South of Main Street

by Robert Gately

  Both sisters laughed, and a moment passed before they talked again.

  “Yeah, but Dad called you ‘Trigger’ because you always were quick with an answer. He didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Who cares? I’m over it already. Well, I mean, finally.”

  Sharon sipped from her wine glass and gently placed it down. She rubbed the rim of the glass with her index finger in slow circular motions producing a ‘ring’ sound. “Hey, I still have the touch.”

  Robin smiled and remembered when they first learned that trick. At a restaurant when they were kids Dad produced a ring sound from a water glass. She thought it was magic at the time.

  “What’s going on, Robin? What’s this conversation leading to? A Dad-loved-me-more-than-he-loved-you kind of conversation?”

  Robin furrowed her eyes and shook her head in small jerky movements. A melancholy mood had overtaken her.

  “Well, Miss Diva,” Sharon snipped. “Mom loved you more, for sure. So I guess we had a balanced family life, right? You were more like the Wicked Witch of the West. I was more like Dorothy.” Sharon took a hard swig from her wine.

  Robin’s mind was not in the conversation any longer. She would appear to listen to her sister’s words, but really was remembering a time when ‘Flower’ was an appropriate name for Sharon, at a time when winning at hopscotch was as competitive as she ever got. But she changed somewhere along the line, and Robin wondered when those changes began to occur. Maybe Sharon’s innocence was lost when she got pregnant in high school by that twenty-year-old car mechanic who had dropped out of school when he was sixteen. She was only fifteen when she got pregnant and was going to leave school and get married to him.

  Mom was fit to be tied and being a pro-choice advocate she vehemently wanted Sharon to get an abortion and carve this ‘car guy’ out of her memory like he was tumor, or some mistake in her life that needed to be flushed down the toilet and forgotten about forever. But Sharon pressed the marriage issue, and appealed to Dad who, of course, wasn’t very helpful. In fact, he was in favor of Sharon getting married - not a very responsible attitude according to Robin and Mom at the time. But then again, Dad didn’t have much of a say on important matters.

  Robin clearly remembered the arguments Mom and Sharon had over her pregnancy. Sharon threatened to run away and Mom cursed for even thinking about. She reminded Sharon that life’s adventures, or pursuit of them, would be very common indeed married to a high school drop out, with a child and no visible means of support other than a car mechanic’s salary. Robin winced at recalling the yelling … ‘pro-choice’ … ‘right-choice’ … ‘abortion’ … ‘no-abortion.’ Having a baby without Mom’s support was simply out of the question, so the right choice became the only choice. Sharon aborted.

  Sharon confided in Robin during that time and said she was truly in love with car mechanic. She tried to convince her mother of the that, but their mother didn’t want to hear any of that. Her message was tied to the buzzword, ‘responsibility’, which was open to interpretation at the time. Maybe all the time. But the Wolff girls were soon to learn that responsibility, according to Mom, meant that the Wolff daughters, when they married, would marry into prominence. Love, if they could achieve it, was a nice side benefit, but not critical.

  Sharon’s ‘car-guy’ was heart-broken after the abortion and left Coalsville forever. But before he left, he told Dad he loved Sharon very much and was devastated over the loss of his child. He said he couldn’t live in the same town with these feelings burning inside him and having them stoked every time he saw Sharon. Dad actually went to see him in Maryland a year or two later, Robin remembered. He took a bus and they had lunch and then Dad came home all in the same day. Mom was furious with him for doing that.

  Yes, maybe that was when Sharon began to change, Robin thought. Sharon loved the ‘car-guy’. And she thought she was going to get part of the trust fund when she graduated and she didn’t get that either - a double whammy that started her on the journey to where she is today. But the saddest thing, Robin thought, was that the nickname ‘Flower’ was never used again after the abortion.

