The Masked Family

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  In the front passenger seat, Celeste rubbed the back of her neck. The bickering had started the minute they'd pulled out of the parking lot of In the Bud, and it was wearing thin fast. At the same time, Celeste guessed she should be grateful.

  At least they're finally talking to each other.

  "Oh, come on now," said Baron. "Mary Anne's nothing but a little old lady."

  "You're an idiot," said Paisley.

  "You can't tell me it bothers you," said Baron. "At her age, what the hell difference does it make?"

  "It would've been nice to know ahead of time," said Celeste.

  "It. Wasn't. Important." Baron punched the backs of both front seats at the same time.

  "BAROOO!" said Pretzel.

  "You just don't get it," said Paisley. "Remember Cary's clue?"

  "What about it?" said Baron.

  Celeste flipped to the page in question in Cary's notebook. "'Find the mother and father both in one,'" she read, "'who I was told had me as a son.'"

  "So," said Paisley. "Does that mean someone told Cary he was the son of transsexual Mary Anne?"

  "Yeah," said Baron.

  "Who?" said Celeste.

  Baron sighed. "Who do you think?"

  "Grogan." Celeste nodded as she remembered the long-ago battle that had ended with Grogan telling Cary a secret. She turned to look at Baron in the back seat. "I knew he told Cary he was adopted, but Cary never told me who Grogan said his real parents were."

  "Join the club," said Paisley.

  Baron shrugged. "Now you know."

  "So is it true?" Paisley looked at Celeste. "Is Mary Anne Cary's mother/father whatever?"

  "Cary's never talked to me about it," said Celeste. "But come on. Consider the source."

  "Yeah, right," said Paisley, whipping past another car at a high rate of speed. "Good point."

  "BAROOO!" said Pretzel. He plunked a mangled paw on Celeste's shoulder, then sniffed her hair.

  "That little S.O.B.," said Baron. "He always had a special thing for Cary. No wonder he told him his real father was some transsexual."

  "Just one thing then." Paisley switched on the windshield wipers to clear a spatter of drizzle. "How did Grogan know Mary Ann?"

  She let the question hang for a moment, but no one had an answer. "He must've known her, right? If he told Cary she was his mother/father. So where did he know her from?"

  Celeste nodded as Pretzel kept sniffing her hair. "Good question."

  "And how did she know Dad?" said Baron. "What's with this 'magic castle' and 'fire-breathing dragons' business?"

  "At least we'll have something to talk about when we see the old man," said Paisley.

  "Yeah," said Celeste. "Because nothing interesting's happening to anyone in the family right now, is it?"

  Paisley and Baron both laughed. Celeste enjoyed it, considering that the two of them had literally not spoken to one another in years before that day.

  At the same time, though, she missed Cary. She wondered where he was, and if he was safe, and if she would ever see him again.

  She wondered also if there was a chance that he didn't want her to see him again. Mary Anne had put the thought in her mind, and it wouldn't go away; what if Celeste's gut feeling was dead wrong, and Cary didn't want help at all? What if he just didn't want anything to do with any of his family, period?

  You might be surprised what you don't know about him.

  That was what Mary Anne had said...and already it was proving to be true. Celeste hadn't known that Grogan had told Cary his father was Mary Anne Filigree.

  So what else was there? What else didn't she know about Cary?

  And would she be better off if she never found out?

  *****

  Chapter Twenty

  Johnstown, Pennsylvania, 1977

  Cary's eyes burned with tears as he handed over his Hurry costume to E.Q. He felt like he was living a scene from a comic book, the one where the disgraced hero must hang up his tights while the arch-enemy who framed him for a crime he didn't commit howls with laughter.

  Baron, Celeste, and Paisley had already turned in their costumes. As punishment for ambushing Grogan in the back yard, all four of the kids were banned from dressing up to play super-heroes.

  The Nuclear Family was no more.

  Grogan wasn't in the room, but Cary felt his influence like a haze hanging over everyone. He'd wasted no time ratting out Cary and the others to E.Q. and Lydia; he'd played up the extent of his injuries and hurt feelings so much that E.Q. and Lydia had sent him to bed to rest and recover.

