After the Fog

by Kathleen Shoop

  She opened the door to Dottie standing there, her tiny hands gloved in the palest blue leather, clenching and unclenching at her side. She rocked on the balls of her feet and settled back.

  Rose swallowed hard. With all the progress she made in dealing with her own part in her ripped open world, she had not come far in how she thought about Henry and Dottie. She still seethed at the thought of their bodies joined in the most intimate of ways. Rose looked at her feet, desperate to find a classy way to tell Dottie to get the hell off her stoop.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t talk to the woman whose mouth had probably covered every square inch of Henry’s body. Rose backed into the doorway, closing the door as she did.

  Dottie’s hand shot out, keeping the door open.

  Rose crossed her arms. “What Dottie? Is there something else of my life you’d like?” Rose spun around and gestured to the room as though offering a product for sale.

  Dottie stepped into the home and shoved the door closed with the usual screech.

  Rose couldn’t believe the woman’s gall. “Bet you never have a squeaky door at chez Shaginaw?” Rose said. Resentment stung her.

  Dottie’s posture softened, her chin dropped and she looked away in what appeared to be genuine shame. “I just wanted to set the record straight Rose. That’s all.”

  “Like I said, take what you want, Dottie. As you can see, besides the crusty old mutt over there, I don’t have a thing left that you might covet.”

  Dottie put her hand up to stop Rose from speaking. “You were right. What you said the night of Johnny’s accident.”

  “John,” Rose said. “He goes by, John, these days.”

  “I know.”

  Of course she did, Rose thought. “You know, Dottie, a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have granted you ten seconds of the same air I was breathing.” Rose ran her hand through her greasy hair and stuck out her chest, “But I’m not so fragile anymore. I give you thirty seconds. Because I’m all sugar and goodness, now. I’ve changed.”

  Dottie raised her gaze to Rose. “That night of John’s accident. You were right. I did, I do, want what you have, Rose. What you and Henry have—”

  “Had,” Rose said. What good was some stupid confession after all that had happened?

  Dottie nodded. “It’s true, I found some relief in being with Henry. Just that once.”

  Rose exhaled her exasperation. “I don’t want a rehash of your sexual exploits, Dottie. You have doting parents, a pristine home, the best nursing job in town, a slew of friends and admirers. Isn’t that enough?” Rose shrugged. “You were the one who caused John’s cord,” Rose said, slapping her hand over her mouth. Husband-poacher or not, Dottie was the reason John was still alive.

  Dottie straightened her back and stepped forward. “Listen to me. That night when the kids were babies, sixteen years ago, I went to your house to speak with you. I needed a friend. Someone I could trust.”

  Rose broke Dottie’s gaze.

  “I was going to run away, leave my home, my parents, everything, I was so ashamed. They didn’t approve of the person I loved. I was devastated, and vulnerable and needy, and when I got to your place, there was Henry.”

  Dottie stepped into Rose’s sightline, forcing her to make eye contact. “Henry was like I’d never seen him, so open, so needy. And we just, well, I needed to see if…well, if I wasn’t attracted to Henry, I knew I wouldn’t be attracted to any man. If not Henry. Then no man.”

  “Boo-hoo, You diddled Henry and found out no other man would do. I’m supposed to cry because you’re a spinster?”

  “Listen, Rose. For once, shut the hell up and listen.”

  Rose crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows at being ordered to shut up.

  Dottie looked at the floor then lifted her gaze to meet Rose’s. “I’m not attracted to men, Rose. The relationship my parents disapproved of was with another woman.”

  Rose looked toward the wall, then at her shuffling feet. What did Dottie say?

  Dottie pointed to her heart. “I knew it here. But I had to prove it to myself. And, yes, from the time I was six, a part of me loved Henry. My God, what’s not to love? But, I was desperate that night. Well, Henry and I kissed and touched, and yes, got undressed, but we couldn’t do it Rose. He couldn’t. Because of you. I couldn’t because of…”

  Rose tapped her toe. She didn’t believe a word.

