Battered, p.2
Battered, page 2
“Really, you think so?” Alene stood up, exhausted from the brief conversation. Should she say something about not labeling people? “I’m, um, well, okay, Jack, thanks for letting me know, and I’ll be happy to look at your resume, but we’re not actually hiring anyone at the moment.” Would he think she sounded sincere? “Okay, so look, it’s almost closing time and I’ve got to get moving, but once you forward it to me, I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do to improve your resume.”
“I don’t have a resume,” Jack said.
“Oh. So, how about asking Tinley or Bill to help you write one up? That would be a really good first step to finding employment.” Alene looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run, Jack, but thanks for stopping by.” She fled back into the kitchen, guilty about having been so abrupt.
Shortly after that, Olly returned to the kitchen, deposited more dishes into the sink, and came over to put an arm around Alene’s shoulder. “Jack liked the muffin but didn’t think you were very friendly. He said you have no idea what he’s capable of.” Olly hesitated. “I wonder if he meant that as a threat.”
“Maybe he meant Alene doesn’t realize that he’s capable of holding a job,” said Ruthie.
“I don’t think so,” said Kacey, shaking her head. “Jack’s more into threatening.”
Chapter 2
Still a little unsettled by Jack’s visit, Alene adjusted her backpack and strolled up Broadway towards the grocery store. The sun warmed the top of her head as she inhaled a heady mix of fragrant flowers and exhaust fumes. How could she hire Jack Stone? Why couldn’t he clean floors and fill shelves at the bar next door, when it was closed during the day, or at any other restaurant in the city?
She tried to stop thinking about Jack, focusing instead on the expressions of people passing by. Her mother used to invent names for passers-by and she’d make-up stories about where they were heading. Had Alene spent enough time teaching her children to use their imaginations? There was no rush to get home - at this time of day her father would be watching a baseball game, sprawled in his post-nap, comfy chair. Blanca would have given him a snack and tidied the apartment. Zuleyka Martinez, originally hired as a nanny, but now an employee at the café and a frequent babysitter, would have picked up the children from day camp. Alene’s phone vibrated in her pocket.
It was her oldest, Sierra. “Mom, we’re done with our chores and there’s nothing to do. Can me and Quinn go to the playground?”
“Hi Sierra honey, did you have a good day at camp?” Alene asked.
“No, I got pushed into a door and this is probably the stupidest summer program I’ve ever done. Also, a lot of my friends are already babysitting for younger kids, Mom, so I could be Quinn’s babysitter.”
Alene paused. “You can babysit as soon as you learn how to treat your siblings respectfully, Sierra. For today, Noah probably wants to go to the playground too and I’d prefer that Zuleyka walk the three of you over there.”
“MOM,” Sierra wailed, “She speaks Spanish the whole time and never stops Noah from bothering me and my friends. She’s the worst babysitter, ever.”
Alene didn’t even know where to begin. “I can only hope you didn’t just hurt her feelings by saying that when she could hear you, Sierra,” said Alene. “You know she’s from Panama, and Spanish is her native language. We wanted you to learn it from her. Also, it’s your brother’s birthday tomorrow and it would be nice if you included him.”
“I would, if he wasn’t such a brat,” said Sierra. “You know that when we go to Dad’s, he lets us play outside by ourselves.”
Alene stopped so abruptly that a woman walking behind her stepped on the back of her foot. Alene yelped. She’d repeatedly reminded her ex-husband that all three children still required supervision when they were with him, even though he lived in the relatively safe Lincoln Park area. It wasn’t just in her nightmares that the city was riddled with crime – there were always stories about guys trying to entice children into vans. Sierra continued, “Dad’s going to drop me and Quinn at the playground by his house after he picks us up. It’s a better playground than the stupid baby one close to us.”
Neal was supposed to have the kids from Friday through Saturday afternoon. Did he really plan to leave them in a playground after dark, by themselves? If she brought it up, he’d mock her for being a worrywart, and do whatever he wanted anyhow. “It’s Quinn and me, not me and Quinn,” she told Sierra.
