by Liz Crowe
Gloria’s eyes opened again, and she sucked in a long breath. Her now-faded blue eyes narrowed at the sound of Antony’s overly loud voice demanding to “get down!”
“Let me see them,” she said, sounding more like her old commanding self. Lindsay took Kieran from Frank to calm him, pulled his thumb out of his mouth, and turned so her mother could see his face. But he kept it pressed into her neck, shaking his head when she asked him to stop. “It’s all right,” Gloria said, patting his Sunday-church-going, short pants-covered thigh. “He seems to be a fine young man.” At those words, Kieran ventured a peek, then smiled at her for a split second before hiding his face again.
JR came closer. “This one’s a handful, Mama. Reminds me of me.”
Gloria didn’t touch Antony the way she had Kieran, just studied him while he did the same to her, his dark, Love-family eyes narrowed, as if sensing her disapproval. “Well, I guess there’s no mistaking that one for his father’s son, is there?”
Antony squirmed and wiggled until JR put him down. Then he promptly dropped on all fours and crawled under the hospital bed. Kieran joined him when Lindsay let him down. Her father got on his hands and knees and gave them each something, then stood up. “No little boy can resist a Hershey’s Kiss.”
Lindsay sighed.
“Candy!” Antony blurted from under the bed.
“Sit,” her mother patted the bed. “Let me look at you a minute.”
She sat, and listened while her mother enumerated her various physical failings, all of which Lindsay was painfully aware of already—hair too long, not enough lipstick, dress wrinkly and faded, freckles, bags under her eyes. Gloria held out her hands. Lindsay put hers in them, feeling the tears again. Not necessarily tears at her mother’s condition, but definitely for the life she’d tossed away to be with the very man who’d horrify her parents the most.
As if on cue, a surge of early pregnancy nausea made her dizzy. On the heels of that, a yawning sense of regret so dark and deep it made her gasp aloud. She looked around at her father, her somber-looking brothers, the dying woman on the bed.
“Are you happy?” her mother asked.
Lindsay blinked, not sure if she had a good answer on this particular day. “Who’s ever really happy, Mama?”
“Well, I was happy once. And I want you to be, too, no matter where or how you live. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I thought you’d be happy with Will, eventually.”
“What did he do? Will, I mean.” She had no idea, since she’d cut herself off from her former life in an attempt to integrate into the new one she’d chosen.
“Got kicked out of school again, for—” Frank stopped when their mother cut him a sharp look. “… for fighting, big surprise. I don’t know what he’s doing now.”
“Anyway, I’m sure this Tony is a fine person. As long as he’s taking good care of you and your boys.”
“He is and he does, Mama.” She wanted to let go of her mother’s hands. They felt even more like a skeleton’s hands than they appeared. But her mother tightened her grip, just as Lindsay had done with her own children, who were currently injecting sugar into their bloodstreams with her father’s help.
The adults stared at each other. The only sounds in the room were the crinkling of foil wrappers and the delighted chewing and lip-smacking under the bed.
“This next one will be the worst,” her mother said, her voice gone raspy again.
Lindsay shook her head. “Next what one?”
“Your next boy.”
Lindsay blinked. “How … I mean …” She bit her lip and tears burned again.
“Go easy on him, though. He’ll be worth the effort.” She coughed, accepted water from a large cup with a straw, then flopped onto her pillow, and held out her hand. Lindsay’s father put a small jeweler’s box in it. “Take this, Lindsay. I want you to have it.”
“No, Mama. I don’t want it.” She knew what it was. She’d noted the lack of her mother’s most prized piece of jewelry on her newly-thin fingers. “Let one of the boys have it to give to their fiancées someday.”
Gloria Halloran put the box in her daughter’s hand and closed her bony fingers around it. “No. It’s yours. Wear it, put it away, give to one of your sons for his wife, or to your daughter someday. But it’s yours now.” She paused, a familiar flash of defiance in her eyes for a brief moment. “Bring those young men up here again. I need to get a better look at them. Go on and fetch me a cola, honey.” She patted Lindsay’s leg. “While I visit with my grandsons.”
