The Daughters of Erietown

by Connie Schultz

  “He hates spelling.”

  “Which is why you’re going to help him practice.” Ellie reached up and, with both hands, pushed Sam’s hair away from her face. “My smart girl,” she said. “Best speller in the class. Just like your mom used to be.”

  Sam took a step back. “I’m the only almost-thirteen-year-old girl I know who has to help her runt of a little brother with his homework.” She shoved the change into her jeans pocket and walked out the door.

  Ellie walked out behind her and pretended to deadhead the withering daffodils as she watched her daughter make her way down Route 20. A trucker honked his horn and catcalled at Sam, but she just raised her head higher and kept walking. “Good for you, Sam,” Ellie said. She’d never felt that confident a day in her life.

  She thought of what she’d said to Sam about Emma Dunham and immediately felt guilty. She was good for Sam, and God knows Emma hadn’t had an easy time of it. Emma was only sixteen when she inherited the West End News, after her father dropped dead at work. Danny Dunham’s last morning had begun like every other morning. He unlocked the store door at 5:45 A.M., picked up the two stacks of morning newspapers tied with twine, and started sliding them into the front racks.

  Dean Gayley, the barber next door, said he walked into the store to buy a paper. “Hey, Dean,” Danny said, and collapsed on the floor. By the time the ambulance arrived, Danny was as gray as the newspapers scattered all around him.

  Emma’s mother never stepped foot in the store again, blaming it for his death. Emma was their only child, and she couldn’t bear the thought of selling the place her father had called their second home. She dropped out of school to keep the store running. Twenty-seven years later, it was still the most popular newsstand in Erietown.

  Ellie seldom visited the store, but Sam stopped in every day, even when Brick had a day off and didn’t need a pie for his lunch pail. “We just talk, Mom,” Sam explained. “About life and all. And she lets me read her books for free.”

  “Well, that’s good, Sam,” Ellie said. “I’m glad you’ve found a woman who knows about life.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Mom. Aunt Emma has a job. She’s in charge of things. Like I want to be someday.”

  Who do you think keeps this house running? Ellie wanted to say. Who changes your sheets every week, and makes sure you always have clean underwear in your drawers? When you walk in after school and say the house smells so pretty, who do you think does that? All of it unpaid work, which would not impress her daughter.

  Whenever Sam talked about her future, Ellie heard: I don’t want to be my mother. “Can’t blame you for that, kid,” Ellie said as she strolled back up the driveway. “I’m tired of being me, too.”

  She walked back into the house and thought about how she’d been raised to believe the Catholics got it wrong, praying to the Virgin Mary. “A sacrilege,” Grandma explained. “We pray to God and his Holy Son.” Ellie had accepted that without question when she was young, but it was harder now. She had far more in common with Mary, the unwed mother. “What she went through,” Ellie once said to Mardee, a fellow Presbyterian. “She didn’t have to deal with just shame, like I did. She had to flee to save the life of her son.” In her own life, it was women who sustained her. All those coffee hours, the camaraderie of canasta, the support she got at church. She still prayed to God and talked to Jesus, but Mary knew her heart.

  Ellie reached under the sofa cushion and pulled out the folded newspaper section. Every Thursday, she checked the list of want ads under “Female.” She did not know how to type, so secretary was out. Mrs. Williams had taught her years ago how to work a cash register, but she didn’t want Sam to make the obvious contrast between store owner Emma Dunham and her mother the cashier.

  “It’s out there,” she said, sliding her finger slowly down the column of job listings. “One of these days, Mary and I will find the perfect job for Ellie Fetters McGinty.”

  Rosemary was pushing Paull in the swing when she noticed another shadow beside hers in the sand.

  “Weee,” she said, ignoring Brick.

  “Weee,” Paull shouted as the swing moved forward.

  “Roe.”

