Brooklyn Wars Read online

  Chris’ melting sorbet, dripping through the bag, forced me to tear myself away from the window and hurry home. As I did I thought about my date with Dan Ramos. When I had tried to describe my excitement about work, he didn’t get it. Joe always got it. I work in a library, I research, I write. Joe works with his hands, supervises, builds, creates. We work in different worlds. But he always gets it, because he gets me.

  My mind raced along with sudden clarity. With everyone else I am a mother, a student, an employee, a daughter. But Joe knows me, knows me not for who I am to him but me, my own self. Better than I know myself sometimes. Do I know him that way? Seeing him with his sister was seeing another part of him.

  It felt like a shiny, brand new thought and yet like something so right, I had always known it.

  I didn’t know how to reach out to him but I was full of the certainty that I had to find a path back to where we were. Or where we wanted to be.

  I tossed Chris’ melted sorbet into the nearest trashcan and headed home, making up my apology to her as I went. I needed a way to say “sorry” without explaining what happened, and thereby opening myself to a discussion about Joe.

  But I took care of something else first. There was a text from Ramos:

  I think we had one of the strangest first dates on record. Try again?

  I closed my eyes and saw in my mind a very attractive man. Nice. Smart. A parent, like me, who understood what that meant. A public servant with a challenging job, like Jeff. And I had no interest whatever in going any further. And I knew this time, it wasn’t because Jeff still owned so much of my heart.

  I took a deep breath and texted:

  Let’s be friends. I like you a lot but…there is someone…

  He replied:

  No hard feelings. But try to stay out of trouble, ok? No more crime scene witnessing. You know we’ll have to bring you in to court if we ever get to trial?

  I wrote:

  I know. But I won’t be that helpful.

  I added a smiling face, then added:

  It’s not Jennifer and I am still sure of it.

  His answer:

  We’ll see about that.

  Chris’ door was closed, her voice was murmuring away. Not homework. Probably Jared. The light under her door stayed on, but she never came out. In the middle of the night, I thought I heard steps on the stairs, but I didn’t get up.

  The reckoning came in the morning when she was rummaging in the freezer. “What happened to my sorbet?”

  Deep breath. Mine. “It’s breakfast time. Sorbet is not breakfast food.” Changing the conversation seemed like a good move.

  “Well, it’s orange. Full of vitamin D. Instead of juice, I thought.”

  “Nice try.”

  “I thought it was worth a shot.” I saw her reach for her healthy cereal.

  “But did you forget it? I looked for it in the night.”

  “My mind was on other things.” Inspiration came to me. “Like Phyllis’ visit.”

  “You worry too much.” The doorbell rang. “That’s Mel. I’m off.”

  The cereal was barely touched. I took a taste. Yes, still tasted like hay to me. I wondered, if I followed Chris and Mel, would I catch them at a bakery? But I did not have time for spying today. I had to get ready for a visit.

  I cleaned the bathroom. Put out fresh towels, put fresh sheets on the second bed in Chris’ room. As thorough a dusting in Chris’ room as I could manage, working around her scattered possessions. A thorough cleaning of the kitchen. At least all the visible parts. No way Phyllis would overlook crumbs around the toaster and grease on the stove. Wiped up a spill in the refrigerator.

  By the time I was done, I was exhausted and more than ready to tackle my real job for the morning.

  Philomena despaired of convincing her family and set aside dreams of the white gown and veil and her nieces scattering flowers. She confided it all to her diary, since she didn’t dare tell even her closest friends. They would meet at City Hall. She had a nice suit she could wear and a new hat, carried in a shopping bag to avoid any questions. He would bring a corsage for her, the license, the ring, and his own camera. They thought someone there would be kind enough to take pictures.

  She wrote, “I’ve saved most of my wages, and I could have paid for it, the gown and veil, a reception and all. But all that matters is HIS ring on MY hand, and I will have a great big smile in those pictures. And in my new Lily Daché hat…me in Lily Daché! I will be as stylish as a movie star.”