Lindsay stumbled out, blinded by tears and clutching the small velvet box containing her mother’s engagement ring—an enormous emerald, surrounded by perfect, D-color diamonds. Gloria had worn it proudly, even when her husband’s business fell on hard times and all she had left to her was pride. Lindsay dropped into a chair, clutching the ring box to her chest, her other hand on her stomach, wondering how in the world Gloria could know about the next one since she herself had only figured it out a few hours before.
Her father emerged from the room, closing the door behind him. He sat across from her in silence a few moments before placing a small, folded piece of paper on her knee. “Take this and use it, Lindsay. Stop being so stubborn. I sold the land and the barns and house to some developer. They’ll be a bunch of new houses and they’re keeping the Halloran name for the subdivision if you can imagine that.” His shoulders slumped. “Anyway, there’s plenty of money now. I want you to have some of it.”
She stared down at it. “I can’t, Daddy. Anton … he’s …”
“He’s a prideful, stubborn wop. But that’s all right. I’ll out-stubborn him, being the prideful mick I am.” He smiled.
She closed her hand over what she assumed was a check. She took it, but knew her husband would never allow her to use it. Even though a small amount would help immeasurably right now. Promising herself she would not even look at it, just toss it in the trash on the way out, she nodded and let him hug her.
She fetched her mother’s drink and a straw, and when she re-entered the room she found Kieran tucked into his grandmother’s side, the lower half of his face coated in chocolate. They were looking at an equestrian magazine, and Kieran was pointing out “horse” and “dog” to her delight.
Anton lolled on his grandpa’s lap, clutching empty Hershey’s Kiss wrappers and staring at his brother. She stood, taking it in, shocked to her toes that her mother would allow a sweaty, chocolatey little boy anywhere near her, much less snuggled up in her hospital bed.
As Lindsay approached, she noted that her mother’s monitor was blipping slower than it had been before. She set the soda can on the rolling table and leaned over to kiss Kieran’s messy cheek.
Her mother looked up at her, eyes full of tears. Lindsay had had enough for today, however. A loving mother-daughter reunion should be taken in stages, she figured. She’d done step one, and would come again tomorrow. Eventually, she’d bring Anton. Exhaustion stole over her, making her wish she could catch a nap before attempting the hot drive home to the even hotter house.
“Gonna go, Mama. If these two get another ounce of chocolate in them, they might explode. Come on, mister,” she said, holding a hand out to Kieran.
“Francis!” Kieran piped up. His middle name was Francescso, and Anton had taken to calling him Francis, which he loved.
“I know, sweetheart. Antony, hop down. Time to go home.”
He eyed her a moment, as if deciding whether or not to toss a demand out there, and chose to go for it. “Ice cream.” His voice was a bit subdued. “Mama said ice cream if Antony was … ” His brow furrowed and he did look like such a miniature Anton at that second she couldn’t help but laugh. “… was a good example.” He enunciated it clearly, and not in his usual high-decibel volume, surprising her.
“You are a fine example,” her father said, setting the boy on the floor and patting his head. “I’ll make sure your Mama gets you ice cream, young man.”
“Oh, Lordy, D
addy. I don’t know if I can handle the two of them hopped up on ice cream on top of chocolate candy.”
“Lindsay,” her mother said. “Savor your children while they’re this little. It’s a precious time that not many mothers appreciate. I know I didn’t, and I so wish I had.”
“Okay, Mama,” Lindsay said, figuring Gloria must truly be facing the Pearly Gates if she was getting philosophical about child-rearing. Nellie had been the one who raised Lindsay and her brothers. They saw their mother at breakfast and before bed, and not much in between.
Lindsay rolled her eyes at Frank and JR on her way out. JR followed her, walking them down to the elevator and pointing out the quicker way to the parking garage. Before he left them, he pecked her cheek and gave her a one-armed hug, his usual.
