Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela (7 page)

get ‘em all.‖

Norah went back to work and back to her story. ―I met him for

real about six months later, and he was so handsome, with this sexy

Russian accent—and real sweet at first.‖

―I hear that,‖ Tish interjected. ―When‘d he start beatin‘ on you?‖

―When I moved down to Monroeville to be with him. My parents

tried to stop me, but I was eighteen by then. Things were okay for a

while, but then he started calling me names and beating me up. That

went on for over a year. I even left and went back home for, like, six

months, but he kept calling, promising to be good, so I gave him

another chance. He did let me get a job at the Uni-Mart, but I had to

check in with him twice a day. After a while he wanted it to be every

hour. If I didn‘t do it, he‘d beat me up pretty bad when I got home.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

37

Nick could see that Logan was looking distinctly uncomfortable,

but he shrugged off a faint stab of pity, knowing that abused women

often derived comfort from exchanging stories.
Sting of conscience,

Logan? And if ya notice, Alex was a real cutie too….

Norah was working on the fifth lug nut as she finished, ―One day

I was so busy I didn‘t call at all, and Alex came to work screaming his

head off—demanding to see me. I ran into the office, and my boss

finally got ‘im to leave by threatening to call the cops. I was too scared

to go home, so my manager‘s wife called ACC, and I went straight

there. Never even went home to pack.‖

―How long ago was that?‖ Cheryl asked.

―Little over a year.‖ She triumphantly held up the hub cap

containing all five lug nuts, saying, ―Ta da!‖

Logan said, ―Okay, now, Cheryl, I‘ll put ‘em back on, and you

have a go at ‘nother tire. Then I‘ll show yuins how to put the spare on.‖

He looked relieved that Norah‘s story was done, but his reprieve was

short-lived since Tish launched into her own narrative as Cheryl

worked at the front tire.

―My bad luck started four years back when I met Joe,‖ she

reminisced. ―He was one of my bosses at the restaurant where I

worked. And yeah, he was real nice at first, too. Until I found out I was

pregnant and I didn‘t wanta have it. I already had a son, and I thought

havin‘ another baby at my age would be crazy. But Joe beat me up

good and said I was havin‘ his kid. I was eighteen and he was thirty—

what was I gonna do?‖ She looked at the other women as if seeking

affirmation; Norah nodded knowingly while Cheryl seemed solely

intent on the tire.

Tish gave Logan a lightning-quick sideways glance before

continuing. ―The beatin‘s got worse even though I did what he said. I

had that baby thinkin‘ it might help us, but it didn‘t; it just meant I was

stuck with him. Last year I got pregnant again; this time he was pissed

‘cause he said we couldn‘t afford ‘nother one, but he still wouldn‘t let

me get rid of it. He left me black an‘ blue almost every day of that

pregnancy. When I finally delivered, one of the nurses in the hospital

asked if I needed help, and I said I sure did. She got me in touch with

ACC, and two weeks later, me and the kids all got away.‖

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Felicia Watson

Luckily for Logan, Cheryl showed no inclination for sharing her

story, so the rest of the class was mainly filled with chatter about which

was worse, Norah‘s job with Merry Maids or Tish‘s current stint at

Applebee‘s.

While the women washed up and gathered their things, Nick

uncovered the vintage Thunderbird that fascinated him so. That past

week, he‘d even called Dave Acken to inquire about the car, so he now

knew that Dave was willing to let it go as is for a mere eight thousand

dollars. Of course, that was eight thousand more than Nick could

afford, but he was still tempted. Something in the car called to him, and

it wasn‘t just because he had wanted one so badly back in high school.

Nick was sure that beneath that rusted body and corroded engine, a

thing of beauty waited to be renewed and released.

―You thinkin‘ of buyin‘ it?‖ Lost in his reverie, Nick hadn‘t even

heard Logan walk up beside him.

