Ten Times Guilty (6 page)

Propping her elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her hand and stared absently at Ritchie’s cereal bowl. Just buying the Mickey Mouse bowl and matching spoon took planning. There were so many things she wanted for her son, for both of them. Now, they seemed out of reach.

She walked to the window and stood looking out. In the street below, neighborhood children were playing in the morning sunshine, some riding bikes and others batting a ball back and forth. One day Ritchie would want a bike, and he might want to play baseball. Or football. And there were school jackets, class rings and all the other things that were so important in a growing child’s life. Was she going to give up before she even got started? What kind of legacy was that to pass on to her son?

She called Mrs. Wellington.

“Mrs. Michaels,” the counselor exclaimed, “I’m glad you called back. I wanted to send you a list of organizations that could possibly help you with your finances.”

“I’ll certainly look them over, but I wanted to let you know I’ll have to wait until the next class after all.”

The conversation ended with Tracy making an appointment to go over all the possible options.

Later, Tracy sat at the table reviewing her budget, her worn notebook full of figures and eraser marks. She didn’t see how she could cut more; she was already living on beans, rice and spaghetti.

Eleven months. Almost a year.

She chewed the end of the pencil, wondering what to do.

***

Just after lunch and no closer to a solution than before, Tracy slammed her notebook shut. Her head hurt and she still had to get ready for her new shift at work. Ritchie was playing quietly on the floor surrounded by stuffed animals and big rubber trucks when someone tapped on the door. Diana popped into the apartment carrying an umbrella and a newspaper.

“Judy said you need this.” Diana stood the pink flowered umbrella in the corner. “I know what you’re going to say, but forget it, it was a free gift. Just fix some of your black-eyed peas.”

Tracy smiled. It had been a chore to persuade her friend to try some of her favorite southern dishes. Pots of black-eyed peas with ham hocks and onions, warm corn bread, crispy fried okra, and chicken and dumplings were cheap, plentiful, and delicious. Once Diana took a taste, she was hooked.

Now, saving for classes, Tracy seldom bought chicken. Even ham hocks and okra were rare.

Diana handed the newspaper to Tracy. “You need to read this. Page two.”

Without looking, Tracy tossed the paper on the table. “Later. I have to get ready for work.”

“Hmmm, sounds like things didn’t go well. Anything I can do?”

“Same old thing. Money. Or I should say, the lack of it.”

“Don’t let it get you down. You’ve managed this far.” Diana picked up Ritchie and gave him a loud kiss, first on his neck, then his tummy. He giggled and drooled all over her. “You little twerp. Here.” She handed him to his mother and sat down. “You want him.”

“I do?” By that time, he had giggled so much he drooled all over himself. “Thanks a lot.” Tracy wiped his mouth and chin and set him back on the floor. She told Diana about the two-hundred dollars.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Diana said. “ I never understood why you were so determined to start now. It just makes it harder on yourself.”

Tracy poured iced tea for Diana and herself and filled Ritchie’s bottle with fruit juice. She gave it to him and stood sipping her tea, eyes on her son.

“Sometimes I get to feeling sorry for myself,” she told Diana, “and most of all, for Ritchie, because we don’t have things. And with school, it will get a lot worse before it gets better. If I let myself think about that, I’ll postpone going. But I know how easy it is to keep putting things off. If I do that, if I relax for one minute, I’m lost. Then all the negatives I grew up with will prove to be true, and I can’t let that happen. I have to show Ritchie that no matter the circumstances, if you have a plan and you stick to it, you can make the impossible happen. If I give my son nothing else in life, at least I can give him that.”

Diana got up and put her arms around her. “Well, if you feel that strongly, go for it. You know I’ll help when I can.”

“I know, and you have. I’ll always be grateful.”