“Daddy give you your share?” he asked, confusing her.
“My share of what? No, Antony do not push all the buttons. Come over here Kieran, Mama’s too tired to chase you around the elevator.” JR stood in the open door, blocking it. “What is it, JR? I’ve got to get these two home before I keel over.”
“Daddy gave you a check, right?”
“Yes, but I won’t—”
“Put it to good use, baby sister.” He waved as the door closed, cutting him off and making Kieran break into wails of terror. She picked him up and jiggled him, while still trying to keep Antony from pressing every button. He hit most of them anyway, so they got to stop, wait for the doors to open onto nothing, then close again a half dozen times.
Once she got the boys stuffed into the backseat under loud protest, she climbed behind the wheel and opened all the windows, not caring who heard the weeping and wailing of her sugar-buzzed children. She fished in her bag, found sippy cups she’d filled with water at the house, and gave them to the boys, which shut them up for a few minutes. Not the best of plans, since water went right through Antony, and he was determined never to wear a “baby” diaper again.
As her sons re-hydrated, Lindsay pulled the folded-over check from her skirt pocket and stared at it for a few seconds, then opened it.
It took her a solid ten seconds to absorb what she was seeing. The check was made out to her and her alone, and it was for the sum of one hundred thousand dollars.
Her vision narrowed as her throat seemed to close up. It took her a few seconds to remember to breathe. She rocked back and forth, barely noticing when Antony chucked his empty cup into the front and started kicking her seat.
She and Anton shared everything about their finances, up to and including details of both of his uncle’s kitchen table loans for the brewery and their house. She kept a neat and tidy budget notebook, writing down every penny she spent. Their income was sporadic, but had increased steadily, especially this last year. However, their house suffered the most, and was in dire need of at least twenty thousand dollars’ worth of basic repairs.
Air conditioning. She could afford to get the air conditioning fixed with a small portion of this windfall. At that moment, sitting in the scorching hot truck and anticipating another night spent panting in front of fans while the boys slept on cots in the bottom basement—the phrase they’d adopted for the very lowest level of their four-level home— where it was coolest, it was the only thing she could think of that would improve her life.
“Boys, we are stopping for ice cream,” she declared, putting the car in reverse and looking over her shoulder to see them both clapping in delight.
Chapter Thirteen
She woke the next morning to the sound of the ringing phone. Anton was already up, making coffee and entertaining the boys. Something in her knew, even before he appeared, looking somber and a little scruffy in their bedroom door. She sat, quilt held tight to her chest, her stomach flip-flopping and promising a fun day of early-pregnancy nausea.
“Lindsay, it’s …”
“My mother.”
“Yes, honey. I’m sorry. She passed about an hour ago, Frank says. They’ll need you to meet them at the funeral home at noon. I can come too, if you want.”
“No, it’ll only be meetings and arrangements. Stay here with the boys. You can do that, right?” She swung her feet to the floor and tried not to throw up, then gave up and pushed past Anton to the one bathroom in the hall.
Once she’d emptied her stomach, she got into the shower, noting the damn drain still ran so slow the water covered the tops of her feet if she stayed in there much longer than five minutes. She needed a plumber to clear all the drains in the house, but there never was money for it.
Money. She pressed her hands flat against the plastic liner, letting the water hit her directly in the face. She had money now. Lots of money. Problem was, how to get Anton to even consider accepting a penny of it.
Leaving that worry for another day, but feeling lighter for knowing about the check-shaped safety net tucked in her wallet, she dried off, noting how her stomach already bulged, as if it had a sort of pregnancy memory.
Even though she’d always been slim-hipped, she’d carried two near-eight-pound babies and delivered them without much more than the usual pain and suffering. This third one would probably do her figure in for good, especially after she breastfed again.
She sighed and poked through her closet for something somber, decent, and clean to wear. When she entered the kitchen, her hair was up, makeup on, she wore stockings for the first time in months, and she felt less like ten miles of bad—pregnant—road.
