Broken (10 page)

The next day.

With the wall phone receiver cradled between her cheek and shoulder, Anna Mae took the last gulp of Pepsi, then tossed the bottle into the trash. “Nahhhh,” she said into the receiver, “Davie never tells Walter anything...he might say that Stanley is lying...Debbie, it doesn’t work that way in this house. You know how my uncle is. The rest of us have to look out for each other. Even Sarah...I know she’s his wife, but—wait I hear someone coming.”

Anna Mae put the receiver on the kitchen counter and went into the hallway. Whoever had come in had dirt on their shoes and the tracks went up the steps to the second floor. “Is that you, Davie?”

No answer.

Shrugging her shoulders, she went back to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “I think Stanley came in...He might decide not to say anything...I know he’s a troublemaker. Maybe he was just trying to impress his friends."

Although Anna Mae held the receiver an inch from her ear, she still heard Debbie’s loud lecture. “...and you make sure Stanley never, ever, says anything to Walter about you and Angelo at the park. For God’s sake, Anna Mae, stand up to him!”

Anna Mae wanted to ask her just how to do that but decided to leave it alone. Stanley wouldn’t tell Walter. Yesterday, at the park, Stanley was high. He’d forget.

She glanced at the clock. “I have to go. Sarah told me to have the dishes done before she got back from the hospital...It’s twelve o’clock...I think Mrs. Siminoski had a heart attack...I don’t know. Dobie stays in the house all the time because of those awful burn scars. I heard they used the insurance money to help pay George’s college tuition. That creep hasn’t even come to see his sick mother. If Uncle Walter knew Aunt Sarah went to see Mrs. Siminoski he would have a fit...Debbie, I really have to go now.”

Anna Mae hung the receiver on the wall mount, walked over to the sink full of dirty dishes, and pushed up the sleeves of her bulky gray sweatshirt. Now that school was out, she would be expected to take over most of the housework. In some ways, she didn’t mind. She wanted Sarah’s approval so much she would gladly clean the whole house to get it. Laura said that was an ungodly price to pay for a so-called mother.

Suddenly she realized that she wasn’t alone. Before she could look around, Stanley said behind her, “Poor, poor Cinderella.” He then turned toward the refrigerator, opened it, and swore. She supposed he was grumbling about the missing bottle of Pepsi. A few moments later she heard crackling as he tore open a bag of Ruffles. She placed a wet dish in the drainer. “There’s some ginger ale in that box by the back door.”

Stanley’s mouth was full of chips. “Ansit warm as pith!”

“Ever heard of ice cubes?”

“Yeah! Get me a glass with some ice cubes, Cinderella!”

“Get it yourself.” She picked up a frying pan caked with the remains of last night’s meatballs. As she listened to Stanley chewing the Ruffles, she reminded herself that this was not a good time to antagonize him. She put the meatball pan into the dishwater to soak and dried her hands. She then went to the back door to get a can of ginger ale. She took a clean glass from the drainer, opened the freezer, and filled the glass with ice cubes. Stanley studied her as she walked to the table, poured the ginger ale over the ice, slid the glass in front of him, and sat down.

He looked at the glass. “What do you want?”

“Don’t tell Walter.”

He picked up the glass. “About you and the Dago?”

“About me and Angelo.”

He smiled, took a long drink and refilled the glass.

She watched the ale foam over and onto Sarah’s favorite tablecloth. A dark circle crawled into the yellow daisies. “Please don’t make any trouble for me.”

“I guess you don’t want me to tell my father about Davie hanging out with that Johnny kid either.”

She made an effort to sound nonchalant. “Davie only went on a few rides with Johnny. Look Stanley, if you tell Walter, me and Davie might not be the only ones who get hurt. You know how your father takes it out on everyone.”

The glint in his eyes frightened her. “You mean he’d probably go after Sarah too? She went to see that Siminoski dame today, didn’t she? My dad would kill her if he knew!”

