Hanging by a Thread

by Karen Templeton

  “You weren’t there, babe,” Jimmy says with a half smile. “Trust me, his hand didn’t land where it did on accident.”

  “Ohmigod—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Franny, he was just foolin’ around. Flirting, y’know? He didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Actually—” he grins “—I was kinda flattered, if you wanna know the truth. Those guys tend to be real picky.”

  “Jimmy, for God’s sake! What a horrible thing to accuse somebody of!”

  Jimmy shoots to his feet, his stomach jumping as he bellows, “It’s the truth, for chrissake! So what’s so terrible about your uncle being a homosexual?”

  “He baby-sat for our boys when they were little! If what you’re saying is true…” Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes huge behind it. “Ohmigod!”

  Okay, this is really freaking me out. Frances is one of the most open-minded people I know. Well, except when it comes to her daughters-in-law. But still, I’ve never heard her once utter a homophobic remark. I glance over at Luke, still standing beside Jason, and I can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re feeling the same way.

  “So ask ’em,” Jimmy says, turning to his sons. “Tell us the truth, now—did Carmine ever pull any funny stuff with you?”

  “No, Pops—”

  “Uh-uh, never.”

  “Don’t you think I’d’ve said something if he had? Jesus.”

  “He was the best baby-sitter we ever had,” Luke says with a smile. “Unlike Nonna ’ducci.”

  “Oh, Christ!” Vinnie says with a laugh. “I’d totally forgotten about her!”

  “Probably one of those, whaddyacallits?” says Peter. “Suppressed memories or something. Swear to God, my left ear-lobe is longer than my right because of her.”

  Frances is looking from one to the other, flummoxed. “You saying my mother hurt you guys? For God’s sake, the woman barely weighed ninety pounds!”

  “Ma,” J.J. says, chuckling, “the nuns at school were girly-girls in comparison.”

  “Yeah,” says Vinnie. “And the thing was, she always knew how to inflict the kind of pain that didn’t leave any scars.”

  “Except emotional ones!” adds Pete, and they all crack up.

  The laughter dies down, though, as one by one, Jason’s big brothers force their gazes to his. Then, even though they’re obviously still uncomfortable with this news, they approach him one by one, again, giving him a hug, shaking his hand, acknowledging his courage. Finally, Jimmy Sr. embraces his youngest son in a bear hug that makes Jason grunt, then says, “I just gotta say one thing—” he points in Jason’s face “—anybody gives you any trouble, you come to us and we’ll beat the crap out of ’em for you, you got that?”

  Jason pushes his hair out of his eyes, then laces his fingers and cracks his knuckles, posturing like some gangster in a two-bit Mafia movie. “Hey. I can beat the crap out of ’em myself, you know.”

  On this note, I finally realize I’ve been hanging around long enough in this private family scene. So I slip out to the dining room, signaling to Starr that it’s time to leave. I catch Jen’s eye, gesturing for her to stay, if she wants, but she opts to come with me.

  “Time to get ready for bed,” I say to Starr when we get back home.

  “It’s still light out!”

  “It won’t be by the time you get your jammies on and teeth brushed and I read to you. So go on.” She tromps up the stairs, muttering under her breath. Beside me, Jen actually laughs.

  “She’s going to be something when she hits puberty.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say, going to the kitchen for something to drink, more than a little surprised when Jen follows. So does the cat. But since Jen’s been getting her allergy shots, cat and sister can now share breathing space with impunity.

  Whether Jen and I can, however, for any length of time, remains to be seen.

  “You’ve really got it good, you know that?” she says softly behind me, and I nearly crack the glass on the spigot when I turn around.

  “Me? Why?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons. Because you’ve got a kid.” Huh. I’d always assumed Jen had remained childless by choice. But maybe not. “Because you appreciate what you have. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “No special reason. Other than wondering what the hell Jimmy put in that cake tonight.” I take a gulp of my water, then lift the glass in her direction. “After what you just witnessed, you still wish our family was more like the Scardinares?”