“MOM,” Sierra whined.
“We’ll talk about it when I get home, Sierra. I’m walking into the grocery store right now. Would you please remind Quinn and Noah to do chores and pack their overnight bags?”
“I’m only going to remind them once,” said Sierra, “and by the way, I’ve asked you four times to buy me some cantaloupe.”
Alene decided not to respond to that. “Please help Zuleyka start the pasta for dinner.”
Sierra exhaled dramatically. “Why, can’t she boil water by herself?”
“You can help her choose the pasta, Sweetie,” Alene replied, “and help her find the big pot.”
Sierra, who’d been kind and sweet as a child, clicked off without saying goodbye. Alene wished she’d ended their conversation with “I love you.” Ruthie Rosin always ended conversations with her children that way, but her twelve-year-old daughter had also recently started to mouth off like a teenager. Would saying “I love you” more often really make a difference?
Alene sniffed five cantaloupes before finding one that smelled sweet. Maybe she’d also handled Jack badly, but how could she be expected to hire such a wastrel? Bill Vanza was a bonehead to think it was a good idea for Jack to work at Whipped and Sipped.
Bill, who acted like he was still the star quarterback he’d been in high school, had been one of Neal’s best friends for years. When Alene and Neal were still married, Bill would come over on Fridays after work and stretch out on the couch without removing his shoes. He and Neal would spend an inordinate amount of time in the living room, drinking beer and watching sports. Alene had been wrong to let Neal buy that enormous flat-screen LED television. Then, after the divorce, he’d splurged on an even bigger screen with higher definition. The kids loved it.
Except for their three children, Alene considered her marriage to Neal a wasted eight years. Their relationship had started out fun and spontaneous, but she shouldn’t have assumed he’d mature with age or that having children together would turn them into a loving family. At least the divorce settlement had allowed her to buy the Whipped and Sipped Café from Gary Vanza. Her dad had refused to let her pay rent, after she’d moved back into his four-bedroom condo, where she and her sister Lydia had grown up. Her father loved the daily interactions with his grandchildren, and they mostly loved his jokes, endless patience, and non-judgmental listening. They also enjoyed the spectacular views of Belmont Harbor and the lake, and they’d quickly made friends in their new schools.
In the bakery aisle, Alene picked out Batman candles for Noah’s birthday cake. How could her baby be turning eight years old? It didn’t seem so long ago that she’d gone into labor with him. She’d been visiting her father that day, with four-year-old Sierra and two-year-old Quinn. They’d walked over to the playground while her father had his after-lunch nap. She remembered leaning heavily on the stroller; Sierra was old enough to walk but insisted on riding, and Quinn sat on Sierra’s lap. They’d stopped at the harbor to look at the boats. There’d been a soft breeze from the lake, but she hadn’t appreciated it because she’d felt bloated, unattractive, and was stabbed by sciatica with each step.
Alene had suddenly noticed people running a few hundred feet ahead towards someone lying in the gravel along the bike path. She’d thought it was probably another maniacal bicyclist who’d fallen or an inattentive walker who’d ambled into the bicycle lane. But as she got closer, Alene recognized her neighbor Brianne Flynn kneeling on the ground next to her husband, Dennis. He was sprawled a little too close to the bike path and Alene worried that someone could run into him. She saw Dennis and Brianne’s bicycles flung nearby, on the grass, and bikers zoomed by from both directions, all trying to steer clear of Dennis.
Sierra and Quinn had gone uncharacteristically quiet and stared with interest at the gathering crowd. “Look, Mommy, there’s Kacey. Kacey,” yelled Sierra, “come and play with us!” Alene had been delighted to see her even before she realized how much of a godsend Kacey would turn out to be.
Alene pushed the stroller as quickly as she could. The little girls thought it was a game and called out, “Faster, Mommy!”
“What happened,” both Kacey and Alene asked as soon as they got to where Dennis was lying. As the sirens got closer, Alene locked the stroller in place.
