Unexpected Gifts (21 page)

“Hey, Sister! You and your ‘Beast’ are pretty popular, but so are we.”

I looked up at Sheila from Couple number twenty one, The Sweetheart Couple. “So?”

She knelt down next to me cot, whispering. “So, why don't we split the pot?”

“What do you mean?”

She was within five inches of me face, cupping her mouth and breathing hard. “I mean, if Bill and I get the prize, we share with you and the Beast, and if you and the Beast win, you share with us. Either way, a thousand each is nothing to sneeze at. Everyone wins, see?”

“Ach, I should talk with…”

“My Bill's talking to him right this minute,” she interrupted.

That night on the floor, when the Emcee be announcing how the Sweetheart Couple and Beauty and The Beast were the only finalists because the other three couples had been disqualified, I swear I saw Sheila and Bill wink at us as they be passing by with Sheila mouthing the words, “Behind the band stand, behind the band stand,” our place to divvy up the prize. I could feel the crowd's excitement, the swell of “Go Sweethearts!” and “Go Beauty and the Beast!” enclosing us like a thick cloud cover on a misty Irish morn. It gave me hope it did. It'd all be over soon one way t'other.

All of a sudden, me skin be feeling like it was two sizes too small. “I should've told Rose that I'd be back, it was only for the money. I should've made that clear to her. She's so young. What kind of mother am I? Me baby, me baby!” I moaned.

I could feel Joe shifting his arms, holding me even tighter. “You're so used up you're getting Squirrely. Get a grip on yourself, sweetheart. It'll all be over real soon. We'll divide the cash and you can see Rose!” With me cheek resting on his chest, I opened one eye slowly to glance at the bleachers.

I snapped us apart like a wishbone. Up in the front row of Section A, glowering at me like I was a criminal was Adriana, sitting as cold and rigid as the great Blarney Stone.

“Daria, what's wrong?” Joe started to pull me along with him to keep us moving.

“Adriana,” I whispered.

His head flipped to the left and before I knew it, he be guiding us over towards her as the music settled into a foxtrot.

“No, Joe. No.”

“Daria!” me sister-in-law snarled, and without thinking I'd be talking back.

“Why are you here?” I asked, clutching on to Joe for support.

“That's my question to you! Who's taking care of Rose? Tony's miserable! How could you do this to him?”

Joe intervened. “Your wonderful brother Tony was hitting Daria! Did you know that? She deserves only happiness and she sure won't get it with him!”

I be thinking Adriana was going to hit Joe. “Both of you. Stop!” I shouted.

The clang of the brass bell was so loud you'd think it was inside our bodies.

“DISQUALIFICATION, ladies and gentlemen. Disqualification for Beauty and the Beast!” megaphoned the Emcee.

The crowd was working up to a riot, throwing papers, vegetables, and coins onto the floor, coins for us, paper and vegetables aimed at the Master of Ceremonies. But it was no use. We be escorted off the floor to watch the Ending Ceremonies from afar. Sheila be right, though. It hurt far less, just knowing we'd be ending up with half the money, clever girl that she was.

I could see Adriana exiting the hall, the flounce of her long scarf sailing behind her. I knew I'd have to deal with her and Tony later, but for now, money be the only thing on me mind. Plastered to me back was Joe, his chest heaving and slippery with sweat. Together, we watched Sheila and Bill hold up the two thousand dollars in cash while half the audience cheered, half booed. We watched them make their way out, Sheila waving to the crowd like the Queen of England and blowing kisses like her daughter, the little princess Elizabeth.

“Let's go over to the spot and wait for them,” Joe whispered. I nodded and with our hands clasped together, we headed over to the bandstand, where the shadows be black and thick as mutton stew. Five minutes passed, ten, twenty.

“They sure are taking their time,” Joe commented, looking at the ground, not me.

“Ach, they are.” I murmured slowly, unable to look at him as well.

An hour later, after we had returned to the locker areas, emptied like a ghost town, we had our true answer, and meeting up together outside the building, Joe be wiping me tear-stained face with his handkerchief and keeping me up from collapsing as short brisk footsteps be approaching and a sharp voice rang out.

“
Daria!
It's time to come home and stop all this nonsense!”

I turned to face Adriana and sank to the ground.

“Leave us alone!” Joe bellowed.

“She's a married woman. ‘Til death does she part!” Adriana shot back.

The wails coming from me mouth surprised even meself. Wracking sobs that be taking over me body like that cat I saw so long ago in an alleyway in Detroit, gagging over and over again with the dry heaves.
When the sight leaves the eye, love leaves the heart.

