Where No Gods Came

by Sheila O'Connor

  “Lenore,” I say, lightly tapping her bony shoulder. “It's me, Faina.”

  “Faina.” As soon as she speaks the cough starts, a dry, rough hack, not the rattling one she couldn't shake. I don't understand why she looks so shriveled and sick here. I thought she came to get well.

  She reaches out her trembling hand. “Let me kiss you.” I bend over the bed so she can touch my cheek. It's the first time she's ever kissed me, the first time it wasn't my lips brushing obediently against her powdery skin. “Faina,” she whispers into my ear as if it's a secret. “There's just a curtain between us.” She points to the long blue sheet dividing the room into sections. “Someone's always listening on the other side. Be careful.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Now tell me,” she whispers, forgetting the kiss. “What's happening? They've mixed up everything. I don't understand a word of it.”

  I wish I could explain it to her, but none of it makes sense to me either. I can't understand what happened, all the things that went wrong in our lives.

  “Where's Cammy? Where's my beautiful baby girl? No one will tell me.”

  “I don't know,” I say, which for once is the truth. “Hiding probably. Waiting until you come home.” I don't want to tell Lenore that Cammy might be in San Diego already, or that Cammy left her alone to die. Cammy my sister, Cammy who held me in sleep, Cammy who ran when she saw I was caught.

  “I worry about her,” Lenore says to me. “She's so beautiful and wealthy. Look at what happened to poor Patty Hearst.”

  “I'm sure she's safe,” I say, taking Lenore's hand in mine. “Cammy can take care of herself.”

  “Cammy,” Lenore says, “my beautiful, beautiful baby. And you, are you all alone at the apartment with Per?”

  “No,” I say. “Not really. I've been at Good Shepherd.”

  “Good Shepherd? Is that something those people at Cathedral arranged?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “In a way.”

  “All in all, those Catholics have been good to you, haven't they? That school was worth every red cent. I keep thinking of how Cammy's life might have been different if we'd had some religion. But what did I know then? Catholics are like another country to me.”

  Lenore pats my hand nervously, coughs again, struggles to catch her breath. “Faina,” she whispers. “Come closer.” Her breath reeks like a fly-speckled fish washed up on the beach. “They're plotting to lock me up here. For months. Even years. I don't know what these people have up their sleeve, but I have to play along for a while at least. I'm sure they're after Papa Roy's money.”

  “You just need to get well,” I say.

  “But how can I do that under these conditions? Faina, when you come tomorrow, sneak me in a little sip of something. I'm sure you understand.”

  “Per's staying with my teacher,” I say to change the subject. I move my head away from her so I don't have to listen to her hiss and rattle.

  “That's wonderful,” she says, smiling weakly at me. “I'll bet little Per is lonesome for me. That kitten was such good company. Just like you. Do you remember all the fun we had together last summer?”

  My eyes are starting to burn, my throat hurts. “Yes.”

  “Do you know, is Hank taking care of the apartment?”

  “I think so.” I can't tell her about the eviction, the boxes of keepsakes some stranger will take.

  “I need to arrange to get him May's rent. As soon as you fall behind those sharks swim in for the kill.”

  “I have your wallet,” I say, pulling it out of my back pocket.

  “Good girl,” Lenore says. “You're so clever, Faina. So cunning. Hide it in the back of the drawer, will you? And don't tell anyone you gave it to me. The help. I'm sure they steal.”

  I hide it in the drawer of the bedside table, behind a blue plastic half-moon tray. The tray is filled with Lenore's personal belongings: her gold watch from Papa Roy, toothpaste, toothbrush, a sample-sized tube of hand lotion. Underneath it all, the silver St. Christopher medal from Mrs. Lajoy.

  “Do you want me to fix your hair?” It looks terrible, glued to her head with grease.

  “No,” she says. “Let them earn their keep. Besides, I don't want to lose a minute with you. Scoot closer.”

  My chair is already so close to the bed the metal rail jabs into my knee. “Lenore.” It's time to tell the truth, to set things right before I leave. Tomorrow she'll wait for me to sneak in the little sip, and I won't be able to come. “My dad is here.”

  “Bobby,” she shrieks, clutching the baggy hospital gown to her chest. She jerks the blanket up to her chin. “Don't let him see me like this, please.”

  “No,” I say. “Don't worry. He's outside smoking.”

  “Thank god,” she sighs, smoothing the side of her hair. “He can come for a visit when I'm better. When I've had a chance to put on my face.”

  “He wants me to leave. For San Diego.”

  As soon as I say this, her groggy eyes blur with tears. “What do you mean leave? But what about me? Who will help me get well?”

  “I'll come back,” I promise, gently rubbing her shriveled arm. “Maybe in a few weeks.”

  “You won't. I know what's happening. Bobby wants to steal you from me. But we belong together. The three of us. You, me, Cammy. We've been so happy, haven't we? You're a girl. What does Bobby know about raising a daughter? You can't leave when I'm in this mess with my liver. Or lungs. Or whatever it is. Thank god you didn't inherit my health.”

  She's coughing now, so hard and fast she's choking. I lift the plastic glass of water, tuck the straw between her lips. “Drink.” I listen for the gurgle while the water goes down, but it's gone.

  She takes a few swallows, shoves it away. “Maybe it'll take some time like they say, a few months to really get me back on track. I'll play their game. Then we can be together. You're my daughter. And you'll want to continue at Cathedral, get a private education. Grow up to be valedictorian. This place.” She pinches her nose. “It's a public facility. You can see for yourself what that means. Papa Roy would die if he saw the conditions. And still, they're robbing me blind.”

  “Excuse me,” the nurse says, poking her head into the room. “Your mother is a pretty sick lady. She needs her rest. Why don't you say your good-byes?”

