Broken (18 page)

1970

A cold and blustery March gave way to April’s warm showers. May produced a zillion flowers, then June arrived and Anna Mae graduated. It was a disheartening ceremony. She should have been near the top of her class. She wasn’t. Her grades were only average. She was devastated.

She spent the summer working at The Pizza Parlor, helping at Siminoski’s, and occasionally dating Angelo. Her mood swings continued; however, the panic attacks had begun to subside. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night to find the bedclothes soaked with sweat. Dr. Rhukov wanted her to sign herself into Western Psychiatric Hospital so he could use medication to help her to remember what happened during those blackouts.

She wouldn’t go.

David’s interest in the space program was insatiable. He had moved into the attic, and by mid-summer the walls were obliterated by newspaper articles, magazine pictures of the space program, and colorful posters of Star Trek characters.

In August, Irene Siminoski’s failing heart stopped and she died in her sleep. The funeral was as tragic as it was brief. Dobie’s disfigurement kept him in the shadows and as far as Anna Mae knew, his only son, George, was not there to comfort him. Soon afterwards, Maria Tamero began helping Dobie with the heart-wrenching task of going through his late wife’s belongings. Maria would drop off Irene’s clothing at the Salvation Army. She gave Irene’s saved letters for Dobie to read as he sat alone at night.

By the end of summer, Walter had completed his mandatory two years in prison. With ever-increasing concern, Anna Mae watched the calendar, counting the months, then the days. A long time ago, Angelo had told her that if Walter’s behavior was not good he would not be released. Only last month Angelo said that prisoners are rarely let go at the first parole hearing. Nevertheless, by the end of September her concern had become a deep anxiety and her panic attacks returned.

She struggled, she prayed, she fought to contain her fear as she counted the days to Walter’s first parole hearing in mid-October.

*     *     *

October 13, 1970 – Tuesday

The guards at Western Penitentiary led Walter through the myriad of iron gates, down a narrow hallway and into an ancient but newly painted room for his parole hearing. Having been coached by his fellow inmates, he respectfully admitted his crimes to the row of sour faced men on the Parole Board. He assured them he was very, very sorry. This, combined with two years and four months of good behavior and his devoted wife by his side, made the appropriate impression. Parole was granted. Walter was a free man.

Despite the good news, Walter smoldered as he walked back to his cell to collect his personal belongings. Sarah hadn’t had the sense to bring enough money for a cab and he was damned if he’d take a bus home. He told Sarah to call Olga. The Nikovich’s had a car. They could pick him up.

In the brisk autumn air, Walter, wearing only a thin summer shirt, paced the cracked sidewalk outside the prison. “Why the fuck didn’t you bring me a jacket?”

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah as she began to remove her light cotton coat. “You can put this around your shoulders.”

“Keep it,” he snapped.
The woman hasn’t changed a bit,
he thought.
Just as dumb as ever.

They waited for over an hour, most of which was made more annoying by Sarah's endless, cheerful chatter. By the time the old green Ford pulled to the curb, Walter was fuming. However, once he and Sarah were in the back seat, he made a valiant effort to be civil to Olga and Pete Nikovich. After all, they had driven all the way to Pittsburgh to pick up a man they didn’t even like.

During the long ride home, Walter tried to make small talk with Pete.

But the brawny old Russian kept his eyes on the heavy traffic and replied only enough to let Walter know he had nothing to say. Olga and Sarah, who usually talked non-stop, remained quiet in the uneasy silence.

An hour later, Pete parked the car in the back alley and he and Olga went down the weedy path to their own back door. Sarah tried to take Walter’s hand as they walked toward the rear of their house. He pushed it away. A moment later he inhaled the unmistakable aroma of hot Gulumki. It was then that the reality of his release hit him. He was out! He was home! He smiled at his wife and took her hand. Sarah looked up at him like a new bride.

*     *     *

Anna Mae was upstairs when they came in. She could hear David downstairs talking. There was some laughter and the clatter of dishes. Then she heard Walter’s voice. It was strange—eerie—a voice out of a bad dream. How could she do this? How could she live under the same roof with him? She would have to leave. But what about David? And Sarah? Who would be here for them?

She checked herself in the mirror trying to convince herself she did not look as unglued as she felt, then headed downstairs. She stopped in the kitchen doorway, hoping David’s presence would give her courage. But David was nowhere in sight. Sarah stood by the stove, mashing a huge pot of potatoes. Walter was sitting at the table with his back to Anna Mae and holding a can of beer. His dark hair was streaked with gray and he looked pitifully small compared to the oversized brute she remembered.

She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. “Hello, Uncle Walter.”

