“But you know why,” Mr. Morgan said. He was watching Lana instead of Magdalena. If she hadn’t known why before, she did now. She saw herself in his eyes, in a way she never had before. She was beautiful, she was a woman, she had value. Something she’d never recognized but something she’d always wanted.
He said so much by saying so little, his silence full of meaning as opposed to silence that suffocated. Mr. Morgan’s silence elicited conversation from her, even though she didn’t feel compelled to say anything in return. He somehow evoked meaning in their quietness, answered thoughts even his sundaes couldn’t reach.
“Three waters,” Magdalena said, scooting under the table and popping up next to Mr. Morgan again. The water was good, cool and clear. They drank in silence, a beautiful silence that said more, meant more, than all of the sundaes and conversations she’d ever had.
Chapter 45
James 1959
The letter came. The offer from the Lakewood team. James would begin training in the spring after a brief winter practice to introduce the players to each other and touch base as a team.
“You sign the top page down here. Use the carbon paper between them so you have a copy. Send the one you signed back to them.” Mr. Morgan stood at James’ shoulder, the two of them on the street in front of Pop’s shop, looking over the sheet of paper in James’ hands. Dirt and rust from the iron rods left spots where his fingers rested. He brushed his hands on his pants, one at a time, then tried to blow the faint grime away.
“I can’t believe it,” James said. He couldn’t. The sounds and echoes of the welders inside the cavernous building disappeared, and all he could hear was the smack of a baseball into a mitt, the crack of a bat as it sent a ball out of the field. “Can you believe it?” He looked into Mr. Morgan’s face. His excitement was reflected there. James threw his arms around Mr. Morgan’s neck, held the man in a squeeze, and couldn’t let go. “I won’t be all that far away,” James said in Mr. Morgan’s ear. “You can come and watch. So can Mama and Magdalena. At least when we have home games.” James felt Mr. Morgan nod, felt the man’s hands reach around him and hug him back. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. Thank you.”
The sounds from Pop’s shop grew louder, as if a window had opened. Then they quieted again, as if the window had shut. James didn’t look up. He didn’t let go of Mr. Morgan. His mind was full of baseball, his heart sailing through the air like the first homerun he’d ever hit.
“You can have that boy you’ve got ahold of there. You can have his mama, too.” Pop’s voice cut hotter and more fiery than a welding torch.
James had never felt such searing hatred. He dropped his arms from around Mr. Morgan and looked behind him. Pop was close, closer than he’d ever been. James looked up into his father’s face at the hatred, the intense dislike.
“Go! Get on out of here!” Pop roared. Two men stepped out of the shop behind Pop.
“What do you mean, get out of here?”
“I said get out! Both of you! I’ve put up with this long enough. Never should have to begin with!”
James looked from Pop to Mr. Morgan.
“Your son got his baseball contract today,” Mr. Morgan stated. “His second one.”
“My son!” Pop laughed. James had never heard his father laugh before. Men trickled from the shop, began to line up along the front. “My son!” He laughed again.
Mr. Morgan moved next to James. “This is his second one because something happened to the first.”
Pop’s arms were like snakes, quick and limber, shooting out faster than lightning and striking true. Before James could react, there was an ugly sound, a fleshy sound, and Mr. Morgan was on the ground. Someone gasped, someone hooted, while James dropped to the ground beside Mr. Morgan.
“I said get out, and I meant it!”
Blood trickled from the side of Mr. Morgan’s mouth. He curled upward, and propped himself on one elbow. A mountain of red, like a mound of strawberry ice cream, rose on his face. James’ heart exploded. Men moved closer, and his father’s legs were right behind him.
“Get out of here, both of you!”
“You okay, Mr. Morgan?” James asked, bent over the man. Mr. Morgan nodded.
James burst backwards then, threw all his weight into the knees behind him. A gasp of surprise sounded above him, and men scurried away as Pop toppled to the ground. James was on him before Pop could move. He’d never wanted to hit his father, never thought it would make him feel any better, but he’d never been this age before, with this many years of frustration pent up and the only man who’d really been a father to him lying on the ground behind him.