―Yeah, how did you know?‖

Logan just shook his head and shrugged, mumbling, ―Just a

feelin‘.‖

―Not sure it‘s a good idea; it‘d take a lot of work to restore it, I

guess.‖

―You bet. More ‘an you even think right now.‖

―You ever done anything like that?‖

Storm clouds gathered in Logan‘s eyes as he answered, ―Yeah.

Long time back.‖

Nick had no intention of asking, but he knew with an inexplicable

but ironclad certainty that buried underneath those four simple syllables

lay a heartbreaking memory for Crane. The man was an enigma for

sure; that was why Nick couldn‘t help thinking about him all the way

back to ACC. That was the explanation Nick gave himself, at least.

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

39

Chapter 4:

Bridges to Cross

The hardest thing in life is to know which bridges to cross and which to

burn.

—David Russell

EARLY on Saturday evening, Nick stirred together a quick barbeque

sauce and dumped in a pound of Isaly‘s chip-chopped ham. It wasn‘t

the healthiest meal he could have prepared, but it had been on the table

a lot when he was a kid, since his mom was inordinately fond of the

cheap and easy local specialty. Agnes had eaten little of the chef‘s salad

he‘d picked up for lunch; therefore, Nick was hoping an old favorite

would tempt her flagging appetite.

As he set the table, Nick was torn between having dinner with his

mother and going for a long run. He could go later, but he hated

running right after a meal, just as his mom hated eating after six p.m.

The August evening had cooled a bit, making it especially tempting;

the recent streak of sizzling weather had by and large confined him to

the use of his rickety treadmill in the basement. Musing that Agnes

seemed pretty ―with it‖ and that a hectic week had left him in dire need

of the Zen found in an extended run, Nick decided one dinner alone

wouldn‘t hurt his mom.

―Hey, Mom,‖ he called up to where she was puttering around in

her room. ―Are you ready to eat?‖

When she appeared a few minutes later, he showed her the pan of

liberally sauced meat. ―I‘ll get you set up, and then I‘m gonna go for a

run. ‘Kay?‖

Agnes shooed him out of the kitchen, briefly assuming the role of

the mother she still was, despite everything. ―Go and have your run; I

can do the rest. Buns‘re in the cupboard, right?‖

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Felicia Watson

Nick gratefully took off, heading up Matson Boulevard until he

could cut over into Riverview Park, where he spent some carefree time

racing up and down the hilly trails. Drenched with sweat and feeling

pleasantly exhausted, he arrived home well over an hour later. He could

see the light on in the kitchen at the back of the house and hoped his

mom wasn‘t still toying with her food.

Nick popped his head into the room, saying, ―Mom, I‘m back.‖

As soon as he saw the table set now for four rather than two and his

mom stirring the pan that had been placed back on a burner, Nick knew

Agnes was in the middle of one of her ―episodes.‖ He advanced into

the room, asking, ―Didn‘t you eat?‖

She turned her frowning face on him, answering, ―No! I‘ve been

waiting and waiting. Where were you? Hetty and Frank are late, and

I‘m worried sick.‖

Oh no. Not this again.
Through gritted teeth, Nick admonished,

―Mom, Aunt Hetty is dead. You know that; she died six years ago. And

Uncle Frank is in Freeport living with Marcy.‖

Slowly taking the pan off the heat, Agnes wiped her hands on the

ancient apron she‘d donned. After a second of visible concentration,

she replied, ―Hetty died?‖ Tears sprang up as she rambled on. ―Yes…

Hetty died. You‘re right. She did, didn‘t she?‖ She wandered over to

the table, rubbing shaking hands together as she asked, ―So… they

aren‘t coming to get me?‖

―No, you‘re staying here.‖

Agnes plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs, wailing,

―What am I gonna do? Where will I live?‖

Nick sat down across from her, feeling his patience worn thinner

than his mom‘s apron, and repeated, ―I told you, you live
here
.‖

―But, Nick, I can‘t live with you forever.‖

―Of course you can. It‘s what I owe—it‘s where you belong.‖

Suddenly Agnes‘s tone turned almost instructive—one she‘d used

when teaching him the alphabet twenty-eight years earlier. ―What about

when you get married? Believe me, son, your wife ain‘t gonna want her

mother-in-law in the same house with her.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