“We decided to go out for a ride,” said Brianne, who was slouched in the grass, her voice anguished. “We were about to get off the path when some idiot barreled into Dennis. Everyone saw him fall but nobody noticed the other guy ride away as if nothing happened.”
“I would have pulled him off his bike and bashed in his skull if I’d seen him,” said Kacey.
Alene gave her a look and Kacey, remembering the children, quickly said, “I mean, shame on that man for pushing Dennis down. He should be punished.” Alene smiled gratefully until they all heard Dennis moan.
“Oh my, he looks hurt, and - bloody,” said Alene, swaying unsteadily. She whimpered as a gush of warm water trickled down her legs. Luckily, the girls were facing away and couldn’t see her plop gracelessly to the ground. What an idiot for thinking she could run in her condition.
“Alene, are you all right?” Kacey asked.
“I might be in labor,” said Alene. She paused as a wave of pain ripped through her body. “Yup. Baby coming,” she tried to smile. “Kacey, can you please… call Neal?” She exhaled as the pain faded. “I’m sorry, Brianne. Give my love to Dennis. I hope he didn’t break anything.”
Kacey promised to take the girls home, and the next thing Alene knew, she was screaming with another huge contraction, lying in the back of a police car heading south to the hospital.
The next day, as she was nursing baby Noah, Brianne, still in the clothes she’d been wearing on the bike path, stopped by Alene’s room.
Brianne stood in the doorway and said, “He’s gone.”
Alene pulled her concentration away from the baby and, asked, “What do you mean?”
“Dennis had a heart attack. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital,” said Brianne, barely above a whisper. “I think that biker ran into him on purpose.”
Alene started crying. “The police will figure it out, Brianne,” she said. “They’re not going to let the lake path be overrun by hit-and-run bikers.”
But nobody came forward, nobody saw anything, and nobody was ever caught. Eight years later, Brianne was still angry at the police for dropping the investigation. She hadn’t been consoled when the city of Chicago finally expanded the bike path and the number of collisions between bikers and pedestrians decreased.
Now in the grocery store, filling her cart with a baguettes, salad ingredients and vegetables, Alene remembered going into labor with Noah. A kind police officer had accompanied her into the hospital and sat with her through the birth, since Neal had only appeared after the baby had been measured, cleaned up, and returned to her.
Was Noah’s birth always going to be connected in her memory to Dennis’s death? Standing in the checkout line, Alene wiped away the tears that sprang up every time she remembered that day. But Noah had been a healthy, happy baby, and now he was a happy, spunky, science-loving child about to celebrate his eighth birthday at the Shedd Aquarium. He’d invited seven friends to celebrate the following afternoon, and Alene was relieved that only five of them were coming. She’d also invited her sister and brother-in-law, and Ruthie Rosin and her family for dinner and birthday cake after Noah’s party.
She had to get Neal to be a more responsible parent. As she strode home with the groceries and birthday candles in her backpack, Alene called her sister, who’d been Alene’s divorce attorney and who would know how to make sure Neal kept the children safe. After the fourth ring, Lydia answered in a clipped voice. “Hi, what’s up?”
“Neal is doing his ‘let’s-aggravate-Alene-by-putting the-kids-at-risk routine, do you have a minute?”
“I’m still at work.” Lydia sounded rushed as usual.
Alene said, “It’s not an emergency or anything, but can you call Neal and tell him he can’t let the girls play outside by themselves? He told them he’d drop them off at the playground after dark tonight.”
“That’s a call you can make, Alene. I’m trying to get out of here early today. Theo and I have reservations at Alinea. It’s our fifth anniversary, remember?” She sang the last words.
“Right, congratulations! That was super thoughtful of Theo – I’ve read about how hard it is to get into that place. You have to make reservations, like, six months in advance.”
“Ha,” Lydia replied, “you think he was the one who planned dinner?”
