Hope's Angel (13 page)

“I’m
going to UVM. You?”

“I
work at the Fairbanks Museum.” David turned toward Papa and held out his hand.
“
Signore Balestra.
It’s good to see you again.”

David
joined the other men before the TV, and Gianna followed Connie back into the
kitchen. Nonna and Mamma left the couch to put out the food, while Angie
finished setting the dining room table. When the men came to sit, the table was
laden with bowls of food and two bottles of Papa’s homemade red wine.

Everyone
bent their heads while Papa said grace in his heavily accented English. Greg
sat immobile as the Catholics around him made the Sign of the Cross at the
beginning and end of the prayer, and from across the table, Nonna watched him,
her face tight with disapproval. She muttered something in Italian that only Mamma,
who was sitting beside her, could hear. Mamma shook her head but said nothing,
turning her attention to acquiring the bowl of pasta and passing it to her
mother-in-law. In true Italian tradition, Nonna would begin her meal with only
pasta, saving the meat and side dishes for her second course. Everyone else at
the table had adopted the American habit of combining everything into a single
course.

They
ate in relative silence, the only sounds being requests to pass something and
words of approval regarding the food itself. Whether out of nervousness or
taking his cue from the rest of the family, Greg concentrated on eating and did
not attempt to make small talk during dinner, although he smiled approvingly at
Connie several times.

When
everyone was finished, Connie and her sisters cleared the table and replaced
the bowls and platters with baskets of fruit and mixed nuts in their shells.
Angie distributed nutcrackers, picks, and napkins, while Gianna poured coffee
into individual cups and Connie delivered condiments and a dish of biscotti.

David’s
attention was on Greg as others busied themselves attempting to crack the hard
shells of the nuts. “So, Greg, how’s life at UVM?”

Greg
looked up from the walnut meat he was prying from its shell. “Good.”

“What
year are you?”

“Junior.”

David’s
gaze remained on Greg’s face. “Looking forward to Winter Carnival?”

Greg’s
eyebrows knit together in the hint of a frown as he gave David a small,
questioning smile. “Not particularly.” He glanced at Connie, seated beside him,
then returned his attentions to the walnut in his hand.

Connie
gave David a quizzical smile, but he looked past her, continuing to stare at
Greg.

“Which
frat are you in?” David asked.

Greg
looked up at him once more, his smile gone. “I’m not. Why?”

“No
reason.”

His
jaw tensed as he set down the nutpick and stared down the table at David. “Like
hell. Why don’t you just say it?”

Gianna’s
eyes went wide as she turned from David to Greg and back to David. “Say what?” She
looked across the table at Connie. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

Connie
nodded, her stomach in a knot. She had never expected this from David,
especially not at her parents’ dinner table.

“My
mistake,” David said. “This is hardly the time or the place. Sorry.” He turned
toward Gianna and put his arm around her shoulders as if to apologize, and out
of the corner of her eye Connie saw Greg stiffen. She realized then that he had
not considered David might be there as Gianna’s boyfriend.

“Well,
you’re not getting off that easily.” Gianna scowled at David. “What are you talking
about?”

Everyone
at the table, except Nonna, was staring at David. Nonna continued to slice the
pear she had taken from the basket, apparently oblivious to the drama occurring
around her.

David
grimaced. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Sorry.” He gave Gianna a contrite
smile.

“He’s
talking about the Kake Walk,” Greg said angrily, and Connie closed her eyes in
exasperation. She had hoped they had dodged that bullet.

Angie
leaned forward from Connie’s left side and peered around her at Greg. “The cake
walk? What’s that?”

Greg
gestured with his chin toward David. “Ask him. He brought it up.”

David’s
eyes shifted to meet Angie’s. “It’s a special minstrel show the frat boys at
UVM put on every year at Winter Carnival.” Connie saw the muscle in his jaw
twitch as it had in the Main Street Diner when he was angry. “They wear
blackface and kinky wigs and ‘walk fo’ de cake’ like black slaves.”

Angie
shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

Connie
glowered at David. “It’s a stupid tradition that goes back to the turn of the
century. Lots of students are against it. And they’ve changed the blackface to
green, and they have to wear straight-hair wigs.”