41

Okay, that’s a new one.
Nick was slowly shaking his head,

bemusement having submerged exasperation when he remembered

what Adam had said.
Maybe this is my chance. Maybe it could be a

good thing to her.
Figuring he had nothing to lose, Nick sat back and

calmly announced, ―I‘m not going to get married. Ever.‖ He could see

his mom was about to protest, so he hurriedly added, ―Because I‘m…

I‘m gay.‖

Immediately and sternly, Agnes snapped, ―No, you‘re not. What a

thing to say! Why would you say a nasty thing like that?‖

―Because it‘s true.‖

―No, it‘s not. You‘re sayin‘ that to get back at me, aren‘t you?

You‘re mad ‘cause I left you.‖ Indignation melted into sorrow as she

tearfully assured him, ―I was gonna go back for you, Nick. I was.

Please don‘t be mad at me and say somethin‘ so awful.‖

Nice try, Zales. Well, at least it brought her back to one you

know.
Nick nimbly jumped to his feet and embraced his distraught

mother from behind. ―Mom, you didn‘t leave me. You never left me,

okay? I‘m not mad and… and I‘m sorry I said that. Just forget it, all

right?‖ He patted her arm, saying, ―Let me wash up real quick, then we

can eat.‖ Forcing cheer into his voice that he couldn‘t feel in his heart,

he said, ―We‘ll see if my ham barbeque is better‘an yours.‖

Nick ran up to the bathroom, feeling his warm, loose muscles

tensing with stress he had just tried to sweat out. He peeled off his

damp shorts and T-shirt, puzzling yet again about this obsessive notion

his mom had that she had ―left him.‖ He always figured that there was a

part of her that recognized her dementia as a form of abandonment. But

why couldn‘t he convince her that it wasn‘t her fault? Was it because

she couldn‘t face blaming his dad… or him?

BY MONDAY morning Nick had put his mom‘s troubles out of his

head so he could better deal with the problems of his clients. Nine

thirty a.m. found him in the center‘s small library, trying to wrap up a

tutorial on Money Management so he could grab a cup of coffee and a

doughnut before his counseling session with Norah at ten. Five minutes

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Felicia Watson

later, coffee in hand and pastry in mouth, Nick headed for his office,

currently occupied by Irene Taylor, the volunteer who coached clients

in resume writing, interviews skills, and the like.

Before he got within six feet of the door, Irene‘s megaphone

voice let Nick know she wasn‘t quite finished with Tish. Her bellow of

―Fine, don‘t listen to me! You can work at Applebee‘s forever‖ also let

him know that things had hit a snag. Irene, a sharp, successful

marketing executive, provided invaluable expertise to women who had

been unemployed or underemployed for most of their lives.

Unfortunately, she was also tactless, abrasive, and insensitive.

Nick lounged against the corridor wall, munching away at his

doughnut while he tried to ascertain if his intervention was required.

When Tish‘s response contained several paint-peeling expletives and

the phrase ―Stone Age crone,‖ he decided to step in. After cautiously

swinging the door open, Nick surveyed the tense combatants and, in his

most calming tone, inquired, ―Okay, what‘s the problem?‖

Tish spread her hands out, exclaiming, ―Tell her! Tell her there

ain‘t nothin‘ wrong with this outfit.‖ While Nick inspected her attire,

which consisted of an orange satin polyester blouse and a red pleated

skirt, Tish added, ―She said I looked like a hooker on my way to clown

college.‖

Nick stifled an inappropriate laugh as he turned to Irene, asking,

―Wouldn‘t it be fine if she just buttoned up the shirt a little more?‖