  Baron, Celeste, and Paisley had been sent to their bedroom, too, but not to help them feel better.

  Cary was the last to be lectured and warned. He was the last to be told how bad he'd been and what a disappointment he was and how he had to apologize to Grogan and promise not to torment him again.

  On top of all that, he had to wonder if the people who were correcting him were even his real parents...or if his real father was a half-man, half-woman named Mary Anne.

  It felt like the end of the world.

  It was enough to make him snap. Enough to make him interrupt E.Q. and Lydia in mid-lecture.

  "Why didn't you tell me I was adopted?" Tears boiled from his eyes as he said it.

  E.Q. and Lydia stared at him in surprise. They were so caught off-guard that neither of them said anything for a moment.

  Finally, E.Q. spoke. "Who said you were adopted?"

  "Grogan told me!" The words exploded out of Cary like block-lettered, multi-colored sound effects bursting out of a comic book panel.

  "Well, it's not true," said Lydia.

  "He said my real father's part woman!" Cary wiped his running nose with the back of his hand. "His name's Mary Anne Filigreen!"

  "No." E.Q. shook his head. "We're your real father and mother, Cary."

  E.Q.'s tone was so firm and reassuring that Cary almost believed him. Probably, he would have believed him all the way if not for what happened next.

  It was the way E.Q. looked at Lydia.

  Cary just caught a flash of it, but that was enough. Their eyes met for an instant, communicated something silently, and flicked away again. It was a signal, the kind of look they gave each other when they didn't want to say something in front of the kids.

  "Now," said E.Q. "No more changing the subject. You're officially grounded in every possible way."

  "You better shape up, young man," said Lydia. "Do you understand?"

  Cary nodded. He wished he didn't understand, but he thought he did.

  Maybe, for the first time, he finally understood why E.Q. and Lydia had been so easily turned against him.

  And maybe he finally knew what he had to do next.

  *****

  "I give up." Cary stood at the foot of Grogan's bed and bowed his head. "You win."

  Grogan snorted. "Youknow y-you're n-not supposedto b-b-bother me, asshole." He was propped up against a stack of pillows at the head of the bed, flipping through a hot rod magazine.

  Cary had a lump in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Standing there, surrendering to his arch-enemy, Blacksheep, was one of the toughest things he'd ever had to do in his life.

  Grogan, of course, seemed determined not to make it any easier. "I'm notinthe m-mood formore t-t-tricks," he said. "N-N-Now getoutbefore I s-sic M-Mom and D-Dad on you."

  He caught himself, then, and looked up from his magazine with a wry, snaggle-toothed smile. "Well, they're not your M-MomandDad, b-but you g-g-get the idea."

  Cary stared at him with a deadened expression that matched the numbness he felt inside. "No tricks, I swear."

  Grogan watched him from the corner of his eye, then returned his gaze to the magazine. "G-Get outofhere, asshole."

  "It's true," said Cary. "I just want to get this over with. You win."

  "Forgetit." Grogan laughed. He whipped his magazine across the room, and it smacked Cary in the chest. "It's too l-late, asshole. Wehaveto d-do thisthe hard w-w-way, n
ow."

  "Why?" said Cary. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

  Grogan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do your sistersand b-brother knowyou're h-here?"

  "No," said Cary.

  "And do they g-give up, too?"

  "I don't know," said Cary.

  Grogan spread his arms and shrugged. "Then I g-guess I d-didn't geteverythingIwanted y-yet. Too b-b-bad."

  Cary felt the urge to lash out, but he held himself back. Grogan was untouchable, especially tonight, after the fallout from the big back yard ambush.

  Instead of doing something he'd regret, Cary headed for the door. His hand was on the knob when Grogan spoke up again.

  "So does this m-m-mean you're ready to t-take me up on my original offer?"

  Cary turned and looked back at him. "What offer?"

  "To j-join me, asshole," said Grogan. "H-helpme m-make theidiots m-miserable."