“I
still don’t get it,” Angie said. “Why bother?”

“Dark
green. It doesn’t change anything.” David stared back at Connie. “They speak in
dialect—how they think black slaves talked—and make asses of themselves, but
it’s the biggest event on campus.”

Connie
turned to Angie. “It’s a competition among fraternities. Two guys from each
fraternity dress up and parade around and do stupid things, and they’re too
dumb to realize they’re mocking black people and it’s inappropriate.”

“You
don’t think they know what they’re doing?” Gianna’s voice cracked with disbelief.

David
caught Connie’s eye once more. “You and I were talking about the KKK in Vermont
not that long ago, remember? Did you know that sometimes they spell Kake Walk
with all three of the K’s capitalized? And that it used to be called Kullen
Koon’s Kake Walk?”

Connie
sighed. “I’ve heard that, yeah. I’m not defending it, David. I’m agreeing with
you. It’s a worthless, asinine thing that’s been going on for decades. I’ve
never gone.” She glanced at Greg. “Have you?”

He
looked away from her and picked up the walnut pieces once more. “Once. When I
was a freshman. I didn’t go again.” His chest rose and fell beneath his sport
coat as he drew a deep breath; he was obviously agitated. Connie moved her hand
beneath the table and rested it on the soft fabric covering his thigh as a
gesture of support.

At
either end of the table, Mamma and Papa watched and listened, their eyes moving
from one young person to the other, their faces solemn.

“I’m
sorry,” David said, letting out a sigh. He looked down the table at Greg. “I
never should have brought it up. I’m sorry, man.”

Connie
glanced at Greg. His eyes were on the walnut sitting idly in his hands, his jaw
clenched tight enough to make the tendons in his neck bulge. “Yeah. Me, too.”
He turned to Connie, his eyes cold. “I’m going to head out. I’m kind of behind
on my homework. Thanks for dinner.”

Before
she could respond, he twisted to his right toward Mamma, moving his leg out
from beneath Connie’s hand. “Mrs. Balestra, thank you for a wonderful dinner.
I’m afraid I have to go.” Mamma’s hesitant smile showed her confusion as she
thanked him for coming. Guests usually stayed through dessert and coffee,
lingering to chat.

“Greg—”
Connie stood up, frowning at him as he rose to his feet and pushed in his chair.

 Across
the way, David stood up as well. “Hey, man—”

Greg
left no doubt about his intentions as he said to Connie between clenched teeth,
“I really need to go.”

“I’ll
walk you out.” She stared into his eyes, hoping he would realize that she didn’t
want him to leave, but Greg just looked away. He stopped to shake Papa’s hand
and thank him for his hospitality and to say good-bye to Nonna, then headed through
the kitchen to the backdoor. Connie hurried to keep up with him.

“Greg—”

He
opened the door and stepped outside onto the small landing at the top of the
stairs, and Connie stepped out behind him. Coldness engulfed her. Darkness had
descended, and tonight the full moon was hidden behind heavy clouds, leaving
the unlit areas beyond the stairs a black no-man’s land. She reached out to
grab his arm before he could start down the stairs.

“Greg,
please—”

He
swung around, the rage in his eyes barely under control. “You set me up in
there.”

Connie’s
heart fluttered nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“You
never told me your sister’s boyfriend was a black activist.”

“A
black
activist
? Or black?”

Greg’s
eyes narrowed. “Don’t
you
go laying some bigot thing on me, too! I
barely meet the guy, and he starts accusing me of something I have nothing to
do with! And why? Because I’m white? Because I wasn’t born in a ghetto? Who’s racist
now?” He yanked his arm free from Connie’s grip and started down the narrow
stairway.

Connie
followed one step behind him. “Greg! Stop! I don’t think he meant anything by
it! I mean, once we talked about the KKK in Vermont, but it was about them
trying to get rid of immigrants. Catholics. And I know he worked some down
south, but—”

Greg
reached the bottom of the stairs and made a sharp turn toward the street.

“Are
you listening to me?” Connie called as she ran after him. “He was going to be a
priest!”

