The Things You Kiss Goodbye (16 page)

I was just glad Tony would be staying, at least for a while. It was a walk back in time for me to sit in my old neighborhood with the scent of basil filling my head and the flavors of garlic and soft cannellini beans sliding over my tongue. Of course, Regina kept bossing both Tony and me.

“Put more basil on yours,” she said. She pinched up the herbs in her fingers and reached across the table to sprinkle them in my bowl. She gave herself a nod of approval. This was the sort of Regina-thing that made Tony laugh in an acquiescent way that I found contagious.

Sitting in the kitchen with Regina and Tony, I forgot my real-world self a little more with every mouthful. But as soon as soon as Tony and I had washed and dried the bowls, Regina told him to leave us.

“Go practice that horn,” she said. As soon as he was gone, she leaned toward me. “Did you know,” she began, “when I was a girl, I had a
forbidden
boyfriend?”

Nice opener.

“I think of it every time you come,” she said. She reached forward and patted my hands. “You bring it all back, you make me remember.”

Oh, great. Go
me
!

“I see you, and you are a young, gorgeous girl and it was the same time in my own life. Well, I was younger—fourteen. I was just in high school, and Ricky was just out,” she said. “So, a boy, an older boy at that.” She shook her finger. “Not allowed in my papa’s house. Ricky had a job sweeping up and cleaning the johnnies at Saint Barnabas Roman Catholic Church and that’s where I met him. We took a shine to each other, first glance. Sometimes it’s just that way. That church was not a nice place to work. Ricky told me all he got was a scolding for every job he ever did there. He always wondered why they kept him, but they did. He was the oldest boy in his family and he was earning money to help out at home. Sad, because he was as smart as any of the boys who got to go to college.”

Regina paused, looking out the small window over my shoulder. I saw the curved, square reflection of light shining in her cocoa-brown eyes. “He always saved out a little money from his pay to get me a handful of bubble gums or a Sky Bar. You know, I didn’t need fancy presents from him to know that boy loved me. Those little treats were fine enough. He showed up at the high school every afternoon. Well, not right at the front door. Whoa! No! We had to keep ourselves a secret. So Ricky waited across the street, in his blue jeans and a clean, white T-shirt. That’s all I ever saw him in besides the overshirt he wore to do chores at Saint Barnabas.

“Anyway, your friends helped you out back then. Because of course they knew. They’d be your lookouts, making sure none of the parents or their parents’ friends were around. They’d help you on a Friday night so you could get to the burger place to be with your boy, or go canoodling in the park. Best kind of lying there is,” Regina said, and she arched her eyebrows at me.

“I ran with Ricky all those months, always afraid someone would tell my papa. Oh, we were Goddamn careful. Then one Friday afternoon, I looked across the street to the place where Ricky always waited and there he was . . . but also, my papa. And they weren’t speaking to each other. Just standing some ten feet apart, both with an eye on yours truly. Mother of God, I nearly wet my polka-dotties. Right away, I knew that Ricky didn’t know he’s standing next to my papa. Because his eyes were twinkling and he was looking right at me. Love isn’t blind; it just wears blinders. Well, my friend Cherise—oh, that girl was something—she saved the day, or tried to. She came out of nowhere hollering, ‘Hi, Mr. Paladina! How are you this afternoon, Mr. Paladina?’”

It was all I could do not to stop her there and say,
Wait, wait! You were
Regina Paladina
?
But the story was too scary to interrupt.

“So Ricky heard that name
Paladina
and of course he figured out that it’s my papa was right there sharing the
pavement with him. And real smart, Ricky straightened up from where he was leaning and he walked off.”

“Well, why was your father there?” I asked.

“Good question,” Regina said. “I didn’t know either. I wondered if he knew something or just thought he did. But I figured I had to go to him, and when I did he told me to start walking home. He followed me, just a few steps behind me. Nothing warm about it, no father-daughter chat. And when we reached the park he told me to step off the sidewalk. He walked me another thirty feet into the wooded part. He knocked me flat to the ground on my belly and beat me on my back with a rock.”

“Oh! Jesus!”

“Yep. That’s who I cried for. But not out loud. No. I didn’t make a sound, except maybe the breath he pounded out of me.”