  “Lois Hampton.” Dottie blurted the name and crossed her arms. “We’ve been together forever. Not living together as you know. She wants to, thinks no one will blink at a couple of gals living together, like sisters. But my parents know the truth. They caught us that night.” Dottie sighed. “That’s why I went to your house, to talk to you but Henry was there, just waiting to help prove to me that I was normal.”

  Dottie’s eyes filled. “That night, I just needed someone to tell me I didn’t have horns and a tail. And Henry was there. And you weren’t. And you’re right. I do want what you have Rose.”

  Rose stepped back from Dottie, trying to appear as though nothing she was hearing made any difference at all.

  Dottie lifted her hand to Rose. “I want children, a family, the house. But believe me when I say, I never wanted any of that with Henry. I know that doesn’t change what we did.”

  Rose glanced at Dottie’s outstretched hand and ignored it.

  Dottie re-crossed her arms. “I wanted you to know, I never meant to hurt you or your marriage. When it came to giving advice about Magdalena, I told Henry to talk to you. That was it.”

  Rose opened her mouth but couldn’t say what she thought. There had been rumors for years regarding Dottie’s preferences. Some called it off-center or queer. But Rose never gave it much credence. Rose looked into Dottie’s face and was moved by her sincerity, her anguish.

  Dottie wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I’ve always been amazed Rose, how you live your life. You ignored people talking nonsense about your career. You were always content with the people who love your nursing care, your family. You don’t give a hoot who put you down, you simply trusted they’d come around, when you have to care for them or their family. I admire you, Rose. You’re brave. And so, yes, to have what you have, I couldn’t put a dollar amount on it if I tried.”

  Rose felt overwhelmed, covered her mouth and turned to leave. Three steps down the hall, she stopped. She couldn’t do it anymore. She put her hands on her hips and turned back to Dottie who was already headed out the door.

  “Wait,” Rose said.

  Dottie came back inside.

  Rose didn’t know what to make, exactly, of what Dottie had just told her, but she knew no one would lie about such things. Rose knew if Dottie admitted to loving women, if she risked confiding in the person who hated her more than anyone in the world, then she must be telling the truth. And for Rose, that was stunning. Such courage. Putting the truth out there like that. She decided it was that, the truth, not an act of desperation that was driving Dottie.

  Dottie took another step forward. “Rose?”

  Rose resisted the urge to run again. She stepped toward Dottie, fingers laced at her waist.

  “Thank you.” Rose said, and shrugged.

  Dottie smiled and stepped halfway out the door. “You’re welcome, Rose.”

  And the two nodded at each other, sharing a moment, a pause in acrimony that felt like friendship, a moment of grace Rose needed more than ever.

  Chapter 24

  Friday, April 1, 1949

  Rose had just bedded down a roast, half of which she was planning to slice and share with Donora’s needy folks, when the side-door squealed open, startling her. She inched across the kitchen floor, wondering who might be entering without permission. She poked her head into the hallway and saw the back end of Buzzy, moving through the door, struggling with luggage.

  Leo peeked over the mound of suitcases at Rose, jumping up and down.

  She could not believe they were here. She ran down the hall and pulle
d Leo over the luggage. He latched his legs around her laughing. Rose smoothed his hair as he snuggled his head into her shoulder.

  Buzzy smiled, nervously glancing from Sara Clara to the luggage and back at Rose. Sara Clara removed her hat and Buzzy cleared a path through the luggage for her to walk. Rose shifted Leo to her hip and moved toward Buzzy, hugging him, then Sara Clara, holding her so tight that she choked in Rose’s embrace.

  Rose pulled back and pinched Leo’s cheek before setting him down. She opened her arms to Buzzy and Sara Clara. “Look at you. You’re here.”

  Buzzy and Sara Clara passed a glance between them and Leo shoved a starfish up at Rose. She squatted down to his level and ran her finger over the hardened spikes, turning it back and forth.

  “I’ve never seen one of these in person,” Rose said.