  And then came John Stone and the marriage scam one year into Sharon’s college days. John didn’t have money per se, but he had prominence being the son of a state congressman. Sharon thought that marrying him and getting pregnant would’ve made a world of difference as far as attaining her trust fund. And it most assuredly did make a difference to Mom. Even though John had no ambition, he was a high-ranking member of society. He had prominence. That mattered. But what mattered even more to mom was completing college, a tidbit of information Robin didn’t know about until the John Stone scam. I guess that was because Sharon promised John money from the estate for rendering his name and sperm to the Wolff family. No money. No estate. So, Sharon quit school, got a quick divorce, and another abortion. Little did Sharon know at the time that mom secretly wanted her to stay married and have the child. Sharon should’ve stayed in college and things might’ve worked out differently.

  * * *

  SHARON TAPPED the table to get Robin’s attention. “Hello,” Sharon said. “You’re not paying attention.”

  “What?”

  “I said, you were Mom’s favorite.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t start that,” Robin said. “All Mom ever wanted from us was to complete college.”

  “Yeah. Well, I guess her fair-haired jewel made her happy on that front.”

  “You could’ve too, but … “

  “Please!” Sharon said holding out her hand. “You win. Let’s change the subject.”

  The waitress came over and served them their lunch. Sharon began eating immediately treating her stomach with large quantities of food in every bite. After a few minutes she felt satiated, took a deep breath and sat back in her seat. She watched Robin stroke her food, separating the vegetables from the meat giving them their private space on the plate. Typical, Sharon thought. Her sister was so organized. “So, what’s going on with Dad?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Sharon. Ever since Mom died, there’s been a change in him. He’s trying hard to stand up on his own. But … I don’t know. The other day he retreated into ‘la-la land’. Remember that, how he used to zone out on us?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “It wasn’t hours or days like when we were kids,” Robin said. “He was only lost for a couple of minutes, but that’s not what is so startling. What was most peculiar was that he talked about the … secret.”

  “He never …”

  “I know,” Robin interrupted. “He’s never mentioned it before.”

  “Strange.” Sharon started to eat again.

  The waitress came over and interrupted their conversation and asked if they wanted anything else. It was getting late. Robin summoned the check. After the waitress left, she asked, “Why don’t you just drop this request?”

  “I knew it. I knew it, you wicked witch.” Sharon reached into her pocketbook, pulled out a printout and placed it in front of Robin. “You’re so predictable. I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up.”

  “What’s this?” Robin asked.

  “The last fifteen withdrawals from our parents’ joint account. Internet access is a wonder, isn’t it? All you need is a social security and a pin number. Look at it. Dad began taking money out last month when Mom was too sick to tend to the financial affairs. Look at this. He took out one hundred dollars, and the very next day he took out two hundred. Then a week went by, another three hundred, three days later, two hundred, then four hundred …”

  Robin slapped her hand down on the printout. “Stop it, Sharon. Stop it. I get the picture.”

  There was a moment of silence while Sharon observed her sister’s apparent lack of interest. “You already knew about this,” she said. “And you weren’t going to tell me. Were you?”

  The waitress came over and gave the sisters the check. Robin grabbed the check and said, “I never said you
didn’t have a reason to be concerned with Dad’s … behavior. We just don’t agree on what to do about it.”

  “That was Mom’s inheritance,” Sharon intruded. “Don’t you think she would like us to have some of it?”

  “Yes, I do, Sharon. But I also think she wanted Dad to be comfortable as well.”

  “He can be comfortable. We can pay his bills and give him a set allowance, just like Mom did. Just like you’re doing right now. Continue to do that until he … dies.”

  “I think Dad deserves a little more than that, Sharon.”

  “Deserves. Why is that word in this conversation? You think Dad’s past behavior gives him a claim to anything?”

  “Please, Sharon. Don’t start.”

  “Start! The world should know who the real Mr. Henry Wolff is. We’ve been covering up for him our whole lives.”

  “Stop it, Sharon. Stop it right now.” Robin looked at the check.

