“We stay up late on Saturdays,” Muddie said.
I didn’t say anything. I still had not recovered from the slap Delia had given me the week before, and I was punishing her with silence. It was infuriating that she didn’t seem to notice. But tonight she seemed nervous. I noticed lines at the sides of her mouth for the first time, brackets around the curve of her lips.
“You can’t sit out here. Come on, then.” Delia started up the stairs, and we followed. She pushed open the front door and stood for a moment. The house was dark and quiet.
“Maybe he’s asleep already,” I whispered. Suddenly, we heard a groan. “He’s sick!” Muddie cried.
We all crowded through the doorway to the living room. Delia was first, and we heard her “Mother of God!” and quickly we tried to squirm around her but she suddenly spun around and pushed us back toward the front door.
“Get outside.”
I had a confused impression of Da in a slow motion roll, turning his head, his mouth open. Elena was on the couch in a funny position, her dress up to her thighs, gleaming in the darkness. Was she sick? Why was Da bent over her that way?
“Out!” Delia shouted at us.
But of course we didn’t go out. We hovered just outside the door, which was still open a crack. We heard every word.
“Delia, for God’s sake, turn around. We’re decent.”
“How dare you fornicate in your own home with your children outside!”
“They were at the movies!”
“Mother of God, Jimmy… this sin, right in your home, with the children —”
“Delia, could you please try not to drag God into this, I beg you. Or His mother.”
“I’d better be going, Mac.” Elena’s voice was soft.
“Yes, indeed,” Delia said. “You’d better go, and not come back.”
“Delia. Dee. I love her. We’re in love.”
The silence lasted for a full minute.
When Delia spoke, it was in a voice short of breath. “You can’t be serious. You can’t be in love with a black woman.”
We stared at each other, wide-eyed. Da in love with Elena? How had this gone on, underneath our noses? We all loved her, sure, but—
Delia laughed. It chilled us and we huddled closer.
“What do you think is going to happen to the two of you? Use your head! For once, Jimmy, look ahead. You never took a step on your own, I know that — never took a job that somebody didn’t walk over to offer you, never passed up an opportunity as long as it tapped on your shoulder. You never stretched for anything in your life! Don’t you think I knew what I was doing when I put Maggie in front of you? She was the first pretty girl who was too nice to say no to you, so you decided you loved her. And now, this one — how like you it is, to fall for someone who’s right next door. You’ve taken every easy chance, why not this one?”
“That’s enough. Did you hear what I said? I love her.”
“Love! It happens to you, so what? It happens to everybody. It’s what you do with it that matters! You can live it or you can put it away, and you can pray to Jesus to help you either way.”
“It’s not that simple, you can’t make it that simple. Love is a gift.”
“Oh, don’t be such a child! How long do I have to take care of you and your children? You lived off them and you’ve lived off me. You’ve never stood on your feet —”
“Dee, don’t go on, I’m begging you. This isn’t you. What’s happened to you?”
“You killed your wife by not wanting to pay a doctor, by waiting so long —”
“Delia!” He shouted the word. It had been going on for some time, but now we realized that underneath the shouting, Elena was crying.
“I gave up my life for this family,” Delia said. “I’ve been mother to these children, and I walk in and see you like this…. I don’t care if you go to hell, Jimmy, but I won’t let your children fall into sin!”
“Sin! You’re standing there talking to me about sin?”
Muddie put her hands over her ears. She could never bear a cross word, our Muddie. Jamie and I looked at each other, our mouths open and working like fish out of water. We didn’t live in a world where grown-ups said the worst things they could to each other. We lived in a house where there were undertows, things we didn’t understand, and jokes and stories passing for truth.
“At least I’m not afraid to walk into God’s house!”
“Get out! Get out of my house!”
“I pay for this house, too! This is my house as much as yours, and they’re my children as much as yours, no matter what the law says. And if the law knew about what you do in front of your children —”
“Get out. Get out right now.”
“I’m leaving, but I’m coming back, Jimmy. I’m coming back for the children.”
All the air seemed to leave the front stoop. I stared at Jamie. Muddie’s face was screwed up tight, her eyes closed, tears dripping into her collar.
Now Da’s voice was low and dangerous. “Don’t threaten me with that. They’re my children. They’ve never been yours. They never will be.”
It was so quiet. Even Elena’s sobs could no longer be heard. When we opened the door Da and Delia were standing opposite each other, enemies.
When the social worker came, we were playing poker. The kitchen smelled of burning. Muddie had made breakfast. She’d tried to make Elena’s fried dough, but what emerged from the pan were hard, bitter lumps instead of the airy sweet confections we were used to. Elena had gone, moving to Woonsocket to live with one of her sisters. We never got a chance to say good-bye. Da went grimly to work and came grimly home.
The social worker was a woman with tight curls and big yellow teeth that she kept flashing at us in an imitation of a smile. We stared at them, fascinated, half expecting them to leap out of her mouth and chatter on a table, just like in a cartoon. We told her how perfect a father Da was, but all we saw was teeth and we knew they would chomp us into bits no matter what we said. We were suddenly aware of Da’s old pants hanging from the towel rack in the kitchen, of my tap shoes sitting in the dish rack. The normal cheerful jumble of the household looked suddenly suspect in our eyes, too.
