The Things You Kiss Goodbye (8 page)

Tony startled me. He whispered, “She’s doing good today.”

“She looks the same,” I whispered back. “Just tired. She told me it’s the treatments.”

“Hmm, it takes a lot out of her but then she recovers and she’s almost herself.”

“Nice job on the flowers,” I said, poking a thumb toward the window.

“Hey, she told me what she wanted. From there it’s just hoping I get it right.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “But you
did
.”

“Yeah, and in a month it’ll be time to change to those purple cabbage things,” he said. “Anyway, thanks again. It’s nice you came to see her. She does better when people come around. Her energy picks up. She likes the attention and—” He clammed up then, lips in a tight smile. The queen was returning.

Regina sat back on the bed slowly. She was only somewhat careful not to let her gown ride up as she settled one leg and then the other in front of her. I could not help but stare at her legs, stretched bare from her knees to her toes. Her skin was that beautiful, coffee-with-cream color and it fit smoothly over her toned muscles. “These legs,” she said as if she could read my mind, “are just too much. Like honey to the bees these legs are to men.”

“Nonna!” Tony shifted and laughed but in an adoring way.

“It’s true! And it’s a Goddamn good thing I’m taking these legs with me. Not another woman alive who’d know what to
do with these. Look at me.” Regina pointed her painted toes. “These legs are sixty-six years old and they’re almost the same as when I’m sixteen.” She settled against her pillows.

“Let me see
your
legs.” Regina was looking right at me and I opened my eyes wide. It just so happened I was wearing jeans. She waved a hand at me, “Go ahead. Drop your pants,” she said.

I shot a glance at Tony.

“Uh . . . Nonna! Bettina is our
guest
,” he said.

“Yeah, and you’ve seen a lot more than her legs.”

“What?”
I gasped.

“He’s seen a lot more than your legs,” she repeated. Tony sat back in his chair and briefly hid behind one of his hands. “You two used to go bare-asses in one of those little swim pools out back. Or maybe in my fountain. Hey, one of you kids made a poopa in it one time. Was it you?”

“Nonna!” Tony protested again.

“Oh, all right, all right. Never mind. I’m getting tired anyway,” Regina said. “It’s not the disease ya know, it’s the Goddamn cure that’ll kill you—this radiation.” Regina slouched down, and reached for her afghan. “They do my head ’cause they see some little spot or shadow up there and then I get Goddamn diarrhea from it. Who can figure that out? You come see me again, Bettina. And leave him downstairs.” She flapped a hand at Tony. “You and I will talk about
legs and your boyfriend and good stuff beyond that.” She yawned while I forced a little smile and nodded.

“Tuesdays,” she added, her index finger coming at me like a dart. “And you, Tony, you’re going to look at my fountain next, and fix it. Did he tell you what happened?” She looked at me and I shook my head. “My pipi bambino got his winky knocked off. No happy spray. It runs down his leg instead. For a year now!” she added.

“Not quite a year . . .” Tony said. He began to explain. “Halloween night. Somebody tipped him and, well, like my nonna says . . .”

“Broken winky,” Regina said. She yawned again. She nestled into her velvet pillows, pulled the afghan up to her chin. “Tuesdays,” she said, and she closed her eyes.

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HarperCollins Publishers

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T
HE THING
I
NEVER SAID OUT LOUD WAS THAT EVEN
though I looked for reasons to stay after school, I liked being home for dinner. It was the one time of day I felt connected to my parents. Setting the table was something I could do without being criticized, and I knew how to help serve the meal. Momma was a good cook and, on busy days when she had to run the boys here and there, Bampas brought home something fabulous from his restaurant. It crossed my mind that if I were still going to dance lessons now, we’d be racing home from three different directions and have absolute chaos at the dinner hour.

Sometimes though, I just had to do it—stop and risk a
high, steady arabesque right in front of the china cupboard. I’d watch for the reflection in the glass as I tried to point my toe inside my stiff boot. Bampas caught me in just such a pose the night after I’d seen Regina Colletti,
and
I had a basket of warmed bread balanced on the fingertips of one hand, no less.

“Bettina, my dining room is not a dance studio,” he muttered.

