The plane ride on the way back, her mother said, I don’t think my sister ever liked me all that much. Not crying, but close.
It could be the smallest things that hit her. The way her mother always got hiccups when she ate raw carrots, and how Wendy would think up ways of scaring her, so she’d get over them. The first time they rented Rollerblades, Wendy sitting on the bench at the Chelsea Piers while her mother laced up her skates. Her mom singing along with the music they were playing, but offkey, as usual. Wendy whispering to her, Not here.
Memories of her mother and Josh. The scrapbook she kept with all the Postit notes he left for her. The time Wendy came home unexpectedly after she was supposed to be on Fire Island with Amelia’s family, except Amelia’s parents had gotten into a fight and they had all come back early. And when she walked in the door, there were sounds coming from her parents’ bedroom, even though it was the middle of the day. And when her mother had come out in her bathrobe, her hair was messed up. And a little after that, her mother came into her room and sat down on the bed next to her.
Listen, she said. I know right now the whole idea of sex doesn’t make any sense. You probably hate thinking about it. But anytime you start feeling uncomfortable about having parents who make love, I want you to remember how uncomfortable it would be if you had parents who didn’t want to anymore.
Amelia’s, for instance, though she didn’t say that.
She could picture the street corner where her mother’s dancing studio used to be her big dream—where there was some kind of furniture repair shop now. You a dancer? a man had asked as her mother stood there that day, moving out the last of her things. Not really, she said. I used to be.
My mom was in A Chorus Line on Broadway, Wendy told him.
She saw her mother dancing then—not in the Pocahontas Dancing Studio anymore, but in the living room with Josh and Louie. The four of them swirling around the room while some corny record played, of polka music, or one of Josh’s old R and B albums, or the soundtrack from Crazy for You. First Wendy danced with Josh, and her mother danced with Louie. Then her and Louie, her mother and Josh. Stop looking at the floor, Sissy, Louie told her. Young as he was, he was a better dancer than she was, a natural. Once he didn’t have his mom to dance with anymore, Louie lost interest. Then the two of them would just watch their mother and Josh. He dipped her so low her hair fell back and grazed the floor. They were out of breath, and Josh’s hair was going in a million directions, but they didn’t stop.
She thought of the day, on one of their Sunday drives to the country, they’d stopped in a little town in upstate New York where there was a bed-and-breakfast for sale, and Josh had said, Suppose we left the city, came out here, and ran this place? The whole drive back home, they’d talked about how it would work. Wendy was going to have a dog, and stand at the front desk greeting the guests. Louie said he’d count the money.
What could I do? her mother had said. I’d be a terrible waitress.
You’d be the most important part of the whole operation, he said. You’d keep us happy.
She wanted to remember everything, and yet she couldn’t bear to. Once you lowered your raft into the rapids, there was no steering anymore.
I never understood before, she heard Josh saying one night when Roberto had stopped by, how precious everything was.
Eight
Wendy and Amelia were walking to the library past Engine Company 342, as usual. The bouquets of flowers that were always piled there were now starting to look a little withered and dried up. The pictures of the firemen and the flickering candles were gone.
He’s not here anymore, said Amelia. They’d studied his photograph several times by now, so Wendy knew right off who Amelia was talking about—the handsome one she wanted to marry in Pennsylvania.
There was a fireman out in front, washing his truck. I guess nobody ever found Billy Flynn, huh? asked Amelia.
The fireman set down his cleaning rag. You knew Bill? he said.
You could say that, Amelia told him. As long as Wendy had known Amelia, she’d never gotten used to how her friend could do this stuff.
Well then, you know what a terrific guy he was. That Tuesday was his day off. He just drove down there to lend a hand. I’ve talked to three people now that told me they never would have got out of the towers that day if it wasn’t for him.
That’s the kind of person he was, said Amelia. One time, my cat got stuck in this place on our roof. He carried her down on his back.
Come on Amelia, Wendy said. She usually got a kick out of Amelia’s madeup stories, but this one made her uncomfortable.
I suppose he had a girlfriend, Amelia said.
All the women loved Billy, the fireman said. But nobody in particular. You probably know how he was about his sisters, though. Not to mention his mom. Sun rose and set.
Tell me about it, said Amelia.
Wendy looked at her. Amelia, she said.
Listen, the fireman told her. They’re having a Mass tonight at six-thirty at St. Catherine’s in Queens. If you’re interested, I’ll give you the address.
In the old, normal days, Wendy could never have just gotten on a train to Queens and not gone home for dinner or called, but now she doubted Josh would notice. Amelia called her mom and said she’d been invited to Wendy’s for dinner.
They took the train to 182nd Street and walked from there. This is my first funeral, said Amelia. I wish I had on something black.
Your jeans are navy blue, said Wendy. It’s close enough.