  “Oh, no. Not this time, Robin.” Sharon grabbed the check out of her sister’s hand. Sharon didn’t want to have that dirty feeling that came along when Robin paid for things. Through the years, Robin had contributed more, if money be the measure, for the ‘together’ gifts for their parents, like Christmas and birthday gifts. Sharon would always feel dirty for the gratitude showered equally to her and Robin even though Sharon’s contribution was usually far less than her sister’s. Of course, the lunches and dinners at restaurants were always a place where Robin could show how successful she had become. She would either grab the check at a restaurant and pay it all, or fund more than her share by tossing in a twenty-dollar bill for a thirty-dollar check, like a high stakes roller with wads of money to throw away.

  “I got this one,” Sharon said. She was not going to feel that way today.

  Robin reached for her pocket book, but Sharon tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “I got the tip, too.”

  Robin sighed. “Don’t do this, Sharon.”

  “Do what? What exactly do you think I’m doing?”

  “Don’t start tossing around family history, Sharon. People won’t understand.”

  Sharon chuckled, and then turned very serious. “We’ve been covering up for Dad our entire lives. Mom’s occupation was protecting the family name. What would people think if they knew the entire Wolff family history?” Sharon gritted her teeth, she was so angry. “You have what you want, Robin. It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? I mean, the righteousness you must feel when you go to court and repossess someone’s house legally. How does that feel, Robin?”

  “I’m a defense attorney. I defend people when they have been wrongly accused of something …”

  “Are you telling me you never repossessed someone’s home?”

  “Only once.”

  “Oh, I see. I guess it’s like killing someone for the first time. Either you hate it so much you have nightmares for the rest of your life, or the thrill of it makes want to repeat the act over and over.”

  “Oh, please, Sharon.”

  “It’s so easy for you to look at me and see …what do you see, Robin? What am I to you, a wayward sister? Someone you dismiss in a conversation at a cocktail party after someone asks, ‘How is your sister doing?’ How do you answer that question, Robin? ‘Oh, Sharon is being Sharon,’ and everybody nods, politely, because everybody knows how Sharon was, is, always will be … in the shadow of Robin – the successful sister - the hotshot lawyer – the defender of the wrongly accused. And, of course, when measured against the great defender of the neglected, I am the wayward sibling, the baby-killer, who will never amount to anything. My opinions don’t matter, but my motives are always questioned because … well, because I am Sharon Wolff, and we all know what that means.”

  “What does that mean, Sharon?”

  “It means that I’m someone who is less deserving than you.”

  Robin offered no conciliatory remarks, no co-dependency rebuttals today.

  * * *

  THEY BOTH GOT UP and walked out, casually, as if they were best of friends. But Robin seemed a little more worn than Sharon from the lunch experience. Robin felt remorseful, not only because the conversation didn’t evolve the way she wanted it to, but also because her relationship with Sharon had been deteriorating as of late. They hadn’t been able to talk for more than five minutes recently without snide words or an argument. Robin wanted their relationship to get better, but the hope for a quality rapport between the two of them was just that, a hope. Perhaps Robin would never have the relationship with her sister she wanted. She had faith, nevertheless, that someday, somehow things would change. She hoped the three of them could be a real family again. She remembered when they last had it, and it was a very, very long time ago. She missed that feeling terribly.

  * * *

  HENRY FELT TIRED having spent most of the day moving things around between the storage room and the shelves, putting everything in its proper place. His apron was smudged from soot and dust from the hard day’s work.

  “Henry,” Asa said loudly from the pharmacy counter. He pointed at the clock and said, “Why don’t you call it a day?” A customer came up and Asa attended to him.

  Henry removed his apron and put it behind the counter by the second register across the room and started to leave, but two customers came up to check out their items. Without a hitch, and without permission, Henry jumped behind the register and began checking out the items. Asa went to object but Henry was already into checking out the second item for the first lady.

  Mr. Kruchuk came out of the stock room and saw Henry behind the counter. “Asa,” he yelled. “Why did you allow him to work the register?”

  Henry had already taken the customer’s money and was about to finish the transaction with the lady when Kruchuk grabbed the receipt and money from Henry and nudged him aside.