  She pressed her fingers against Paull’s back and pushed again. “Hey, Brick,” she said, still looking straight ahead. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Pooosh,” Paull said, kicking his feet in the air. “Pooosh, Mama.”

  She stopped the swing and pulled him out, propping him on her hip before turning to face Brick. “Pooh-bear, this is—” She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head at Brick.

  “Brick,” he said, staring at the boy.

  “Bik,” Paull said, curling into his mother.

  Rosemary stroked his hair as she looked at Brick. “That’s right, Paullie. Brick.”

  Brick studied the boy’s face. He could have been Reilly at that age. “And what’s your name, little man?”

  “Paw,” the boy said softly, glancing at him before burrowing into his mother’s neck.

  “Do you want to hold him?” Paull’s fingers dug into Rosemary’s T-shirt. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said, uncurling his hands. “He won’t hurt you.”

  “No, that’s okay. I don’t need to—”

  “Yeah, you do,” she said. “You do need to hold him.” She pried Paull off her and tried to hand him to Brick. Paull wriggled to face her. “Nooo,” he wailed.

  “Roe, he doesn’t—”

  “Paullie, it’s okay. He’s a nice man.”

  “No, Mama.” Paull started to cry, his arms clinging to her. “Mama. Mama.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re not making a very good first impression, Pooh.”

  Paull wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and stopped crying as quickly as he’d started. “It might help if you smile,” Rosemary said to Brick.

  “Roe, this is a lot to take in.”

  She kissed Paull’s cheek and said nothing. Brick reached into his pocket and pulled out a Matchbox car. Rosemary recognized it immediately. It was one of the cars she’d left behind on the shelf the day she ran into Brick and Reilly in the toy department. Paull was suddenly riveted.

  “Here,” Brick said, handing him the mustard-yellow sedan. “This is a 1966 Opel Diplomat.”

  “Car,” Paull said, reaching for it. “Car.”

  Brick smiled for the first time. “That’s right.” He looked at Rosemary. “He was never a mistake, was he?”

  She lowered Paull to the ground. “You want to play in the sandbox, Pooh?” He ran toward it, shouting, “San! San!”

  She looked at Brick. “What were you saying?”

  “You getting pregnant. That wasn’t a mistake. You meant to.”

  “I’m not going to stand here and have you accuse me of—”

  “I’m not accusing you. I’m just acknowledging what we both know.”

  “What does it matter?” she said, pointing to Paull, who was picking up handfuls of sand and letting it run through his fingers. “He’s here. He’s perfect.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said, watching Paull. “I didn’t know he existed. If I had, I would have helped out sooner.” Rosemary reached for his hand. “No,” he said, pushing it away. “I’m not going back to that. I’m here to let you know what I’ll do for him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I get paid three hundred and sixty-seven dollars and twenty cents every two weeks. I’ll give you fifty dollars every other Friday.”

  “Fifty?”

  Brick nodded. “I’ll stick it in an envelope and—” He looked at the parking lot and squinted. “You’re driving that Fairlane now?”

  She nodded. “It was Vinny Sardelli’s. He sold it to me when he bought a new car.”

  “Leave it unlocked at Sardelli
’s, in the back. I’ll stick the money under the driver’s seat every other Friday after work.”

  “You could just come in and—”

  “No,” he said. “I’m never going into Sardelli’s again. I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Sounds like you’ve made a lot of promises to Ellie,” she said. “Does this mean you don’t want to get to know your son?”

  “Bik!” Paull yelled, waving his Matchbox car. “Bik, car! Car!”

  Brick waved at him. “He’s a cute boy.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the other diecast car that Rosemary had left behind in the store that day. “This is for him,” he said, handing it to her. “We’ve got some savings. I’ve got it, I mean. In the bank. For the kids’ college…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment Rosemary thought he was about to change his mind.

  “I’ll withdraw some of it,” he said. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars so you’ve got an emergency fund.” He nodded toward Paull. “For him. Just in case.”