They could tell from a block away they were getting near the church, there were that many people. Dozens of firemen in their uniforms, but regular people, too. They were gathered in bunches on the sidewalk in front of the church. Never saw a guy play center field with so much heart, Wendy heard someone say. He’d do anything to catch a ball. I was in love with him since second grade, a woman was saying. Changed my oil every three thousand miles like clockwork, whether I asked or not. Taking his grandmother to Mass. Sister’s baby’s baptism. Coaching Little League. Poker night. Always cried at this one Garth Brooks song. His dog. That old Camaro. Playing air guitar.
The seats were all taken, but they squeezed into the back of the church. In the front, there was a solid wall of flowers and a flag, but no coffin. The familiar photograph was there, but a bigger version. Also a baseball glove and a fireman’s hat. Candles everywhere and the smell of incense.
After the organ music stopped, the priest came to the pulpit and started talking. Wendy had wondered if anything he said might apply to her situation, but it was all about Jesus, and she had a hard time concentrating.
There was a prayer. Most of the people in the church seemed to know all the words, but Wendy and Amelia didn’t. They bowed their heads anyway, but Wendy opened her eyes and looked around the room after a few moments to see what everyone else was doing. A lot of people were on their knees. She could hear bits of words, people whispering softly. Heavenly father. Eternal life.
A woman came to the front. Her dress was bright green, not black, and she was pregnant—at the stage where it looks as if the baby could pop out any second. Wendy recognized her, even from a distance, as one of the women Billy Flynn had his arms around in the smaller photograph she and Amelia used to study in front of the fire station.
My little brother was the kind of person who would do anything for a friend, she said. Not just friends, either. Even someone he never met. Which is what he was doing on September eleventh.
Someone he helped that day told me that after he got her out, she said, Don’t you think you’d better get away from the building yourself now? And he just smiled at her and said, Not while my buddies are still inside.
She started to cry then, and another woman, who was wearing a beautiful white dress and looked a lot like her, but not pregnant, took her arm.
We just want to say, she said. Our family. The loss. Ever get over it. Know he would have wanted. Life to the fullest.
There
were others. A couple of firemen, with stories about fires they’d fought with Billy, nights at the station house, a pair of lucky boxer shorts one of his sisters had given him for Valentine’s one time, a fishing trip.
A woman talked about her son, who had cerebral palsy but still got to play on Billy’s Little League team. A man in a wheelchair told about how Billy used to deliver newspapers as a kid on 174th Street, and how he’d always stick a Tootsie Roll in with the Sunday edition.
His dad. There we were with five daughters, and then along came this boy. Well, you can imagine. All his life, all my son ever wanted was to be a fireman.
From the church Wendy could hear the faint, soft sound of people crying. When they started playing the Garth Brooks song, about a river, Amelia began crying, too.
There was another prayer, then another song, only this time everyone stood up to sing. “Morning Has Broken” was the name of the song. Wendy knew the tune from an old album her mom had from back in the day. Josh used to call it a remnant of her cornball phase, from before he taught her to love jazz, so she only put it on when he was off playing a gig. One time when her mother was listening to that album, Wendy had looked over at her and saw tears streaming down her face. Don’t mind me, her mom said. Certain songs just bring back memories.
By the time they’d finished singing “Morning Has Broken,” Wendy was crying, too. There was silence then, and people slowly began getting up. Only just when everyone thought the Mass was over, there was one last thing. At first, Wendy couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from. Then she understood it was a tape someone must have made, just fooling around, playing over the speakers at the front of the church. Even though she’d never heard his voice, she knew it had to be Billy.
He was telling a story about a fish he tried to catch one time. When the people in the church heard his voice, they stopped wherever they were. Some just stood there. Others sat back down.
This fish, he said. Let me tell you about this fish. This was a fish that, if he spotted your line in the water with a good-looking piece of bait on it, he’d take a nice hefty morsel, leave the hook, and tie what was left of that baby into a bow with a note that said, Better luck next time. This fish should’ve had a Ph.D. from Harvard, he was so smart. This fish could have pitched for the Yankees.
The story of the fish went on awhile. The thing was, Billy caught him.
Long story short, he said, when he finally got that sucker up in the boat and he was taking out the hook, Billy made the mistake of looking the fish in the eye.
This is a goddamn—excuse me, Mom, darned—striped bass we’re talking about, mind you. Ugly sucker. But wouldn’t you know it, he gives me this sorrowful look, like I’m his long-lost friend and how could I do this to him? And I’m thinking about how great he’s going to taste, grilled over the coals with a little lemon. And a tall, cold one to wash it down. And then I look into those sorrowful eyes. His mouth is practically talking to me, and I can almost hear him say, One more chance, Bill. How about one more chance? Damn if I don’t toss him back in the lake before I change my mind.
There was a sound of laughter on the tape. A couple of other people laughing, too, but the sound of Billy Flynn’s laughter was the loudest, and it was filling the church, mixing with the sound of people crying, and other people laughing, or doing both. The laughing was still going when Wendy and Amelia made it out onto the street, where it was dark now.
I guess it’s not all that likely we’ll ever really live in Pennsylvania, Amelia said.