Greg
spun around. “So what? You haven’t heard of activist priests? The Berrigan
brothers? That Groppi guy in Milwaukee? I don’t care if he’s a priest or a drug
dealer, he had no reason to take his shit out on me!”

Connie
ran up and rested her hand on his arm. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know
he’d do that. None of us knew.” She stared into his eyes, silently pleading for
him to calm down and come back.

Greg
took a step backward out of her reach, then turned away from her and covered
the last few feet to his car.

Connie
let him go. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she called after him.

He
stepped out into the street and rounded the rear end of his Mustang, then
paused on the far side of the car to look over the roof at her. “I can’t. I’m
sorry, but I need some time to think.”

Panic
gripped her. He couldn’t mean that. Her voice sounded slightly hysterical but
she no longer cared. “Nothing he said has
anything
to do with me or my
family.”

“It
was all said in
front
of your family.” Greg leaned down to unlock the
driver’s side door, then looked at her once more over the roof. “You need to
think, too, Connie. We’re different in a lot of ways.”

“Is
that a bad thing?”

“I
don’t know.” He bent to get into his car.

“Does
it bother you that my sister’s boyfriend is black?” she called. She feared his
reaction to her boldness, yet she needed to know.

Greg
stood tall once more, his face pained, his voice weary.“Believe it or not, I
don’t care. It would have been nice to know that ahead of time, but you didn’t
find it necessary to show me that courtesy.”

“Why
would it matter if you don’t care?” Connie’s voice was on the verge of
breaking, and she struggled to keep her composure.

His
lip curled as he answered, “I don’t care what your sister does, okay, or who
she does it with. But things like that don’t go on around here. It’s a surprise
to us
privileged, racist, white college guys
—even those of us who don’t
join frats. It takes some getting used to. Like it or not, that’s how it is.
That’s how
I
am. Good night, Connie.”

Greg
got into the Mustang, and Connie stood her ground, watching him drive away
while tears streamed down her face. It was only after he had turned the corner
and driven out of sight that she realized how cold she was, standing alone in
the frigid, empty darkness.

Chapter Twelve

Monday,
October 14

Connie
drove herself to class on Monday. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and her
head throbbed. But mid-terms were coming up, and she couldn’t afford to stay
home over the incident with Greg.

Marilyn
had saved a seat for her in the front row of history class. “So, big weekend
for you?” she asked as Connie settled in.

 Connie
bent over to put her books on the floor beside the wooden chair. “Not really.”

“Columbus
Day weekend? Isn’t that a biggie for Italians?”

“Not
this one.” Connie sat up and set her textbook on the wide arm of the chair that
served as a desk.

“Wow,
we’re grumpy today,” Marilyn said. “Oh, wait, this was the Bunny pot party
weekend, wasn’t it?” She peered into Connie’s face. “Oh, no, did that turn out bad?
Was good old Greg a creep?”

Connie
flopped open her textbook and stared at the first thing she saw. “I don’t want
to talk about Greg.”

“Oh,
geez.”

When
she didn’t respond, Marilyn said, “Have you stopped riding with him?”

“For
now.”

“For
now? So, does that mean he was only a partial creep?”

Was
she really going to belabor this?
Connie
sighed. “He wasn’t a creep at all. He got into an argument with Gianna’s
boyfriend at dinner yesterday, and he went away mad.”

“Mad
at you?”

“I
guess. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,
but—wait a minute.” Marilyn leaned closer. “Did you say dinner? At your house?”

Connie
drew a deep breath. She knew what was coming. “Yes.”

“You
invited him to your house?” Marilyn sounded incredulous. “Already?”

“My
mother insisted on it.”

A
look of self-satisfaction crossed Marilyn’s face as she sat back in her chair.
“So this was, like, a real date—this thing on Saturday. You and Greg.”

Okay,
give her credit for predicting we would date, and then maybe she’ll drop it.
“Yeah, I guess.”

“I
knew it! So, how was it?”

Connie
shrugged. “A little weird. I smoked too much and got a little paranoid, I
guess. I don’t know. But he was a perfect gentleman.”

“That’s
too bad.”

Connie
glanced at Marilyn’s sympathetic pout and burst out laughing. “Yeah, it kind of
was.”