How in the world did he know that Sarah was at the hospital?
“Please, Stanley. You do things that Walter would have a fit about too.”

Stanley looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. Anna Mae now realized why she hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen. “Com’ on,” she said. “What would you get out of it? Do you like it when he tears into the family?”

He stuck his bare feet back under the table. “Ain’t much of a family. You got any money?”

“I have twenty dollars. Why?”

He lit a cigarette. “I need it.”

“It’s upstairs.”

“Then go get it.” He stood up, crossed the kitchen, and reached for the phone.

Anna Mae was upstairs moving things around in the bottom of her closet, looking for her hidden money when she heard Sarah downstairs. Not only was she letting herself be blackmailed, now Sarah would be on her because the dishes weren’t done, the tablecloth was soiled, and there were dirty footprints on the hall rug.

“What’cha lookin’ for?”

“David! Don’t do that! I’m looking for the twenty dollars that was in my shoe. Did you see it?”

“I don’t mess with your shoes,” he said, kneeling down to help her look.

Sarah yelled up the steps. “Anna Mae! Why aren’t these dishes done?”

Anna Mae yelled back, “I’ll finish them later.”

David held up a twenty-dollar bill. “Here it is.”

She looked at the shoe in his hand. It was right where she had put it. “Davie,” she said. “Go down and tell Stanley to come up here. And you stay downstairs.” David looked at her like she had just told him to send up the living room couch. But he asked no questions. “And tell Aunt Sarah I’ll be down in a minute.”

Several minutes later, Stanley appeared at her bedroom door. Still on her knees straightening the shoes, Anna Mae reached up, trying to hand him the money. “Now promise you won’t say anything to Walter!”

He pushed the money away. “No. I don’t promise. Not yet. Now you got to go shopping for me. Go down to Jackson’s Pool Hall. There’ll be a guy—an older dude wearing a lot of gold. He’s small. Sort of strange looking. Not Black. Not Spick. Just dark and weird. He wears a lot of gold chains. He might be in a big, blue Caddie. Or near it. Don’t worry, he won’t be inside the poolroom so you don’t have to go in. I just talked to him. He’s on his way to meet you.”

Anna Mae looked up at Stanley in disbelief. He was telling her to buy drugs for him!

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” said Stanley. “You know the score. You weren’t born yesterday. Besides, he thinks they’re for you—a new customer. He’ll give you a good deal!”

She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it!
You rotten piece of scum!
She stood up and threw the money at him. “No!”

Grinning, he picked up the twenty and began to walk away, commenting, “I wonder if my dad’ll beat up Davie, or just you and Sarah.”

Anna Mae lunged forward, grabbing at the long drab hair that hung in kinks down Stanley’s back. He spun around holding the twenty-dollar bill in her face. She snatched it from his hand. He laughed. “That’a girl. Oh! Did I warn you to be careful? If you see the cops, go hang out at Vinko’s for a minute.”

Two minutes later she was on her way out the front door when Sarah called out to her. “Girl! You better get in here and finish these dishes.”

“I’ll finish them later,” Anna Mae snapped, then slammed the door as hard as she could.

Anna Mae stopped at the bottom of the hill. Two blocks away, several young men loitered around Jackson’s Pool Hall.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. What if I get caught?

Images of Kennywood rapidly flashed across her mind: David running happily off with Johnny, Debbie and Jake ramming around in the bumper car, Angelo saying,
I love you.

And then there was Stanley’s comment:
I wonder if my dad’ll beat up Davie, or just you and Sarah?

She crossed the first intersection.
God, please forgive me. I don’t have any choice. I can’t let Stanley get us all in trouble. I just can’t!

At the next intersection she rushed to make the green light. That was when she saw it; the long, blue Cadillac parked in front of the pool hall. Before she could reach it, the big car pulled away from the curb. She stopped a building away from the pool hall. Maybe he won’t come back. There was still time to change her mind. However, she willed herself to stay where she was, her feet cemented to the sidewalk. She waited.

