Miracle Girls (9781938126161)

by Caschetta, M. B.

  For now, he gets what he deserves. Jeremy refuses to look at him when they pass in the hall.

  Roadie counts up the facts, organizes the details, tries to predict the moods and actions of others. He draws conclusions, anticipating the potential outcome of every situation. It’s exhausting to live this way. A constant stabbing behind his left eye is a pain designed to remind him of his cowardice. But when he is redeemed, it will all be worth it.

  And why shouldn’t he be redeemed?

  Shouldn’t there be a moment of salvation for him? After all, wasn’t he ruined, in an unimaginable instant of destruction and surprise? The smallest fraction of that day, a mere speck in a lifetime, is exactly how quickly the terrible thing happened, the thing in the woods he cannot name. He can still hear the ticking in his head—the moments he was unable to save his sister.

  His parents know he’s to blame. He wasn’t a watcher then like he is now. When Glory looks at him, he knows she thinks: You were supposed to look out for them. When Frank speaks to him, he can feel the disappointment. It’s your fault for not paying attention.

  The first time he cornered Jeremy Patrick at school was after Christmas break. Jeremy was at the drinking fountain by the school auditorium.

  Please don’t tell anyone about the woods; people won’t understand.

  Jeremy laughed in his face. Why would I ever talk about you?

  It’s like that guy from CCD class, Bonhoeffer, the one who tried to kill Hitler, Roadie said, trying to make Jeremy remember a time when they meant everything to each other. The Sister said he was made a saint to let people know that you can’t just let horrible things happen without trying to stop them. But we didn’t try! Don’t you see? We didn’t do anything.

  When Roadie tried to stop Jeremy from leaving, Jeremy shoved him into the wall.

  Leave me alone! He walked away. I don’t know you.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if Roadie had kept talking forever. His friendship with Jeremy Patrick was over the moment they stepped into those woods. Roadie knew it then. And standing in front of the high school on the coldest day in March, he knows it anew.

  Another thing he knows: The number of steps you take into the forest is the same number of steps you have to take out.

  At the second bell, a handful of burnouts scurry to class, leaving Roadie alone to bounce on the balls of his feet and turn his back against the wind.

  He gets up every morning to catch the bus, as if nothing bad ever happened. Anthony goes to a special school in East Verona with Norbert Sasso on a stubby van that picks him up in the driveway. Cee-Cee is with the Sisters across from Nonna’s, and the doctors say Baby Pauly’s brain is damaged, so even if he comes out of that coma, he’ll probably never go to school again.

  Jumping up and down in the cold, Roadie catches a glimpse of the familiar red hunting jacket through the tall grass. The guy he’s been waiting for. In even strides, the guy glides across the parking lot, offering up the same wry smile he always does.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Roadie says. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Mary Jane’s worth it, Franco Bianco,” the kid says. “Probably the only girl for you.”

  “Fuck you, Iaccamo.”

  “Aw, c’mon!” Roadie’s pot dealer is in a cheerful mood today. “You think I don’t know about you? You don't think it's the same for me, man?”

  Roadie finds the uninvited familiarity irritating. He gives they guy money for three fat joints, watching him count and pocket the cash.

  “Okay! Fire it up, man!”

  The dealer is five years older than Roadie—an unbridgeable gap—but he’s not bad-looking if you squint and the light’s just right—the only reason Roadie hangs around to smoke with him.

  “You don’t even know my first name, do you, Bianco?”

  Roadie looks at the orange-haired Neanderthal. Could he be the messenger of Roadie’s redemption, the one who delivers his salvation?

  “It’s Liam! I think you should know that, Bianco.”

  Roadie turns away from the wind to shield his joint. “Does it matter?”

  But Liam doesn’t hear; he’s too busy swallowing smoke into his lungs and making pronouncements in a strangled voice. “Mary Jane will fuck your brain.”

  Roadie takes another hit, considers going inside for fifth period.

  “You want to see something?” Liam asks.

  “Nah, I have math in a few minutes.” Roadie is just a piece of dust in a gigantic universe, which doles out either shit or favors, depending on who you are, and what you’ve done. But every little thing counts toward something. “Um…thanks anyway, Liam.”