By the time Da came home from work and opened the door, the house was tidied up, everything put away. He closed the door and stood looking at a clean house.
“What’s wrong?”
We told him about the social worker and he sat at the table, his head in his hands.
“She asked us if we ever saw you kiss Elena,” I said. “We said no.”
“She asked us where our Bible was and we pretended that we couldn’t find it,” Jamie said.
“Do we have a Bible, Da?” Muddie asked.
“We did the best we could,” I said.
“I’m sure you did, my girl.”
“You could talk to that woman,” Muddie said. “You could explain things and tell her what a good father you are.”
“What’s the use?” Da said. “They’re against us.”
I asked the question we were all dying to ask. “Can’t you talk to Delia, Da? Can’t you make it up with her? Where is she, where did she go?”
“I don’t know, maybe she’s with those nuns of hers.” Suddenly, he grabbed all of us, reaching to gather us in. “I could never talk to Delia,” he said. “I can’t start now.”
In playground battles, the tactics are vicious and the play dirty. You can insult your opponent’s mother or his looks or his abilities with a ball and bat. You can make him cry. But if that person shows up at your door the next day, offers you an orange, and says, “Wanna play?” you go.
So we thought the fight would just go away. Then one day a letter came telling Da to show up for a court hearing before a judge.
That night I saw the light in the kitchen and I went out to see, hoping it was Delia come home. It was only Da, smoking a cigarette at the kitchen table. He held out one arm and I walked into it, and he pressed me against his side. We didn�
��t hug much in our family, and I leaned in, studying the way his dark hair curled against his ear. He stared down at the table and I saw the document on it, with names bold and black — official names that were foreign to me, like they didn’t belong to Da and Delia — and the words CUSTODY and HEARING.
Fear entered me then, a fear so big I didn’t think my body could contain it. Da was afraid of the courts, afraid of the officials, and he had already decided all was lost. I knew then, for the first time, that Delia was going to win.
Twenty-eight
New York City
November 1950
When the phone rang, I ran for it and then stood over it, hesitating. In my deluded brain the ring sounded like Billy’s. That’s how much I needed to talk to him.
I picked it up and just listened.
“Kit? Are you there?” It was Nate. “The newspaper, did you see it?”
“I saw it,” I said. “Do you know if…”
“He saw it.” Suddenly, I wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me and Billy. I wanted him to know what he’d done to us. “He spent the night here. He saw the headline. He left. He’s gone. He’s gone for good.”
“Didn’t you explain that —”
“He wouldn’t listen. He hates me. He hates you.”
“Now, wait a minute, I can —”
“No, you can’t. You’ve lost him. Don’t you get it? All the lies you’ve told him? Why would he believe you now? He’ll never believe you.”
The silence was so long over the buzz of the phone. I could hear him breathing, absorbing what I said, then dismissing it.
“This will be fixed.”
“It can’t be fixed! You’ve lost!”
“He’ll cool off and listen to reason. Give him a day or two. Just don’t talk to reporters tonight at the club —”
“I got fired today.”
“Well, that might not be so bad. You can disappear for a while and people will forget. The Providence papers haven’t picked it up yet, so you won’t have to worry about that.”
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I felt weak. I hadn’t even thought this through. I’d been cringing, thinking of strangers in New York. What about people who knew me? What about Da? Of course the Providence and Boston papers would pick this up. Nate was news. And the Providence papers would jump on it. Reporters there would remember the Corrigan Three. Shame flooded me, brought heat to my face.
“It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow,” Nate said. “Billy could be on his way to Providence.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“He won’t disappoint his mother. Are you coming up?”
I shook my head, then said, “No.” Thanksgiving was for families. I couldn’t face Da and Muddie once this came out.
“I think that’s best. I can’t imagine what Mac would say. He doesn’t have what you’d call an open mind, does he?”
The words stung. But I was alert suddenly, jolted to the bone. There was something in Nate’s voice….
He hates Da. He’s not his friend, after all. He hates him.
“Look,” he went on, “it’s only a matter of time before the reporters find you. Don’t answer the phone, don’t go out. I’m leaving for Providence tomorrow morning. I’ll give Billy a day to cool off, talk to him up there. I can fix this. I’ll make it all go away.”
“Sure,” I said. “’No Witnesses Benedict,’ right? You make things disappear. Even people, sometimes.”
There was a pause. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“So let’s go over this again,” he said slowly. “You lay low —”
“Sure. But what if I need to go out for something? I’ve got to leave sometime. So these reporters, they’ll ask me questions, and I’ll say… what? Because I don’t want to slip and say something I shouldn’t. I need you to tell me what to say. Just like you’ve told me what to do. Every dancer needs a choreographer, right?”
“That’s right,” he repeated. He still wasn’t sure if I was taunting him. “I know how to handle these things. And if you’re smart, you’ll listen.”
“But I’m just a dumb kid,” I said. “Remember? A dumb kid who doesn’t know how to listen.”
