Songs in Ordinary Time (20 page)

When Norm saw Omar take her chair at the head of the table, he gave a snide snort and sprawled in his seat.

“Just so you’ll know, I’m not working for any creep this summer,” he said, looking up as she tied her apron around Benjy’s neck. His white collar was yellowed and frayed, and obviously too big. “Damn,” she muttered, then caught herself as Benjy glanced up at her.
Be calm. Tonight is special
.

“Well, I’m not,” Norm said, then winced. “Ow!” he cried, grabbing his leg where Alice had kicked it. “Do it again!” he warned raising his hand.

“Go ahead!”

“Grow up!” Alice hissed.

“Let us now give thanks,” Omar Duvall said, bowing his head. “Dear Lord,” he began, his prayerful ebullience clearly intended to drown Norm’s anger.

Marie stood by her chair and surveyed the table nervously.

“Amen!” Omar concluded brightly, shaking out his paper napkin as daintily as if it were linen.

“Amen,” Alice and Benjy echoed softly.

“Praise the Lord!” Norm called loudly, and Marie stared at him.

“And pass the blessed butter!” Omar called even louder.

Alice and Benjy looked around, then laughed.

“And send down them holy rolls!” Norm shouted.

Now they were all laughing. Marie pulled out her chair, then turned abruptly to the closed curtains above the sink and with a defiant sweep pushed them open. Next door, on their back porch, Harvey and Jessie Klubock’s heads flicked in surprise at the naked window. Jessie’s hand lifted in an uncertain wave. Marie turned away quickly. Tonight the nosy Klubocks could look all they wanted. Tonight her oldest child graduated from high school. Tonight was special. She even had a cake from the bakery that said
Best Wishes, Alice
in blue icing.

“Well! What’re you waiting for?” She laughed self-consciously when she realized Omar and the children were looking at her. They had been waiting for her to sit down. “Go ahead! Start eating!” She waved for them to start and felt her face flush as she sat down and lit the candle. The wick flickered 94 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

hesitantly, then licked upward into a bright yellow tongue. Too happy to even lift her fork, she watched them eat, her temple moistening with this sudden warmth that bled through her like the bursting of some feverish organ. She loved them.

I love you all
, she thought. And it had been so long since she had felt or even thought of love that now the sense of it so startled her with its purity, with its ferocity, that her hand flew to her throat with giddiness and she wanted to pound her fist on the table and bellow,
My God, how I love you all
!

Somber Alice, who could not bear to be touched, who even as a child would not be held; Alice inside Alice inside Alice inside Alice, who smiled and told her nothing. And strong handsome Norman, whose soul was stalked by the same angry cunning tiger that stalked hers, fierce son, fierce, fierce son. And Benjamin, in whose eyes the flame was now a dazzling orange iris, this sweet and gentle son who hid from all things cruel and hard.
And
you
, she thought, lowering her eyes from Omar’s.

She could not say it. They know, she told herself. They must know. She slumped in her chair, hands limp in her lap; feeling drained, diminished now by the passing of peas and butter and the clatter of a fork and the pouring of milk into cups and their one unbroken glass. The candle flame bent and glinted on the chipped rim of Omar’s plate, and she was alarmed that she had not given him a better one, but looking around, saw that they were all like that, the five she owned, grained with hairline splits, one so cracked—this one, hers—that now, as she began to cut her steak, her elbows stiffened, and she dared not press too firmly on the knife for fear the plate might break in two, spilling the meat’s juice like blood onto this cloth cut from an old sheet, the stain seeping through the threads, spreading red, red like some terrible wakening evidence of her shame, of her failure. No, no, she thought, getting up quickly to open the window, for suddenly there was no air to breathe.
This is a special night
, she kept telling herself as she watched the Klubocks down in their yard now, side by side, shoulders touching as they broke dead blossoms from the lilac bushes. Louis Klubock worked behind them, gathering the pinchings and stems in a peach basket.

But look at my children
, she thought, turning back to the table,
their shabby
clothes, their thin nervous faces. I am a terrible mother. He doesn’t know that. He
doesn’t know this rage
.

“Lovely, lovely,” Omar said when she sat down. “Heavenly.”

But she was looking at Alice’s plain, ten-dollar dress, wishing it had come from Cushing’s instead of the Bee-Mart Outlet, where the farmers’ wives shopped when they came to town.

