Broken (13 page)

It was Friday, almost noon. Walter was watching TV in the living room. Anna Mae was at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Cheerios. Sarah had just hung up the kitchen phone, having completed the arrangements for the viewing that evening. Anna Mae was impressed with Sarah’s efficiency.

The sound on the television suddenly got louder: “This is a Channel 11 Special News Bulletin. After a tip received by the Warrenvale police, a man from New York was arrested in McKees Rocks today in connection with several overdoses and one death linked to the street drug known as ‘Flyers...’”

Sarah hurried into the living room, but Anna Mae went only as far as the hall doorway where she could barely see the screen.

“…Detective Robert Jenkins of Narcotics said that several bags of the drug and about $2,000 in cash were found in Armando Garcia’s car, and that he was carrying a twenty-two-caliber handgun when he was apprehended. The suspect is now being held at the Allegheny County Jail.”

Feeling as though she was stepping onto the edge of a knife, Anna Mae moved forward so she could see the screen better. There he was, with his hands cuffed behind his back and his gold chains swinging forward as he leaned over and turned his face away from the camera.

Walter stepped in front of the TV and turned it off.

“Why did you do that?” asked Sarah. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“I know what’s going on!” he shot back. “Now shut up and leave me alone!”

“Walter,” she said softly, “What can I do to help you feel better?”

“Nothing!”

When Walter walked toward the foyer, Anna Mae backed into the shadows under the steps and huddled against the wall.

Sarah called out to Walter, “Where are you going?”

Now at the front door, Walter mocked Sarah. “Where are you going? Where are you going? Damnit! Leave me alone!” He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Anna Mae’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. Now what? Would she be called to pick the drug dealer out of a lineup like the sergeant had said? Or did the police already know enough without her? Tentatively, as though someone was watching her, she stepped out of the shadows. She then hurried upstairs to pull herself together.

An hour later, Anna Mae was busy in the kitchen where sympathetic neighbors were showing up with platters of food. Every time the phone rang, she shivered. Almost twenty-five minutes had passed before the dreaded call finally came. She lunged for the phone. “Hello?”

Sarah stood so close, Anna Mae could feel her breath on her neck. Anna Mae pressed the receiver as tight as she could against her ear in an effort to block the caller’s voice. “Yes…Okay…No. That’s okay. I’ll walk…Bye.”

“What was that about?” Sarah asked.

“Nothing. I have to go out. I’ll be back later.”

Anna Mae headed straight for the front door with Sarah at her heels, demanding to know where she was going.

“None of your business!”

Anna Mae half walked and half ran to Trinity Church. She arrived in time to hear Father John instructing his secretary to cancel all appointments for the rest of the day.

In the passenger seat of Father John’s car, Anna Mae sat silently with her hands over her stomach. The pain had returned with a vengeance. They drove the fifteen miles through bumper-to-bumper traffic. It was after four when they arrived at the Pittsburgh Public Safety Building.

Father John led Anna Mae up the steps to the mezzanine where he had been instructed to meet with Detective Jenkins. Most city employees were gone for the day. Anna Mae thought the place looked more like an office building than a place where the police would bring a criminal.

A hefty man in a tight, black suit and striped tie appeared at the end of the hall. He walked toward them at a pace that was powerful, quick and almost military. After introducing himself, Detective Jenkins struggled out of his black jacket and draped it over his arm. He then led Anna Mae and Father John into a small, dark room where Jenkins asked her a few brief questions about her contact with the suspect. He then positioned her directly in front of a window that looked into a brightly-lit closet-like room.

A minute later an odd assortment of characters walked single file into the light and she felt as though her heart had stopped. The men stood well beyond the glass, holding cards with the numbers from one to five. Anna Mae stumbled backward, her heart hammering so fiercely she could hear it in her ears.

“They can’t see you,” the detective assured her.

She knew that from crime shows she had seen on TV. However, from where she stood, it didn’t seem possible that the men with the numbers couldn’t see her. Detective Jenkins nudged her forward.

“That’s him! Number three.”

“You need to look at all of them. Number one,” he said into a box on the wall, “step forward.”

Anna Mae looked at the white man with oily black hair hanging to his shoulders. She shook her head.

“You can step back now,” said the detective. “Number two.”

A black man with a light complexion stepped forward with his head down. “Lift up your head!” Jenkins snapped into the box. The man lifted his head and Anna Mae saw the fear in his dark eyes.

“I said it was three!”

The detective was adamant. “You have to take a good look at all of them.”

“I don’t have to,” she insisted staring at the yellowish-brown face in the middle of the line. “It’s number three!” She buried her face in her hands and mumbled, “Get me out of here. Please!”

