by Peg Cochran
“Don’t you ever watch any of those medical shows on TV? The EMTs always call it a bus.”
“Call it whatever you want. That still don’t mean we know what we’re doing.”
The woman groaned, and her husband began gesturing frantically at Lucille and Flo. “We need to get her in the ambulance.”
“We’ll go get the gurney,” Flo said in a voice that made Lucille look at her suspiciously.
They both bolted for the door.
“Let’s get out of here,” Flo said as soon as they reached the parking lot.
“But what about that girl? We can’t just leave her here. She’s about to have a baby.”
“Okay, fine. But I’ll drive and you sit in back with her.”
They hurried toward the ambulance and opened the doors to the back bay. Lucille had watched it done on television many times—the way the EMTs pulled the gurney out and then extended the wheels. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite as easy as it looked. It took them so long to get the gurney set up that the husband had come out of Center Stationers to see what was keeping them.
Lucille gave him what she hoped was an encouraging wave as they bumped their way across the dips and ruts in the parking lot.
She was trying to remember the details of when Bernadette was born. She’d been there when Bernadette had had little Lucy too, but it was all such a blur. On TV they always talked about catching the baby—she ought to be able to do that just fine, even though Miss Glock gave her a D in phys ed the semester they played baseball on account of Lucille never failed to drop the ball when it hit her mitt.
They were halfway across the parking lot when another ambulance came flying in, double parking behind the cars in front of Center Stationers. Even from where they were standing Lucille could see the confused look on the husband’s face as he watched two more EMTs pile out of the open doors.
One of them glanced toward Lucille and Flo, doing a double take before beginning to run in their direction.
“That’s our rig,” they heard him shouting.
Lucille and Flo looked at each other, dropped the gurney where it was, and took off toward Flo’s Mustang.
“That was a close one,” Flo said as she whipped the Mustang out of the parking space.
“Can we run by the A&P? I never did pick up nothing for dinner.”
• • •
Lucille had never before been so relieved to pull into her own driveway.
“Let’s go in and take a look at that guest book.”
For a moment, Lucille panicked, then she remembered she’d stuffed the book in her purse.
“I can put on a pot of coffee,” Lucille said after they’d taken off their coats and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Not for me, thanks. I’m jittery enough as it is.”
“You got a point there,” Lucille agreed. She pulled the New Beginnings guest book from her purse and put it down on the table. “You want to do the honors?”
“No, you go ahead.”
Lucille opened the book, wet her finger and began to thumb through the pages until she came to Friday’s page. She ran her finger down the list of entries, then did it again.
She looked at Flo. “She’s not here. Carol’s name isn’t in the guest book for Friday at all.”
• • •
Lucille was opening the door to the pantry when she heard Frankie’s van pulling into the driveway. Sheesh, she didn’t have nothing to put on the table for dinner. She was going to pick up a nice piece of pork tenderloin at the butcher and simmer it in some tomato sauce, but what with that run-in with Carol, followed by going out to New Beginnings and then the Olds refusing to start, she’d never made it back to the store.
She found a box of penne on the shelf. She’d cook that, mix it with the tomato sauce, sprinkle that last handful of shredded mozzarella left in the fridge on top and bake it till the cheese melted. Fortunately it would be considered Mediterranean so she’d be able to stay on her diet. She couldn’t believe how easy this diet was—she just wished she’d found it a long time ago.
Lucille was getting a pot out of the cupboard when the door from the garage opened and Frankie walked in. He groaned and plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs.
Lucille looked over her shoulder at him. “You’d better take those boots off. Looks like you got plenty of dirt on them.”
Frankie bent down and began to untie his shoelaces. “What’s for dinner?”
“Penne.”
“I thought you said you was going to make some kind of pork roast.” Frankie swiped a hand across his face. “I’ve been tasting it all day.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t make it to the A&P. I went out to New Beginnings to visit Ma, and the Olds wouldn’t turn over. Flo gave me a ride home but she didn’t have time to stop at the store.”
“After dinner, we’ll drive over there and see if we can’t get her started.” Frankie wiped his hand across his face again. “I wish we could afford to buy you another car. I feel real bad about it. I hate to think of you breaking down somewhere and not being able to get home.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucille said as she poured pasta into the boiling water. “We’ve got AA—I can always call them.”
“If business would pick up, then I wouldn’t mind taking on a car loan. But the way things stand . . .”
“Things will get better, you’ll see. Maybe I ought to look for a new job myself. The church don’t pay much, and I’ve got time on my hands now that Bernadette is taking Lucy to that day-care place.”
They’d had a big argument about it. Lucille had wanted to take care of Lucy herself, but Bernadette had insisted that Lucy needed something called socialization. What kind of a social life did a six-month-old need, for chrissakes?
The more Lucille thought about it, the more upset she got. She strained the cooked pasta and poured it into a mixing bowl along with the tomato sauce. Her granddaughter going to day care when she had a perfectly good grandmother sitting at home with nothing to do. She stirred the bowl of penne so vigorously that a spoonful flew over the side and onto the floor.