“What’s Mary Agnes’s dress like?” she asked, moving her food on her plate.

“I don’t know,” Alice shrugged. “Her aunt took her to Albany.”

“Naturally,” Marie said so bitterly they all looked at her.

“Who’s her aunt?” asked Omar, chewing as he speared his second helping of steak.

Norm looked at her. It had been the last piece.

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 95

“One of our local phonies, that’s who,” she said, staring Norm down, her tone all the warning he would get.

Alice laid down her fork. “Mom! Why do you say things like that? You don’t even know Mrs. Mangini.”

Her eyes blazed at her daughter. Mrs. Mangini was a widow.
I’ll tell you
why
, she wanted to say, the words bile on her tongue.
Because her husband
is dead, she has everything she wants. She doesn’t have to work a day or a minute
for the rest of her life. She can go to a movie with a man on a Saturday night, and
the next day in church no one looks at her and thinks, Harlot, sinner, as she marches
up to the Communion rail, while I kneel alone, surrounded by empty pews, judged
and condemned for a sin that is not mine, but your father’s
.

“Cooked to perfection,” Omar sighed, his round smooth cheeks swelling with the meat, mashed potatoes, and peas he had stuffed in his mouth.

She took a deep breath. She would start over again. Calmly. She would be happy and strong, and then so would they. She would make them happy.

She sensed that this might be an art, a weaving in and out of who they were and what they knew about each other, the light and breezy way people talked in movies. “Lester’s giving the valedictory speech tonight,” she told Omar.

“An ordeal I well remember,” Omar replied.

Relieved, she turned to Alice. “Is Lester’s mother going to be there tonight?” she asked, pouring more milk into Benjy’s cup. She would try. For them she would try. For them she would do anything.

“I don’t know.” Alice shrugged.

“That poor woman,” she said. Actually she’d never liked Carol Stoner.

But now with her illness and her husband’s betrayal, she felt a kinship: Carol Stoner had slipped into the ranks of wounded women. She glanced at Alice, puzzled by her expression. “Well, Sonny will be there, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. He’s been out almost every night on some big investigation,” Alice added quickly.

Omar’s eyes darted from the bread he was buttering to Alice.

“What’s he investigating?” Norm asked eagerly, but Alice didn’t answer.

“I can just imagine,” Marie blurted.

“Maybe it’s those men,” Benjy said softly, glancing at Omar.

“What’re you talking about?” Alice asked Benjy.

“Pass the potatoes, please,” Omar said, loosening his tie. He dabbed his temples with his napkin.

“That poor thing suffering all alone,” Marie mused, sad now for Carol Stoner. “And you watch, when she’s gone he’ll be tearing his hair out, but it’ll be too late then.”

“Maybe he saw them,” Benjy said, gripping his fork at the edge of the table.

“What’s he talking about?” Norm asked Alice. “What the hell men’re you talking about?” he asked Benjy.

“Dad,” Benjy said. “I meant Dad.”

96 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

“Where there is no wife, he mourneth that is in want,” Omar said quickly, his watery eyes fast upon the untouched meat on Marie’s plate.

“That’s beautiful,” she sighed.

Omar steepled his fingertips over his empty plate and smiled at her. “He that possesseth a good wife hath all possessions. She is a help, a pillar of rest and trust to him who hath no rest and must lodge wheresoever the night taketh him.” He lowered his eyes. “As a wanderer that roameth from city to city,” he whispered.

Now her heart swelled again. She blushed and had to look away from this good and gentle man who was so much alone, who seemed at moments like this almost priestly, beyond love, beyond understanding. And yet she felt she had known him forever. Had he come only weeks ago? The lilacs had been blooming.

Alice was staring at Benjy. They had been whispering. “Who told you that?” she asked again.

“Mom,” he answered.

She looked at her mother. Her whole body had slackened. “Dad was in jail?” She threw down her napkin.

“Here,” Marie said, pushing her plate over to Omar. “Finish this while I get the dessert. Wait now, Alice, this is special.” Why had Benjy told her that? They had been talking about the Stoners. She hadn’t been listening, hadn’t been alert, in charge.

“Oh that’s nice. That’s really nice,” Norm said. He started to get up.