  “What about him?” she said, pointing to Paull. “What do I tell him about his father? He’s going to ask, you know. He’s going to want to know his daddy.”

  Brick pulled out his keys from his other pocket. “Well, then, I suggest you go find him one.”

  Brick pulled on his softball pants and smiled at Ellie, who was standing on the other side of the bed. “I’m so glad you and the kids are coming,” he said. “If we win this one, we go to state.”

  Ellie walked over to the dresser and picked up the can of Aqua Net. “The kids are excited. I heard Reilly tell Sam at breakfast that ‘Daddy is going to hit a home run.’ ”

  “Hah,” Brick said, lacing up his sneakers. “Pressure.” He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Thanks, Pint,” he said, kissing her neck. “Thanks for coming.”

  They looked at their entwined reflection in the mirror. “Twelve years of marriage already,” Ellie said, patting his arms. “And two kids, one of them about to become a teenager. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  Brick kissed her neck. “If she’s anything like her mother was at her age, we’ll have to lock her up until she goes to college.”

  Ellie reached behind her and cupped Brick’s groin. “If she’s anything like her mother now, you mean.” He caught his breath, and she smiled, obviously pleased with herself. “C’mon, you. We have to get going if you want to warm up before the game.”

  Sam and Reilly were already sitting in the backseat, bubbling with nonstop chatter. “Daddy,” Reilly said, “I told Billy Kleshinski that you’re going to hit three home runs tonight.”

  Brick laughed and looked at Ellie. “Whoa, buddy. I thought it was one home run.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  The softball game was down in the harbor, at Smitty Field. They were playing Flannery’s. “Mick versus mick,” Murph had joked at practice last week. “All of us in dago town, not a dago in sight.”

  Brick pulled into the parking lot and looked in his rearview mirror. “All right, you two. Keep an eye on your mother.”

  “Daaaad,” Sam said, rolling her eyes. He winked at her and stepped out of the car to get his cleats from the trunk. He sat on the side of the driver’s seat to lace them, and when he stood up, Sam grabbed his sneakers out of his hand.

  “Don’t do anything different, Dad,” she said, raising the sneakers over her head. “It’s bad luck. I do this.” She walked to the trunk, threw the sneakers into his duffel, and pulled out two packs of Wrigley’s spearmint gun. “One stick per inning,” she said, waving them at him. “Don’t forget to change out before you run back into right field.”

  Brick swiped the packs out of her hands and stuck them in his back pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sam pointed to the field. “You have to walk in front of us. We’ll be on our usual bench in the stands.”

  “Okay, boss,” he said, walking backward and winking at Ellie. “See you at the game.”

  * * *

  —

  It was the seventh inning. Brick was at bat, digging the toe of his back foot into the dirt as he prepared to hit that third home run for Reilly. He was sweaty and on fire, feeling none of the usual fatigue that made his joints throb this late in the game.

  The first pitch hit the plate.

  “Ball!”

  “Jesus, Jimmy,” Brick growled over his shoulder to the ump. “You don’t have to scream in my ear.”

  “Touchy, touchy,” Jimmy Kelly said. “Just keep your eye on the ball, Brickie.”

  Brick swung.

  “Strike!”

  Flannery’s fans cheered.

  “C’mon, Pop!” Sam yelled. “Yeah, Pop!” Reilly echoed.

  He heard a few laughs from the bench. “You heard ’em, Pop,” Benny Walsh yelled. “Blow it out of here, Brick.”

  That’s when he heard it.

  “Bik!” the little boy yelled. “Bik!”

  He turned to look.

  “Strike two!”

  She was sitting two rows behind his family, with Paull on her lap. Sitting there shading her eyes with a smile on her face, the breeze blowing her hair back as she whispered into Paull’s ear. She was encouraging him to yell.

  Their eyes met just long enough to wipe that smile off her face. He felt the ball sail past his face.

  “Steeee-rike three!”