“Mama!” Kieran said, holding up his arms. He sat across from Antony in a high chair she’d borrowed from the Norrises, since Antony hadn’t quite graduated from his. Mainly she used it as a way to contain her rambunctious firstborn for at least a half hour three times a day, and she was not about to give it up. “Pretty,” he said when she leaned over to kiss the top of his head, taking a whiff of him, as she usually did.
“Mama!” Antony yelped. “Me!” She kissed him too, and wiped oatmeal off his mouth.
“Coffee, Linds?”
She nodded and accepted a cup before sitting and sipping, watching her boys interact with each other while their father loaded the dishwasher. He finished, wiped his hands, and turned to her, a self-satisfied look on his face. She smiled, determined not to point out the dishes he’d left beside the sink, the toast crumbs all over the table and the splat of oatmeal under Antony’s high chair.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning into him when he stood next to her. “I’m sorry about this. I know you prefer to spend mornings at the brewery.”
“No, we’ll be fine here, won’t we, boys?”
The two boys in question eyed him warily, then looked a question at their mother. She nodded. They smiled. “Dad!” Antony yelled.
“Got that right,” he said, hauling them both out of their chairs and tucking one under each arm. “We are gonna start something new today. A tradition.”
“‘Dition!” Antony yelped.
“Ball,” Kieran said in delight when his father gave him a small basketball. Anton turned to face Lindsay.
“Go on, honey. Do what you need to do. We are gonna have ourselves a ball game.”
“It is hot as blue blazes out there, Anton. Don’t you go giving my boys heat stroke.”
“We’ll be fine. We’re going to the park to shoot hoops, and then we’ll take a dip in the pool.”
“You know I don’t like that public pool.”
Anton shot her an exasperated look. “Either I’m in charge, or you are. Pick one.”
She sighed and stuck a pair of fake pearl earrings she’d found at a yard sale in her ears. “Fine. Please bring them home in one piece and not coated with germs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.
The boys mirrored him, looking up at their father for approval. She smiled, picked up her purse and headed out into the blistering morning.
Three excruciating hours later, they had the service sorted out, including the small reception afterwards at the country club. Lindsay had nearly passed out in the small, cramped offices
of the funeral home. She was hungry, but the thought of food made her dizzy. She sipped cup after cup of coffee, and once the needlessly expensive casket and everything else was chosen, she could hardly wait to get home and lie under the squeaky ceiling fan after a quick, cool shower.
She kissed her brothers and father and got into her truck, painfully aware of its in-need-of-repair loud exhaust as she pulled out onto the street and pointed herself toward home. Humming along with the radio, she pulled up the drive and got out, grimacing at the simmering heat.
“Anton?” she called into the quiet house, taking note of the perfectly clean kitchen and living room. “Honey?”
The tinny sound of a baseball game coming from his small radio floated up from the patio level. She poured herself a glass of lemonade, shed her shoes and her stockings then headed down to join him. He sat facing away from the house, sipping a beer, his feet up on one of the chairs she’d bought with a small glass-topped table at the secondhand store. His broad shoulders were bare. She smiled and sneaked up on him, pressing her lips to his neck. He startled and nearly tipped over.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down and sipping her lemonade. “You look relaxed.”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking at her. “Get everything settled?”
“Yes, the service is Sunday.”
“All right,” he said, squinting as he sipped his beer.
Something about his demeanor set off warning bells in her head. “What’s wrong? The boys—”
“The boys are fine, Lindsay. The house is clean. The toys are put away. They’re down for naps.”
“Okay,” she said, not at all happy with his tone. “What is wrong, then?”
He dropped his feet to the concrete and produced her wallet. She blinked at it, unable to process why it was here, with him, and not in her purse. Her face flushed when he tugged her father’s check from it and laid it out flat on the glass surface between them. Heart pounding, she reached for it, but he snatched it first.
“You were going to mention this, I presume.” His jaw was clenched tight. She’d not seen him this mad in years.