  “They always think they know everything,” Lenore says, batting her hand at the air. “That's why I hate having strangers in our business.”

  “I brought you lilacs,” I say. “They're out on the desk. It's finally spring.”

  “I'm glad winter's done,” Lenore says. “I don't think I could survive another one. When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed,” she recites. “The rest escapes me. It's Wordsworth. Or Whitman. All those W names. But it's just as well about the lilacs, they've always given me violent headaches.”

  “Please get well,” I say, bending over to kiss her cheek.

  “I'll see you tomorrow then,” she says, clutching my wrist. “You'll work it out with Bobby. I'm not brave enough to do this alone.”

  “I know.” I can't tell her I'm leaving. I can't even tell her I love her. I wish I could crawl back into bed with her one more time, read a chapter from Little Women until she drifts off to sleep. I wish we could start all over, not just this year, but at the beginning. Change the story. Make sure it turns out happy.

  “I can't be alone,” she says, turning her back to me. “I need my little Faina McCoy.”

  “So,” my dad says when I step out into the sun. “How'd it go?”

  I shrug my shoulders, try to swallow. “I promised we'd stay. Just for a few days. A week or two. Just until she's back on her feet. She needs me.”

  “It's done, Faina. It's finished.”

  “We can change the plane tickets.”

  “We can't. I've already seen enough of Minneapolis to last me a lifetime.” He smooths his hand down my hair.

  “Please.” I'm ready to drop to my knees, rope my arms around his leg and plead. Right here, rig
ht on this busy street.

  “She had her day. You don't owe her anything. Lenore is a grownup, for Christ's sake. She'll have to fend for herself.”

  “But she can't get well without me.”

  “Or with you. She can't get well either way. We're burning daylight; let's get this show on the road.”

  “This is it,” I say, as soon as we pass the mishmash of smashed cars at the Auto Trade lot. “Right there at the end of the block.” My dad swerves toward the curb, slams on the brakes. Across the street, the bakery window shade is pulled down for the evening. Frances won't be there to squish her nose to the window and watch.

  “This is it?” my dad says, raising his eyebrows at me. “This?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Above the bakery.”

  “Lenore really went down. She was a rich chick when I knew her.” He drums his palms against the steering wheel. “It's a little rougher than I imagined.”

  “This is where she moved with Papa Roy after they sold their big house in Kenwood. It's pretty nice inside, lots of old furniture, china, antiques that belonged to Papa Roy and Eileen. That's Lenore's room on the corner. I slept with Cammy in the back bedroom by the alley.” I can't take him back there; I don't want him to see the dumpster, the SLUT that was meant for me.

  “Papa Roy. Jesus, that name drove me crazy. Even in the grave,” he laughs. “She's still calling him that. So we going up to get your stuff or what?”

  “No,” I say. I don't want to see the empty apartment again, Lenore's bed, the week-old breakfast dishes still in the sink. I don't want to know if Hank packed our things already. “Everything I want is with me. Except Per. We still have to get her.”

  “Then what are we doing here, sweetie? Sightseeing?” He knocks his knuckles on the dash impatiently. “Faina, I'm done in. I've been traveling for over two days.”

  “Can you wait just a second? I need to run into Kenny's.”

  He digs down into his pocket, passes me over two quarters. “I remember about your boyfriend,” he says, giving my leg a quick squeeze. “Pick me up a beef jerky, I'm starving. And make it fast. I'm jealous already.”

  Inside Kenny's, there's no sign of Jimmy. He's not at the cash register bagging groceries; he's not back in produce arranging apples or in the soup aisle stocking the shelves.

  “Will this do it?” the cashier asks, when I set the beef jerky down on the counter. She's a regular, the one who sold me Lenore's Salems without a note. She knows me, the girl with the funny accent, the girl who lives across the street. By now, the whole neighborhood probably knows our story. The ambulance. The police. Cammy disappearing.

  “Is Jimmy working today?”

  “Nope. He served his sentence; they set him free.”

  “When?”

  “Couple of days ago. Wednesday, I guess.”

  I put the quarter down on the counter. “You mean he's gone? He left New Directions?”

  “Sorry,” she says, snapping her gum between her crooked front teeth. “But I think he was happy. Who wouldn't be?”

  Outside Kenny's, my dad leans against the painted white brick, a fresh cigar clenched in his lips. “Just thought I'd stretch my legs. We got a lot of sitting still ahead of us.” My dad winks. “So, is this Jimmy of yours coming out to meet your old man?”

  “No. He's not working.”

  “Night off, huh?” my dad says, wrapping both of his big arms around me. “That's too bad, honey. You can send him a postcard from home.”

  I rest my back against his stomach, settle my head on his chest. There are so many things he doesn't know or understand. Like Jimmy's gone for good. And I can't send a postcard, because I don't have an address. And Lenore can't take care of herself, can't make it without me. And Cammy showed me the ropes, but not in the way he imagined. I can't ever tell him this story, the life I lived on this street. Dakota Avenue. Home. Our old brick building. The neon palm tree of the Paradise Club. Dakota Liquors, their weekly deliveries. Border Drug, where I bought my stamps and Cammy stole Milk Duds before the movie. Rusty's Tavern, the leftover smell of beer and hamburgers on my way to Cathedral each morning. The bus stop. 6B. The marmalade twists from the bakery. Hank's Plumbing. The constant hum of traffic outside my window. The alley. The fire escape. The place where I first saw snow, where I first kissed Jimmy.

  “That's it, then,” my dad says. He draws his rugged thumb along the scar on my eyebrow. “It's history now, Faina. It has to be.”

  Faina McCoy

  I go back to San Diego for my beginning.