Broken (7 page)

With the grocery list in her pocket and the umbrella over her head, Anna Mae walked down the hill towards town. The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, but the gutters were still gushing with dirty water. Anna Mae wished she had warned Stanley, because there was a union meeting at seven o’clock, Walter might come straight home after work. Not that she cared about Stanley. But anything that set Walter off could ricochet onto the whole family.

Anna Mae entered Vinko’s Grocery. Water from her folded umbrella made a puddle on the floor. Joey rushed to mop it up, assuring her she wasn’t the only one who had come in dripping.

With only four dollars, Anna Mae didn’t want to embarrass herself by piling up more than she could pay for. She took out her list and was calculating the cost of the groceries when the mill’s loud shrill whistle blasted the announcement of the end of the day shift. Three-thirty! Quitting time! The blood drained from her face. Were JD and Stanley still in the attic? Did Davie come home from Tamero’s? Would Walter go straight home?

Joey leaned his mop against the wall near the door then approached Anna Mae. “Are you okay?”

She nodded as she placed a loaf of Town Talk bread on the counter. Maybe Walter would go to the bar and by the time he got home—no—Walter would want to go to that meeting sober.

Joey followed her to the nearby egg case where she studied the prices. “Anna Mae? What’s wrong?”

“I’m a little nervous,” she said leaning over to pick up a carton. “I guess sometimes I worry too much.”

Joey smiled. “You sound just like your mother.”

The hand holding the eggs stopped in mid-air. She stopped breathing. Had she heard right? Did he say what she thought he said? He did. He clearly said, ‘You sound like your mother.’

With two hands, she carefully carried the eggs to the counter and placed them beside the bread. She willed herself to sound calm. “Oh?” She looked up at him. “Do you know my mother?”

Joey paled. “I have to go.” He began walking away.

She grabbed his arm. “I asked you if you know my mother!”

“N…n—n—no. I don’t. I don’t know her.” He tried to pull away. She tightened her grip, pulling him down the aisle and behind a pyramid of Cheerio boxes.

“Joey! You said I sounded like my mother. How do you know that I sound like my mother?”

He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding her eyes.

Panicked, she struggled to think of what to say next—to keep him talking. She would have to lie. “It’s okay. I know that you and my mother are friends.”

“We are,” he said. “But she trusts me so I can’t tell you nothin.’”

At the front of the store, the double doors banged open and six rowdy teenage boys pushed and shoved each other up to the counter. Joey hurried to the front of the store leaving Anna Mae standing behind the Cheerios, paralyzed with excitement—and fear. Fear of what?

Vinko and Joey sent three of the boys outside. Anna Mae fought to control the turbulence inside her. Nobody; not Sarah, not Olga, not Walter, especially not Walter, ever talked about her mother. And now Joey. He knows her mother.

She moved slowly up the aisle, picking up a can of baked beans and a package of Twinkies as she went. At the front counter, she placed the new items next to the eggs and bread. Joey was gone. She tried to figure out if she had enough money, but it was useless. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t even count. Joey knew her mother! Finally, after fourteen years, she had something to go on. It was impossible to think of anything else.

She looked down the aisles and over the stacks of groceries. Joey was nowhere in sight. She walked past the meat counter to the doorway leading to the back room. There she saw a walk-in freezer, a crate of apples, cartons of cereal and a bushel of cabbage.

From behind her, Vinko asked, “Can I help you?”

“Where’s Joey?”

“He went out back to help unload a truck.”

“Oh.” Disappointment weakened her knees. She followed Vinko to the cash register where she gave him her four dollars. Vinko packed her purchases in a brown bag, rang up the register, and handed back a dollar bill and some change.

Outside, under the worn and dripping awning, the pigeons pecked at a piece of wet bagel.
He knows my mother.
She wrapped her arms around the brown grocery bag then started walking. It had stopped raining. The day-shift mill workers created a tangle of heavy traffic. In the haze of exhaust fumes, tempers were short, horns honked and at the first intersection a driver rolled down his window to yell at another who gave him the finger. Anna Mae hugged the bag of groceries and looked down at the cracks in the sidewalk. At the second intersection and against a red light, she stepped into the street. Tires squealed, a horn blasted and someone yelled, “Girl! Look where you’re going!”

He knows my mother.

A car clattered over the cobblestones close to the curb, splashing her with dirty water.

He knows my mother.

Despite the fact that her legs ached from the climb, she pressed herself to go faster.

Joey knows my mother.

Climbing the three steps to the porch, she could hear yelling inside. It seemed to be coming from the attic. She looked back to the street where she saw JD’s car in Walter’s spot. Walter’s car was parked further up the street. She placed the groceries on the porch swing while wondering if she should go inside. The yelling seemed to be coming from the second floor.