“That’s enough,” Nate said sharply. “I didn’t say that you —”
“Just a chorus girl, dancing in a line,” I said. “What do I know? My job is to show off my legs.”
“Stop it.” His voice was low. “Say what you mean.”
“I’m not saying anything, I’m just talking. But I’m not supposed to talk, right? You see how dumb I am? I keep forgetting.”
Another pause. “We’re on the same side. Aren’t we, Kit?”
“Sure we are. You call the shots. You have from the beginning. I was just too dumb to know it.”
“I can see you’re upset,” Nate said. “Who wouldn’t be? I’m telling you, I’ll take care of this. Here’s all you have to do. Sit tight. Give it the weekend. Don’t talk to a reporter, whatever you do. Don’t answer the phone. I’ll find a way to get to you.”
Quietly, I replaced the receiver.
Of course he would tell me what to do.
That was over.
I’ll find a way to get to you….
Sweat had soaked through my nightgown. I hadn’t been able to help myself. Scared as I was, I couldn’t stop myself from taunting him. Risking his anger was a dumb thing to do, but for the first time I felt almost free.
Almost. And afraid. Still afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been.
I buried my face in my hands. That’s when I heard the first knock at the door.
Trapped. All day, the reporters kept trying. Knocking at the door. Ringing the phone. Calling through the door.
“C’mon, Kit, doncha want to tell your side of the story?”
“You’ll be on the front page!”
And then someone smarter, saying through the door, “I’m sure your family wants to know what really went on. You’re a good girl, right?”
The super locked the lobby door and stood guard, so they couldn’t get in that way. I stayed in the back of the apartment, in the kitchen, all afternoon. I tried to think. I had to act smart for once.
I had a little bit of time. Not much. Nate wouldn’t come by with the reporters here. He’d head for Providence in the morning. I had a day or two to figure out my next move.
I’d have to find a new place to live, pack my old suitcase, and get out of here. I had enough money for a month, maybe two if I went back to eating apples for dinner. If I was lucky, Daisy would believe me about Nate. Or else she’d think having a mobster boyfriend wouldn’t be a drawback in a roommate.
Then I could write Billy a letter, give him my new address. And hope.
Is this what Delia had done? Had she sat here, making plans to get away from Nate? Had he caught her before she’d had a chance to run?
Twenty-nine
Providence, Rhode Island
April 1945
I waited until after school the next day and then I stood in front of the door so that Jamie couldn’t go out to play.
“We’re going to fix this,” I told him. “We can’t depend on Da.”
“How can we fix it?” Muddie asked. Jamie just eyed me in that way he had, waiting for the payoff.
“We’re going to the only person we know who can make this go away,” I said.
Muddie still looked puzzled as she bent over to buckle her shoe. But Jamie nodded.
“Mr. Benedict,” he said.
“We’d better leave a note,” Muddie said. “Da will be back before we are. He’s coming straight home from work now.”
“We never leave a note,” I said.
“Things are different now,” Jamie said, and he got out the pencil and paper. “Now we’re the perfect kids, remember? What if the social worker comes again, and Da doesn’t know where we are?”
By the time we reached Atwells Avenue, we were hungry and my socks had disappeared into
my shoes. We stood outside the plain brown building, hesitant. I had been expecting an office building, something impersonal. This looked like someone’s house. The gold lettering on the window, NATE BENEDICT ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, made everything seem too serious. Would he help us?
I walked to the house, stood on tiptoe, and tried to peek through the slats of the blinds. I got a fractured image of a man sitting at a desk.
“Come on,” I said to Jamie and Muddie. “We’re here, so we might as well go in.”
And before Muddie could think of a reason not to, I rapped on the door.
The door opened, and there he was, standing in his shirtsleeves and looking at me in surprise. “Kitty Corrigan,” he said.
“Maybe you remember my brother, James, and my sister, Margaret. We’ve come to…” I hesitated. Why would he let us in if he didn’t know we were serious? I had a sudden inspiration. “Hire you.”
“I see. Maybe you should come in, then.”
I beckoned fiercely to the others. We walked into a dark foyer. There was a closed door on one side, and a staircase facing us. To the left, the office door was open. Nate gestured for us to go in.
We stood uncertainly on the rug until he gestured again to a couch against one wall. We sat. He pulled up a chair and tilted his head to one side.
“Now. What seems to be the problem?”
I liked that, what seems to be the problem, like maybe the problem was in our heads and could be easily solved by someone like him.
“It’s about our Aunt Delia,” I said.
He reared back a bit, then knotted his fingers together. “Go on.”
“She wants to take us away.”
Nate got up abruptly and went to the table near his desk. “Would you like some cookies? I have cookies.” He was already opening a bakery box and putting the cookies on a plate. With his back to us, he said, “Please go on, Kitty.”
“She says Da is unfit, and she wants us,” I said. “We don’t want to go!” Muddie burst out. “She thinks we’ll be better off,” Jamie said. “But we won’t.”
“Is she suing for custody, then?” Nate asked. He stood, holding the plate.
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