  “I could think of worse things.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because no matter what, they’re still there for each other, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.” I pause, then say, “Are we actually having a normal conversation?”

  Her mouth tilted in a half smile, she pushes her hair back over her shoulder, then crosses her arms. “Does it feel as strange to you as it does to me?”

  “Stranger.” I take another sip of water. “Pardon me for being skeptical, but why are you being nice to me?”

  “I think the question is, why are you being nice to me? You could’ve thrown me out, when I showed up a few weeks ago.”

  “Don’t think the thought didn’t cross my mind.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  Frito jumps up on the counter. Next to Jennifer. Who scratches him behind the ears.

  And he lets her.

  “Did Jason really kiss you?” Jen asks.

  “Yep.” Damn cat—who’s purring like crazy, by the way—is smirking at me, do you believe it?

  “Was it awful?”

  I break my I’ll-deal-with-you-later eyelock with the cat, returning my gaze to my sister. “When was the last time you kissed a seventeen-year-old boy?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “In spades.”

  Her smile is sad. So I say, thinking to perk her up, “So. What do you hear from Stuart?”

  “Oh.” Is it my imagination, or are her cheeks red? “Not much, actually. That is to say, not much on the job front. It takes time to find a good position these days, you know? Anyway— I’m pretty pooped, so I think I’ll head up to bed, if that’s okay?”

  And she’s gone before her words finish echoing inside my skull.

  If that’s okay? Since when does my sister care whether or not what she does is okay?

  A minute later, Starr calls from the top of the stairs that she’s ready. Cat and I troop upstairs, where I check her teeth (I’m not wholly convinced she doesn’t just smear toothpaste on her teeth rather than brushing, since that was one of my tricks at her age), and settle in to read the next chapter of whichever the heck Harry Potter book we’re on. When we’re finished, she finally asks the question I know has been simmering in her overactive little brain ever since Jason’s announcement.

  “What was Jason talking about? When he said he was gay?”

  And for once, I’m ready. More or less.

  “It means he likes boys instead of girls.”

  Starr frowns. “Does that mean he won’t like me anymore?”

  “No, sweetie. It just means instead of having girlfriends or wives, like his brothers do, he’ll have boyfriends.”

  “Oh.” Her whole face puckers. “Is that bad?”

  “No. It’s just the way he is.”

  She crosses her arms. “Brandon said it was disgusting.”

  Brandon’s J.J.’s oldest. Brandon is a pain in the butt. “Brandon,” I say, “will get over it.” I hope. Then I add, “Sometimes people feel threatened by things, or people, they don’t understand.”

  “You mean somebody might be scared of Jason?” She giggles. “That’s nuts.”

  “Yes, it is. And now you need to go to sleep.”

  We do lots of hugs and kisses, I check for that damn monster (who’s decided to come back, the turd), turn out the lamp by her bed, then start out of the room. It’s almost dark, the charcoal light
eking through the sheers cottony and soft.

  “Mama?” Starr says in a stage whisper when I get to the door.

  “What, baby?”

  “When I get bigger, will I like girls or boys?”

  Why does my heart clench at this question? “I don’t know, sweetie. Probably boys.” Or maybe both, but no way am I going there. For both of our sakes. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Okay,” she says, flopping over and yawning. “Night. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Twinkle.”

  When I get downstairs, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of a shadow in my living room window, followed by Luke’s soft, “It’s me,” through the screen. I’ve got bars on the downstairs windows, but still. Skulking shadows do bad things to the heart.

  “What do you want?” I say through the screen.

  “Is the kid down?”

  “Yeah, I just turned off her light.”

  “Then come outside, sit with me a minute.”

  His words echo through my memory, words spoken hundreds of times during our lives. I grab a sweater off the coat tree and join Luke outside on the stoop, thinking how many spring and summer evenings—even a few winter ones—we spent out here, shooting the breeze about nothing. Everything.