I drew down to a curtsy and set the bread basket gently on the table.

“How did Mrs. Colletti seem?” Momma called from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh, yes,” Bampas said, remembering. “You saw her today?”

“Yes. Hmm . . . she seemed less than she once was,” I said. I told them about the radiation sickness, the way Tony was pitching in to care for her. “She liked visiting. She wants me to come again,” I said. “On Tuesdays.”

“Tuesdays?” Bampas held the
s
on the end. “
All
Tuesdays?” He scowled. He stood beside the table and began to count my life off on his fingers. “So then you are cheerleading on all the Wednesdays. You are with Mrs. Colletti all the Tuesdays. You want to see the boyfriend on Friday night and Saturday night.” He was beginning to drone on. “Soon you are gone from home more days than not.”

“Well, do you want me to tell Regina—I mean, Mrs. Colletti, no then? Because, actually, Bampas, there’s something else. The cheerleaders are adding a practice on Mondays. And sometimes Fridays, too.” (Okay, I was accelerating things. But it would be true at some point, and I needed to get him used to the idea.) Bampas shook his head and put on a frown.

“No, no. You’ll come home.”

“Bampas, remember, I told you when I made the squad, it would eventually be every day after school?”

“Dinos, she did tell us this,” Mama said softly as she came in from the kitchen.

“Yes, and if you remember, Loreena, she did not ask permission to join in the first place,” Bampas said.

“Well, just the same . . .” Momma’s broad lips made a gentle smile.

Why does she always sound like she is apologizing to him?
I wondered. She set a heavy, steaming dish of lamb and lentils down on a trivet and motioned at me. “Bettina, your bampas will need the serving spoon from the sideboard.” She touched my father’s sleeve and said, “I’ll call the boys.”

My father turned to me. “Perhaps you should stay late once winter comes and the basketball begins,” he said, “but it is not even October yet.” He set to filling plates and handing them to me. I adjusted place settings as I put each one down.

“Well, it’s not really my decision,” I said.

“No. It is
mine
.”

“You are going to tell the cheerleaders when to practice, Bampas?” I tried a coy smile but he missed it.

“Don’t be fresh,” he said calmly. Neither of us had missed a beat with the supper, and I set the last plate at my own spot. The boys came rushing in and slid into their chairs.

“Hey, never have to call you guys twice, huh?” I said.

“Lamb!” Avel said, and he rubbed his palms together. “I knew it! I smelled it!”

Momma handed me the water pitcher and I started around the table with it. “Bampas, I wasn’t being fresh. Just saying that practice is a school decision.” He did not respond. He looked at the table as if checking to see that everything was in order. I knew these moments. This was when I had little to lose. “Bampas?” I said, “what I really want to ask is if you will just allow me to stay after school every day?”

I felt Momma watching this. Sometimes you just know when someone in a room is holding little bit of breath for you.

“No!” Bampas scoffed. “There is no reason.”

“But I will always have something to do,” I suggested. “If I am not cheering, I’ll be in the art room or the library, or over at the Collettis’ on Tuesdays—”

“Collettis’? You meant Tony?” Favian asked. “Aw, we never see him anymore.”

“Or visiting with Brady before his practice,” I went on. I
had not and would not mention that possibly hanging out at Unit 37 once in a while was also on my mind.

Bampas clanked the serving spoon into the dish and stared me down. “You are asking for your momma or me to do extra driving all over here and there to pick you up every day? Look around the table, Bettina. How many family members do you see?” Avel gave me some help, slowly opening up one hand with five fingers spread wide.

“I see everyone,” I said, trying not to laugh at my brother. I explained to my father that I would be on a loop that pretty much coordinated with Favian’s and Avel’s activities. At this, I saw my mother nod slightly. If only she would pipe up! Instead, I was on my own. I told Bampas, “I can always borrow someone’s phone if we need to be in touch, and Brady will drive me home, or Tony, and maybe other kids can—”

“Oh, no, no, no! You won’t be in cars with just everyone,” Bampas said firmly. “I will look at my schedule and let you know what I decide. Let us eat our supper now.”

