Penny from Heaven (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

What’s in a Name

It’s a miracle, but not like the miracles you hear about in church.

My arm doesn’t start working all perfectly. At first it’s only my fingers, but soon my hand is moving. It’s the middle of September when they let me go home. I have to wear bandages and a sling and promise to do exercises, but at this point I’d promise to eat Me-me’s liver seven nights a week just to get out of the hospital.

I go home to find that my bedroom has been completely redecorated.

“Do you like it?” Me-me asks, her hands folded in front of her.

The poodles are gone, and the walls have been painted a pale turquoise, the color of the ocean. There’s a white chenille bedspread and new lamps with fancy glass bases. It looks sort of like Aunt Gina’s bedroom.

“And how!” I say.

“He missed a spot,” Pop-pop says, pointing at the wall with his cane.

“Don’t start with that again,” Me-me tells him.

“Who missed a spot?” I ask.

“That Mulligan fella painted the room,” Pop-pop grumbles. “Your mother and grandmother didn’t want me going up on the ladder. I told ’em I could do it, but they ganged up on me.”

I raise my eyebrows but don’t say anything.

My arm gets stronger by the day, and when I go to see Dr. Goldstein, he’s impressed with the progress I’m making.

“You’re going to end up in the textbooks,” he says.

“As long as I don’t end up back in the hospital,” I say. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Dr. Goldstein says.

“You know,” I say, “you kinda look like Gregory Peck.”

“I hear that a lot,” he says, and flashes me a smile good as any movie star’s.

Aunt Gina takes me to a fancy hair salon, and Uncle Nunzio has a bunch of new dresses made for me. Between the haircut and the dresses, I look glamorous, like a new girl.

I start going back to school. Suddenly I’m real popular. Boys offer to carry my books. It seems that almost dying is a good way to improve your social life. Even Veronica Goodman leaves me alone, which is nearly as good as my arm working.

Everyone asks the same question: “How much did it hurt?”

“A lot,” I always say, and watch their eyes go round with awe and something else—admiration. I want to tell them that almost dying is awfully easy.

It’s the living that’s hard.

One afternoon after school Pop-pop brings me a brown box. I can hear something inside, scratching to be let out. I open the box, and a little black kitten with a smudge of white fur on its side scrambles out.

“Figured you could use some company,” Pop-pop says, clearing his throat.

“She’s so sweet!” I say, rubbing my face in the kitten’s fur.

He scowls. “She? She? It’s a boy! Don’t they teach you anything in that school of yours?”

I laugh.

“What’re you going to call him?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Cat needs a name. Everybody needs a name.”

I look seriously at the kitten. The kitten looks back at me. And I know right away what to name him.

“Well?” Pop-pop asks.

“I’m going to call him Rhett.”

“What?” he asks. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I’m going to call him Rhett,’” I say loudly. “You know, like Rhett Butler.
Gone with the Wind?”

“Rhett, eh? Could do worse, I reckon, although not much,” he says.

“Thanks, Pop-pop.”

“You’re my granddaughter,” he says gruffly.

“I love you,” I say, and hug him.

For once, he hears me just fine.

Everything’s different now. Better somehow. Mr. Mulligan comes over for dinner all the time, and he fixes the toilet when it leaks.

Frankie’s still working at the factory, and he loves Uncle Nunzio. That’s all he talks about: How smart Uncle Nunzio is; how he wants to be a businessman just like Uncle Nunzio when he grows up; how Uncle Nunzio has promised to help him with college if he stays out of trouble.

“I only got one more month, and then that window is all paid up,” Frankie says proudly. “Uncle Nunzio says I’m one of the best workers he ever had.”

“That’s swell,” I say.

A crafty look comes over his face. “Listen. I have a hunch Grandpa buried money all over that house. If we can just get back in—”

“Frankie . . .”

“We’ll be rich!”

I look at him and shake my arm.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Who needs money, anyhow? We got everything we need, right?”

“Right,” I say.

“But you know how many ball games we could see with all that money?” Frankie wheedles. “We could
buy
the Dodgers with that kind of money!”

I sigh.

A new movie opens at the theater and I ask my mother if I can go see it.

“You want to end up in an iron lung?” she says.

I guess some things don’t change after all.

Two more miracles happen that are almost as good as my arm working again. The first happens real quiet-like.