  “I’ll take you there this summer when you come visit Auntie Anna. She said you could have hers for now and that you better get down there and visit her. You can find one yourself then.”

  Rose bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Buzzy and Sara Clara hung back, clutching their luggage as if waiting for Rose to attack.

  Rose tousled Leo’s hair and sent him to the kitchen to pour some waters for everyone. She wrenched her in-laws’ bags out of their hands. “Let me take those.” Buzzy and Sara Clara appeared bewildered as if they landed in a foreign country instead of the home they used to share.

  “Well, I don’t have all day for this kind of rubbish,” Rose said. “Come on in and tell me how you’ve been. I’ve, well…I’ve been working with the Feds to survey people about the fog. And see, here.” Rose slid the suitcases further inside with her foot and closed the door to reveal a poster size piece of butcher paper behind it. “See, I recreated the map I had of Donora and I’ve plotted where all the folks died during the fog. I’ve mapped out who got sick. I’ve listed the pertinent symptoms reported by everyone, according to their address. Fifty more people died in the month after the fog. Did you know that? So, I mapped their homes as well. You won’t believe—”

  Buzzy poked at the map where Unk’s name marked where he had died. Rose saw sadness creep into his expression. His gaze slid over the map, taking in the information Rose had recorded.

  “We believe it, Rose. We saw Bonaroti when we stopped to fill up the tank. He told us how you’ve gotten folks to talk, to tell the truth. He doesn’t think the report will see the light of day because of the mills being so powerful and all and you know, politics. Well, I don’t need to tell you. But, he said, you’re his miracle. A living, breathing gift to the town.”

  Rose looked at her feet and picked up two suitcases, touched by Buzzy’s sincerity that for once didn’t feel like manipulative flattery or biting sarcasm. She told herself not to hold back. “I’ve missed you so much,” Rose said.

  Sara Clara pulled off her gloves and wiped away tears.

  Rose dropped the suitcases and went to her sister-in-law, folding her into her arms. You’re my family. You’re mine and I’m yours, Rose thought.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “It wasn’t the same without you.” Rose felt strange to utter those words and odder still to feel them. “It wasn’t right. Not even with all I’ve done gathering data for the surveys. That feels good, to be effective again. But, really, for the first time, it didn’t matter the same way. Even knowing it’s important work.”

  Rose held her grip for another few seconds before releasing Sara Clara and laughing. “So that’s it? You guys got your tongues taken out when you were down south or something?” It was then Buzzy pulled a clump of money from his coat pocket and held it out.

  He’d stumbled upon an Alcoholics Anonymous chapter in North Carolina and though he’d just made it part way through the steps, he was back home to make amends.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Rose said, taking the money. “I’ll be damned.” She pulled him into a hug that he couldn’t squirm out of. She thought of the money she’d given to Mrs. Saltz to move, and that in giving it away, she had made room for something better.

  Sara Clara’s father had paid Buzzy to work while in North Carolina, and he promised Rose to refill the coffers even if it was a little at a time. She studied him as he spoke; looking for telltale signs he was playing her for a fool. But in the same way Rose had seen sincerity in Dottie she saw it in Buzzy’s gaze, too.

  * * *

  Four weeks later, Rose and Sara Clara were working together in the kitchen. Rose was back at her stove, scrambling eggs while percolating coffee and cooking up the bacon and sausage. Sara Clara scurried around the house, readying for the job at Isaly’s she now had as a part-time cashier. Leo was still asleep. The door squealed open and Buzzy returned from working at the mill, exactly 7:20. He kissed Rose’s cheek, making her feel Henry’s absence more than she had in months.

  Buzzy yammered on about mill gossip, informing Rose of one family’s needs or another. He reported what Rose already knew; many residents were still unwilling to talk about the fog and the mills.

  Rose appreciated Buzzy’s verbal serenade. He never really expected her to respond with more than a nod or umhum and it allowed her time to think of Magdalena and John, without the yearning it brought. She didn’t fully trust Buzzy, but she saw that he had changed in a way that couldn’t be denied.