As Lucille grabbed a paper towel and bent to pick up the macaroni, she caught sight of Frank leaning over the kitchen table, his hand on his chest.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Frank waved her away. “I’m fine. A little heartburn is all.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“A couple of sausage and onion calzones.”
“No wonder. You want some of that Brioschi?”
“Nah, it’s already passing.” He sat up straighter. “Listen, I don’t want you to go worrying about money. Keep your job at the church—I know you like it. Business will pick up. You know how it is—down one minute and up the next.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lucille said as she slid the pasta dish into the oven.
“I’m going to go get washed up. Dinner almost ready?” Frankie peered over Lucille’s shoulder into the open oven door. “What’s that?” He pointed at the dish on the rack.
“Penne with sauce and cheese.”
“Didn’t we have that the other day?”
Lucille threw one of her oven mitts down on the counter. “Not that I recall. Why don’t you tell me what you’d like for dinner so I can oblige you.”
Lucille was worn out, what with the funeral, the drama over at New Beginnings and the hair-raising ride in the ambulance. She wasn’t in no mood for any crap.
Frankie held his hands up in front of his face in a defensive gesture. “I’m sorry I said anything.” He pointed toward the casserole. “It looks great. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be right down.”
Frankie stomped off to the second floor and Bernadette ghosted into the room.
Lucille turned around and jumped. “Sheesh, you gave me a fright. How come you don’t make no noise when you walk?”
Bernadette shrugged. She had Lucy cradled on her shoulder, and the baby’s eyes were drooping closed before fl
ying open again.
“I’m going to give Lucy her bottle and put her down.”
Lucille glanced at Lucy. “She looks tried. You sit and I’ll warm up her bottle.”
Lucille got the last bottle out of the refrigerator and stood it in a small pan of water. She turned the gas on.
“I heard you and Dad talking,” Bernadette said, rubbing Lucy’s back. “If you want a new job, they’re looking for help at the Napoleon Club.”
Lucille retrieved the bottle from the pan of simmering water, shook a few drops of the formula onto her wrist and then handed it to Bernadette.
“Really?” She stood with her hands on her hips. Wouldn’t that impress everyone if she got a job over at that country club, rubbing shoulders with all those fancy people. “What kind of job?”
“I don’t know. I heard the manager talking. Bambi—she’s one of the girls I’m friendly with—said the tips are good.”
Lucille thought about it as she set the table. It might be office work but most likely it would be waiting tables. She could do that—she helped serve every year at St. Rocco’s annual spaghetti dinner. This wouldn’t be no different. It would be great if she could bring in some extra money and take the burden off Frank. She didn’t like those pains he was getting—he said they was heartburn, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was really stress.
Chapter 9
Lucille didn’t sleep too well. She was already awake when the neighbor in back of them left for the early shift at the hospital. She thought about getting up, but it was warm under the covers and rather nice being snuggled up next to Frankie.
She was almost dozing off when the phone rang, startling her.
Her heart immediately began to pound. Was something wrong with Ma? Or Father Brennan—he was getting on in years.
“Hello?” Her voice was shaky as she answered.
“Lucille, oh, thank goodness you’re home.”
Where else would she be this early in the morning? “What’s wrong, Angela. Is it Ma?”
“You won’t believe it, Lucille.”
Try me, she thought, but she didn’t say that. “What? Come on, don’t leave me in suspense here. Tell me why you’re calling so early in the morning. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She stifled a yawn.
“Someone tried to break into the house,” Angela announced with a great deal of drama.
“Whose house?” Lucille still felt foggy, as if her brain wasn’t quite awake yet.
“My house. Whose house do you think?”
Lucille sighed but ignored the tone in Angela’s voice. “Sheesh, I hope no one got hurt or nothing. Did they take anything?”
“Nah. Loretto woke up and flicked on all the lights. That chased them away.”
“Them? You think there was more than one?”
“I don’t know. Gabe is here now looking for footprints.”
Not that he would find any, Lucille thought—the ground was frozen solid. But a little detail like that wasn’t going to stop Gabe.
“You want me to come over?” Lucille asked. Maybe Angela was looking for moral support?
“No, but you can come over later if you have time to help me sort through cousin Louis’s things. You know Millie—she’s no help at all.”
“Sure. I’ll be over after breakfast.”
Lucille hung up, still not sure why Angela had had to call her so early. She couldn’t have waited until after Lucille had had her coffee? After all, nothing much had really happened.
Lucille tried to go back to sleep, but it was impossible. She could hear Bernadette down in the kitchen. The baby was up early. She might as well get up, too. She could make Frankie a nice big breakfast—some bacon, a couple of eggs over easy and shredded hash browns, the way he liked them.
• • •
Lucille waited until Frank had left for work before heading over to Angela’s house.
She sent up a prayer to St. Frances of Rome, patron saint of cars and drivers, as she put her key in the ignition of the Olds and turned it. It had started right up last night when she and Frankie went to get it. She’d told him the car was temperamental. Sometimes you had to baby her a bit. That didn’t mean she was ready for the junk heap. Kind of like Ma, Lucille thought.
