyalty of friends. And I have two new parents to deal with too, a father who not only was a small-time hood, but a disloyal one, and a mother who for whatever reasons sold me, and I don’t think she ever really loved me. How am I supposed to be any sort of person coming from all that? You had prayer, you had a special relationship with God. I have nothing.”
“You have more than nothing,” Sister Gina Marie said. “I’m not faulting you for seeing it that way right now, but you really do have a lot.”
“Oh, I know that,” Val said. “I have pretty clothes and a lavender bedroom and a father who’ll probably give me anything just so I’ll keep loving him. How could I forget? I have my own bodyguard. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
“You’re a lot luckier than you think you are,” Sister Gina Marie declared. “You have four parents who love you. Some people don’t even have one.”
“Four?” Val asked. “That’s at least three more than I can count.”
“Four,” Sister Gina Marie replied. “Starting with Poppa, our father. I remember the day he carried you home from the hospital. He was so delighted with you. Even then it was obvious you looked like him. He danced around the living room with you, called you his princess. It’s funny. At the time he just made me mad, because Marcie got jealous, and I was the one who had to comfort her. But now I find it a very joyous memory, how Poppa danced around the living room with you. He was dead within the month, and I don’t think he was ever that happy again.”
Val tried to picture the man she’d met only through snapshots dancing around with her and calling her princess. But the snapshots were faded and refused to come to life.
“Mama loved you too,” Sister Gina Marie said. “Not very well, I grant you, but she loved you. She loved all her babies. She still loves us, and believe me, we’re not an easy bunch to l
ove. And maybe she stopped crying when Rick adopted you because she knew she’d done what was best for you. I don’t think you doubt that, that everything worked out for the best.”
“No,” Val said. “I know that.”
Sister Gina Marie nodded. “Your mother must have loved you,” she said. “That’s obvious in a thousand different ways. You’re not angry at her, for one thing, even though she was a part of this lie. And there’s a gentleness when you speak about her that isn’t there any other time.”
“And Daddy?” Val asked.
“You know how much he loves you,” Sister Gina Marie said. “No matter how angry you are, you know that.”
“So where does that leave me?” Val asked. “If all these people are saints and I love them, do I have to be like them?”
“You take what’s best from them,” Sister Gina Marie said. “And you hold onto that and cherish it. The parts you don’t like or can’t respect, you reject. That’s what I’ve done, and it’s worked pretty well for me.”
“It sounds too easy,” Val said.
“We both know better,” Sister Gina Marie said. “But if I can do it, I know you can.”
Val nodded. Her lunch period was about over, and she still had a long day ahead of her. “Do we have to tell people?” she asked. “That we’re sisters, I mean. Would it offend you if we didn’t?”
“That’s up to you,” Sister Gina Marie said. “I’ll accept whatever you decide.”
Val smiled. Sister Gina Marie was a trusty. It was good to have one in her corner.
The bell rang, and Val knew she would have to leave. “I keep forgetting to ask,” she said. “What was my name? When I was a baby.”
“Lauren,” Sister Gina Marie said. “Lauren Michelle. Mama heard it on one of her soap operas, and she thought it was pretty.”
Lauren, Val thought. A perfectly nice name. But it wasn’t hers.
Chapter 13
As bruno drove into the driveway, Val spotted Kit standing by the evergreens. “Leave me out here,” she said, so Bruno stopped the car long enough for Val to get out. Val walked over to Kit, suddenly feeling shy. After sixteen years of friendship, she was no longer sure she really knew Kit. Then again, after sixteen years of living, she was no longer sure she knew herself either. Kit was just part of the chaos.
“Hi,” Val said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sick, if that’s what you mean,” Kit said. “Sorry. Everything that comes out of my mouth these days sounds angry.”
Val laughed. “Everything out of mine sounds crazy,” she said.
Kit nodded. “I wanted to talk with you. I guess I felt I owed it to you to talk. Only I couldn’t do it at school, and I wasn’t ready to yesterday. I thought I was, so I called, but Connie said you had a headache, and I was so relieved I didn’t have to talk with you it was scary.”
“I wasn’t ready either,” Val said. “That’s why I had Connie tell people I had a headache.”
“How was school?” Kit asked. “I was kind of surprised you went.”
“It was better than being home,” Val replied. “Do you want to come in?”
“No,” Kit said. “Let’s talk here, okay?”
“Okay,” Val said. She put her books on the damp ground. Let them rot, she thought, and the savagery of the image cheered her immediately.
“I hated being angry at you,” Kit said.
“I hated having you angry,” Val said.
“The thing is,” Kit said, “I still am. Angry I mean. And I’m not sure I’m going to stop being angry, even though I want to.”
“How much of it is angry at me?” Val asked. “And how much is angry at everything?”
“I haven’t worked out the percentages yet,” Kit said, and for the first time in days, she sounded like Kit. “This is very hard.”
“I think that’s what we’re majoring in,” Val said. “Very Hard.”