I’m still working at Falucci’s, but only after school. Since I can’t do any real work around the store, Aunt Fulvia has me be the one to sit up front and work the register. Uncle Ralphie hires another kid to help with the deliveries. It’s Eugene Bird.

“Boy looks quiet, but he always gets paid,” Aunt Fulvia tells me approvingly.

I’m sitting at the register doing my homework when the bell on the door rings. I look up and see Jack Teitelzweig standing there. He smiles, a big honest-to-goodness smile, and I feel a tickle in my stomach.

“How are you doing, Penny?” he asks.

“Uh—um, good,” I stammer.

He turns serious. “How’s your arm? Does it still hurt?”

I nod. “Some.”

“I like your haircut,” he says, and I blush.

“Jack Teitelzweig!” Uncle Ralphie calls in his booming voice, coming up front. “How are you, Jack?”

“Very well, Mr. Falucci,” Jack says.

Aunt Fulvia pokes her head out from the back to see what’s going on.

Uncle Ralphie looks confused. “Did your mother call in an order?”

“Actually, I’m here to see Penny,” he says, and swallows.

“I see.” Uncle Ralphie looks between me and Jack. “Well, I better get back and help your aunt. Call me if you need anything.”

Uncle Ralphie goes into the back, and I hear my Aunt Fulvia demand in a loud voice, “Ralphie, who is that boy out there talking to our Penny?”

“It’s Jack Teitelzweig.”

“Teitelzweig?” Aunt Fulvia says. “That’s not an Italian name.”

“He’s a nice boy,
patanella mia,”
Uncle Ralphie whispers fiercely.

I wince.

“What does
patanella mia
mean?” Jack asks, curious.

“‘My little potato,’” I say, my cheeks burning.

“You should hear what my mother calls my father,” he says, and I laugh.

We stare at each other for a moment.

Then Jack Teitelzweig says to me, Penny Falucci, “Would you like to go see a movie with me sometime?”

“My mother won’t let me go to the movie theater,” I say automatically. “She’s afraid I’ll catch polio.”

“Oh,” he says, and his face falls. “We could always go for ice cream. Do you like ice cream?”

“I love ice cream,” I say. “Butter pecan is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” he says, and grins at me.

That’s the exact moment I know I’m in love.

The second miracle happens real loud and makes all the newspapers. The Dodgers are in the World Series against the New York Yankees. Finally, a chance for revenge after last year’s defeat!

Even though Dem Bums are in the Series, I’m feeling a little blue. The one person who would be as excited as me about the Dodgers isn’t here.

The Bronx Bombers win the first two games, but Dem Bums come back and win the next two and we’re tied. Things start to change around game five. That’s when Mr. Mulligan shows up with the television set. Mr. Mulligan still talks too much through the game, but even Frankie agrees that he’s not so bad.

“Think he could get me a deal on a television set?” Frankie asks.

We’re so excited to be watching the game on television that we almost forgive the Dodgers for losing game five.

Game six is at Yankee Stadium. We’re biting our nails up to the ninth inning, trailing the Yankees, when a miracle happens. Our man Carl Furillo sends a two-run homer into the right-field stands, tying the game three all! The Dodgers fans in the stadium go crazy, and so do we!

“Did you see that?” I say, jumping up and down. “We’re tied! We’re tied!”

“It’s not over yet,” Mr. Mulligan says. “The Yanks are up at bat, and they’ve got that young Billy Martin.”

We all hold our breath. The Yanks have one man on base when Billy Martin takes the plate. There’s the pitch and—
whammo!
Billy Martin hits a hard drive to center field, bringing a man home. It’s all over.

“Those lousy Bums,” Frankie says sourly.

When the Dodgers lose the World Series again, hearts break all over Brooklyn.

And a few hearts break in New Jersey, too.

It’s a quiet Saturday morning, and I’m sitting on the summer porch watching Rhett run back and forth, chasing squirrels in the backyard. It’s so funny, almost like Scarlett O’Hara has told him to keep the squirrels out.

“Hi, Princess,” a voice says.

I look up to see Uncle Dominic standing there. He’s thin, thinner than ever, and there are dark circles under his eyes, but he’s tan.

“Florida?” I say.

“Yeah,” he says, and tries to smile, but his mouth is strained. He sits carefully on the chair across from me. “How’s your arm?”

But I’m mad at him. Mad at him for abandoning me when I needed him, and mad at him for what happened to my father, too.