  “What the fuck, Brick?” Benny Walsh yelled from the bench. Brick marched straight for Benny, his right hand clenching the bat. Murph jumped up and pressed his palms against Brick’s chest. “He’s just kidding, Brick. You’ve got two homers. We’re two up, and Slattery’s next. We’re good. We’re good.”

  Brick’s temples were throbbing, his hand still gripping the bat.

  “Brick.”

  He turned to look at Ellie, who was standing by the bench, her smile nervous. “The kids, honey.”

  “Bik! Bik! Car! Car!”

  Ellie turned to look at the little boy waving the car in the air. “Isn’t that cute? I think he’s calling your name.”

  Brick dropped the bat. “El, maybe you should go. Take the kids and just go. I let Reilly down.”

  She looked at him and laughed. “Are you nuts? Have you seen the look on your son’s face? He can’t stop smiling. He’s yelled himself hoarse cheering for you.” She stopped smiling. “Brick? What is it?”

  Suddenly, the Mickey’s fans were on their feet. Slattery had just hit a line drive. Ellie pointed at the fans. “See what I mean? Look at him. Reilly’s face.”

  Brick pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes and looked up at the stands. Rosemary was gone.

  Rosemary pulled down the tab on the Stroh’s, her back to the bar as she shouted at Vinny Sardelli. “I heard you the first time,” she said, staring at the foam as it rose in the tilted glass. “There’s somebody who wants to see me. Tell him to pull up a stool.”

  When Vinny didn’t respond, she turned to look at him. “What the hell’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He nodded sideways, toward the front door. “I think he means business, Rosie. Wouldn’t even shake my hand.”

  Rosemary set the beer in front of the customer and looked at the exit. “Brick.”

  Vinny moved closer to her. “He hasn’t been here in ages.”

  She turned to look at Vinny. “What?”

  “I said, he hasn’t been here in years. Just saw his picture in the paper. His softball team won the tournament. Flannery’s.”

  “Mickey’s,” she said.

  “What?”

  She untied the apron around her waist. “He plays for Mickey’s.”

  “Oh,” Vinny said, staring at her. “Sure. Mickey’s.”

  “I’ll be bac
k in a little bit,” she said, smoothing her blouse.

  Vinny put his hand on her shoulder. “You need any help?”

  “No,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m fine.” She nodded toward the back door, and Brick walked out.

  Rosemary stopped at the door and took a deep breath before pushing it open. He was standing by his car, smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey,” she said, as she walked toward him. “What brings you here for all the world to see?”

  He walked toward her and grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away. “Ow, let go of me.”

  “Why were you there?”

  She tried again to yank her arm away. “I said, let go of me. That hurts.”

  He dropped her arm. “Sorry,” he said, stepping away. “Why were you at the game?”

  “Wow,” she said, rubbing her arm. “Look what it takes to get an apology from Brick McGinty.” She shook her hair from her face and put her hand on her hip. “I read about it in the paper. About the game. I knew it was a big one. And I told you I wanted our son to know his father.”

  “And I told you that was never happening.”

  “Well, maybe you aren’t calling all the shots anymore.”

  He moved toward her again and raised his hand. Rosemary tilted her head back and pointed to her chin. “Go ahead, Brick. Hit me.”

  He shook his head and lowered his hand. “I promised Ellie.”

  She shook her head. “More promises for poor Ellie.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You promised Ellie what? Something about me? She knows?”

  Brick thrust his hands into his pockets. “I promised her I’d never be like my father.”

  She lowered her chin. “Brick, do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for Paullie after he starts school? He’ll be the only kid in his class without a father. I grew up without a father. You never stop thinking there’s something wrong with you.”

  Brick started jingling the coins in his pocket. “I’ve been giving you a hundred bucks a month for him, for months now. I gave you five hundred dollars of my kids’ college money. And then you show up and practically sit right next to them. I’m done.”