  “C’mon,” Liam says, grabbing Roadie’s hand.

  Running through the tall grass after the red-haired dealer, Roadie gets a cramp. After skipping gym for weeks, he is out of shape—desperate, stupid. Stopping to catch his breath, he wonders what the hell he’s doing.

  “Stop! Wait!”

  Liam lopes back around, graceful as a boxer. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to go back,” Roadie says. “You can’t help me.”

  Liam sends a cackle up over the field. “Hell no! You’re going to help me, Franco Bianco!”

  “Seriously,” Roadie says. “This is stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid.” Liam folds his arms across his chest, looking straight up at the sky. “My sister needs help, and you’re the person I’m asking.”

  Roadie swallows. “I’m not good with sisters.”

  “It’s not about you, idiot.” Liam grabs Roadie’s shoulders. “Just bring my sister some food next week. That’s all I’m asking. Fruit and bread, something from your refrigerator. I’ve got a cop on my ass.”

  Roadie is wary.

  “Just a couple of days. Until I can figure something else out.”

  “Figure what out?”

  Liam pinches a handful of weeds, flirting. “It’s a long story.”

  Roadie drops into the tall grass. “Okay.”

  Liam sits. “You can’t tell anyone. I’m trusting you.”

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  Liam touches Roadie’s sleeve. “My sister Eileena is your age. You know her, right?”

  “Everyone knows her. Your family is on the news as much as mine.”

  Liam nods. “Everyone thinks she’s dead—except me and my little brother. And I guess one of the nuns at my little brother's school, and this cop.”

  “What cop?”

  “Never mind.” Liam frowns. “Just leave food outside the last rail car in the old train cemetery.”

  “She’s alive?” Roadie says. “You’ve talked to her?”

  “Food’s always gone. I leave her notes.”

  Roadie shakes his head; he knows what it’s like to be so desperate that you get stupid about things.

  “Bianco, just make sure nothing bad happens, okay? How hard is that?”

  “Harder than you think,” Roadie says.

  Roadie feels the wind rippling through the field and hears the hushed sounds of each stalk of grass brushing up against its brother. The quiet rustling, like whispering, fills him with a boundless sorrow. The worst he’s ever felt. Dropping his head in his hands, he shakes some tears out of his eyes.

  “Aw, Christ, Bianco,” Liam says gently.

  There are no words for Roadie’s sadness, no sound, no reason; there’s only the rush of the grass telling secrets. Soon, in the distance, they will hear the school bell ring away another day. Liam throws an arm over Roadie. They sit like this for a long time waiting for Roadie’s grief to come to an end.

  Parked illegally in the crosswalk at Our Lady at the end of the school day on Friday, Glory watches Cee-Cee weave between the big yellow school buses.

  During these few months away from home, her daughter has become a complete stranger. Now close up, Cee-Cee leans into the half-open passenger window.

  “Hi, Glory.”

  A tall girl with matching braids salutes Glory fro
m the sidewalk.

  “Hi, baby.” Glory smiles. “Who’s this?”

  Cee-Cee opens the passenger door, gesturing for the girl to get in the back, where the vinyl seats are warm from the afternoon sun. “This is my best friend.”

  The girl drapes herself over the seat and offers Glory a gap-toothed grin. “You’re prettier than I expected!”

  Glory is on probation; she wears a simple outfit, hair pulled back, barely any makeup at all.

  “Am I supposed to know you?”

  The girl holds out her hand. “Mary Margaret Cortina.”

  Glory drops her head slightly, grabbing the steering wheel. “Is this necessary?”

  “She’s coming with us to see Baby Pauly today,” Cee-Cee says. “And then I’m staying over at Mary Margaret’s house.”

  Glory should be thrilled that her oddball daughter has any friends at all. Even this girl, whose mother is the topic of all kinds of gossip. Marion Patrick says there’s a cemetery on the hill behind the girl’s house filled with dead babies. And that’s just since they moved to town.

  “And we’re having a sleepover.”

  “Sleepover,” Glory says. “Does Nonna know?”