“You stay right there,” Marie ordered. “I have a special dessert. In Alice’s honor. Sit down, Norm, and tell us what happened with Jarden Greene while I get it.” She felt short of breath. She tried to smile. Damn it, this was all her fault. Damn it, damn it, why couldn’t things ever go right?

Norm slouched in his chair. “Nothing happened. Can I go get dressed?”

“Nothing?” she said, her voice rising. “What do you mean, nothing? Did you see him? Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

“I saw him, and he didn’t say much.”

“Well, do you have the job or not?”

Norm stared at her. “I don’t want the job. But I’m not going to talk about it now.” He glanced at Alice. “Not now. I’m tired, and I want to get dressed.”

“Tired!” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “You’re tired?” She thumped her chest with her fist. She couldn’t help it. He had pushed her. He had gone too far. And look at her, that one, sitting there, sulking as if it were Marie’s fault her father had been put in jail. Why did they do this to her?

“I’m the one that’s tired from working my fingers to the bone for lazy kids who don’t give a damn!”

Norm stood then and stalked from the table.

She grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her. “You’ll take that job. You’ll take it, you hear me?”

“Don’t,” he warned, pulling from the bite of her grip.

“Mom!” Alice pleaded.

“You’ll take it, and you’ll pay me ten a week room and board, and the SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 97

rest you’ll put in the bank so you don’t end up like Miss High and Mighty over there, looking down her nose at everyone, Miss Lazy Ass who’s supposed to go to college in three months, three goddamn short months and not one red cent to pay for it.”

Alice ran out of the kitchen.

“Look what you did!” Norm cried. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“What I did? What I did? No! What you did, damn you!” she roared, bringing her hand across his face in a stinging slap.

“You go to hell!” he snarled.

She slapped him again, this time with such force he stumbled against the wall. His mouth was thin, his eyes cold and dark. Instinctively, his hands had closed into fists. Now they fell limply to his sides, as had hers. They couldn’t look at each other.

“…see here,” Omar was saying, “…way to speak to your mother…down on your knees…thank God…such a wonderful mother…”

They did not listen, did not speak, instead turned from each other. “Sit down,” she told them, calling Benjy back from the living room, where he had turned on the television, and Alice back from the bathroom. Her hands shook as she opened the cake box. The glazed blue letters had begun to run in the heat. Under the window, Klubocks’ dog was barking. Omar belched softly into his napkin; then Norm burped loudly, imitating him, she knew.

She couldn’t get the cake out of the box. A car was coming down the street.

A huge ant walked across the windowsill. She had smeared frosting on her blouse. Klubocks’ dog snarled frantically. “Damn dog,” she muttered as she lifted the cake onto a cookie sheet, then turned with a forced smile and placed it in front of Alice.

“Oh,” Omar sighed. “What do you think of that, now, Alice?”

“It’s nice,” Alice said quietly.

Nice? she wanted to scream, wanted to grab those scrawny arms in that cheap white dress and demand, Nice? Five ninety-five and all she could say was nice when her mother didn’t even own a dress, would sit there tonight with all those dressed-up people looking at her in the same skirt and blouse she wore to work. No. Not tonight. Tonight was special. “Here. You cut it,” she said, giving the knife to Alice. She couldn’t breathe. Her hands still trembled. Someone was out in the back hall. Not those nosy Klubocks, she thought, turning to see the back door fly open. It was Sam. He leaned in the doorway, his shirttail hanging, his hair strung thinly over his forehead, his nose red, his bleary eyes adjusting to the light.

“Alice?” He held up a dented old typewriter, its keys sprung. “Look what I got for my little girl.” He lurched into the kitchen, then stopped short, pointing at Omar. “Who the hell’s that?”

“Sam!” she gasped. Please…”

“Who the fuck is he?” he asked, squinting at Omar.

“A family friend.” Omar rose from the chair. “Merely a family friend,”

he said, edging sideward like an enormous crab into the living room. The 98 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

front door slammed, and Sam started to laugh as he staggered toward Marie with his arms out. “Daddy’s home,” he laughed.

“Get out!” she warned. “Get out now!”

“Baby. My pretty baby,” Sam said. He put his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.

“Get away from me!” she said and pulled away, sending him reeling toward the table. His hand shot out for balance and rammed down into the cake. He wiggled his frosting-coated fingers, and he chuckled. “Alice, did your mother throw this cake at me?”