With Mark grabbing the helm at the last meeting, the psych group divvied up the two assigned areas of Dr. Seidell's final project:
Overt Compulsions vs. Covert Compulsions.
Mark, Ana, and Pamela deftly nabbed the former—washing hands, tapping, blinking and skin picking, leaving Sonia and Harry to the latter—mental counting, word repetitions, and negative thoughts. The project had to include a compilation of theoretical case studies, as well as clinical, empirical, and anecdotal evidence. The meeting took hours.

“Hey! Some friends are taking me out for my birthday tomorrow night,” Pamela announced at the end. “Why don't you all come? It'll be fun and the best part, cocktails on them.” A round of applause was her answer and by ten p.m. the following night, the group found themselves totally ensconced in the Pigeon Club, imbibing in steady, drinks-all-around.

The first thing Sonia did when she arrived was squeeze in next to Harry and pour herself a large glass of wine from one of the many decanters on the table. She didn't utter a word until she had drunk most of the glass, then replenished it to its original level.

“Whoa, cowgirl. Take it easy.” Harry grinned.

Sonia shrugged. “How's Martha?” was her first utterance followed by another long swig.

“She's okay. But are you?” Harry's body crushed up against hers felt warm, cozy.

She finished her second glass and started on a third. “I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I've been doing my own little scientific project.”

“Oh?” He fingered the rim of his glass.

“Yes.” My mother has a trunk filled with our ancestors' history. You know, souvenirs, diaries, and journals. I'm actually seeing myself through them, how they thought, the kinds of things they went through, and the funny thing is, by discovering what my family members went through, it gives me some clarity somehow. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely. I know for a fact, that my dad's experience with the Vietnam vets and how he's helped them has given me insight into overcoming some things in my life.”

“I really wish my dad could get out of himself, you know?”

He nodded. “So, what kind of things are you learning about them?”

Her words started spilling out. How deeply Daria had affected her, how wrong Tony was for her, and how meeting big, tender Indian Joe had made her great grandmother believe in herself again. Maybe if Daria had stayed with Joe like she was probably meant to, her daughter Rose, might not have turned out so neurotic.

She was beginning to cry. Slow tears, aided by Harry's gentle circular strokes on her back. As people around them howled with laughter, Harry had to lean in to catch her words.

“I have a theory about Daria. I think she stayed with Tony even though she was so unhappy, because of either her sense of duty overrode her freedom, or her fear of it being too good with Joe was too scary, or maybe having a drunk father made it comfortable continuing with Tony, even though she disliked it. I mean, how stupid is it to run away from someone who's so good for you? What do you think?”

Harry whispered into her ear. “I don't think you can handle what I think.” He calmly covered her hand with his. “I think your theories are probably right,” he said and moved her glass to a less accessible spot.

“Potty time,” she murmured, and pushing away his attempts to steady her, got up to stagger down a hall to the ladies room. When she returned, she plunked down heavily on her chair. “You're really so nice, Harry. A good, nice guy. Really.”

He leaned away from her slightly. “And you're not interested in really nice guys, are you, Sonia?”

“I—why do you say that?”

“Come on, Sonia. You obviously prefer guys like Mike.”

“What about Mike?”

“Outwardly tough, seemingly in full command.”

“You mean strong?” she blurted out.

“Ah-hah. So, not telling people what to do is weak.”

“I didn't mean that.” She fingered her napkin.

Harry looked at his watch. “So, when are we going to meet for this psych project?”

Sonia drew a sigh of relief. “How ‘bout next Wednesday? That café near Martha's?”

At the 25
^th
Street jail visitor's room, Shannon moved forward while Sonia hung back on a chair along the south wall. Just watching Pete shuffle in, his hands handcuffed in front of him, his eyes hollowed, was jarring. Then he caught sight of Shannon and it was like turning on a light switch. He managed a smile for a whole two seconds before the guard shoved him down in a chair opposite his wife and leaned over to snarl something in his ear.

To Sonia, it was heart-breaking, watching them pretend to touch hands through the thick, break-proof glass before picking up their separate communication phones, and without warning, Daria's tale of the Catholics having to band together in order to fight the British and Joe's story about Hiawatha, uniting the Indians before dealing with the Whites, popped into her head.

Pete was doing most of the talking and Sonia could tell by Shannon's body language, she wasn't happy. At one point, the pregnant woman turned towards her friend and motioned her over.

“Hey, Pete. How are you holding up?” Sonia asked.

His eyes were like two burnt holes in a sheet. “How do you think?”

“Don't worry, Mike is trying to get you out.”

“Mike, right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mike's not even bothered to visit me.” He turned to his wife. “So, remember what I told you about the brownies, how fresh they always stayed, even for days at a time.” He glanced up towards the nearby guard.