  “We need to study together,” Mary Margaret lies. “Big project for school.”

  “Nonna said it was okay.”

  Mary Margaret grins. “Finally.”

  Glory is still catching up. “But what about our family dinner? I’m picking up fish fries. Your brothers will be disappointed if you don’t come.”

  Cee-Cee doesn’t blink. “They’ll get over it.”

  When did she become so hard? Glory wonders.

  “What will I tell the social worker?”

  Cee-Cee shrugs.

  “My mom’s making tuna noodle casserole; Norbie Sasso is coming too. Then we’ll get to work. Tell the social worker we’ve got a big school project on our hands.”

  Glory addresses the interloper from the rear view mirror. “Listen, honey, this is all I get right now, a couple of hours a week, a drive to the hospital. It’s not much, but it’s something. So…”

  Mary Margaret nods. “You won’t even know I’m here. I don’t have to eat ice cream with you after either. I’ll just watch, silently.”

  Glory looks at Cee-Cee, who stares out the windshield.

  “Mostly Glory smokes cigarettes, so you can have hers.”

  Glory takes a deep breath to keep from losing her cool. “You’ll be happy to know, smarty, that I quit yesterday.”

  Mary Margaret gives Glory a friendly punch on the arm. “Hey, me too! I quit all the time.”

  A dwarf cinched in an orange-neon safety vest herds a group of students across the street; they disappear into the waiting mouths of fat yellow vehicles. Glory rubs her eyes.

  “Are we going?” Cee-Cee says.

  Sighing, Glory weaves the car through the maze of buses and turns silently onto Main Street. She needs to stop blaming everyone else for what’s happened. Most of all, she needs to stop blaming Cee-Cee.

  She’s just a kid, Glory reminds herself.

  Anthony tells her it’s good that Cee-Cee lives with Nonna. Good for us.

  She’s afraid to ask him why.

  The state mandated that Anthony attend sessions with a tiny Asian social worker. She seems to be making progress with him. He is helpful lately, hopeful, almost calm. There are whole days during which he doesn’t twitch, not even once.

  Frank is more doubtful. How about the constant washing?

  The social worker assures Glory and Frank that a little soap and water is nothing to fear. He suffers from a simple adjustment disorder. Common in adolescence, and perhaps his normal response to tragedy.

  Normal? Shrinks make Frank angry. You should see our water bill.

  His hands are raw, Glory adds. The skin is peeling.

  Loss is tricky, says the social worker. Lotion does wonders for chapping.

  At All Saints Rehabilitation Center, Mary Margaret is the last to enter Baby Pauly’s room. She touches one of the clanking machines. “Holy Cannoli!”

  Glory heads over to the bed.

  Baby Pauly’s hands are stretched out and tied to aluminum paddles. His kidneys are working great, the doctors say, common in someone so young. Now if only his brain and lungs would kick in.

  “Hello, little handsome!” Glory sings “How are you today?”

  Mary Margaret hangs back. “Does she always talk like that?”

  “The nurses say people in comas can hear,” Cee-Cee explains. “She doesn’t want him to miss anything.”

  Glory continues in her cheerful voice, “A beautiful, sunshiny Friday. The frogs are jumping. The grass is growing; you can hear it if you listen.”

  Mary Margaret rubs her fingers along the bed railing. “Is he going to wake up?”

  “Of course he is.” Glory rubs Pauly’s waxy skin. “Aren’t you, Baby? Everybody’s waiting!”

  Mary Margaret nudges Cee-Cee with her elbow. “Wake him up.”

  Glory takes a closer look at the neat weave of Mary Margaret’s braids, the explosion of freckles across her nose, the faintly ironic smile. She doesn’t like her one bit, she decides. But there Cee-Cee is, holding the girl’s hand, happier than she’s ever been.

  Mary Margaret looks around. “Just call Jesus. He’ll fix things up!”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Cee-Cee says.

  Glory smiles, pleased that the annoying girl doesn’t get it anymore than she does.