He must have parked in the alley because he was walking, or rather strolling, straight towards her. He was small, with a yellowish brown face and a mahogany Afro. He wore a black suit and gold chains over a bright green turtleneck. Clamped between his teeth was a thin cigar.

Her hands shook as she fumbled to get the money out of the front pocket of her jeans.

He removed the cigar. “Well aren’t you a pretty thang,” he said in an accent Anna Mae could not identify. She handed him the twenty-dollar bill. He flashed an ivory grin, displaying one gold tooth, then took the money, sliding it up his sleeve in one smooth motion.

“Now, you gorgeous thang,” he said. “You just walk with me a spell. I have something good for you. Very good.”

Anna Mae wanted to run.
This guy is a freak!
With great effort she kept herself under control and walked beside him. After they had gone a short distance he reached for her hand. Her first instinct was to pull it away. But she quickly realized he was trying to slip her a small plastic package. She took it, holding it tightly in her sweaty fist. “Can I go now?”

“Of course you can, Darlin.’ But you come back. I have some very good stuff.”

Anna Mae turned abruptly and hurried away. When she reached the second intersection, she shoved the package into her hip pocket. Afraid someone had seen what she’d done, she walked faster. The loiterers, passersby and people in the cars that crawled along the city street all seemed indifferent. Nevertheless, she was convinced that someone would notice the suspicious bulge. She tugged at her gray sweatshirt, stretching it over her hip pocket. As she walked up the quieter, residential Vickroy Street Hill, she kept looking over her shoulder.

I’m just as bad as Stanley. Stanley! He forced me to do this! He doesn’t care if I get caught.

During the short walk from the hilltop to her front steps, she felt the anxiety, the fear, as it twisted around in her chest. Then something inside her snapped, and the fear switched to fury. She charged into the house yelling, “Where is he? Where’s Stanley?”

Sarah stood in the middle of the hall, holding the soiled tablecloth. “Who did this?”

“Stanley! Who else?” Anna Mae snapped. “Where is he?”

“Why aren’t the dishes done? Where’d you run off to?”

“Where’s Stanley?”

Sarah’s cheeks turned red.

“I asked you where Stanley went!”

When Sarah didn’t answer, Anna Mae pushed by her astonished aunt and charged up to the second floor.

“Stanley!” she yelled into the attic.

“Bring it up,” he yelled back.

Slowly, deliberately, she climbed the steps to Stanley’s attic room. She glanced at David’s bed in the far corner and was relieved he wasn’t there. Stanley, still in his bare feet, was sitting on an oversized pillow, his eyes never wavering from the small black and white TV screen. He held out his hand. “Give ‘em here.”

She slapped the package into his hand, turned away, and headed back toward the steps.

“What’d ya think of him?”

“That creep?”

“That cool dude from New York,” he said to her back.

When she didn’t answer, he jumped up, grabbed her by the arm, and spun her around. Holding the package of pills in her face, he asked, “Want one?”

“Let go!”

He twisted her arm behind her back, crushing her small breasts against his chest. She shoved at him with her free hand. With the pills still in his hand, he held her in a vise. Her struggle was ineffective until he laughed. Then suddenly, and with vicious determination, she brought up her knee. He released her quickly enough to jump aside. “You little bitch!”

With the swiftness of an attacking leopard, she lunged at him. He hurled her across the room. She slammed into the attic wall. The last thing she remembered was seeing the hardwood floor fly up at her.

Monday was Father John’s day off. He stopped at the church to get some altar flowers for Mrs. Siminoski who was still in the hospital. As he walked into the sanctuary, he was dismayed to discover that the janitor had forgotten to turn on the lights. Even when it’s sunny outside, the church tends to be a bit dark. And today was overcast. He had his hand on the light switch when he noticed someone sitting a few pews back from the candles. Not wanting to disturb the person, he abandoned the light switch.