Angela only lived a couple of blocks away. Lucille could have walked—if she combined exercise with this new diet, she’d surely lose a ton of weight—but the wind was bitter and it felt like snow was in the air.
Angela’s house was nearly identical to Lucille’s—a modest split level with three bedrooms, bathroom, powder room and a finished rec room. The big difference, Lucille thought, as Angela opened the door, was that Angela’s house was as neat as a pin. Not that Lucille thought there was anything particularly neat about a pin.
Angela didn’t have no baby toys clogging the doorway between the living room and dining room. Loretto’s shoes weren’t sitting by the back door caked in mud. Mail, the newspaper and various circulars weren’t piled on the kitchen table. Lucille didn’t know how she did it.
Angela herself was dressed in navy blue slacks with a sharp crease in them and a crisp white blouse. Her hair was done and her lipstick on. Lucille glanced down at her sweatshirt with the bleach spot on the left sleeve and the frayed bottom on her right pant leg. Angela glanced at Lucille’s outfit, too, and Lucille knew what she was thinking. Lucille gave Angela the look she used to give her back when they was kids and Angela dared cross over the invisible line in the backseat of the station wagon on their annual trip down the shore.
“I’ve got a pot of coffee ready,” Angela said, leading the way into the kitchen.
That was good, Lucille thought, on account of Angela having woken her up so early.
Angela’s kitchen was as orderly as the rest of the house. Lucille sat at the table, where Angela had put out placemats, cups and saucers and plates.
The air was scented with sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg. Lucille looked around and spied a coffee cake sitting out on the counter. Her mouth watered. She knew what Italians ate, but even though she had no idea what kind of food the Greeks ate, she was pretty sure coffee cake wasn’t on the Mediterranean diet.
Angela poured coffee into their cups. “I have a ricotta cheese coffee cake that’s just out of the oven. Would you like a piece?”
Ricotta? Did Angela say ricotta? Ricotta was sure Italian. It looked like Italians ate coffee cake after all. Lucille felt her spirits lift.
“Sure, I’ll have a piece.”
Lucille put a hand on her stomach while her sister’s back was turned. Was it flatter already?
“Thanks for coming by to give me a hand,” Angela said as she slipped a piece of cake in front of Lucille. “Millie isn’t up to it—she hasn’t been herself lately.” Angela twirled a finger around the side of her head. “One minute she’s ranting about what Louis did to her and the next minute she’s crying and saying she misses him.”
Was it guilt? Lucille wondered. Had Millie finally gotten her own back against her brother but now she was sorry? Lucille shook her head. Much more likely it was that crazy Carol who had ordered the hit.
“Should we get started?” Angela stood up and began to collect the plates.
Lucille could have gone for another piece of cake, but she reminded herself that an important part of her new diet was moderation.
She and Angela climbed the stairs to the second floor. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, with two smaller bedrooms on either side. Angela opened one of the doors and Lucille followed her inside.
A single bed was pushed against the wall and covered with a chenille spread. There was a tray on top of the dresser, and Lucille noticed Louis had tossed a handful of change on it along with a tie clip and set of cuff links.
Lucille motioned to the bureau. “You want to start with this here?”
“Sure.” Angela opened the closet and brought out some large black garbage bags. “We can put anything good in here to give to the church.”
Lucille
opened the bottom drawer. It was nearly empty except for a couple of sweaters. She pulled one out and held it up. “This here’s got some moth holes. What do you think?” She turned to Angela.
“Put it in the bag. People in need aren’t going to complain about a couple of holes.”
Lucille pulled out a couple more sweaters and then the drawer was empty.
“Poor Louis. He sure didn’t have much in the way of clothes, did he?”
Angela shook her head. “Speaking of clothes, you ought to get yourself some new things, Lucille. You’d feel so much better about yourself if you were nicely dressed.”
Who said she felt bad about herself? Lucille wondered. She sure never said nothing like that. Besides, what business was it of Angela’s?
“Not right now. Frankie’s business isn’t doing too hot at the moment. Once it picks up . . . besides, I’m on this here new diet so I don’t want to get anything until after I lose weight.”
“Frankie’s business is always going up and down,” Angela said with her nose in the air. “He ought to give up on being a business owner and get a real job. One with some security.”
A real job? Frankie put in ten, sometimes twelve hours a day six days a week. If that wasn’t a real job, Lucille didn’t know what was.
“Frankie is what you call one of them entrepreneur types, if you know what I mean.”
Lucille smiled at the look on Angela’s face. She knew her sister didn’t expect her to know a big word like that.
“Still . . .”
“Do you want to get moving on this or what?”
Angela didn’t say anything but pulled out another drawer in the bureau and began to sort through it.
Lucille had finished going through Louis’s sweaters. She pulled one of the smaller drawers out of the dresser and dumped the contents on the bed.
“Looks like Louis had a lot of mismatched socks. I always did wonder where the mates went. You put a pair in the washer and when you go to take them out, one is missing.” Lucille sighed. “These will have to go. Most of them have holes in them.”
People didn’t know how to darn no more. She could remember her mother sitting in front of the TV with a darning egg and one of her father’s socks.