  Anthony is glad when Glory gets home and announces that the family dinner is canceled. It gives him some time to breathe. If only Glory would stop going nuts because her plans fell through, everything would be perfect. Status quo. He overhears her pleading with the social worker to change dinner supervision from Friday to Sunday, so Cee-Cee can sleep over at a friend’s house, and Glory can still have her precious dinner.

  You know how girls are about their friends? Glory says, trying not to sound desperate. How can I say no? But as a family, we also need our together time.

  The call doesn’t seem to go very well. Glory takes a pill and goes straight to her bedroom to lie down.

  Anthony knocks on her door. “You okay?”

  She says something he can’t hear, which is okay with him.

  On the outside Anthony is now a regular boy, calm, cautious, almost confident. He’s learned what to say and how to say it; he knows what to do to keep the social workers and teachers off his back and get by without raising eyebrows. On the inside, somewhere remote, Anthony’s old self, twitching and flinching, raging like a bull—a tiny, tiny bull—is too diminished to cause anyone harm.

  Too small for even Frank and Glory to notice.

  If he manages to keep the internal roaring to a whisper, Anthony sleeps like a baby. Otherwise, the chant keeps him up: Pauly—my fault, Cee-Cee—my fault, Roadie—gay. Even a pillow over his head doesn’t help.

  To keep his good self big, and his bad self little, Anthony must avoid contamination. He must wear the same-colored clothes, sit only in wooden chairs, eat food cut into small portions. He avoids the school lunchroom, stands at the back of the auditorium for assembly, but allows church because of the wooden pews.

  Cars are tricky.

  At home, Anthony prefers to eat on his own bed, though he can sit at the dinner table for forty-five minutes, as long as no meat is served. Red meat is the worst; also anyone who eats red meat.

  On Fridays at the family dinner, all bets are off. Even the slightest problem can set him off: a grain of salt on the tablecloth, a wrong-colored napkin. He has to clamp himself down, then close his eyes; he has to wait for his sister to leave.

  Today he’s gotten a pass. He is free.

  He only has to deal with Roadie, who in no way counts. And when Frank and Moonie get home, they’ll let him do what he wants. He can probably take his dinner plate and eat in his room. He can go a whole night without anyone touching him.

  His social workers and teachers are the only except
ion to the “No Touch” rule; they get too angry when he slaps them away. Now he suffers their patting his head with a smile. When they give him a hug, which some do regularly, he puts his arms around them in a wide circle and mimics affection. At school he has to respect their rules. He does what he’s told because he must.

  At home he strips off his contaminated uniform and takes a hot shower. He puts on matching clean clothes, a blue shirt and blue jeans, including blue sneakers that have never been worn outside the house.

  Some days it takes five showers to get clean.

  There are other rules too: no singing, no soft fruit, no animal skin, no perfume, no garbage, no chewing gum, no inhaling near other people who are exhaling, especially meat eaters. No talking on the bus to Norbert Sasso with his constant baloney sandwiches.

  There is salvation in some air, but there’s no way to know for sure. Anthony’s lungs get tight and his skin pops when the air is bad.

  Sleep is the only way to get truly clean. That’s why it’s okay to touch Baby Pauly’s hand—he is permanently asleep, clean forever. Which is how Anthony knows he is the one keeping his brother alive.

  Later, in the jump seat of Uncle Moonie’s truck, Anthony studies the back of his father’s head. He also notices how Moonie is starting to go bald. He listens to Roadie’s slow steady breathing in the dark by his side.

  If Anthony could forever remain in motion, untouched, always going somewhere but never arriving, his life might work out okay.

  Out the car window, downtown Romeville whizzes by.

  Anthony has to play along, pretend he’s okay. He would have tried to avoid Frank and his “night out with the guys,” but he has a new rule to avoid complaining and resisting. People touch you a lot less, he’s noticed, if you keep your thoughts to yourself and go with the flow.

  Uncle Moonie drives, whistling an airy tune—almost undetectable.

  Ms. Ling-Ling, his social worker, says everything is actually under Anthony’s control; that’s the biggest secret. She says all Anthony has to do is to tap into “The Giant Good” by thinking the right thoughts. All he needs to do is plug into joy and goodness and peace. Closing his eyes, he tries to think of all that is good in the world.