“Hurts a lot,” I say.

His eyes are haunted. “Princess,” he says.

“Mother told me what happened to my father. She told me everything,” I say.

He flinches. “She did?”

I nod.

He starts talking, talking so fast I can barely understand him.

“She’s right, you know. It was all my fault,” he says, the words spilling out of him in a rush. “My big mouth. I was always bragging, bragging to everyone. I told the whole world when I bought that radio for Freddy. These neighbors of ours, the Clarkes, they never liked us very much. Didn’t like Italians. They had to be the ones who called the Feds. When those men came looking for that radio, I told them I gave it to Freddy. I told them!”

He’s shaking now. “They took us in, and I kept telling him, ‘Freddy, it’s all a mistake, we’ll be home by dinnertime, you watch.’ And then they let me go but not him! Not him!” His eyes stare past me in horror, like he’s trapped in a nightmare and can’t wake up.

And that’s when I realize how wrong I am about being mad at him. He’s my uncle Dominic, the uncle who would do anything for me.

“Uncle Dominic,” I say, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“You know why you’re called Penny?” he asks with a sad smile.

“Because of the song. ‘Pennies from Heaven.’ It was my father’s favorite song.”

He makes a small choked sound, something between a laugh and a sob. “We didn’t start calling you Penny until after your father died. You were always Barbara before then.”

“Uncle Dominic—”

“Freddy wrote us when he was in that last camp. He was sick. He knew he was dying, and all he could think about was you. He wrote, ‘That baby’s just like a lost penny I’ll never hold again,’” Uncle Dominic says, his voice breaking.
“‘My lost penny.’”

I shake my head wordlessly.

“I killed my own brother!” He buries his face in his hands and starts sobbing, a horrible noise, like his very heart is being ripped out, and all I know is that it feels like mine is being ripped out too.

“Oh, Uncle Dominic,” I say, and it’s my turn finally to give him something, something he won’t give himself: forgiveness. “You’re wrong.”

He looks up.

“My father called me Penny because he loved Bing Crosby.”

“No, he didn’t, he—”

I reach over and grab his hand and hold it tight. “He did. He said, ‘Let’s call the baby Penny because she’s going to be shiny and bright. She’s going to be as wonderful as my brother Dominic.’”

And maybe it’s because it’s me saying it, but his face changes and his tears stop.

“You know what else?” I say. “If I hadn’t had the lucky bean, I bet my arm would never have worked again. Why, my fingers started working when I reached for it! I know it was the bean.”

“You really think so?” he asks skeptically.

“The doctors say it was a miracle,” I say in an earnest voice.

He looks like he’s going to buy it, and I exhale a sigh of relief.

Then he narrows his eyes and asks, “Who taught you to lie so good?”

I make a face. “Frankie.”

He shakes his head and holds up a finger. “No more digging up basements.”

“No more basements,” I promise.

“That’s more like it,” he says.

We sit there for a moment.

“What were you doing in Florida, anyhow?” I ask him.

“Why?”

“Frankie’s been telling everyone that you’re a ruthless killer.”

“Me?” He laughs.

“Yeah,” I say. “Are you?”

“Not unless you count fish,” he says.

“Fish?” I say.

Uncle Dominic tugs his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a photograph of him standing next to a marlin.

“Frankie’s gonna be disappointed,” I say.

“Tell him to get in line,” he says.

“I can’t believe Dem Bums lost the World Series,” I say wistfully. “They should’ve won.”

“They will someday, you watch. You gotta have faith.”

“I wish you’d been here,” I say in a quiet voice.

“The whole time I was listening to it, I was thinking of you,” Uncle Dominic says.

“You were?”

“Always, Princess,” he says, and I know it’s the truth. “Always.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Lucky Girl

Mr. Mulligan shows up on our porch after school. He’s wearing a suit and tie, not his milkman uniform, and has a paper bag in one hand.

“You get the afternoon off?” I ask when I open the door.

“Something like that,” he says, and he fiddles with his tie nervously.

“Mother’s at work,” I tell him.

“Actually,” he says, “I wanted to talk to you. May I come in?”

“Sure,” I say, wondering why he’s acting so funny. We walk into the parlor, and he sits on the love seat and I sit on the padded chair.

“Who’s that?” Me-me calls from the kitchen.

“Mr. Mulligan,” I call back.