  The next page told me everything and nothing. “He never came.” And on the page after, I learned the rest. “I waited and waited. I found a phone booth but I was terrified to go call in case I’d miss him if he came. I finally called the phone at his boardinghouse and his landlady said she hadn’t seen him. I am worried. I am hurt. Should I be scared for him or furious at him? I am so mixed up. And I keep crying.”

  And later, “I forgot to write that when I was leaving the marriage office, Frankie showed up. He had some business downtown, he said, and he took me home in a taxi. He never even mentioned my hat or asked why I was there.”

  She didn’t see what I did. What I suspected. There were other explanations but my money was on her brothers. How could I find out?

  I went out to buy some groceries, so Phyllis could not think I was neglecting her granddaughter. As I walked there and back, I realized there was another way to go on Philomena’s mystery. Maybe Phyllis would have some ideas working from the family memory. Maybe I could imitate Lieutenant Ramos and urge her to search her memory.

  I came home to an e-mail from my advisor, asking if there would a completed chapter by the end of next week. I recklessly wrote, “Sure” and hit Send. Why not? Maybe I would have it done by then. And if I didn’t? I did not have time to think about it now. My visitor would be here any minute and I had groceries to put away.

  I’d finished just as my doorbell rang,

  They came in with a flurry of hellos and kisses and bags to put down. She had an insulated carrier with contents for me to put away immediately.

  “I brought a lemon ricotta pie, and some lasagna for you and Chris, to go in the freezer. I’m sure you don’t have time to make it yourself.”

  I had an impulse to argue with her sneaky criticism but it was true. And her ricotta pie was nothing to turn down. I served coffee and some supermarket cookies.

  Phyllis made a face and promised to bake biscotti while she was here. “You will like them better.” It was statement, not a question.

  “So, honey, how are you doing? Are you and Chris moving ahead on birthday plans?”

  I gave Dad a look that said, “Not now.” For once he got it and changed the subject.

  “How’s your dissertation coming along? And that new advisor?”

  How did he manage to pick the other topic I did not want to discuss? I answered with a dismissive, dishonest, “Fine.” and asked Phyllis how the trip went.

  “Very nice, except for the long lines at the airport. Security was interested in the food I was carrying, though.” She shook her head and made a little clucking sound. “This world we are in. I finally had to ask the kid in uniform if he didn’t have a grandmother who cooked! But the flight was good, only an hour and a half, and the stewardess served up drinks and snacks. Here, for Chris, a bag of animal crackers. I told them I wanted it for my youngest granddaughter.” She winked. “Didn’t tell them how old she is.

  “But here’s the funny thing. There were men serving too. And the stewardesses weren’t all young and pretty like they used to be.”

  “How long has it been since you were on a plane, Phyllis?” My dad smiled at her.

  “Not since 1982 when we went on Alitalia to Italy. Rome airport, don’t ask! Crowded as could be. Flying out of Buffalo is much easier, except for the security line.”

  Then she
fell asleep, suddenly, sitting up, exhausted from her long day.

  I motioned my dad into the kitchen where we could talk without waking her.

  “I have been too busy to think any more about this birthday party, Dad. I’ll get to it. You can be sure Chris won’t forget about it.”

  “That wouldn’t be like our Chris. How about we—meaning Chrissie and me—we figure it all out and take it off you?” Before I could even protest, he added, “Remember, I’ll be paying for it.”

  My dad, who knows nothing about restaurants that are not diners or decorating of any kind, planning a party? Partnered by a teenager with ideas we cannot afford? No way.

  “I’ll get to it, Dad. I will, but not right now.”

  He looked unconvinced. He stood up then, and muttered, “I’ve got to be going. Love to my girl.”

  “She’ll be home from school soon. Do you want to stay?”

  “I would like to, but I have things to do. Give her a hug for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When I went downstairs in the morning, I was surprised to find Phyllis up, dressed, and ready to roll. She was smartly dressed in dark pants and a blazer over a ruffled blouse.