Pop was slower than his hands had been a moment before. There was surprise on his face, making his arms and legs lag behind the realization that James was on him, hitting him, had knocked him to the ground. Dirt, rust, blotches of red and blood appeared on Pop’s face. He threw his hands up in defense, but then he caught the rhythm and got past his surprise. He went from warding off James’ blows to throwing a few of his own.
There were words, but James didn’t care what Pop said. There were hands on his back, grabbing at his shirt, but he shrugged them away. Pop was fierce now, hands that had worked hard all his life turning to fists that had hated for years. James felt Pop’s hatred, felt the years of silence screaming in Pop’s blows. More hands grabbed at him, some at Pop, men’s voices shouted above and around them.
James felt himself yanked upward, dragged off his father. As he was pulled away, he was no longer like himself, he was like an animal—no thought, no heart, just furor and fervor. He clawed at air, reaching for Pop. He yelled. Pop wasn’t clawing toward him. Pop’s arms were down as his friends dragged him back. Pop had stopped. When they released him, he rose to his feet and shoved the men aside. He stepped to James, one finger raised. The finger came to James’ face. More threatening than Pop’s fist, it stopped, poised.
“Never come back. Not to my shop, not to my house. Same for your mother. Neither of you come back.” Pop turned, brushed through the crowd of men, and disappeared into his shop.
Hands dropped James. Men disappeared through the same door Pop had gone through. Only James was left. James, Mr. Morgan, and dirt clumped by drops of blood. James kicked the dirt. He kicked it again, his toe digging into the gullies cut by their brutality. He turned to Mr. Morgan, stared into his face, retrieved the contract from the ground, and marched away.
Chapter 46
Lana 1941
“Do you ever intend to marry?” Lana cupped her hands around the mug of coffee, wondering why she had asked and whether he would answer.
Magdalena had gone with her brothers and sisters to the movie this time, leaving Lana to shop, to spend the extra money as she saw fit. She had—on fabric, flour, sugar, and more. Too much to carry on her own, so it was stacked just inside the door to Mr. Morgan’s restaurant while she sat at her usual booth, the remaining few cents she’d had left buying the cup of warm coffee she had her hands wrapped around now.
Mr. Morgan was relaxed across from her, taking a break while business was slow. He ran a fingertip around the rim of his cup, hemming in the steam and the black drink with an imaginary circle. “I don’t think marriage is something we should intend to do. We can’t plan it, as if the sort of love we want is secondary to making a ceremonial commitment. I see it the other way. To love well is essential. With or without a ceremony. With that sort of love, I’ll be married in my heart.”
Lana felt it, a tiny ember so layered under years of just being asked for, of so much hurt and ice that she’d forgotten it was there. It jumped from deep within—longing, forgotten longing that had been there her whole life. What Mr. Morgan said fanned it and brought it to life. Tears followed, roiled upward behind it, and she looked into her cup.
“That probably was more than you wanted to know. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t just tell you yes or no. Not you. You needed to hear the truth because it’s there in you, the same as it is in me. You haven’t
really forgotten it’s there, you’ve just tried to.”
That scream, it wasn’t a scream at all. It was an ache, a deep need to love and be loved. It resented mockeries, it despised superficial imitations, and it wanted to live. Be let out and live.
The flames glowed, lighting up the dark cavern inside. “I can…” She didn’t know what else to say or how to say it. There weren’t words or fables for what she could. It was just there, the ability in her to love and be loved. “I can.”
“Yes, you can. That’s what’s beautiful in you, the love that knows no bounds. Love like yours is a law to itself, limitless, only confined by the nature of what love is.”
She understood deep within. The ember leapt even further to life. His hand touched hers, his warmth helping to thaw her ice. He slid from his seat and drew her up, the ache bubbling up like a fire into her throat. By the time she was beside him, it came out, it came out with tears, deep sobs of joy and agony, all rolling out onto his shoulder.