On his way to get the vase of flowers at the far end of the altar, he recognized the person in the pew. It was Anna Mae McBride, the teenager who attended services almost every Sunday, along with the little tyke he knew to be her cousin. Occasionally, he would see her sitting alone in church during these odd hours. That concerned him.

Sixteen years before, Walter and Sarah Lipinski had sought his advice about whether or not they should keep Sarah’s sister’s baby. They had left his office, still unsure of what they were going to do. Through parish gossip, he heard that they had kept the baby.

He also heard that things were not good in the Lipinski household. But Sarah and Walter never came to church, and it was not his place to interfere.

Leaving the vase of flowers on the altar, he walked to where Anna Mae sat huddled in the pew. It was warm in the church and though she was wearing a sweatshirt, she seemed to be shivering. When he sat down beside her, she turned her head away.

“What’s the trouble, young lady?” he asked.

She didn’t respond.

“Anna Mae?”

She turned to face him, the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.

He touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Anna Mae?”

She covered her face with her hands. He gently pulled them away. “What makes you so sad? Tell me.”

She turned to him with a haunted look in her eyes.

“You can talk to me,” he said. “I’ve been praying for you.”

“Why?”

“I often see you sitting here alone. It’s been worrying me.”

Anna Mae studied him for a moment. “You’ve been praying for me?”

He nodded.

She turned her face back toward the candles. He waited patiently, hoping she would talk to him. But she just sat there staring straight ahead.

“Anna Mae,” he spoke very softly, “I want to help you.”

Tears began to run down her cheeks. He watched them drip off her chin; little diamonds in the candlelight. She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and took out a small embroidered handkerchief. She wiped her eyes roughly, as though they had betrayed her. He noticed the bruise on her left cheek and the scratches on her hand. “Did someone hurt you?”

She shrugged and blew her nose.

“What happened, Anna Mae?”

“I wish I knew,” she said. 

“You don’t know what happened?”

“No. I don’t know,” she snapped. “I never know.”

He was startled by the harshness in her voice and confused by her words. He studied her profile in the candlelight. How pretty she was. Then from those fragile features, he heard a voice filled with anguish: “All kinds of things happen. I do things. And I don’t know that I did them. I don’t remember.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t. No one would understand. No one!”

“I’d like to try.”

“You want to know? You really want to know?”

“Yes, I really want to know.”

She wrapped her handkerchief around her hand, then unwrapped it.

Father John gently touched her face. “What happened to your cheek, Anna Mae? And those scratches on your hands? Who did that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Father John. I don’t know. I don’t know where they came from. I don’t remember where I was before I was here. The last thing I remember is giving something to Stanley. I remember him asking me if I wanted some of what I gave him.”

At another time, in different circumstances, Father John would have laughed at such an explanation. But this was serious. Anna Mae was serious. He repeated her words as statements rather than questions. “You don’t remember where you were before you came here. You do remember giving something to Stanley. Do you remember what it was that you gave to Stanley?”

Anna Mae became defensive. “Yes, I know what I gave to Stanley.”

“You don’t have to be afraid, Anna Mae. Anything you tell me is totally confidential—just between you and me, and of course, God.”

“God already knows!” she said, with a hint of a smile.

“You told Him?” He caught the humor.

“Not everything. But mostly everything.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Anna Mae McBride, I like you. I truly want to be a good friend to you. And it so happens that I have all afternoon free.”

Two hours later, after Anna Mae left the church, Father John pushed aside the pile of papers on his desk and plunked down the thick yellow phone book. Opening the top button of his black shirt he removed his white collar and tossed it carelessly onto the papers. He flipped through the phone book until he reached ‘psychiatrists.’ It took him a few moments to find Dr. Mikhail Rhukov’s number and write it down.