Suddenly, David shot out from behind the swing. “Gotcha!” 

She gasped. “Don’t do that!” She reached out and touched his blue jacket. It was soaked and his shoes were muddy. “How long have you been hiding back there?”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked into the bag. “Can I have a Twinkie?”

“I only bought one. It’s for your dad’s lunch.”

David crunched up his face, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue.

“Don’t do...”

A loud crash, combined with Walter’s, “You junkie son-of-a-bitch!” and Sarah’s, “Be careful! You’ll hurt him,” sent Anna Mae flying to the front door. She opened it a crack and saw JD half-falling, half-running down the second floor steps. He hurled himself towards the door. Before she could back away, he yanked it open, knocking her off balance and out of his way. He sprinted down the porch steps and into the street.

When Anna Mae regained her balance, she was looking straight into Walter’s blue work shirt. A powerful hand grabbed her by the shoulder. That’s the last thing she remembered.

Sunday morning

Anna Mae sat bolt upright in bed. The clock on the dresser said eleven fifteen. If she hurried, she could still make it to the last church service. Her back hurt and she felt as though she hadn’t had much sleep. She eased herself out of bed and limped into the hall. Walter’s snoring was loud enough to come through his closed bedroom door. If Walter was still sleeping, he more than likely had been drinking the night before. And if he had been drinking...

She went back to her room and pulled up the sleeve of her nightgown, checking for bruises. There were none. She looked around the room. Everything was in order. She looked in the mirror. Blue eyes underlined in puffy gray looked back at her. She tried to recall the previous night. It was useless. She picked up her hairbrush and began pulling it roughly through the blond tangles created by her restless sleep. Something bad had happened last night—like it always did when she didn’t remember.

When her hair was tangle free, she pulled it into a pony-tail then crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed, thinking that at least the family wouldn’t be forced to listen to any of Walter’s speeches today. Sometimes, if there was no Sunday football, Walter would herd Sarah, David, and Anna Mae—Stanley always managed to escape—into the living room where he would force them to listen to the ongoing problems that had plagued the steel industry from day one.

Anna Mae, David and Sarah would sit silently while Walter recapped recent events, then he raged on with detail after detail about how in the 30’s the steelworkers had endured bloody battles when they tried to form a union. Despite her loathing for her uncle, Anna Mae found much of his ranting interesting. She knew Walter had the intelligence to be an asset to the union or to be promoted to an easier job. Instead he drank, swore, and lashed out at everyone around him.

There were times when she almost felt sorry for him, like when he talked about how, during a particularly violent protest, his father was ruthlessly beaten by the police. His eyes would glaze over and Anna Mae suspected that after it was all over, his father passed his own beating onto young Walter. Once she almost asked Uncle Walter if his father had beaten him. But she lost her nerve.

During these tirades, Walter would get furious if he felt one of them was not paying attention. Anna Mae always sat as close to David as possible. If Walter went on too long, David drifted off. She would wait until Walter wasn’t looking then poke David in the ribs with her elbow.

About a month ago, her uncle was telling—for what seemed like the hundredth time—the story about how, under the leadership of the powerful John L. Lewis, workers finally got safer working conditions. As usual, Walter included details of the financial and legal disputes between union representatives and management. David didn’t understand a word of it. He nodded off and almost fell over. Fortunately, Walter, so caught up in what he was saying, didn’t see Anna Mae catch David before he hit the floor.

While David was bored to death, Sarah would pretend she understood. She’d nod when Walter was obviously stretching the truth—for instance that he, unlike his father who worked all the time—could stay home on Saturday and Sunday to rest, to go to church, to maybe have a beer or two. When did Walter ever go to church? Or have just two beers?

Six weeks ago, Walter was babbling on and on about accidents in the mill. He included gruesome details of men falling off beams or having arms or legs severed by the machines. That day, David was alert.

Last week, Walter had worked himself into a frenzy over increasing layoffs. Anna Mae had cringed at the filthy language.

“In nine goddamn years,” he roared, “over a hundred thousand fuckin’ steel workers have lost their jobs because of them stupid ass-hole union leaders! Not just here—all the mills! Pittsburgh! Youngstown! Aliquippa!

“The bastards aren’t satisfied with anything. They want more fuckin’ money, longer fuckin’ vacations. Some big shot shit heads got thirteen weeks! They’re gonna shut down all the mills! All of ‘em! Cause’ them stupid sons-a-bitches, I ain’t gonna’ have a job!”