Alene said, “I bet he’s going to give you a really magnificent gift.” No doubt extravagant as usual, she thought, like diamond earrings that would look striking with Lydia’s long dark hair. He’d given Lydia a diamond necklace for her birthday, and a diamond bracelet for their last anniversary. Also a lawyer, Theo King was a decent guy, but he repeated everything two or three times, had a phony-sounding laugh that reminded her of a horse’s whinny, and talked incessantly about his mother, who had recently moved to an assisted-living facility in Florida. His generosity was oppressive - he always spent way more than necessary on gifts. When he and Lydia came to dinner, they’d present Alene with a crystal vase filled with roses or an extremely expensive wine when all she was serving was pot roast with mashed potatoes. For Lydia’s sake, she always tried to overflow with gratitude.
“Whatever he gives me, I’ll love it, and I’ll wear it when we come over tomorrow night,” Lydia said. “Theo’s picked out an enormous Lego something-or-other for Noah’s birthday and I ordered a fabulous Batman ice cream cake with three flavors and sprinkles.”
“He’s going to love everything,” said Alene, suspecting that the Lego set was going to be much too complicated for Noah. “You can skip the call to Neal, I’ll take care of it. As usual, I’ve been reminiscing all afternoon about the day Noah was born. Do you remember?”
Lydia was busy shuffling papers on her end. “Wasn’t there some drama when you went into labor? Something about Dennis Flynn?”
“I’ll never forget that,” said Alene. “He was pushed off his bike and then he had a heart attack in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Brianne took over the bar and made a go of it, but she’s been alone since he died.”
“I’d love to talk, Alene, but I’m really rushed.” Lydia said brusquely.
Alene knew that if she really had to go, she’d just hang up. “Brianne was the one who had spilled the beans about Neal, while she was still in mourning for Dennis.”
It had been warm for September, the sun was shining, and the city was still garlanded with sidewalk gardens and tubs of lush fall annuals. Alene had met Brianne for lunch at a cute place on Clark, just a mile south of Whipped and Sipped. They were both off on Sundays.
Alene pulled herself back to the present. “Lydia, you won’t believe who came in asking for a job today.” There was no response since Lydia had already ended the call. Alene put her cell back in her pocket and kept walking.
The weather had been like this that day when she met had Brianne for lunch – hot and humid. Three-month-old Noah was nestled against her chest, papoose-style. A basket of warm whole-grain rolls and three salads had been placed on the table.
Brianne had been heartbroken after Dennis died and was angry that the coroner listed the cause of his death as a heart attack. She was a fine-boned, still beautiful woman with the posture of a former dancer, but Alene noticed her ashen skin and the bags under her eyes. Before he died, she and Dennis had been planning a trip, to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Alene wished she’d been more helpful to Brianne back then. Brianne said she was fine, but she’d just become a widow at forty-eight. She had a twenty-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter who still required parenting. How did she have room to worry about Alene?
“It’s about Joan and Gary Vanza,” Brianne had said.
In addition to being her boss at the café, before she bought it, Gary had always been a wonderful neighbor. He was friendly and generous and he’d often dropped by for a game of chess with Alene’s father, to check if anything needed fixing, or just to say hello. However, twice in the previous month while Alene was visiting her dad, Gary’s wife, Joan Stone, had gotten into the elevator and let the doors close, even though Alene was just a few yards away with her three children.
Alene wasn’t all that interested in hearing what Brianne had to say about Gary Vanza and his wife, with her dyed-orange hair and surgically-enhanced chest, especially while her own breasts were so sore from nursing the baby. She’d tried to make a joke of it. “Let me guess – Joan has passports under different names and nationalities, and is actually a Russian spy?”
Brianne gave a hint of a smile. “No. Gary found another stash of money. This time she hid it in a kitchen drawer. He told me he was looking for a zester to grate orange peel.”
Alene wondered what he’d used the orange peel for. “Maybe Joan is a pick-pocket. There, I just solved the case.”
Brianne insisted, “Thirty. Thousand. Dollars. And Gary told me that it wasn’t the first time he’s found such a huge amount.” It seemed that Gary was telling Brianne the things he used to be able to tell Dennis.
Alene sipped her tea. “Maybe Joan doesn’t use banks. She’s a dingbat, but so what? Why are you telling me this?”
“Gary asked her where she got it and she yelled at him for snooping.”