  “Coffee is made, but seriously, Erica? You got to get a better coffeemaker. And I made you French toast but I couldn’t find any maple syrup. We need to get moving.”

  Grateful for the coffee? Annoyed at the criticism? It was too early to say anything about either.

  “Uh, why do we need to get moving?” seemed adequately noncombative.

  “We are going to see my Uncle Georgie. I already called the nursing home. They said he is having a good morning, pretty alert, so we should go quick. And my cousin will meet us there.”

  I gulped some coffee. “I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

  “Erica! We talked about this before I came. You forgot? I have one uncle left, my dad’s youngest brother Georgie. I haven’t seen him since I moved up to godforsaken Buffalo and he’s failing fast now. He lives in the veterans’ nursing home way out on Long Island.” She gave me a scrap of paper. “Here, I have the address. Is that far? It is far, isn’t it? So we have to get going. And you can tell me what you learned about Philomena on the way.”

  She had never mentioned this uncle or this visit. And whatever happened to my Dad’s promise to keep Phyllis entertained?

  “And Chrissie’s coming too. For her project.”

  “No. It’s a school day.”

  “She got something, a pass or a note.”

  “No one ever mentioned any of this to me. No one! Not a word.”

  “No?” She looked embarrassed, but only for a fleeting second before she recovered. “Maybe it was your dad I talked to. Yes, that’s it.”

  As if summoned by her words, there was my dad, letting himself in with a key I didn’t know he had.

  “Phyllis, are you ready for our road trip? I’ve got unhealthy snack food waiting in the car for us.” He gave me a kiss and whispered. “Like when you were a kid—potato chips to keep her from complaining.”

  “So it was you, Len! I told Erica I made this plan with her.” She did not apologize.

  “Will everybody stop chatting?” I needed more caffeine. A lot more. “And then tell me what exactly is going on? Exactly?”

  “You must listen this time. I have one uncle left from the older generation, and he is in a veterans’ home out there in the country. His kids have all moved out to there, to Long Island. And he’s fading fast. So this is my one chance to see him. He’s my last link to them. My parents and all the others. Len, you want coffee before we hit the road? And maybe a piece of French toast?”

  While they chatted, I finally had enough coffee to cope, plus sugar on my French toast. True, we did not have maple syrup

  I hoped maybe Dad could go instead of me. I had work to do. Then my own ideas about Philomena’s mystery came back to ambush me, the thought that we could look at family memories. I had to go.

  “Give me ten minutes. I’ll throw on some clothes.”

  In the backseat of the car, fortified with the promised potato chips, I passed Phyllis the notes I’d made about Philomena. She passed them right back.

  “I can’t read in a moving car. You tell me.”

  I read from my notes, with Phyllis turned to look at me over the back of the front seat. She was wide-eyed at the story I told.

  “So very sad. Poor Aunt Philomena. I never knew any of it. Of course I was a little child then, but not even later. She never talked about it at all.” She frowned. “But you haven’t found out what happened? And Chrissie? Do you know anything about this, for your project?”

  “Yes, Grandma. I read it all too. Her heart must have been broken.”

  “But there’s no end to this story. What happened?”

  “I’m working on it. You never told how she died or where. Maybe that could help.”

  “She had a bad heart, I think. People didn’t like to talk about illness back then but it was before all the fancy heart surgery that came along. She died at home, actually.”

  Chris looked over at me and I guessed what she was thinking. A broken heart for real.

  As we drove up to the home, Phyllis was reapplying her lipstick and poking at her bottle-blond hair. She caught me staring at her and explained, “I haven’t seen these people since I moved away. I know I look a little older.”

  We were met as soon as we walked in by a middle-aged, graying cousin.

  “Richie! Oh my God. And Louise.” Lots of hugging and kissing and “how long has it been?” ensued.