“I can also walk.” I couldn’t help adding. “I actually like walking. I’ll get myself wherever you or Momma say—”

Bampas knocked his knuckles against the table.
“Siopi!”
Something actually flew from his lips when he said it. He seemed even more flustered as he gathered a napkin over his mouth.

I knew to do like he said and shut up.

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I
T WAS A LOUSY TIME, LOUSY DAY FOR ME TO VISIT THE
dentist. First, leaving at 12:45 would mean missing the end of art class. Second, I had to check in at the office first thing in the morning, get my excuse confirmed with a phone call home, and wait for a med pass. There was always a line. That meant no time to take Cowboy a coffee. I had been trying to get back there. This day, I’d only just catch Brady at my locker. He told me something was up for Friday night, and once again, he wanted me there with him. “We’ll work it out,” he said. He gave my braid a gentle tug and took off.

That afternoon, Mr. Terrazzi presented the new project for our Commercial Graphics class. He had created a
company—something to do with garden sheds. We were supposed to come up with a logo first, then a complete graphic design package. As he put slides of examples up, I listened to comments and wisecracks alike. I’d figured out that when it comes to any kind of art, you get information from every reaction.

When he brought the lights up, my head was already swimming with ideas. The art room was the one place at school where I spoke up. I put up my hand when Mr. T called for questions.

“So, the graphics come before the product, right? I mean, as far as what the public sees. The logo gets the first reaction.”

“Exactly!” Mr. T tossed a marker into the air and caught it again.

“Okay, so I’m wondering . . . will you let me do my own company instead of the one you made up?”

“Ack!” He pretended to stab himself in the chest. He feigned pain. “I have three kids of my own and they bargain with me all day long, Miss Vasilis.”

“But I have this idea. . . .”

“Fast food for vampires?” He bit the cap off the marker and had everyone laughing. “No, wait . . . a drive-up tattoo parlor?” More laughing. “Okay, okay. Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I want to mock up a coffee shop,” I told him, “but something out of the ordinary.” Across the room by the door I heard Big Bonnie Swenson let out an envious sort of sigh. “I’m picturing a Steampunk theme—with paintings on the walls of machines that grind the coffee with big wheels that go around,” I added.

“Well . . . then we have to adjust the assignment,” he said slowly. He thought for a moment. Then he glanced up at the whole class. “That means the same opportunity is open to any of you. Fair is fair—”

“Yes!” I heard Bonnie say. “Oh, so cool!”

“But, but, but! If you choose to go your own way, I want more. And you have to get it right.” He began to address me for the benefit of others. “So, for a coffee shop, you still need a logo, but let’s also see you design a menu, a paper cup—and signage for the front of the shop. It’s more work,” he warned. “Think it through. But also, feel free to go the extra mile on this.” He gave me a nod. “By the way,” he said, speaking just to me, “I think that’s ‘gears’ on the grinders. Not ‘wheels.’ Just a thought. I like it,” he added.

I had only minutes to start before I had to leave for that stinking dental appointment. I began to mock up a menu. I didn’t get very far. I flashed my med pass at Mr. T and he nodded. Big Bonnie tagged my arm as I headed out. She whispered, “You just made this project a ton more interesting.”

I paused beside her chair with my backpack over one shoulder. “Oh . . . good.”

“I can’t wait to see what you design!” she squeaked.

“Yeah, me either,” I said with a laugh. “I’m probably a fool.”

Halfway down the hall I realized that, in truth, I couldn’t wait to see what Bonnie came up with. I wished I’d said so.

I thought Momma was all set to pick me up and take me to the appointment. So, when it was Bampas who met me in the school office, I was surprised.

“I have quick business in the area,” he said, and punched the button for the automatic door. “How was your morning?” he asked in a perfunctory way.

“Fine,” I said. “We have a new assignment in Commercial Graphics and we—”

“Hold,” Bampas interrupted, and that’s when I heard the buzzing sound. He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out his phone. He was on the line all the way from school to the dentist. I was used to his business calls. I often wrote the dialogue for would-be conversations between Bampas and me inside my own head. This time he might have really been interested. Business and design coming together—that would be his thing. Oh, well. I watched the buildings go by and wondered which ones I could turn into coffee shops.