  "Nope." Cary didn't even think it over for a heartbeat. "No way."

  "You s-sure aboutthat?" said Grogan. "R-Remember, I saidI'll k-k-kill youifyoudon't j-join me."

  "Then go ahead and kill me," said Cary.

  Grogan's horsey face stretched into a creepy, leering grin. "If y-you say so."

  I hate him I hate him I hate him.

  Again, Cary reached for the doorknob...and again, Grogan stopped him before he could turn it.

  "That'sokay, asshole."

  "What's okay?" said Cary.

  "You t-turning d-down myoffer." Grogan lay back, hands folded behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. "Somebodyelse already j-joined me."

  Cary couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You're lying."

  "G-G-Get outta my r-room," said Grogan.

  "None of us would ever join you," said Cary. "The Nuclear Family takes care of its own."

  Grogan sat us suddenly and glared at him. "You w-wantmeto y-yellfor M-Momand D-Dad? Get the f-f-fuck outof here!"

  With that, Cary opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Leaving Grogan behind, he sneaked into the bedroom he shared with his brother and sisters and climbed into his sleeping bag on the floor.

  All he could think about, there in the darkness, was what Grogan had said. Was it possible? Had Baron or Paisley or Celeste joined forces with Blacksheep?

  No way, no how. Not possible.

  And yet, not long ago, he hadn't thought it was possible that he was adopted from a half-man, half-woman named Mary Anne. Right up till he'd seen that weird look between E.Q. and Lydia, he hadn't really believed it.

  So maybe it was possible after all. Maybe his brother or one of his sisters was working with the enemy.

  Maybe someone had switched sides, and the enemy had become a friend. It happened all the time in the comic books.

  But until now, it had never happened to the Nuclear Family.

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cresson, Pennsylvania, 1938

  When the workman took off his hat and smiled, Olenka recognized him. His face was tanned and creased, his blonde hair thin, his mustache gone, but she still knew him.

  He didn't seem to have recognized her, though.

  "Excuse me," he said. "Which way to the chapel?"

  Olenka opened her mouth to give him directions, then changed her mind. "I'll show you." She dropped her scrub brush into the bucket of dirty water and got up from her knees. It was a hot summer day, and she was ready for a break from scrubbing the flagstone steps.

  Bucket in hand, she walked along the front of the Academy building. The man followed, staying two steps behind her.

  Olenka glanced back at him. "What brings you to Saint Aloysius?"

  "The organ," he said, drawing up alongside her. "Tuning and repair work."

  "Okay, sure." Olenka nodded as they turned the corner of the Academy. She was taking her time getting to the chapel, but he didn't seem to mind. "Do you like that kind of work?"

  "More than some kinds." He lifted the big gray tool box in his left hand and shook it so the contents rattled and clanked. "Music to my ears."

  Olenka laughed. She raised her bucket and swung it so water sloshed out and splashed on the sidewalk. "We can play a duet!"

  He laughed, too. "Tin Pan Alley, here we come."

  "So," said Olenka, "do you want to run the rest of the way?"

  He gave her a funny look. "In this heat? Why would I want to do that?"

  Olenka gave his sleeve a little tug. "Oh, I don't know. Old times' sake?"

  He stared at her with new interest...and suspicion. "Have we met?"

  "Max, don't you remember?" said Olenka. "We ran for our lives together?"

  Max stopped in his tracks, and she stopped with him. When he still didn't seem to catch on, she helped him along by freeing her jet-black hair from the red babushka she'd been wearing.

  It did the trick. Max's bright blue eyes flared with sudden recognition and amazement and delight.

  "Oh my God," he said. "Olenka?"

  Then, he seemed to catch himself, and the light in his eyes dimmed. He looked around, checking to see if anyone was watching.

  "What's wrong?" said Olenka.

  Max started walking again, and so did she. "You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?" he said.

  "Tell anyone what?" said Olenka.

  "Where you know me from." Max looked around again, then leaned close and whispered to her. "About the Klan."

  Olenka whispered back. "What Klan?"

  Max grinned and nodded. "Thanks. I need this job."