She’d never known the smell of a man without the scent of burnt metal. Or cheap perfume. She’d never known that beneath the smell of pine soap, sweets, and fried food, Mr. Morgan smelled like heart, like soul, like strength and kindness. She drew him in, inhaled him. He was the same as her. She felt his cheek on top of her head and his arm pulling her close. It tightened around her middle and forced the rest of the ache upward, making it spill out even more, soaking his shoulder.
“Glen…” It was Ida. She was at the back of the restaurant, her fists on her hips.
“Not now,” he said. Mr. Morgan took Lana, like a child, like a woman being born, and lifted her from the room. She didn’t know where they were going, but the restaurant was behind them, along with Ida’s accusing glare. He was close. He drew her into himself, as he took her away. To a place her heart could bleed, and heal, and love.
Chapter 47
James 1959
Mama came through the door, the door to the small bedroom Kevin had let James use after Pop threw him out. James was packing; so was Magdalena. Kevin hadn’t panned out like she’d planned. “He’s too much like Pop,” Magdalena had said. It was all she’d said, and James left it at that. Even though Kevin had allowed James to stay, James had never felt welcome. Maybe that’s what Magdalena meant, why it didn’t work out. It didn’t seem to matter to her, so it didn’t matter to James either. He was packing for the brief winter baseball session. After that, he didn’t know what he’d do until the team began its spring practice session. James didn’t know where Magdalena was going, she hadn’t said, but she always found a place.
Mama looked thinner, worn, and tired. James stopped layering his clothing into his bag and stared at her, the paleness of her face, the red rim around her eyes as she stared at what he’d packed. “You could come with me,” he said. Mama had stayed with Pop, even when he threw them both out. James had begged her to come to Magdalena’s with him, but she had refused. It can’t be any worse than it’s ever been. She hadn’t said it, but James had seen the thought in her eyes. There had been plenty of disappointment, plenty of hurt. She didn’t think there could be so much more that she couldn’t take it.
Mama shook her head. She crossed her arms and looked at his bag.
“I’ll only be gone a week. You could be gone for a week. Please come.”
Mama looked up, and her gaze drifted to the window behind him. She stared out at nothing. She was just traveling the only way she ever would, by imagination.
There was a thud by the front door, and Magdalena appeared behind Mama. She brushed her hands together as if she’d just built something instead of taking it apart. “That’s done,” she said. “I’m packed and ready. Need any help?” She eyed James’ lone bag.
“I got it,” he answered. “I want Mama to go with me.”
Magdalena eyed their mother, then looked back at James. She shook her head. “She can’t.” Something about the way she said it told James she was right. He didn’t understand it, but he knew. He slapped his remaining clothing into the suitcase. He trusted his sister, but he was fed up with the way things were, tired of the fact that he never understood.
“I’m ready,” he said at last. He latched the suitcase and yanked it off the bed. “Tell Kevin thanks for letting me stay here.”
Magdalena snorted. She turned and walked to the front door. James and Mama followed as she carried her two bags out of the house to the front yard, where she set them down. “I’ve got a ride coming,” she said.
James looked at Mama. She didn’t return the glance. He knew she wouldn’t. Magdalena’s life was always a puzzle, one James knew Mama always hoped would finally piece together. They stood at the edge of the yard. Magdalena lit up a cigarette and waited, watching down the street to the left until it came, Max’s big lumbering car moving toward them.
“Max?” James didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Just borrowing it,” Magdalena said. She blew smoke in the direction Max was coming from and watched the slow advance of his car.
Magdalena drove. She never dowsed her cigarette, but she hung it out the window as she dropped Max off at his house.
“Got some time, little brother,” she said as they pulled back into the street. “Your train doesn’t leave for over an hour.”
James looked at Mama. She’d chosen to ride in the back seat with him, even after Max got out at his home. Her skin was sallow, her gaze a pool of vacant sorrow.
“Take us to Mr. Morgan’s,” James said. Magdalena stopped drawing on her cigarette. She held the smoke in and stared straight ahead. “Mama needs one of his sundaes.” He looked at his mother. Her face flushed, her eyes grew wide. She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I should have taken you for one years ago, Mama. It’s just what you need.”