He turned and looked up at her. She thought she saw a spark of anger in his eyes. He took a sip of beer, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, “You’re thinner.”

Anna Mae tried to step forward into the kitchen, but her feet were cemented to the spot. For lack of anything better to say, she asked, “Where’s Davie?”

Sarah turned from the potato pot. “He went upstairs to get something. Will you set the dining room table? We’re having a celebration.”

Anna Mae didn’t remember passing David in the hall. Was she that out of it? There was a pile of Sarah’s good dishes neatly stacked on the Formica counter. She willed herself to walk across the kitchen and pick them up. She had just started toward the doorway when David raced into the kitchen, almost knocking the dishes out of her hands.

“Look out!” she shrieked.

“Sorry,” said David waving a newspaper.

“You never look where you’re going!”

“You weren’t looking. You bumped into me.”

“I did not!”

*     *     *

Walter listened to the exchange with disdain.
Damnit! Sarah and the kids had taken over. Well, that was going to change.
While he was in prison, Sarah told him that Anna Mae got her driver’s license and a cheap used car. Anna Mae hadn’t even had the decency to visit. She could have brought David. Or was he too busy with his space shit?

David spread the newspaper across the table. “Look Dad! It’s about Apollo 13. It tells you how they had to redesign the oxygen tank.”

Walter pushed the paper out of his way.
Space rocket gibberish! The kid should be playing football. These women have turned my son into a sissy. I’ll put an end to that, and a lot of other bullshit too!

The next day Sarah went to one of her cleaning jobs. David was in school. Walter was sleeping late. Anna Mae’s mother, Becky, had been making progress in AA, and Anna Mae was feeling good about their developing relationship. Not wanting to be alone with Walter on his first day home, she would go to Becky’s house. At ten o’clock, in a gesture of reconciliation, she left her car keys on the kitchen table with a note to Walter, saying he could use her car if he wanted to go somewhere. 

Before she took the bus to Pittsburgh, she stopped at Trinity Church. The sanctuary was dim and quiet with a hint of incense in the air. She walked to the candle bank and sat down. As she unbuttoned her jacket and slid forward onto her knees, the familiar comfort of safety engulfed her. How many times had she sought refuge in these pews? She looked beyond a single burning candle to the tall wooden cross. It had been five years since she watched Angelo in his short white tunic, placing the cross in its holder. She remembered how her heart beat a little faster when she looked at him. She also recalled what a terrible time in her life that had been. She was so young, so helpless, so utterly confused.

But worst of all, she thought she was crazy. Thank God for Doctor Rhukov. She hadn’t had a blackout for over two years.

Now Walter was home.

She took two dollars from her purse and squeezed them through the narrow slot next to the candle bank. Holding the long lighter wick, she touched one flame to light another. Bowing her head, she prayed silently for strength—for herself, for Sarah, for David. She thought she should pray for Walter, pray that he was happy to be home, pray that he would appreciate his family, pray that he would no longer be violent. But she couldn’t. In her heart there was no charity, no sincerity. She was still afraid of him.

The bus arrived in Pittsburgh before noon. In the brisk October air, the sun was bright and warm. She enjoyed the short walk to her mother’s house. Becky had told her it wasn’t necessary to knock so she walked right in and was immediately met by the aroma of something good baking in the oven.

Little Missy toddled toward her squealing with delight. Gathering her half-sister into her arms, she noticed that the toddler didn’t smell like urine and was wearing clean overalls. Carrying Missy, Anna Mae walked through the tidy living room to the kitchen. Becky stood by the stove with a sheet of hot, chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a spatula in the other. She swooped the spatula through the air. “Look! The house is clean. The laundry’s done. And I have a pot of coffee perking.”

Anna Mae put the little girl in her highchair, then pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Surprised?” Becky asked, looking around.

“The house looks great,” said Anna Mae. Except for baking things, the kitchen was spotless.

“I haven’t had a drink in four weeks,” said her mother while scooping the cookies onto a platter. She then gave Missy a sippy cup filled with milk and a warm cookie. While the baby was busy squeezing the melted chocolate chips through her pudgy little fingers, Becky poured two cups of steaming coffee.

Anna Mae watched her mother closely. Becky’s dark blond hair was neatly clipped behind her ears and she was wearing light pink lipstick.

Her mother placed the coffee and the plate of cookies on the table, then sat down across from her. It was then that Anna Mae saw the Alcoholics Anonymous guidebook, The Twelve-Step Program, on the table. Becky picked it up and held it in both hands.

“Anna Mae,” she said, “this book is my bible. When a person has been drinking as long as I have, well, we make a lot of mistakes. Sometimes we hurt people without meaning to.”