They had met over a year ago, when Tracy had answered Diana’s ad for the studio apartment. Pregnant and abandoned by her husband, Tracy was terrified she wouldn’t find anything she could afford. Diana stayed by her side during labor and delivery, and waited on rent until Tracy could find work at the museum. Tracy had never known such friendship and tried to repay Diana by watching Joey, Diana’s four-year-old when Judy was unavailable, and helping Diana with her laundry when she did her own. And she loved to cook for everyone, something Diana enjoyed.

“Before we get too mushy,” Diana said, “I gotta have my cigarette.” Reaching under her shirt, she dug in her bra and pulled out a bent, almost crumpled cigarette.

“That’s sore,” she complained, rubbing a spot where the match had irritated her skin. She caught Tracy’s grin.

“Okay, go ahead and laugh. I know it’s ridiculous. Can you imagine? Sneaking away from your kids to have a cigarette.”

“Still after you, huh?”

“Judy lectures all the time. And spy! I wouldn’t be surprised if she hid in here waiting to spring on me. And I’m supposed to be the boss. Ha!”

Tracy smiled. Diana was on her martyr kick again. She looked the part, with white-blonde hair, light gray eyes and a thin, almost skinny build. With two children, she complained openly about the demands of motherhood. But Tracy knew there was a protective, caring nature underneath all the grumbling. Thankfully, that caring nature extended to Ritchie and herself.

“Want to go outside with me while I have this?” Diana asked.

Tracy shook her head. “Have to get ready for work. My new schedule starts today, although now I doubt I’ll need it.” She checked her watch and headed for the bathroom. “Is Judy on her way up?”

“She’s just finishing a late lunch. Her classes ran a little over. I’ll stay until she gets here.” Diana picked up the newspaper again. “Before you go, I want you to read this.” 

“What? Wait a minute.” Tracy picked up the tube of mascara but it was dry. She threw the tube into the trash and resigned herself to going bare-eyed until she paid off the druggist for Ritchie’s vitamins.

“Here.” Diana stuck the paper under Tracy’s nose. “A woman was just murdered not too far from here. It’s getting more and more dangerous for you to walk home, especially now with the late hours. You really need a car. Greg and I could help you look for a bargain.”

“Thanks, but we’ve been over it before. I just can’t afford the extra expense, no matter what kind of bargain it is. Besides, the museum is only five blocks away.”

“Yeah, but they say a shark will attack in only three feet of water, and you’re just as dead as if you’d been out in the middle of the ocean.”

“I’m not listening,” Tracy said. “If I do, I’ll be checking under my bed like an old woman!” With a last glance at Ritchie, she escaped out the door and slammed it behind her.

“If you want to get to be an old woman,” Diana called after her, “you’d better be a little more careful!”

Chapter Eight

Tracy made it to Colfax Avenue before she felt the first drops of rain. Opening her umbrella, she dashed across the busy avenue, almost making it to the other side before giving way to an impatient driver turning right.

Also known as old Highway 40, Colfax Avenue started on the plains east of Aurora and traveled fourteen miles west, skirting landmarks such as the Denver Mint and the capitol building. On the west end, it crossed Interstate-70 and wound up in the foothills of the Rockies at Golden, home of Coors Beer.

Tracy dodged a longhaired girl panhandler on the curb. Even in the cold drizzle they were out, male and female alike, begging for change.

At the museum, Rita was finishing a late lunch at the employees’ table. Tracy hung up her jacket, poured a cup of tea and joined her.

“Well, today’s sure been a bummer,” Rita said.

“Why’s that? Your boyfriend stand you up?”

“You kiddin’? He wouldn’t risk gettin’ cut off for anything short of death.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then applied a layer of blood-red lipstick. “No, ‘ister ‘adden god da ‘ord ‘day ‘rom da ‘URA boart.”

Tracy frowned. “What?”

“Juss a ‘inute.” With the little finger on her right hand, Rita smoothed the lipstick, then dabbed the shade onto her cheeks. When she was satisfied, she dropped the cosmetics into her bag and faced Tracy.