This should never have happened.
He looked at the chair where Walter Lipinski sat sixteen years ago. Walter didn’t want to keep that baby and Sarah seemed afraid to speak up. Why hadn’t he called to check? Why didn’t he take the time to find a better solution? He thought back to his first year as priest in the Warrenvale parish. He had been young and inexperienced. It was a hard year; so much to learn, so many people to meet, so much to do.

The poor girl.
He could still see the torment in her deep blue eyes. And all this time, she had told no one.
To carry such a terrible secret!

He reached for the phone and dialed. The line was busy.

He tried desperately to force feelings of guilt out of his mind. He owed Anna Mae something. He owed her a lot. He dialed again. Busy.

Father, forgive me. If only I had realized. What can I do, Father? What can I do to help her?

He dialed again. “Hello? . . . May I speak to Mikhail…ah, I mean Dr. Rhukov…Hello Mikhail? It’s John Falkowski...”

*     *     *

When Anna Mae walked out of the parish house, the air was thick with the rotten-egg stench of burning sulfur. She walked up the busy street, oblivious to the city noises that surrounded her. Father John had asked permission to call someone he knew: a psychiatrist. Father John said she wasn’t crazy. That there was a condition, a mental condition...Dis-so-ci...Dissociative Amnesia. That’s what he called it. He said ‘Traumatic Amnesia’ too. That was easier to pronounce.

She stopped in the midst of the pigeons that owned Vinko’s sidewalk and peeked in the store window at the clock on the rear wall. It was only four thirty. She glanced up at the black smoke curling through the sky, wrinkled her nose, and then continued her walk home.

Now Father John and Angelo both knew about the blackouts. She couldn’t decide if she felt relief or fear.

When Anna Mae got home, David was sitting on the couch with his knees pulled up, his feet on the cushions and Time Magazine spread across his knees. Anna Mae looked over his shoulder. The article on Surveyor Seven had to be too difficult for a boy in third grade. But David was smart and he traced the words across the page with his finger.

“How can you read with that television blasting?” she asked.

David looked up at her. “Dad wants to hear the five o’clock news.”

She went to the kitchen where the air was thick with the aroma of Golumki, a stuffed cabbage dish Walter’s mother had brought from the old country. Sarah stood in front of the stove mashing a pot of potatoes, perspiration running down her neck. Walter stood behind her impatiently, looking over her shoulder. Golumki was his favorite meal. Sarah set the masher on the stove and turned to her husband. “Tell David and Stanley that supper’s almost ready.”

When Walter left the kitchen, Anna Mae was afraid Sarah would scold her for her flippant behavior earlier that day. But, she didn’t, and Anna Mae was relieved. It was dangerous to bring up their differences in front of Walter. The consequences were always a disaster.

Sarah scooped the now fluffy potatoes into a serving dish then removed a huge, steaming casserole from the oven. A few moments later, Sarah and Anna Mae carried platters of food into the dining room as Walter stomped up the second floor steps, yelling for Stanley.

“Turn that TV off,” Sarah said to David.

“Wait!” he replied. “Come look at this.”

Sarah and Anna Mae went into the living room to see what David found so interesting. From inside the Pittsburgh courthouse, a newscaster was concluding a report—something about New York. Sarah shrugged and went back to the kitchen. As David clicked off the TV, Anna Mae asked, “What was that about?”

“Bad drugs. Is dinner ready? I’m starved!”

The Golumki would stay hot, but the potatoes were beginning to cool. Sarah, Anna Mae, and David sat at the dining room table waiting for Walter and Stanley. Finally Sarah called out to her husband. He didn’t reply. Then one set of footsteps came down from the attic. David looked at Anna Mae who looked at Sarah. Moments later the three of them turned to see Walter approaching them from the living room, his feet dragging, his face ghost white. He stood at the end of the table, his eyes staring blankly beyond them.

“He’s dead,” said Walter. “Stanley’s dead.”