Anna Mae still didn’t like coffee but she sipped it politely as her mother ran her hand over the book’s cover. “There is so much I need to say to you. So much to make up for.”

“No you don’t,” said Anna Mae putting down her cup and reaching for a cookie. “I’m just happy that you’re doing so well.”

“But that’s not enough,” said Becky. “I’ve got to repair some of the damage I’ve done.”

Anna Mae took a bite of the cookie, savoring the chocolate as it melted in her mouth. Anna Mae wished her mother would save the serious conversation for another time.

But Becky was determined. She opened the book and ran her finger down one of the pages. “Here it is,” she said. “Step Eight: Make a list of all the persons I have harmed and be willing to make amends.”

Holding her finger on that exact spot, Becky looked up at her daughter. “You’re the main one,” she said. “You’re the one I’ve hurt the most. All those times when I called Joey Barns…I was drunk. I never called when I was sober. I wanted to stay out of your life so I wouldn’t ruin it. After a few drinks, I would pick up the phone—not all the time, but too often. That had to really upset you.”

“It did,” said Anna Mae, washing the cookie down with the coffee. “Poor Joey. I wish I had a dollar for all the times I accused him of knowing where you were and not telling me.”

“And that’s my fault too,” said Becky. “I’ll never be able to make that up to you.” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Evidently, Becky had been doing a lot of soul searching since their last visit. Anna Mae had never thought about whether or not she would forgive her mother.

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Becky. “I just need to tell you that I’m facing the bad things I’ve done. And that I am so sorry.”

Anna Mae felt nothing. For all Anna Mae had been through, it seemed like a shallow apology. Becky didn’t know about her blackouts or that she was seeing a psychiatrist or that Walter was an abusive drunk. However, this was not the time to tell her. Her mother was trying to fix her own life and she was feeling enough guilt. No need to add more to the mix. She had learned that from Dr. Rhukov. One small step at a time. That’s how you fix things. You don’t try to do it all at once.

Becky invaded her thoughts. “I need to tell you why I left when you were a baby. I didn’t want to hurt Sarah...”

Missy was nodding off and Anna Mae used that as an excuse get away from her mother. “I’ll put Missy in her crib.” She flipped up the highchair tray and carried the toddler to the tiny room that Becky shared with her young daughter.

“You were a beautiful baby,” Becky said from the doorway.

After all the years of yearning to know what had happened when she was a baby, Anna Mae did not want to hear it now. Dealing with Walter’s release from prison would take all her energy.

Anna Mae gently placed Missy in her crib, found a baby wipe in a nearby box and cleaned the melted chocolate from the little fingers, saying, “Could we talk about this some other time?”

“I wanted to keep you so bad,” Becky persisted. “But I thought I had disgraced my family. I was so young. I thought it was my fault. If I stayed, I would have to depend on everyone and God only knows how often my shame would be thrown in my face. But most of all, I was afraid that in a moment of weakness I would tell everyone the truth. I knew it would kill Sarah if she ever found out.”

Exasperated, Anna Mae turned to face Becky and snapped, “Found out what?”

“Your father was not a singer in a rock band.”

“I didn’t think so,” said Anna Mae, sidestepping her mother and walking back to the kitchen. “So who is my father?”

“I’m sorry,” said Becky following her. “I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“Well, you already did,” Anna Mae said harshly. “So tell me!”

“Sit down,” said Becky.

Anna Mae plunked herself down in a kitchen chair. Becky’s hands were trembling as she too sat down.

“Only Grandma McBride knew. She made me promise I would never tell so Sarah wouldn’t be hurt. You won’t tell Sarah, will you?”

“What? Tell Sarah what? For God’s sake, Becky, what are you trying to say?”

“When I was fifteen,” said Becky, reaching for the Twelve-Step book and hugging it to her chest as though it could give her strength. “When I was fifteen, Walter raped me.”

Anna Mae froze. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Say that again?”

Becky squeezed the book tighter. “I said…when I was fifteen, Walter raped me. Walter is your father.”

Anna Mae felt the blood drain from her face. She saw her mother’s mouth moving but didn’t hear a word she was saying. The room became a blur. Anna Mae stood up and moved towards the door. First slowly, and then faster and faster until she was running. She ran out the door, down the city sidewalk, past the condemned house, the junk strewn lot, then across two busy intersections where the bus seemed to be waiting for her.

Her knees threatened to buckle as she climbed up the three steps and found a seat near the front of the bus. The streets leading out of Pittsburgh could have been on another planet. As she rode past the unfamiliar buildings, she lost all sense of time. Then suddenly she was in Warrenvale. She got off the bus, forgetting to pay her fare. The driver called her back. Without bothering to count it, she threw a pocket full of change into the coin box.