“Oh,” she says in a pleased voice. “Why don’t I bring lemonade in for you two?”

Me-me comes in with a tray of lemonade and oatmeal cookies and sets it out before us.

“Those cookies are fresh from the oven. Now, you two have a nice visit,” she announces before bustling off.

We sit there in silence for a moment. Mr. Mulligan reaches for a cookie.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I say, and he puts it back.

“Uh, Penny,” Mr. Mulligan says, clearing his throat loudly. “I, ahem, I was wondering if you would give me your permission to marry your mother.”

I look around. Me?

“Shouldn’t you be asking Pop-pop?” I say.

“Your mother said I should ask you first,” he says.

“Oh,” I say.

“Gee, I love your mother an awful lot,” he says, his leg bouncing.

I don’t say anything.

“I promise I’ll be real good to her, and to you, of course,” he says quickly, wiping away a drop of sweat. “And Pop-pop and Me-me.”

I swing my legs.

“I know I can’t replace your father, but I’ll do my best to be a good dad,” he says.

We sit there a moment longer.

He swallows hard. “Well, what do you say?”

“What’s in the bag?” I ask.

“Ice cream,” he says.

“What flavor?”

“Butter pecan,” he says with a slow grin.

What can I say to an offer like that?

My mother wears a peach dress and carries a spray of stephanotis, and Mr. Mulligan wears a dark suit.

I get to be the flower girl and maid of honor all in one. Instead of me carrying a bouquet, Frankie has the bright idea of twining flowers all around my sling, which looks sort of fancy, or sort of like something Tarzan would do, depending on how you look at it. Either way, the judge compliments me on my arm. Afterward we all have lunch at a fancy hotel, and my mother’s smiling like she’s the luckiest girl in the world.

Mr. Mulligan says I can call him whatever I want, so I tell him I want to call him Pat, which he thinks is just fine. Maybe someday I’ll call him Dad, but not yet. We have plenty of time. He’s not going anywhere.

When Pat moved into the house, I was kind of worried. After all, Pop-pop’s not real good at compromise, and he likes to give a lot of advice. But for some reason Pat seems to know how to handle him without being driven crazy. Whenever Pop-pop tells him to do this or that, Pat just smiles and says, “Hmm, I’ll have to give that some thought.”

Pat does things a little different. He’s spontaneous. He thinks nothing of waking me up after I’ve gone to bed at night to surprise me with a pizza or hand-dipped ice cream. He likes to stay up late playing charades and poker. And his favorite thing is to go to Howard Johnson’s for dinner and order pancakes. Now on Friday nights instead of staying home with me and Me-me and Pop-pop, my mother puts on the fox stole and goes out dancing with Pat. It’s hard getting used to having someone new in the house, but it’s like Me-me always says: It’s nice to have a man around who knows how to fix the toilet.

One night after dinner, I’m helping my mother dry dishes while Me-me washes them.

Lately she’s been talking about going back to nursing. Dr. Lathrop is looking for a nurse for his practice.

“Might be nice,” she says. “Regular hours and all. No hospital.”

I know better than to say anything, and for once, Me-me does too.

“Pop-pop said he saw your Uncle Dominic yesterday,” Mother says in a careful voice.

“He was in Florida,” I say. “Fishing.”

She allows herself a small smile. “He always did like to fish. Your father, too. I think his grandfather, your great-grandfather, was a fisherman back in Italy.”

I can’t believe my mother’s talking about my father’s family like this.

“Why don’t you get along with them?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Mother looks surprised for a second, but then she says, “I know you love them, but they were a hard family to marry into. They’re kind of overwhelming, especially your grandmother.”

“Nonny?”

“She terrified me. We weren’t married a week when she announced she was moving in with us to help take care of things.”

“What happened?” I ask.

My mother chuckles. “You would have thought the world had ended when your father told her no! You have to understand, none of them were very happy about our marriage, except Dominic. They had an Italian girl all picked out for your father. After he died, things were difficult. I don’t think your grandmother Falucci will ever forgive me for Freddy not being buried in the Catholic cemetery.” She takes a breath. “I agreed to let you get to know them, but we all just kept our distance from each other.”

I dry a plate and put it on the stack.

My mother turns to me. “Why don’t you see if they want to come over for dinner?”

“Really?”

“Sure,” she says, and lowers her voice. “If we can survive Me-me’s liver, we can survive anything.”