The car lurched forward. James saw the curl of a smile on Magdalena’s mouth as smoke seeped from between her lips out the window.
Chapter 48
James 1959
The bell Mr. Morgan had on the door of his café tinkled as Magdalena and Mama stepped through. James followed. He eyed the table in the back, the one he’d used most often when Mr. Morgan sat with him or served him, helped him find the right path. It was empty. He reached for Mama’s elbow. He wanted to take her there, let her share the same balm he’d found, but she’d moved. James watched as she walked to the restaurant’s side wall, to a booth, as if it had her name on it.
James followed. Mama reached the booth, touched her fingers on the table’s top, then slid in. Magdalena slid into the seat opposite her. James frowned, then bent to slide in next to Mama.
“Over here, little brother,” Magdalena said. She pushed up against the wall and patted the bench seat next to her. “Sit by me before you go.”
James frowned again, but he obliged her, sliding in next to his sister. He looked across the table at Mama. There was color in her cheeks, a flush that went with the deeper breaths she seemed to be taking.
“You all right?” he asked.
“So, you got your place to stay all set up?” Magdalena interrupted.
James looked from Mama to Magdalena. His sister’s eyes were bright. She was excited. He couldn’t imagine why she’d interrupted him.
“Yeah, all set.” He started to turn back to Mama, but Magdalena grabbed his hand. “You need any money?”
“What?” Sometimes Magdalena could be annoying. He frowned at her. “No, I don’t need any money. Besides, you don’t have any.”
“I always have money. I work, remember?”
She hadn’t talked about cleaning houses in forever, but she was right, she always had money, or a way. “No, thanks, I don’t need any.”
He pulled his hand from Magdalena and turned back to Mama. She was looking across the restaurant, and he followed her gaze. Mr. Morgan was walking toward their table, his eyes on Mama, the white towel flopping in his hands as he rubbed and wiped them. He stopped at the edge of their table. He stared at James’ mother. James looked at Mr. Morgan, then Mam
a. Something beat in Mama’s gaze. It was life. It was beauty. She’d gone from cadaverous to living. And even without one of Mr. Morgan’s sundaes.
“I…” James began. “I mean, we…”
“Sundaes?” Mr. Morgan asked.
Tears, a tiny rim of wetness, pooled in Mama’s lower lids.
“Work your magic,” James said. It was too quiet to hear, or so he thought. But Mr. Morgan smiled at him, turned, and disappeared.
There was nothing to say. The clink of glassware and silver came from behind the fountain where Mr. Morgan worked. Even Magdalena was quiet. The three of them sat there. James wondered if Mama was afraid Pop would find out she was in here, especially now.
Mr. Morgan appeared at the booth’s edge, two dishes of sundaes in his hands. He slid one in front of Mama and the other in front of Magdalena. He laid a spoon near each one. James eyed the two dishes, white and chocolate and bright colors glistening in the light. Mr. Morgan disappeared, then reappeared. He put two more dishes on the table, one in front of James and the other near Mama. Mr. Morgan slid in beside Mama and pulled that dish to himself. He gave James a spoon and kept the last.
Something beat in James’ chest. Something far away was trying to come to life. Something was familiar, something was right. It was as if he’d always seen this moment, hungered for it, but yet never knew for sure.
“Cheers.” Magdalena waved a dripping spoonful of ice cream in the air.
James watched them dig in. His mother. Mr. Morgan. Side by side. Hadn’t he seen this somewhere before? Wasn’t this buried in his mind? Maybe in a dream? How could it be? A gulp formed deep inside. It simmered. It was a cry. It was what was left of his scream. It hurt, but it was right. Mr. Morgan looked up. Their gazes caught. Their hurts meshed, their silence said the same thing. James saw Mama there in Mr. Morgan’s eyes. He saw himself. Just as he had years ago when Mr. Morgan said to choke up on the bat.
Someone screamed, but it was outside instead of in James’ heart. People were running. Some ran into the restaurant and all the way through to the back.
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