The cab ride back was somber to say the least. Shannon kept looking as if she were about to speak, then would stop. Finally, Sonia couldn't take it any longer. “Spit it out, for God's sake!”

She drew a sharp breath. “I think he's headed for a complete nervous breakdown in there. All this talk about the brownies. Oh, Sonia! I don't know what to do.”

Her sobs, gushing out in waves, grabbed all of Sonia's maternal instincts. Drawing Shannon close, she made soft,
shush-shush-shush
sounds as she stroked her shoulder and assured her everything was going to be okay. But inside, she couldn't help thinking about Tony lying to Daria, Peter lying to Rose, Mike lying about Pete, and how out of the whole lot of them, Joe was the only loyal one.

At their café, Sonia sat sipping coffee, reviewing her research, and waiting for Harry. When fifteen minutes passed and still no sight of him, she began tapping. This isn't like Harry. He's usually on time. In another twenty minutes, she started packing up, wishing she had gotten herself a cell phone.

Back at her apartment, dialing Harry's number, she could feel Petra's soft fur rubbing up and down her legs. No answer, no machine. By the time she went to bed, she thought she'd give it another try. Then another, the following morning before school. Still nothing. This is so unlike him. Or is it? How well do I really know him? She went back and forth, even contemplating a call to Mark. By Saturday, she found herself in front of Martha's house and knocking timidly, came face to face with a surprised Harry at the opened door.

“Harry! Where have you been?”

He stared at her a beat. “Oh, God. I forgot to meet you, didn't I?”

“Yes.” She had trouble masking her petulant tone.

“Sorry. I had an emergency over here, that's all.”

“What happened?”

“Martha was given a new drug by her doctor and she had a major reaction. She was hospitalized, and after a few days, I promised her parents I would come over to relieve them a little, they were so exhausted.”

“Is she better now?”

He nodded.

“That's good. You know…”

“What?”

She tapped twice against her leg. “You know, it's so sweet of you to do this, but isn't this a little too much? I mean, you do have your own life.”

Instantly, she realized her mistake. He stepped back, his eyes chilled, one cheek muscle working. “Now, that's interesting. You think I'm doing too much for Martha? And what about you?”

“What do you mean, what about me?”

“You cater to Mike all the time. I keep thinking about how you should live your life, not his, but at least I've kept my mouth shut. But I guess we're playing truth now.”

Sonia grabbed the front door knob. “I don't know what you're talking about. I can do anything I want with Mike.” She stalked off, ready to chuck the entire psych project, but returning home, Daria's
face the sun but turn your back to the storm
was careening through her brain and by morning, she was convinced she would be able to persuade Harry to continue with their assignment.

She could tell Mike had just woken up. A two-day growth, matted hair, and an unbrushed teeth odor summed it up. “Hey, Babe. I didn't expect you. Come on in.” She sat on his messy couch and watched him pick up a joint. “First thing in the morning?”

He put out his palm. “My apartment, right? So, what's up?”

“Why haven't you been to see Pete yet?”

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa. Where's that coming from? Of
course
I've seen Pete!”

“Not according to him.”

His head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

“I went with Shannon to visit him and he told me you haven't even bothered to go there.”

She could just feel the wheels spinning in his head. “Look, Babe, you know how busy we've been with all these concerts and the recording. I'll visit him soon, I promise. Tell him I'm definitely with him in spirit.”

“Why don't you tell him yourself?”

Frowning, he held up his joint and used a new zip lighter. Taking a couple of hits, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Sonia leaned towards him. “Hey, where's Ned's lighter?”

“What?” He shook his head, still sleepy.

“Ned's lighter. The one you said you would cherish forever.”

“I don't know. I must have left it somewhere. That's why I have this new cheapie.” He got up and wandered in the bathroom, leaving her with memories of Mike's 30
^th
birthday party, when Ned handed over a beautiful gold-plated lighter with the engraved words,
‘Much success, Mike! From your friend, Ned.'

She was tapping furiously as he came out. “Stop that!” he yelled.

Irritated, she had to say something. “Unlike you, I think loyalty is very important. Now, take Harry for example. I just found out that he has been staying over at his friend Martha's house, you know the one with cerebral palsy? Anyway, she's been really sick recently from medicine and he stepped up to help out her parents. Now that's loyalty.” She was pleased to see his face redden.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, that guy is a total doormat! What a wuss to hang out with such a mental retard.”

“Mental retard? You don't even know what you're talking about! She's got Cerebral Palsy, Mike, not Down's Syndrome!”

“Whatever.” He went over to his closet and started going through his new outfits.

“A little obsessed with our appearance, aren't we?”

“You used to like how I looked, Babe!” he sneered, but it wasn't him talking. He was Stylish Tony chiding Daria in her frumpy house-dress.