In the outer hall, Detective Jenkins struggled back into his jacket. As he straightened his tie, he assured her that she would have no further involvement as she was not the only witness. He told her he knew that Sergeant Smith promised not to implicate her. As far as the department was concerned, Anna Mae had rectified any wrong she had done. The only relief she felt was in her stomach. The pain was mercifully gone. 

Stepik Brothers Funeral Home was plush but dignified. Anna Mae and Sarah stood in the archway entrance to Parlor Two. It had been awhile since Anna Mae had dressed up. After a lot of debating, she had finally chosen a sleeveless, navy blue cotton dress with an empire waist and pinpoint white blossoms. She had pulled back her hair with a silver barrette, letting it fall to the middle of her back.

In contrast, Sarah’s choice in dress honored the old tradition. She wore a high-necked black dress that clung to the roll of fat around her waist and strained against her little round tummy. When she walked in her two-inch heels, she wobbled.

Anna Mae looked at Sarah, who was gazing across the room at the inexpensive brown casket. “It reminds me of my brother’s funeral,” Sarah said. “That was twenty years ago. But the lid was closed because of Joe’s crushed head.”

Anna Mae pushed the vision out of her mind. “What time is it?”

Sarah looked at her watch. “It’s 6:45.”

“Where’s Uncle Walter?”

“At the bar with his brothers. I hope they don’t stay too long.”

“Or drink too much,” added Anna Mae.

With the strong scent of flowers sweetening the air, they walked across the rose colored carpet to look at the floral arrangements. “When my brother died,” said Sarah, “the flowers overflowed the room. And I swear that every single man who worked at the mill came to the funeral.”

That said, Sarah wobbled off to find the funeral director and Anna Mae began to read the cards that accompanied the arrangements. The most elaborate was a four-foot tall flair of white lilies set in a mass of pincushion and fern. It was from the men at the mill. Beside it sat a small basket of yellow roses from Vinko. Next, mixed blossoms from Olga and Nick Nikovich. Near the foot of the casket, a tall vase held an elaborate spray of white chrysanthemums. Instead of reaching for the card, Anna Mae took a tentative step toward the casket.

She forced herself up the four broad, shallow steps to the landing where cushions had been placed so that people might kneel in comfort. She looked down at Stanley’s hands, one placed on top of the other. Four days ago she had tried to put a twenty-dollar bill into those hands. But Stanley wouldn’t take it. Later, in the attic, she had placed a small package of pills in those hands. Now his hands were so stiff and pale they didn’t look real. She had done that. She killed him.

Struggling to accept the reality before her, she dropped to her knees on the soft cushion and closed her eyes. She remembered what Sergeant Smith had said.
The young lady is naive. She didn’t realize. She was afraid—a good kid who got herself sucked into a bad situation.
And Father John:
It wasn’t your fault.

She opened her eyes and studied the cousin who had antagonized her for as far back as she could remember. Stanley’s face was chalky, with an unnatural smile. His cheeks were a peculiar pink and his eyelashes dusty with powder. She wondered where the blue suit had come from. She had never seen it before. She hid her face in her hands. She wanted to pray. But she couldn’t. Her mind was blank. So she just stayed there, kneeling in front of the casket with her face hidden.

“Annie? Don’t cry, Annie.”

She looked up. Through a blur of tears, she saw David who was all dressed up in a white shirt and necktie. David, who had recovered from the initial shock of Stanley’s death, turned his back to the casket and sat on the kneeling cushion next to her. Pulling at his too tight tie, he said, “He really looks dead, doesn’t he?”

Anna Mae retrieved a man sized handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away her tears, while asking, “How would you know what ‘dead’ looks like?”

“At Vinko’s, once I saw a pigeon...”

Three whole days of anxiety and walking on eggshells had taken its toll. Something inside Anna Mae let go. She turned, looked at David, and said with a straight face, “You think Stanley looks like a dead pigeon?”

Unfortunately, despite their somber surroundings and the tragedy in the casket, Anna Mae and David broke into uncontrollable giggles.

Sarah instantly appeared with her hands on hips saying in a seething whisper, “You two are disgusting!” Then word-by-word her voice grew louder. “How. Can. You. Be. So. Disrespectful?” By the time she reached, “Go outside until you can act like decent human beings!” she was shouting.

From the middle of the room, the funeral director cleared his throat. He looked like a department store mannequin with his black suit and silver hair, except for the face that was an oblong portrait of disdain.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Sarah said as she waddled toward him, her tight, black dress inching its way up as the lace on her beige slip stayed put below her knees.