“I said, ‘Mr. Madden got the word today from the DURA board.’ “

Tracy froze. The Denver Urban Renewal Association had been tearing down buildings in the older, seedier sections of town and replacing them with new modern buildings. When she and Ritchie took the bus on her days off, she marveled at the widespread, on-going construction which stretched as far as the eye could see. The cow town of the West was giving way to the new glass-enclosed office buildings, new sky-rise apartments with views of the snow-crowned mountains.

In sections of east Colfax, adult bookstores and strip joints were slowly giving way to upscale restaurants, modern boutiques and family bookstores specializing in flavored coffees and biscottis. The block the museum occupied was on the list to be renovated, but that had been part of a projected five-year design. Tracy hadn’t been concerned, as she had planned to be established in her new career by then.

“Looks like this old place is gonna come down sooner than everyone thought,” Rita continued.

No, no, no! Tracy hardly dared to breathe. She couldn’t lose her job now, not when she was finally getting things together.

“When?”

Rita shrugged, her spiral curls bobbing on her shoulder.

“Not sure exactly. I think he said a couple of years. At least that gives us all some time.”

Tracy felt sick. A couple of years meant she couldn’t wait to start classes. She’d have to find a way to get into school in three weeks and hope like hell the museum wouldn’t close until she graduated. She could try to get another job, but then she’d have to worry about lost time, not to mention transportation and clothing. She’d just have to talk to Mr. Madden about more hours. A lot more hours.

“What’s the matter? You look a little green around the gills.”

“My school.”

“Oh, I forgot. Gee kid, that’s too bad.” Rita checked her watch. “Mr. Madden might still be here. He said he was going to tack the notice on the bulletin board. Go see if you can catch him. Maybe he can tell you more.”

Downstairs, she spotted Karr coming down the hallway. Oh no, not now. Maybe if she quietly turned around and headed to the ladies room, he wouldn’t see her.

“Tracy! Glad to run into you.” Holding onto his holster, he plopped down on a green chair. “Sit a minute.”

Damn, damn, damn. She looked at her watch.

“I can’t right now,” she told him. “I want to catch Mr. Madden before he leaves.”

“Too late. He’s already gone. Left about five minutes ago. So why don’t you just sit down and relax. Have you had a chance to think about going out with me? We could have a drink when you get off.”

“I don’t drink very much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said cheerfully. “If you get snockered, I’m big and strong. I’ll take real good care of you.”

“Karr, I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.”

“But why? We don’t have to get a drink, we can go anyplace you’d like. Just name—” 

“Please, Mommy,” a shrill voice pleaded. A woman in a light blue sweat suit entered the lounge leading a little girl about five years old. Smears of chocolate covered the child’s mouth and cheeks. On their way to the restroom, the little girl whined again.

“I have to go, Karr,” Tracy said, taking advantage of the distraction. “I’ll see you later.” Glad for the escape, she hurried up the steps before he had a chance to say anything. Why didn’t he take the hint and leave her alone? It would save embarrassment for both of them.

Back upstairs, Tracy planned the next day.

***

That night Tracy couldn’t sleep. Unwrapping the tangled sheet from her legs for the fourth time, she sat up, switched on the table lamp and looked at the clock. Three-thirty. God.

She tiptoed over to look down at Ritchie who was sleeping on his back, his blanket clutched in his left hand. He was going to be a lefty, just like her, she thought fondly, bending over and lightly kissing him on the cheek. She turned out her light. No use waking him.

Maybe a cup of tea would relax her. She put the kettle on to boil, then paced back and forth across the tiny kitchen.

What was she going to do? Finally, after her childhood and her disastrous short marriage, she had her life in some sort of order. She had a goal and a plan. Long range to be sure, but still a plan. And look what had happened.

Of all the times for the city to make renovations, it had to be when she desperately needed to hang onto her job. The whistle on the kettle shrilled and she made a dash to grab it before it could wake the baby.