“I’m ready for a postgraduate degree,” Kit replied. “Val, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you and looked up to you and envied you. Even when your mother was sick, I envied you. My mother was just as sick, and she wasn’t going to die, even if I wanted her to. I used to hate myself, being jealous of someone whose mother was dying, but I was. The day of her funeral, Mother didn’t want to go, and Pop made her, physically made her, and when it was over, we came back home, and Mother got as drunk as I’ve ever seen her, and she threw up all over the living room. I don’t know why she bothered. Pop wasn’t around, he’d gone to your house to be with Rick, and Kevin was away at school, so that just left me, and all I did was clean up. It wasn’t like I’d love her more because she threw up. Not if I had to clean it. And I was so jealous of you it cut into my heart. You were home surrounded by all those Castaladis, and you had your father and mine too for that matter, and all I had was that mess, which I couldn’t let Pop see. I remembered that yesterday, the way you remembered Shannon O’Roarke. Things that are important, only you can’t make yourself realize it at the time.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Val said. “You should see mine.”
“Was she awful?” Kit asked. “I wanted her to be awful.”
“She wasn’t great,” Val replied. “Basically she sold me to the Castaladis. She didn’t care what sort of people were going to bring me up, just as long as they paid cash and kept on paying it.”
“I wish someone had bought me,” Kit declared. “That isn’t really it. I wish your family had bought me. Not the way they’ve bought Pop. I wish they’d thought of me instead of you, and I could have been Val Castaladi.”
Val laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But Daddy never would have taken in an Irish kid.”
“I still wish I could have been Val Castaladi,” Kit said.
“There are times when I wished I was you,” Val replied. “Times with your mother that I never had with mine. There’s a way Amanda has of looking at things, cutting through the crap, that I always thought was magic. And I loved how Jamey respected you. He didn’t just expect it from you, the kind of blind obedience Daddy trained me to have, but he actually respected you, listened to what you had to say.”
“Pop has to respect me,” Kit declared. “I’m the one who cleans up all the messes. His as well as Mother’s. Respect is what he gives me because he counts on me so much.”
“I’ve counted on you too,” Val said. “Always. Can I still do that, Kit? Can I still count on you?”
“I don’t think so,” Kit said.
Val felt a pain as intense as any she’d suffered during the past week. “Why?” she asked. “Just because of Saturday?”
“How honest do you want me to be?” Kit asked.
“I don’t know,” Val said. “Start at completely, and if I can’t handle it, I’ll tell you.”
“All right,” Kit said. “I don’t come off real good in this version.”
“Nobody has,” Val replied. “Not recently.”
A flock of birds flew overhead in a V-shape. “It must be nice to do that,” Kit said. “Change your life every six months.”
“They’re always birds,” Val said. “That doesn’t change.”
“I’d still like to give it a try,” Kit declared. “All right. The truth. The truth is Mother never wanted us to be friends. She never wanted me to go to Most Precious Blood. It was bad enough as far as she was concerned that I was Catholic, I didn’t have to be brought up as one. Only Pop insisted. Do you remember, when we were little, Mother never brought me over to your house. It was always Pop. She wasn’t even drinking then, not much at any rate, but she never went to your house. She wouldn’t let Kevin anywhere near it. Rick wanted to go to a baseball game once with Pop and Kevin, and Mother forbade it. She told Pop she’d leave him and she’d take Kevin with her and he’d never find them again if he let Rick anywhere near Kevin. Part of me didn’t understand that, but most of me was jealous that she loved Kevin enough to protect him. Maybe she felt I was already lost, or maybe she just didn’t car
e that much about me.”
“Amanda hates us that much?” Val asked. “I never thought she hated me.”
“Mother hates everybody,” Kit replied. “Except maybe for Kevin. She and Pop negotiated. Made quid pro quo agreements. Mother would be nice to you, civil to Rick and Barbara. In exchange for which none of the other Castaladis would ever be invited to our house, and Kevin would be sent to prep school. I called Kevin at school yesterday, to ask him how it was he got sent off to school when he was twelve, and he told me that was the deal. He begged to go before then, but Pop wouldn’t let him. That’s one of the things he hates Pop for, making him stay at home. There are lots of other things too, of course. Kevin’s a first-class hater. He takes after Mother that way.”
“Like what?” Val asked. “What other things?”
Kit shrugged. “Nothing big,” she said. “It doesn’t take big things if you’re primed for hating. You want an example? When Kevin was at school, I guess he was sixteen, Pop got tickets for a Giants game. Three tickets on the fifty-yard line. He offered them as a bribe to Kevin to get him to come home for a weekend. He told him to bring a friend, but by that point Kevin wasn’t bringing anyone home, so Pop said he’d take Kevin and me instead. Only he mentioned the tickets to Rick, who said he wanted them, so naturally Pop let Rick have them. And Kevin didn’t come home. He skipped Thanksgiving too that year, and he was threatening to miss Christmas too, only I called him up and begged him. Mother was in awful shape, and I was afraid she’d kill herself if Kevin didn’t show up for Christmas. He stayed two days, and all he did was scream at Pop about the damn football game. I mean it was nothing. I didn’t mind giving you the tickets, but to Kevin it was a mortal sin. No, that isn’t right. It was a convenient symbol of everything Pop had given up for Rick. Kevin’s always been fond of convenient symbols, like boycotting home for the holidays.”
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