***

The
whole day passed without any sign of Greg. His Mustang was not parked in the
commuter lot they usually used. Connie hung out in the vicinity of his Russian
class at the change of periods, but he never showed. She doubted that the
interchange with David had been severe enough to keep him from coming to
school. He was definitely avoiding her.

The
remainder of the week was not much different. On Thursday afternoon, she saw
him across the university green walking with friends, but she told herself she
no longer cared. That evening she sat in her car and let her sobs relieve the
tension that had been building for days. Then, she resolved to put him out of
her mind and drove home alone as she had been doing all week.

She
was studying in her room on Thursday evening when Angie told her she had a phone
call.

“Hey,
Con.” The smooth masculine voice brought a smile to her face.

She
leaned her shoulder against the kitchen wall beside the phone. “Hey, Paul.”

“Any
chance we can go out for that pizza this Saturday?” The lilt of his voice
brought to mind his slow, suggestive smile, the one that made her insides
contract.

“Sure.
What time?”

“Well,
I’ve got to work, but I should be done by four, four-thirty. There’s a new
place in Barre—Dante’s Inferno. I thought maybe we could go there. Five o’clock
okay? Then if we’re lucky, we could still hit the movies.”

Connie
closed her eyes and pictured his wonderful face. “Sure. That sounds great.”

“Good.
I’ll pick you up at five.”

Angie
was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning over her homework, but her attention
was on Connie as the latter hung up the receiver. “Going out with Paul?”

“Yup.”
At least Angie could no longer ridicule her for two-timing Greg.

“Wow.
The
Paul Cefalu! You’ll be alone with him in the car, sitting so close.”
Angie started making exaggerated kissing noises.

“Stop
it. That’s awful.” Connie feigned disgust. “And don’t expect any details.” She left
the kitchen and headed down the hall toward her bedroom. Excess adrenaline had
her nerve endings tingling. As soon as she was out of Angie’s sight, she danced
a little jig to burn it off.

***

Friday
dragged. Marilyn had taken a three-day weekend to visit her grandmother in
upstate New York and wasn’t there to hear Connie’s exciting news. None of Connie’s
other college friends were girls with whom she was willing to share the details
of her personal life.

One,
a former classmate from Stoneham, had actually dated Paul in high school.
Remembering that fact brought Connie back down to earth. She wasn’t anywhere
near the first girl to go out with Paul Cefalu, and chances were, she wouldn’t
be the last. Furthermore, she had no idea how he would be on a date. While he
had emulated The Fonz in high school, he was now three years older and,
hopefully, more grown up. The bigger question was, why was he finally asking
her out? And would she live to regret it?

She
was sitting on a stone bench in the afternoon sun, second-guessing his
intentions, when someone sat down beside her. She turned and found herself shoulder
to shoulder with Greg.

His
gray eyes were sorrowful. “I, um, don’t exactly know what to say.” He waited,
watching her as if he hoped she would help him out, perhaps tell him he didn’t
need to say anything. When she didn’t answer, he said, “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“You
probably think I’m acting like an ass,” he said.

Connie
saw no reason to mince words. “I’m not really thinking about you much, to be
honest.”

“Oh.
Okay. Well, I’ve been thinking about you.” He looked away toward the library across
the street. “I… overreacted, I guess. In taking it out on you, I mean. You
weren’t responsible.”

“I
think I tried to tell you that.”

“Yeah,
I know.” Greg sighed. “I’m wondering if we can go do something tomorrow night.
Just forget this all happened and pick up where we were. Whatever you want.
Dinner. A movie. Maybe go dancing somewhere.”

Connie
bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I can’t. I’m busy.”

Greg
gave her an exasperated look. “Connie, come on. I’m sorry, okay? What do I have
to do? Get down on my knees and beg?”

“I’m
not kidding, Greg. I’m busy.”

“Doing
what?”

Connie
frowned at him. “None of your business.”

“Come
on. I was stupid, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be like this.”

Was
he serious?
“You spent a whole
week avoiding me. You didn’t even park in the same lot.”