Ringing church bells snapped her out of her reflections. She pulled her slippers out from under the bed. As she lifted her foot to put one on, her hands and leg stopped in mid-air. Did Walter get laid off? Is that why she couldn’t remember what happened last night? She quickly put on the other slipper, stood up, and reached for her pink chenille robe that was draped over a nearby chair. After putting it on, she leaned over her bed and pulled the flowered comforter up. She then lovingly placed the aged and tattered Susie against a pillow. Now she would go downstairs and find out what happened last night.

Out in the hall, Walter’s snoring was as loud as ever. She walked down the stairs carefully, each step accentuating the pain in her back.

The kitchen was dark and, she thought,
empty
. When she switched on the overhead light, she gasped. “Oh my God! What did he do to you?”

Sarah sat at the kitchen table, her faded flowered housecoat torn at the sleeve, the left side of her face a massive bruise, and her eye swollen shut. In the sudden glare of the ceiling light, her left hand flew up to cover the injured side of her face. There was a pint of Jack Daniel’s and half a glass of whisky on the table. Her right hand trembled as she reached for it.

Anna Mae didn’t know what to do. Aunt Sarah didn’t drink. Or had the years of living with Walter changed that? It didn’t matter now. She wanted to reach out, to comfort her aunt. But she couldn’t. Sarah never responded to Anna Mae’s attempts at physical affection.

Anna Mae watched as Sarah took a gulp of the whiskey. It sent her into a fit of coughing. She stood up, gasping for air. Rushing to the sink, Anna Mae filled a glass with cold water. Her aunt took the glass in both hands and drank small sips. Eventually the coughing stopped. Anna Mae took the glass and placed it on the counter as her compassion overcame her fear of rejection. She put her arms around her Aunt Sarah.

At first, Sarah was stiff and unyielding. Anna Mae held tighter. Several moments passed. Finally, her aunt’s taut body relaxed and her voice quivered as she tried to speak. But the words came out as a series of whimpers. Anna Mae stroked the tangled brown hair. Sarah dropped her head onto Anna Mae’s shoulder and began to cry.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Anna Mae said.

“No!”

She held Sarah at arm’s length. “Your face…have you looked in the mirror?”

Nodding, Sarah took a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed the tears beneath her swollen eye and blew her nose.

“I’ll go next door and get Olga,” Anna Mae said. “Her husband will take us.”

Sarah looked toward the kitchen doorway. “Shhhh, Walter will hear.” She moved a few steps to a chair and sat down. “We can’t tell Olga. We just can’t.”

Anna Mae knelt on the floor in front of Sarah. “We have to! Your eye—it might be really hurt.” She began to get up. “I’m going to get Olga.”

Sarah placed her hands on her niece’s shoulders, but Anna Mae persisted. “Please! Let us take you. He’s not going to wake up. You know he sleeps all day after a blow up.”

Sarah leaned forward cupping Anna Mae’s chin in her hand. “You’re a good girl, Annie. We’ll just make more trouble if we go.”

Anna Mae desperately wanted to know what else had taken place the night before. She would have to choose her words carefully. In all these years she had managed to bluff her way through, keeping her lost time a secret, even from Sarah. She would have to risk asking something and decided upon: “Did Uncle Walter get laid off?”

“No,” said Sarah. “Not that I know of.”

So far so good.
She tried again. “I really don’t understand why Uncle Walter gets so upset about things like that.”

“About the drugs?” said Sarah. “Walter caught Stanley red handed and—you heard him—he blamed me. He always blames me. I didn’t even know that Stanley and his friend were in the attic.”

So that was it.
Anna Mae put her hand lightly across Sarah’s lips. “Shhhh. Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.”

Anna Mae rubbed her forehead. Could she have done something to prevent the blow-up? Probably not. If she had tried to break up Stanley and JD’s little party, they would have laughed and sent her away. Or asked her to join them.

Anna Mae winced as a new wave of pain squeezed across her back.

She looked beyond her aunt to a chair that lay broken in the corner.

Sarah turned to look at the chair. “Is that what he hit you with?”

“I think so,” Anna Mae said, aghast at the condition of the chair. “It all happened so fast.”

David appeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide with shock and anger. “I’ll kill him!” He flew across the room and buried his face his mother’s lap, sobbing, “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!”

Half an hour later, Sarah and Anna Mae sat at the kitchen table, their chairs pulled close together. The bottle and glass of whiskey were gone, and Sarah, despite the angry cut on her lip, was sipping a cup of hot tea. David sat at the far end of the table spooning circles in a bowl of Corn Flakes.

“Finish your cereal,” said Anna Mae softly. 

“I’m not hungry.”