  Kruchuk checked the items on the receipt against the items in the bag, and after a second or two, he looked at the change. He then handed the lady the receipt and money. “Have a good day,” he said, and immediately began tallying the items of the next customer, ignoring Henry as if he weren’t even there.

  Henry grabbed his coat and before he left he shot a glance Asa’s way. Asa smiled and nodded and mouthed, ‘you did good’. This made Henry feel a little better.

  He left quickly without a second look and once outside he took a deep breath. The chill stung his lungs and traveled to his bones. He tucked his chin in the neck of his down-jacket and bent into the wind and darkness and started walking up Main Street. He hadn’t traveled more than a hundred yards when he heard a whimpering sound up ahead. As he got closer, he sensed the noise was coming from an alleyway. He poked his head in but it was too dark to see anything. A series of moans traveled through the bleak alleyway and Henry determined they were human sounds. He could sense the trauma was both physical and emotional. He walked in slowly, hesitantly, and spotted Dixie sitting down with her chin on her chest like she didn’t have the strength to hold her head up. She moaned again.

  Dixie looked up and her head slowly journeyed from one shoulder to the other, and then came to rest again with her chin stuck to her chest. “Go away,” she slurred. “I don’t … want … you to see me … this way.”

  As Henry stepped towards her, he sensed a sudden movement a few yards away. Someone else was in the alleyway. A lighter flicked. A flame. And then the face.

  Jason lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “You heard her, old man,” he said. “Go away.” And then he took another puff.

  Henry’s heart sank, weighted by an invisible anchor tossed carelessly in the sea. The mother ship, nowhere in sight. He started to back up, afraid, not for himself, but for Dixie. He felt powerless to do anything for her. But worst of all feelings, he felt excruciatingly sad for his lost friend, maybe even his best friend. He stepped forward and knelt next to her.

  “Let’s go to the police,” he whispered.

  “Don’t do it, old man.” Jason said. “They catch her like this …” Jason shook hi
s head. “Third offense. Five years in the slammer.”

  “Maybe they’ll throw you into jail, too,” Henry said.

  “Then I’ll have come and kill her and you,” Jason flipped back.

  “Go home,” Dixie said. “Leave me alone.”

  Henry got up, almost paralyzed by sadness.

  “You want to help? She owes me money. You make her good, I’ll leave her alone.”

  Henry thought for a second and then said, “Even if I had money, it wouldn’t help.” He took another look at Dixie. “Money won’t help her. It would only make matters worse.” Henry fired a look at Jason. It was too dark to see each other, except for the eyes. Henry concentrated on his eyes and looked into the abyss, as coolly as he could. He prayed to the Almighty for compassion and understanding that Jason’s soul, and Dixie’s, would find a way home.

  “Never mind. Go away,” Jason muttered.

  Henry looked down at Dixie once again. She seemed to be sound asleep now. “Don’t lose hope, Sweetie,” he whispered.

  Jason let out with forced laugh. “What’s hope going to do for her?” he bellowed.

  Henry turned to leave and while walking away he offered a silent prayer for his friend. Then said, loud enough for Jason to hear, “If it were not for hope, the heart would break.”

  Chapter 13

  A few days had passed since he saw Dixie in the alleyway and Henry sat in a booth at the diner peering out the window to Main Street hoping he might see her somewhere in the mix of activity. He hadn’t seen her in that time and was worried for her. Mrs. Swanson sat across from him and they were in mid-conversation.

  “Well, welcome to the life of Dixie,” Mrs. Swanson said in response to Henry’s concern that Dixie was doing drugs again.

  At first, Henry thought Mrs. Swanson was cold, heartless even, the way she talked about her own daughter. But he knew she meant well.

  “Henry,” she said in a confiding tone. “I’ve been through too many of Dixie’s cycles to get excited anymore. I have to be honest with you, though. I thought for a while there that you might’ve helped her. I saw a spark in her when she was with you. A healthy look, you know. Her face looked full, not drawn like usual.” Mrs. Swanson pinched her own face to make a point.