Anna Mae and David, who by then had lost control completely, fled toward the archway exit. As they rounded the bend into the lobby, Anna Mae crashed headlong into Nick Lipinski. David bounced off Walter and fell backward, landing hard against a bucket of green ferns. The bucket toppled, spilling the ferns and half bucket of smelly water across the rose colored carpet.

“Damnit!” Walter snapped. “What the hell...”

Pete Mileski and Spike O’Donnell were standing outside the funeral home, looking out of place in their boots, Levi’s, and black tank tops. Each had the habitual cigarette tucked behind his ear and each carried a motorcycle helmet in the crook of his arm. Anna Mae turned to go back inside; however, Spike, smelling of axle grease and sweat, blocked her way. “Lookin’ fer your boyfriend?”

“Tamero’s down the street,” added Pete.

“Forget that creep,” said Spike. “Let’s go fer a spin on m’ bike.”

“She can’t,” said Pete. “She’s wearin’ a dress.”

Spike laughed. “She’ll have to take it off.”

Pete shoved Spike away from Anna Mae, saying, “Cut the shit! We’re here to pay our respects.”

As the Road Hogs walked into the funeral home, David pointed to Angelo’s white Mazda parked half way down the block. Anna Mae began walking toward the car, but David, spotting a friend from school, headed in the opposite direction.

Moments later, Anna Mae stepped from the curb and climbed into the passenger side of the Mazda. Angelo turned to her, his left arm draped over the steering wheel, his right arm stretched across the top of the seat. He was wearing a tight tee shirt that made his arm muscles eye-catching. His dimpled smile displayed an even row of teeth that appeared all the whiter against his Mediterranean skin. His black hair curled down over his forehead and his dark eyes sparkled at the sight of her. “You look gorgeous!”

Anna Mae had not seen Angelo since the school picnic—before she bought those lethal pills—before Stanley died—before she went to Pittsburgh to pick Armando Garcia out of the lineup. Tenderly, she ran her fingers over the muscled arm that spanned the back of the seat. Her heart quickened. She hadn’t felt this happy since they had been together at the park, under the oak tree, when he told her he loved her

“You’ve been through some real bad stuff,” he said.

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Some day she would tell him about her part in Stanley’s death, but not now. “There was just too much going on,” she said. “Besides, what would your mother think? Girls aren’t supposed to call boys.”

“Under the circumstances it would’ve been fine. And besides, my mother likes you.”

“She doesn’t even know me.”

“She knows how I feel about you,” he said. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. My parents said to tell you they thought it best not to come to the funeral home on account of Walter. Mom sent some flowers. She said to tell you that you and your Aunt Sarah are in her prayers. She hopes what happened to Stanley won’t make things worse for you.”

Anna Mae stiffened. “What did you tell her about me?”

“Not much, only that you’re a wonderful person and that Walter treats you terrible. That’s all.” He moved his arm from the back of the seat to pull her closer. She relaxed against him. He ran his fingers through the hair that hung down her back. “Do you know about Mrs. Siminoski?”

“She’s in the hospital,” said Anna Mae.

“She’s out now. But the doctor has her on oxygen and she can’t do anything. That idiot son of hers, George, never bothered to come and see her. He’s going to Duquesne University. That’s in Pittsburgh—only 10 miles from here. It’s not like he’s across the country. My mother went over to Simmie’s to help out. My mother’s like that. She helps people all the time. She said Simmie’s house was really dirty and that it’s hard to look at Dobie because his scars are so bad.”

“Tell your mother that when the funeral is over I would like to help her at the Siminoski house.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”

“I’m afraid to call you at home,” Angelo said. “I don’t want to make Walter mad. My dad says Walter hates him. My dad doesn’t like Walter either. My dad has something really bad against your uncle. That’s for sure. Anyway. Forget about that. You just call the house anytime you want. My parents will understand.”

She looked up into his dark eyes. “I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”

He cradled the back of her head in his hand, gently pulling her forward, his warm lips touching hers. She leaned into his kiss until the full force of his passion enveloped her entire body. The arm that once rested on the steering wheel wrapped around her as his lips parted.

The thunder of motorcycles shattered the magic and Anna Mae pulled away from Angelo. In front of the car, Spike O’Donnell stopped his Harley, gunned his engine, and stared through the windshield. Pete Mileski maneuvered his cycle around to the driver’s side, looked beyond Angelo and grinned at Anna Mae. “They’re lookin’ fer ya in the funeral home,” he yelled. “Should I tell’em yer busy kissin’ a dago?”

Spike, whose bike was blocking the car, added in a booming voice, “You better tell ‘em, Pete. Stanley can’t tell nobody nothin.’”

Anna Mae felt the blood rush to her face. Angelo reached for the door handle. As he began to open it, Pete Mileski, his heavy black boots stabilizing the bike, backed up, leaving room for Angelo to get out of the car.