  “How’s Frances?” I say.

  He blows out a breath. “Hard to tell. Still in shock, I think.”

  “Here Jason was so worried about your father’s reaction. I guess he never even considered how much it might upset Frances.”

  “Yeah, her reaction kinda surprised me, too. But…I don’t know, El. Mom’s not a homophobe.” He pauses. “But other people are. My guess is, she’s scared.”

  I can hear the undertones of anxiety in his voice, too. And for good reason. This may be New York, and the twenty-first century, but still. What I told Starr is, unfortunately, still very true.

  I prop my elbows on the step behind me, listening to the constant buzz of traffic and other people’s radios and babies crying, inhaling the scents of a dozen different suppers, exhaust, Mrs. Waxman’s little lilac bush across the street.

  “That took a lot of guts,” I say, “you standing up for him against your brothers. I’m sure he appreciates that.”

  He grins down at his hands, folded between his knees. “My brothers don’t scare me. Besides, the one with the guts is Jase. And he needed to know at least somebody in that room understood that.”

  I sit there, staring across the street and thinking about Jason’s comment, about how he couldn’t stand the thought of spending his whole life “living a lie” like I had. I’m not entirely sure what he meant by that, since there’s an awful lot he doesn’t know, but that doesn’t negate his comment’s accuracy.

  “Why do we waste so much energy on being afraid to admit the truth?”

  I can feel Luke’s gaze veer to my face, the intensity of his expression sending itty-bitty shock waves coursing over my skin. Then he looks away.

  “Because sometimes,” he says softly, “we know the truth is gonna hurt. So we think it’s better to keep things to ourselves.”

  “Or from ourselves?”

  “That, too.”

  I sigh, knowing what he wants me to say.

  “This is about wanting to tell Tina about Starr, isn’t it?”

  He nods. “I know you said you needed some time, but…I’m sorry, El. This is gonna eat away at me until I come clean.”

  I think about what I know that I can’t talk about, and feel sick.

  “There’s no sense telling her anything without finding out for sure,” I say, annoyance rising like bile in my throat.

  “Then we’ll find out for sure.” His voice seems very far away. “But don’t you think she deserves to know?”

  That, I can’t answer. But Luke certainly deserves to know. As does Starr. And I suppose, on some level, I do, too. Yet here I sit, getting more pissed by the minute. And hating myself for it because I don’t understand why I’m so pissed.

  I get up, brushing off my butt. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

  “El? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, heading for the door. “I just don’t want to stay out here too long, in case Starr wakes up and comes looking for me—”

  I gasp when Luke’s hand tightens around my arm. “Why the hell are you so upset? I thought this was what you wanted, to finally get this out in the open?”

  “I never said that!”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Even in the weird orangey glow from the streetlamp, I can see remorse camping out in his eyes. For some reason, this makes me even crazier.

  “Oh, so now you’ve decided everybody should know, it doesn’t matter what I think?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course it matters what you think! It always did—”

  “Did it? Did it, Luke? When I told you I was pregnant, whose idea was it not to tell Tina?”

  His brows dips. “It was both of ours—”

  “No, it wasn’t. Not at first. You asked me if we could keep it a secret, and I agreed, because I loved—” my voice catches “—both of you. And now—”

  I stop myself, before I say too much. Before I feel too much.

  “Ellie…” His breath leaves his lungs in a rush. “All I’m tryin’ to do is fix things.”

  “Why?” I say, my eyes burning. “Because now that Tina and you won’t be making babies, it’s safe to acknowledge Starr as yours?”

  Like tiny, poisonous darts, the words are out of my blow-gun of a mouth and embedded in their target before I even knew I was taking aim.

  Just what I needed tonight, to connect with my inner bitch.

  “Shit, Luke, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  But the devastation in his eyes stops dead in its tracks whatever I thought I was going to say.

  A second later, he’s gone.