Probably not.
Somebody told me Pittsburgh is this really ugly city anyway, she said. They told me North Carolina is lots nicer.
Or Vermont.
Do you believe any of that stuff the priest was saying about him being in heaven? Amelia asked her.
I don’t know. How about you?
I never did before, said Amelia. But it would be too awful to think somebody like Billy Flynn just turned into dust and that was it.
They walked back to the subway station. Ever since the eleventh, Wendy had hated going in the subway because of all the pictures of missing people there. They were mostly gone now, and the ones that were left, she didn’t look at anymore.
Are you guys ever going to have some kind of service for your mom? Amelia asked her. Not to be pushy. But maybe it would make you feel better. Not a lot, but a little.
It seems like it might be a good idea, Wendy said. But I don’t think my dad’s ready for it.
Well, if you do have one, you should wear some really pretty dress like that sister had on today, Amelia said. Only not white. Blue maybe. That’s a really good color on you. Or yellow.
They got on the train.
Josh was sitting at the kitchen table when she came in the door. Not cooking or listening to music, and not looking at photograph albums, for once. His hair was standing up in all directions again. Do you have any idea how worried I was? he said.
He put his arms around her. The strength of him, maybe from all those years of lugging the bass around, always felt good. The other thing about the way Josh hugged you was how he didn’t do it just for a second and then let go, like a lot of people. He stood there a long time holding on.
I was going crazy, he said. What in God’s name were you doing?
I didn’t think you’d notice, Wendy said.
Ten o’clock and my daughter’s not home, and you don’t think I’ll notice? Who do you think you’re living with here?
It’s just that lately you haven’t been paying much attention to things, Wendy said. When she said that, his face changed from angry to sad. She almost wished it would have stayed angry.
I know, Josh said. You’re right. I’m sorry. Just never do something like that again, okay?
Poppy, Louie called out from the bedroom. Where are you? He wasn’t really awake, it was just something he had started doing in the night. For a while there, he was calling out Mama, but for the last few weeks the only one he had called for was Josh.
I’m here, Lou-man, he said. You can go back to sleep.
Your brother was upset, too, Josh said. He didn’t want to go to bed till you came home.
I’m sorry, she said. Everything’s been—Whatever the word was to finish her sentence, she didn’t know it.
They sat at the kitchen table, with the pair of salt and pepper shakers in the middle that her mom had bought at a yard sale. From the front, they looked like a bride and groom, with the bride all pretty and the groom handsome. But when you turned them around, the bride had turned all chubby and her hair was a mess, and the groom had a big beer belly sticking out over his pants.
So would you still love me if that was me? her mother had asked.
I’ll get back to you on that, he told her.
Amelia and I went to Queens, she said.
Queens, huh? Happening place, Queens.
We went to a memorial service. There was this fireman.
I see. He didn’t ask how they came to know a fireman. Stranger things had happened recently.
They played his favorite music. His family told stories about him. It was nice. Afterward, they had a tape of him talking. He sounded like a really great person. Even if you never met him before, you kind of felt like you knew him.
I know how that can be, Josh said. I’ve played at a few services like that over the years.
He fixed them each a mug of hot chocolate. He took the dispenser of whipped cream out of the fridge, that he always kept there. Not Reddi Wip, but the real thing. You do the honors, he said.
She squirted the whipped cream in their mugs. His first, then hers. Here, she said. She squirted an extra dollop on his chin. Let’s see what you’d look like with a beard. Because you’ve practically got one now anyway.
He reached his hand to his face and licked off the extra. Think we could drown our sorrows in this stuff if we ate enough of it? he asked her.
She studied her spoon.
Not enough whipped cream in the wor
ld, huh, Wen?
Roberto called tonight, he said. He wants me to play a gig Tuesday.
So what did you say? she asked him. She hadn’t seen him pick up his bass in close to a month, since her mother disappeared.
I said I had to check with you. I’d need you to pick Louie up from school.
I could do that, she said. I don’t have anything special Tuesday.
Well then, okay, he said. Someone here had better start bringing home the bacon, right?
At this service, they sang a song from that old record Mom loved. Cat Stevens.
Nobody ever said your mother was perfect, he told her. It was the first time Wendy had heard Josh talk about her mother in the past tense.
It made me think about what music we would choose, she said. If we did something like that.
Not just yet, okay, Wen? he said. I just can’t let myself believe she isn’t coming home. If I did, I don’t know how I’d go on living.
It scared Wendy hearing him talk like that. Wendy had been trying so hard to keep from feeling that way herself. It was as if she’d fallen overboard, and she’d been working at pulling herself back into the boat, and when she finally managed, it turned out the boat had a giant leak.
You want to just give up, he said when he was able to speak. Only you have to keep going. You still have to get up in the morning and pour the cereal in the bowls. You keep on breathing, whether you want to or not. Nobody’s around to tell you how it’s supposed to work. The usual rules just don’t apply anymore.
The Usual Rules Page 10