Anna Mae gasped. “Don’t!”

But Angelo jumped out in front of the cycle. For a horrifying second, Anna Mae feared that Pete would run him down. From the front of the car, Spike careened his bike around to Pete’s side and shouted over the loud engines. “Let’s go!”

Anna Mae jumped out of the passenger side and looked over the top of the car. Angelo was still facing Pete’s cycle, his stance an unspoken challenge. She held her breath until finally Pete turned his front wheel toward the street. The bikes reared up and with a synchronized squeal of tires, the Road Hogs shot out into the street and were off.

When the noise and exhaust diminished, Anna Mae called out to Angelo. “I better go inside.”

“Wait!”

“I’ll call you. I promise,” she said and hurried away.

Across the street from the funeral home, the Channel 11 News van pulled to the curb. A young man with red hair, wearing dark slacks, and a white shirt jumped out. He sprinted across the street trying to catch up to Anna Mae. She quickened her step and was through the double glass doors before he could reach her.

As she entered Parlor Two, she was surprised to see so many men from the mill. She wondered how long she had been gone. Spotting Sarah at the foot of the casket, she made her way through the crowd, thanking those who offered their condolences as she went. Finally, she reached Sarah who was standing next to the elaborate spray of white chrysanthemums. Anna Mae reached into the flowers and retrieved the card. It said:
May God be with you in your time of sorrow, Salvador & Marie Tamero & Family.
She slipped the card into her dress pocket. Though it was unlikely Walter would look at the cards, it wasn’t worth taking a chance. Any mention of the Tamero family, especially Salvador, would cause Walter to explode.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind.

She turned to see the man from the media van. She couldn’t help but notice that his green eyes went well with his closely cropped red-hair. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his media identification card clipped to his shirt pocket.

“Aren’t you Anna Mae McBride?” he asked, “the deceased’s cousin?”

He was too young to be anybody significant. But there was something about him that made him seem important. Furthermore, he not only knew her full name, he knew that Stanley was her cousin. Most people, if they didn’t know the family well, knew neither.

“I know this probably isn’t a good time,” he said.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Bob McCarthy from Channel 11 News. “I’m sorry about your cousin. What a terrible tragedy for you and your family. Thank God the police arrested the man who...”

The white haired funeral director was suddenly at Robert McCarthy’s side. “Out!” he ordered, pointing a long, stiff finger toward the door. “Right now! Out!”

“I was just...”

“Don’t they teach you rookies any common courtesy?” he said, leading the reporter away by the elbow.

“Wait,” said Sarah rushing toward them. “Anna Mae? Why don’t you go outside and talk to the young man?”

As the funeral director and the reporter disappeared, Anna Mae turned to her Aunt Sarah, saying, “You’re kidding.”

“No,” said Sarah. “I’m not kidding. You look so pretty in your good dress. I bet they have cameras outside. I bet if you talk to him he’ll put you on TV.”

Anna Mae glared at her. “That’s ludicrous!”

As Sarah puzzled over the strange word, Anna Mae looked around the room for David. That’s when she saw Officer Murphy. At first she wasn’t sure it was him. He wasn’t in uniform. But the darkened aviator glasses and the suit jacket that strained against his broad back left no question.

As Sarah continued to babble about going outside to talk to the press, Anna Mae wondered why Officer Murphy was at the funeral home. But on second thought, maybe it wasn’t all that strange. Officers involved in this kind of thing probably try to pay their respects if they can. Also, from what she already knew of him, Anna Mae assumed that Office Murphy would relish the limelight waiting outside.

Making a mental note to avoid Murphy, she left Sarah, who had redirected her conversation to a neighbor from down the block. It was then that she saw Walter and his brothers standing at the far end of the room. And Officer Murphy was walking directly toward them. The men shook hands and began what seemed like a friendly conversation. She felt uneasy. Something was wrong. But she dismissed it. After all, today everything was wrong.

She turned away, relieved to see her friends, Debbie and Laura entering the room. She went to join them. This was going to be a long evening.

“I’m sorry,” said David. He scooted around on the soggy carpet gathering the scattered ferns as Nick Lipinski up righted the black bucket. Anna Mae, picking pieces of fern off her dress, glanced at Andy Lipinski. His amused grin revealed a row of little yellow teeth beneath his huge gray mustache.

Walter pulled David by the back of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. “Get the fuck off the floor!”

“Easy, easy,” Andy cautioned.

“Easy—shit!” Walter snarled, hurling his son across the lobby.

The wall stopped David from falling. Anna Mae looked at Walter. His eyes were glassy. Realizing he was drunk, she took David by the hand, dragged him out the double glass doors and into the warm air of early evening.