  "If you were ever in a group of guys who liked wearing dresses," said Olenka, "you wouldn't still be in that group, would you?"

  Max shook his head. "Too busy trying to get by. No time for nonsense."

  Olenka leaned in and whispered some more. "You know, the Sisters who run this academy wear dresses. Maybe you'd fit right in."

  "Wait a minute." Max frowned. "You're not a nun, are you?"

  They'd reached the door to the chapel, and Olenka pulled it open. "Just a humble cleaning lady," she said.

  Max started to step through the door, then stopped and smiled at her. "Let's catch up," he said. "Do you have a lunch break?"

  "Twelve o'clock noon," said Olenka. She turned and pointed at a path winding down the hill from the chapel. "I like to eat in the orchard. There's a bench."

  "See you there," said Max, and then he smirked. "I hope you got enough food for both of us."

  Olenka dipped her fingers in the bucket and flicked water at him as he ducked inside and yanked the door shut.

  *****

  "May I?" said Max, touching a yellow-skinned apple that hung just over his head.

  "As long as you don't pick 'em all," said Olenka, swallowing her latest bite of ham sandwich. "Are you sure you don't want half of this?"

  The branch dipped down, then bounced back up as Max plucked the apple. "I'm fine," he said. "Thank you."

  Olenka shooed a fly from the half-sandwich on the newspaper in her lap. "So where have you been for the last fourteen years?"

  "All over." Max polished the apple on the frayed and faded sleeve of his brown work shirt. "Coast to coast. Wherever there was work to be had."

  "I've heard that story before."

  "Hard times," said Max. "So what about you?" He took a big bite from the apple and leaned against the tree as he chewed.

  "Hard times." Olenka's eyes strayed to the nuns' cemetery, its tidy rows of stones boxed in by a wrought-iron fence less than thirty feet away. An ornate gilded cross stood at one end of the plot, as tall as a tall man, gleaming in the midday sun.

  "It's good you got work," said Max. "You been here a while?"

  "Six years, off and on," said Olenka. "Mostly during the school year, when the girls are all here. Sometimes in the summer, too."

  "Your husband," said Max. "Is he on the road?"

  Olenka glanced at the wedding ring on her finger. "No, he's dead," she said. "Mine accident."

  "Sorry to hear that," said Max. He walked over and sat beside her
on the bench. "Any kids?"

  "Both dead." Olenka clenched her teeth, determined not to let the old pain wrap around her again. "Tuberculosis and flu. What about you?"

  "Nah." Max tossed the apple up in the air and caught it. "I couldn't with the kind of life I've been livin'."

  As he took another bite of the apple, Olenka took a long look at him. Up close, she noticed for the first time how many more lines were etched into his tanned face than she would have expected. There was a weariness in his eyes and a darkness underlying the glib lightheartedness he wanted the world to see in his expression.

  She realized, in that moment, that as bad as her own life had been for the past fourteen years, his might have been worse.

  Max bit off some more of the apple. "It's lucky I found you," he said. "I can finally say thanks."

  "You're welcome." Olenka smiled.

  "Thanks for the lousy directions to Portage, that is!" Max laughed and bumped his knee against hers.

  "What?" said Olenka.

  "I got lost! That trail you sent me on branched, and I took the wrong fork! I ended up in New Germany!" Laughing, he chucked what was left of the apple into the tall weeds.

  Olenka laughed, too. "I'm so sorry!"

  "Yup," said Max. "That sure was a fun night. I almost got killed, got lost in the woods for hours, and ended up in New Germany with no way home."

  "Obviously, things must've worked out, though," said Olenka. "I mean, here you are, still in one piece."

  "True," said Max. "And y'know, something good did come out of that night."

  "What's that?" said Olenka.

  "I met you." Some of the darkness and tension seemed to bleed from Max's expression as he looked at her. "You were my angel, Olenka. You saved me that night."

  Suddenly, Olenka felt self-conscious and looked away from him. "If it wasn't for you, I might've been in the line of fire when they started shooting. Did you know that one of my cousins was shot to death that night?"