Everyone comes. Nonny, Uncle Paulie and Aunt Gina, Uncle Nunzio and Aunt Rosa, Uncle Ralphie and Aunt Fulvia, Uncle Angelo and Aunt Teresa, Uncle Sally, and Frankie and the baby cousins, too. There’s so many of them, like their own ball club or something.

My mother has taken extra care with her hair and is wearing a new dress.

Nonny walks right up the steps to my mother.

“Eleanor,” she says.

“Genevieve,” my mother says, and I’m so shocked I can barely breathe. I didn’t even know my grandmother had a first name!

“Your hair,” Nonny says. “You cut.”

“Yes,” my mother replies in an even voice. “Yes, I did.”

My grandmother looks at her for a long minute and then nods in approval.

We go into the parlor, and Me-me gets everyone a drink.

Baby Enrico waves his hands when he sees me. “Carry you! Carry you!” he squeals.

I can’t pick him up, so I kneel down next to him, and he gives me a sloppy kiss on the ear. Or maybe a bite. I’m not exactly sure, but he’s still a doll.

“I like the black,” Aunt Gina says, looking around.

“It’s Mother’s idea. Don’t touch that side table—I think it’s still wet,” my mother says, rolling her eyes, and Aunt Gina laughs.

I go and stand by Pat.

“This is Pat,” I announce to everyone.

Uncle Nunzio’s the first one up, and he’s shaking Pat’s hand and hugging him and saying congratulations. Next comes Aunt Rosa, and then Uncle Ralphie and Aunt Fulvia. By the time Pat meets the whole family, he looks like he’s been hugged to death.

The doorbell rings, and my mother gets up and opens it. Uncle Dominic is standing there, holding a box with a pretty red bow. He’s wearing a new suit with a tie and shiny black shoes, not slippers.

He tips his hat. “Ellie,” he says, “you look swell.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Won’t you come in?”

I can tell how nervous he is, how nervous everyone is. It’s like an air-raid drill: Everyone’s waiting for the bomb to fall.

“Hi, Uncle Dominic,” I say.

“Hi, Princess,” he says.

“What’s in the box?” I ask.

As if remembering, he looks down. “This is for your mother,” he says, and hands it to her.

My mother undoes the ribbon and opens it, staring in silence.

“What is it?” I ask.

She displays the box. Two glistening lamb’s eyes in tissue paper stare back.

For a moment everyone holds their breath.

Then my mother gives a wry smile and says, “Maybe you should hold on to them for a while. Help me keep an eye on Penny here.”

Uncle Dominic grins at me, and everyone laughs.

I’ll never know if it’s because of the lucky bean in my pocket, but it’s a night I’ll always remember for what doesn’t happen. Me-me doesn’t ruin the chicken and Pop-pop doesn’t tell bad jokes. Mother doesn’t get mad and Uncle Dominic doesn’t hide in his car and Nonny doesn’t cry. For one night everyone acts normal and talks and eats and drinks and laughs. It’s just plain old roast chicken with mashed potatoes and overcooked peas and onions, but it’s the best meal I’ve ever had in my whole life.

Everyone’s got something to say. Me-me and Uncle Dominic talk about how they both love Florida, and Uncle Nunzio and Pat talk about business, and Aunt Gina and Mother talk about the best places to go dancing. Even Pop-pop manages to behave. He and Uncle Ralphie talk up a storm, and Uncle Ralphie promises to send him over a couple of good steaks.

After dinner, Uncle Nunzio pulls out a bottle of Italian
spumante.

“For the happy couple,” he says to my mother and Pat. “May you have many years together.”

My mother looks into Pat’s eyes and leans in and kisses him.

Everyone claps, and Aunt Gina says, “You caught yourself a good one, Ellie.”

Then Uncle Dominic stands up, and he looks tall and handsome, like the man I always knew he was.

“A toast,” he says. “To our Princess.”

“An angel if there ever was one,” Uncle Ralphie adds.

“Heaven-sent,” Pop-pop says.

“We don’t care how many arms you got!” Frankie declares with a grin.

“To our beautiful Penny,” my mother says, smiling at me.

Then
my whole family
stands up and shouts, “To Penny!” and clinks glasses. They sound like music, better than any song by Bing Crosby.

And me?

I just sit there and smile, my heart so full I think I’ll burst, knowing what a lucky girl I am.