  The door screeched open and Dottie appeared, black bag dangling, arms laden with files. Rose scrambled to relieve Dottie of the paperwork, hoisted it onto the kitchen table, and thanked her.

  “I’ve gone over everything and it looks good. I think we’re ready to start this thing up,” Dottie said as she headed back toward the doorway.

  Buzzy looked at Rose and then toward the doorway.

  Rose bolted after Dottie.

  “It’s the most generous gift, Dottie. Thank you. Now we don’t have to worry about begging for clinic money, well you know what this means.”

  Dottie nodded turning back to open the door.

  “Wait. Breakfast.” Rose said. “Stay for some eggs and bacon. Please.”

  Dottie paused and then turned.

  Rose walked over to Dottie and took her hand. “You’re my friend. And friends always stay for a meal.”

  A small smile appeared on Dottie’s face and she nodded. Then as Rose prepared the rest of breakfast, she relaxed as she heard Buzzy and Sara Clara treat Dottie as though she were family, as though they understood that she should have been all along.

  For her entire life, Rose alienated herself from the other women in town. Oh, she’d nurse them in the most intimate of circumstances, but her nursing was her shield, too busy to have tea or lunch, to have even one friend. And now there was Dottie, Father Tom, and she’d come to realize, Bonaroti. Every woman needed a friend. A spouse could only do so much. Rose could see that her friendship meant something to Dottie, too. For the first time, Rose thought she just might actually be able to be a friend.

  * * *

  Rose made good on her promise not to manage anyone’s life and while it made her visits with John enjoyable, she ached not knowing what his future would hold. Henry used a portion of the money they had saved for Magdalena’s college—he’d spent it on something. Rose wasn’t sure for what, but he never consulted her on it, just spent the money. But Rose kept her mouth shut. She’d learned to pick her arguments.

  She felt good; she didn’t have to manage anyone but herself.

  Rose went about her now normal routine. She checked in on those needing home health care and mapped out which homes she still needed to visit to interview about the fog. And, she would stop at Mellon Bank on the corner of McKean and Fifth and check in on the accounts she’d opened for the children and Henry.

  Buzzy had told her that Henry would come to town to deposit money in the account. Rose would then check up on what he’d done, feeling as though somehow they were talking to one another through the bank transactions—him depositing, her checking up on the funds. In March Rose noticed he’d withdrawn several hundred dollars a
nd Buzzy informed her he was using the money for going to college as he had once dreamed of doing.

  Rose felt compelled to meet Henry face to face, but was not confident to call him on the phone and order a meeting and was too fragile to request one. So, she planned to run into him the next time he came Donora to deposit money.

  Rose had dawdled inside the bank much longer than was normal, even making small talk with people she didn’t like very much. Finally realizing Henry was not coming, she left the bank and ran smack into Pierpont who was tacking paper onto the telephone pole right outside the bank.

  “Hey, Mrs. Pavlesic. It’s been awhile! You got to catch a glimpse of this.” He shoved a paper into her hands and then nearly skipped down the sidewalk tacking up the papers on every surface he could. When Rose couldn’t see him anymore, she looked at the paper he’d pushed into her hand. There in black print was an announcement that the band, Johnny and the Slag Heap, was to perform at the Galaxy in two weeks.

  There was a photo of the fellas playing, blurry as it was—the printing must have been cheap—she could make out the forms of each boy as easy as if they had been standing in front of her. There, in the front was her Johnny, trumpet to his lips, smiling around it as he always did, leaning awkwardly against the piano, clearly up and about, but not yet the man he had been.

  Rose felt like she was socked in the belly. She bent over, tears flowing that her son had not listened to her and was living the life he was destined for, rather than the one she’d constructed for him.

  A tap on her back made her straighten. She wiped her tears then turned to see Magdalena standing there.

  “Mum?”

  Rose felt her throat tighten. She straightened her hat, overcome by the sight of her daughter’s bulging belly. Henry’s arm was slung over Magdalena’s shoulder making Rose feel alienated from them further. She did not know what to say with them both there. Where would she start?