“But why? And didn’t he say anything?” I could hardly bear to ask.

“Oh, yes. When he finished, he told me to dust myself off and he’d see me at home. He told me to see the boy and to show him my bare back—the price I’d paid for him dating me while I’m so young.”

“Did you?”

“I was too scared not to. I did it that Monday. And I have wondered for years if my papa planned that. Beat me
on Friday so the bruises would rise for Monday. I met Ricky same as usual and he wanted to know right away, was everything all right. I shook my head no and asked him to walk with me. I took him to the same place in the park where Papa had beaten me. Hidden away there, Ricky tried to put his arms around me but all I could do was squeak, ‘No, no! Don’t hug me! Don’t hug me, Ricky, ’cause it hurts, it hurts bad!’ Then I told him to look at my back. He stood behind me, I felt his fingers on my dress buttons—so careful. I still remember it—him gasping while he peeled my top off my shoulders, all the way down to my waist until he could see it all. I crossed my arms over my little breasts before I turned around because he’d never seen any of that. He was so good.” Regina smiled gently. “I had offered him my virginity months before but he wouldn’t take it. He had said not until he made something more of himself. Anyway, Ricky got down on his knees and hugged me around my hips where it didn’t hurt me, you know, put his ear to my belly.” Regina placed her hand over her stomach. “That’s how we said goodbye.”

She had me weeping. I drew my fingers under my eyes trying to trap tears. “It’s awful,” I said. “So sad.”

“It was a long time before I stopped crying about it,” Regina said with a tiny shake of her head. “I still think that this thing that was supposed to be so, so bad—my being with Ricky—well, it never felt wrong to me.
Never
. And I still
believe it was my papa’s big mistake.”

“What about your mother? Did she know and—”

“Oh, I never told anyone what Papa did to me. He went to his grave without us ever talking about it again.”

“How?” I asked. “How could you be silent after he beat you?”

“Times were different. He was my father.” Regina raised her eyebrows and stared off for a second. “He was loving me the best he could. Fathers are complicated,” she said. She took a little breath as if to bring herself around again. “Do you know, I was sixteen before I dated any boy again? With my father’s blessing, of course. I went with half a heart because I still wanted Ricky. But that next boy, I had to knee him in his sausage. He tried to take what I wanted to give to my Ricky.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

R
EGINA
’
S STORY STUCK TO ME
. I
N FACT, IT STITCHED ITSELF
to my heart. Tony drove me home in his mother’s car while a steady rain dotted the windshield. On the way I thought about Bampas. For all the ways in which I felt he didn’t believe in me, I had never feared he’d hurt me. Never. I thought about things that were forbidden, and exactly how they became that way. Who put that judgment on them? How often did we as human beings get it wrong the way Regina’s father had? Such a tangle. Not something I could sort out in a minute or a month, I knew that. But I was helpless for the way the thoughts kept rushing at me. When she’d put me out the door at the top of her stairs, Regina Colletti had said, “I don’t tell
that story much. If you repeat it to anyone I’ll find a way to feed you cat shit when you aren’t looking.”

“I believe you,” I’d said. Then I’d taken a chance and I’d hugged her.

At home before supper, I received my desultory kiss from Bampas—that one he brushed on me almost every evening while on his way to do something else. But then I circled him with my arms and hugged him tighter than I had in months—or years. He noticed this stoppage with a slight double take. He quickly restored order, opening his mail. He asked about the quart container I had set on the kitchen counter.

“Regina sent me home with some of her pasta fagioli,” I said. The cat shit comment flickered through my mind and I kept an alarmed smile to myself.

“Oh, my goodness,” Momma piped, poking her head in from the dining room.

Bampas glanced at Momma and agreed, “Regina is too kind.”

“She was so low last week and now up cooking,” Momma said. “It’s remarkable. But she puts me to shame. I should be sending meals to her.”

“She had some of those cheese pastries I made,” I said.

“Not enough. I will have the restaurant make several dishes. . . .” Bampas said. “Bettina, you have a table to set,” he added, and we fell to our evening routine.

Throughout dinner, I thought about a particular thing Regina had said—that spending time with Ricky had never felt wrong to her. Cowboy was not my boyfriend, but he was still someone who I would not have been allowed to see had Bampas known. But seeing him never felt wrong to me.