  See, this is why we keep the truth to ourselves, if we even acknowledge it at all: because it simply hurts too damn much. It hurts to hear it, it hurts to say it…

  It just hurts. Period.

  chapter 20

  Okay, I’ve got a question: When the hell did my daughter and my sister bond? How did I miss this?

  I’ve clearly been spending way too much time in this basement. But when I asked Starr about it, all she said was, “Because she looked like she could use a friend.”

  Oh, to be five again.

  Anyway, I made this rather startling discovery this morning when Jen asked me if she could take Starr to the mall with her, and Starr said, “Please, Mama?” and before I could mutter, “Uh, sure, I guess…” they were gone. I was half concerned Jen would forget she had a child in her care and leave her someplace, but since they both returned an hour ago—whispering and giggling—I guess my worries were groundless.

  Some things, you don’t try to understand, you just accept. Like gravity. Or that strange redheaded dude who does the 1-800-CALL-ATT commercials.

  Now, as I sit hunched over the cutting table (Dolly went home an hour ago), pinning the size Large pattern to many layers of chiffon and trying to ignore the cramp in my gut brought on by my conversation with Luke last night, my daughter is imploring me to “come see what Aunt Jennifer’s doing in the kitchen.”

  I remember the kitchen. Sort of. That’s where the coffeepot and microwave are, right?

  “Come on,” Starr says, grabbing my hand to drag me off the stool. I trudge behind her, yawning, fabric fluff and thread bits clinging to my T-shirt and hair.

  My house smells like Heaven. And my sister, when I reach the kitchen, looks…happy. If a little possessed, flitting from counter to table to oven, mixing and checking and peering at cookbooks. So somebody really does use those things. I always wondered about that.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, grinning. “You’ll never even taste the arsenic.”

  “I didn’t know you cooked,” I say, standing in the doorway since I’m afraid I’ll get trampled if I step any farther inside.<
br />
  She glances up, her smile…shy? Something. “One of the few things I can do. But I hadn’t felt much like it before now. Besides, I didn’t want to intrude.”

  I frown.

  “It’s your kitchen, after all.”

  Starr and I look at each other and burst out laughing. Jen smiles. I think she gets it. Then she says, “Everything should be ready in about twenty minutes. I thought maybe we’d eat in the dining room?”

  “With candles and the pretty dishes?” Starr pipes up.

  “If it’s okay with your mom.”

  Honey, right now I don’t care if I eat in the street.

  Twenty minutes later, all I can say is…my sister sure knows her way around a chicken breast. The chicken’s been pounded thin and is rolled around a stuffing with…stuff in it. Cheese and crunchy bits and things. Whatever, it’s terrific. Even Starr’s eating it (I guess if you deprive a child of real food long enough, she’ll eat anything). When Jen brings out a bottle of wine, though, I shake my head.

  “None for me, I have to work tonight.”

  “No, it’s okay, it’s nonalcoholic,” she says, expertly uncorking it and pouring it into a pair of Waterford wineglasses that were my grandmother’s pride and joy. “I seem to recall you and alcohol don’t do very well together.”

  “How would you know that?”

  Jen glances at Starr, who’s busy picking the mushrooms out of her green beans, then says in a low voice, “Like I didn’t know what was going on that night when you were fourteen? You know, when Tina brought you back home?”

  “Ah. And I suppose you took great delight in ratting on me.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Only Mom said your misery was punishment enough.”

  “That would have been my take on it.” I hold up my still-clean bread plate, a simple ivory Lennox pattern with gold trim. “These were the meat dishes, remember?”

  “Ohmigod, you’re right, I’d forgotten. From the Kosher phase. How long was that, anyway?”

  “Two years? Three?”

  “No, it must’ve been four, because I remember it was two years before Mama died that Nana went into Jewish overdrive.”

  I don’t say anything, not wanting to spoil the mood. I mean, not only am I enjoying the food, but I’m actually enjoying my sister’s company. Since I have no idea when the potion’s going to wear off, I intend to make the most of it.