Greg
looked annoyed. “Actually, my car broke down, and it’s been in Swazey’s garage
over on Pine Street all week. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in my friend
Jim’s apartment.”

“You’re
kidding!” Connie’s jaw dropped. “And you
still
didn’t come find me? You
were that stubborn?”

Greg
pressed his lips together and looked away. “At first I was just mad. And then I
was afraid you’d think that was the only reason I was coming back—to  get a
ride.”

Connie
didn’t know if she should believe him or not, but it didn’t matter. A week
without him had sent her life in a different direction. “I’ve got a date
tomorrow night,” she said.

Greg
sat silently for a moment, then said, “Okay. Then how about Sunday?”

She
shook her head. “I think we should just go back to carpooling. For now, at
least. Unless you don’t want to.”

He
stared off into the distance. “If that’s what you want.”

“For
now.”

Greg
stood up from the bench without looking at her. “Okay. I’ll pick you up on
Monday, if that’s all right. I get my car back this afternoon.”

“I’ll
see you Monday.”

***

Connie
spent Saturday morning helping her mother in the laundry. In the afternoon she ran
register for her father. She had worked on her statistics paper the night
before, staying late at the library in order to get it done. She would finish
the remainder of her homework on Sunday.

Angie
was out at the homecoming football game with friends. Connie secretly hoped she
would match up with the boy who had wanted to take her to the game and dance,
and that maybe her still-glum spirits would lift.

Gianna
had taken a daytrip to Boston with David to meet his widowed mother. They had
left early that morning, before Connie was out of bed, and she was just as
happy to have missed him. She hadn’t seen David since Sunday’s aborted dinner,
and that was fine with her. Gianna had apologized multiple times for his
behavior, until finally Connie had told her to stop, reminding Gianna that she
wasn’t responsible for his actions. When Gianna left angry, Connie realized
that her sister had hoped for reassurance that David had done nothing wrong.
But that would not be forthcoming. Connie’s evening with Greg could have been
the beginning of something special, but now it was tainted by anger and distrust
that would take a while to forgive and forget.

At
four o’clock, Connie left the store and went upstairs to get ready for her date
with Paul. She took a shower and washed her hair, then brushed it vigorously to
tone down the natural curl as it dried. Instead of the gauzy peasant blouse and
colorful tiered skirt she had worn the week before, she chose tight black
pants, a black turtleneck, and shiny black knee-high boots. Large hoop earrings
finished the outfit, and when Paul arrived at her backdoor, she slipped on a soft
red Nehru jacket.

He
looked her up and down with unabashed admiration, a wide grin on his face.
“Holy shit.” When his eyes met hers, they were shining with approval. “God, you
look amazing.”

She
gave him a teasing grin, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows.
“Thank you.” She looked him up and down with equal abandon. “You look pretty
good yourself.”

Paul
stepped out onto the porch and let her go down the stairs ahead of him. When
they reached the bottom, he stepped up beside her as she headed for the street.
They were basically the same height, and his incredible eyes were level with
her eyes as they walked to his car. “I can’t believe it took us this long to get
together,” he said, watching her.

When
she answered, “Me, neither,” he laughed.

“Actually,
it was because of Nino,” he said. “But you probably know that. He was jealous
as hell about you. Even when you weren’t going out anymore, he made it clear he
didn’t expect to see anybody else with you.”

“And
you honored that… until now.”

“He
knew I’d ask you out after he left. He said he was all right with it.”

They
had reached Paul’s car, a dark blue, souped-up Ford Fairlane GT. He opened the
passenger side door for Connie, and she slipped inside, thinking about her last
conversation with Nino. The way she remembered it, Nino had been defensive
about the prospect of her going out with Paul.

“By
the way, Frankie’s ma got a letter,” Paul said as he slid in behind the
steering wheel. “They’re doing okay. He didn’t say much, of course. It was pretty
short.”

“Well,
at least one of them writes.”

They
made small talk as he drove the twelve miles to downtown Barre and pulled into
the public parking area behind the buildings on Main Street. As they walked
through the lot to reach access to Main Street, Paul rested his hand on the
small of Connie’s back, sending a shiver of excitement through her that she
fought to contain.