I went on showing up at Unit 37 as many mornings as I could, always with coffee. I found my way there a couple of lucky afternoons a week, and yes, it always meant lying to someone—usually, the Not-So-Cheerleaders. Cowboy seemed happy to see me every time. We talked about his work and my work and we stayed off the subjects that went prickly on us—like Brady.

Cowboy taught me how to change a tire. I degreased, I polished chrome, and I treated interiors with conditioner, but only if I felt like it. Often, he needed to be underneath a car, and I’d do homework or fill a few pages of my sketchbook while I savored the oily smell of the shop.

Unit 37 gave me the same sort of feeling the art room did. Both spaces could be amazingly silent except for the sounds of work getting done, and maybe some music. I never told Cowboy, but sometimes I pretended that being in his shop was my job.

A few times now, we’d gone off in Cowboy’s truck. We took back streets to escape being seen in the village. We hit the country road that took us to the Dairy Bar for milk
shakes. He’d buy or I’d buy. Except for the slight bittersweetness of spending lunch money that Bampas had given me to fatten up a friendship that he would forbid, those were the best afternoons ever.

One October afternoon I was striding my way toward Unit 37, and I looked up at a yellowish light in the sky. The trees had turned; leaves were falling. It was like somebody had flicked a switch. It wasn’t just the landscape. People’s faces were turning rosy over faded tans. They were wrapped in knits and fleeces. Change of pallet, change of texture.

I gave the lot a cursory check for Cowboy’s policeman friends. All clear. For the first time, the overhead door was not open. It felt a little different turning the handle on the small swing door; entering this way seemed more deliberate. I stuck myself half inside and called, “Knock-knock!” No answer. I walked in anyway. I almost leapt backward, thinking Cowboy was someone else as he rolled out from under the Chevy; he was wearing a gray zip-front coverall against the chill. As his head emerged, I said, “Oh, good. You’re still you.”

“Who’d you think I’d be?” he said. He grunted and sat up.

“It’s just that you didn’t look like you. In the . . . uh . . .
romper
.” I drew a line up and down in the air to indicate his attire.

“Beta, if you ever see me wearing a
romper
, you can kick my ass,” he said. I threw my head back and laughed. He pointed to his clothes and said,
“Coverall.”
Then he added, “It’s cold. I need an extra layer.”

“Yeah. Everything’s changing,” I said.

“Guess so.”

“If you have time I’ll buy you a shake,” I offered.

“Too cold for milk shakes.”

“It’s warmer in the sun,” I said. I might have been pleading. I wanted to go for a ride. I was afraid he’d slide back under the car not to be seen again. I had a whole hour and half before I needed to be back at the front circle of the school for my ride home.

He got up and rolled up the big door. He stood for a second, looking up to the treetops, the sky. “Hmm. How’s that knee of yours?”

“I don’t feel it much anymore,” I said. I almost mentioned that things had been better with Brady. I guess I was longing to talk to someone about all of that. But not Cowboy.

“Yeah? What if we go somewhere different?” Cowboy asked. I nodded. A lot. “You’re like my mother’s Gordon setter,” he said. “Always up for a ride in the truck—”

“Hey! Don’t get personal!” I said.

“That’s not personal. That’s specific. My way of saying that I like your enthusiasm,” he said. He peeled out of the
coverall and pulled his boots on. He put his long arms into a big flannel jacket and he looked like Cowboy again.

I was surprised when he took River Road. We drove out past the place my brothers and I had seen him back in September at sunset. A few more miles and he pulled off at the water company property. Cowboy was out of the truck so fast I had to scramble to keep up. “Hope you’re game for a climb,” he said, jabbing a thumb toward the steep, wooded slope. I looked up.

“Whoa. Sure,” I said. I was never so glad to be wearing long jeans. “Are we . . . uh . . . supposed to hike here? I mean, allowed to?”

“Yup. It’s a public trail. But I rarely meet anyone. A shame. It’s so nice.”

He led the way taking quick, broad strides. He caught handholds on tree trunks and rock outcroppings as he went. I followed his moves as much as I could. But my reach was much shorter and it wasn’t the easiest climbing. I’d lost my dancing lungs. I kept falling behind.