  “And you are Erica.” Louise folded me into a big hug. “You are the only one of us who hasn’t changed so much. I’m married to Phyllis’ cousin Richie.”

  Phyllis introduced my father, who claimed he too hadn’t changed a bit. Everyone laughed at that.

  “Well, Pop’s right over there.” Richie pointed into the lounge area. “He’s having his before-lunch nap, though.” He pointed to a very old man, dozing in his wheelchair.

  They led us to a cluster of chairs and launched into an endless conversation about the whereabouts of many relatives, none of whom I knew. Very boring for Dad and Chris, who went out to stretch their legs. Perhaps I should have been taking notes but I kept my eye on the sleeping old man. Phyllis could bond over her family tree with Chris tonight.

  As soon as he started to stir, I motioned to the others. Richie sat down close to the wheel chair.

  “Hi, Pop. How ya doing?’

  The old man squinted, then said with a big smile, “You’re my son!”

  “Yes. Yes, I am, one of them. You know my name today?”

  His father smiled slyly. “My son. You are my son.”

  “And here’s my wife, Louise, Pop. Remember her?”

  When she leaned over to kiss him he said, “Lavender scent. Aren’t you—are you Louise?”

  “And we have a surprise for you. Look who’s here! It’s been awhile. You might not quite recognize her.”

  Phyllis approached the wheelchair, unusually tentative, and Richie gave her his seat. She smiled and held her uncle’s hand, waiting, as he scrutinized her.

  “So why haven’t you been to visit in so long? I’ve missed you. Missed Frankie too. The others not so much.”

  “I moved far away, dear. I’ve missed you, too, and all of them. How are you doing today?”

  “Not bad, not bad at all. I sleep, eat good meals. On a nice day someone takes me outside.” He leaned over and whispered, “But they won’t let me smoke. You don’t happen to have one on you?”

  “You already know you can’t do that here, or anywhere.”

  “Says who?”

  “The doctor. And the VA. And the law. Who do you think?”

  Phyllis put up her hand to make Richie stop talking, leaned over and w
hispered, “Later, I’ll sneak you one. Shhh.”

  Chris and Dad came back and the old man stared at Chris for a long time. “Why, it’s Philomena, my favorite sister.”

  She looked stunned. “He thinks…” Phyllis’ voice was breaking. “I guess—you’re blond, like her, and tall.” She grabbed Chris’ arm and whispered, “Keep him happy. Go along with it.”

  “You look prettier now, with your hair, than those old kerchiefs and the boys’ clothes.” He held her hand. “You remember that time we laughed about both wearing overalls? You were going to work—weren’t you? And I was dressed like a little boy.”

  Chris muttered, “Sure I do.”

  “And the night you took me out, it was during the war, to see the searchlights in the sky from Prospect Park? That was so exciting.” He fidgeted. “Whatever happened to that nice boy you used to bring around? I liked him. He talked to me like I was his friend. You both took me to the movies one time. We saw…we saw… Donald Duck! It had a Spanish name, but Donald was in it too. Remember? We laughed and laughed.”

  Tears in her eyes, Chris whispered, “Of course I remember.”

  “And to see Santa…somewhere. I told him I wanted my brothers to come home safe, but the truth?” He leaned over. “I wanted a bike.”

  “You were only a kid.” Chris said. The rest of us stood there, silent, waiting for what he would say next.

  “But what happened to him after the war? He never came to see us again.”

  “I don’t…I never knew.”

  “Was he the one our brothers didn’t like? Was that it?”

  “Maybe. How did you know that?” She looked up at me, quickly, and I nodded, putting my thumbs up. I was proud of her.

  “Oh, I knew. I knew. I listened to everything. They thought I was a dumb kid, our big brothers, so they didn’t guess how much I heard.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “I knew someone’s wife was fooling around while he was overseas. I knew before he did, ’cause Frankie talked about it to someone.” He chuckled. “And I overheard. Not that I understood then. And after he came back, she had a big black eye. That, I understood!”