across the room and imagined him hating my guts. Now and then he sucked in his breath and socked the pillow with his fist.
I had to break the silence. “My father cried when he left.”
“I saw him cry once before,” Vic said, startling me with his friendliness. He sat up, propping his head up with his hand.
“The time Dixie died, a long time ago. You never knew Dixie. Swell pooch. Well, anyway, he made him a coffin out of an old desk drawer and stuck him in a pillow case. Buried him right out in the backyard.”
Vic flipped onto his belly. “Didn’t make any noise when he cried, though. Cried and cried until his eyes got red, but … funny.” He looked at me. “Didn’t he cry when? …”
“When my mother died,” I said, completing his sentence.
“No. Not around me, anyway.”
Vic let it sink in. “Weird guy.” He reached around under his mattress. “Want a Milky Way?”
“We just brushed our teeth.”
“Ah, it’s all right, you just rub the chocolate off with your tongue. Here.”
He tossed one at me. It landed in the sheets, near my knees.
“Dixie,” Vic said through a mouthful of candy. “Once in a while my mother still chucks a bone out in the yard for her, where your father buried her. You can’t touch the bone, either. It has to sit on the grave till it rots.”
His voice grew serious. “So if you see a bone in the yard, don’t touch it, ’cause it’s for Dixie.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Especially if my mother’s lookin’.”
“I won’t. What would I want with a dumb bone, anyhow?”
He flipped onto his back. “I’ll tell you this — your father’s all right. He was good to me when I was a shrimp.”
I let his remark go without comment.
“But he was always a little crazy,” Vic continued. “Remember when he got married, and everybody told him … jeez, do you believe this? I’m expectin’ you to remember your father’s wedding!”
“What did everybody tell him?”
Vic sighed. “All right. When he got married nobody was marryin’ Irish girls. That’s the truth. I mean it’s no big deal now, but to my mother …”
“What?” I said. “Say it.”
Vic licked his lips. “My mother thought she wasn’t good enough for Sal,” he said. “She apologized a million times since then,” he added quickly.
The news hit my heart like dull daggers.
“God, I shouldn’t have told you that,” Vic said, pummeling his bedding. “Why the hell couldn’t you fall asleep?”
Vic rolled away from me. I saw the black back of his head, suspected he was nowhere near sleep. I was right. When he rolled to face me again his eyes were wide open.
“Nobody could ever tell your father what to do,” he said with fierce pride. “If he had his hand on a hot stove and you told him to take it off he wouldn’t. A rock head. Now it’s the same thing. He wants to drive away, he drives away. Understand this? Joseph?”
“Joey,” I corrected. “No, I don’t.”
“Want another Milky Way?”
“Yeah.”
This one landed on my navel. “They got married real young, they had you right away…. He’s makin’ up for lost time, I figure. Few weeks and he’ll be back, guaranteed.”
The bedroom door opened. Connie’s form filled the doorway.
“Talk soft.”
“Sorry,” Vic said, wincing.
She looked at me. “He keeping you awake?”
“No,” I said, “I’m keeping him awake.”
“Lie down and shut up,” she instructed, pulling the door closed. It was shut nearly all the way when it opened again, suddenly.
“You ain’t foolin’ me,” she said to both of us. “I find the candy wrappers in the morning.”
The door closed for good. Vic’s breathing became rhythmic with sleep. I ran my tongue over my teeth to get rid of the last traces of chocolate and caramel.
The night that had given Connie “knots” was still a mystery, but that was all right. I could wait. I certainly wasn’t going anywhere.
“Nowhere to go.”
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Vic rolled over.
“What’d you say?”
“Nothing.”
He pushed a thick knuckle against one eye. “Aw, c’mon, kid, get used to this place and sleep, already.”
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN I awoke the next morning I was alone. “Dad?” I said, then I remembered.
Sheets, blanket, and pillow lay in a thick tangle at the head of Vic’s bed, and clothes were scattered on the floor. It didn’t seem late. I finally found a clock under one of Vic’s undershirts. It was a little after eight.
I tugged on yesterday’s shirt and pants and walked into the hallway. The window at the end of the hall faced the backyard. It was a plot of black dirt about ten feet wide and fifteen feet long, next to the garage. A wild, snaggled, fruitless vine grew up the side of the wall. A few weeds speckled the dirt, and a thin beard of moss. Connie threw her decomposable garbage out there — melon rinds, coffee grounds, orange peels. The sweet smell of decay rose to the window.
I could hear water running and smelled coffee from downstairs. Still half asleep I went to the bathroom.
The door was open. I let out a yelp upon finding my grandfather, Angelo, shaving at the sink.
The whole room smelled of Rise. Angelo wore gray work pants and a sleeveless undershirt, and he was putting the final touches of lather on his face with a brush, even though the cream came from a can. He spotted me in the mirror.
“Hey.” He smiled, teeth bright yellow against the snowy lather. He took a bent cigarette from the edge of the sink and puffed on it, rinsed his razor, and pinched my cheek.
“Boy, did you grow.” He turned to the mirror and began scraping his cheek. “If you want to use the toilet I won’t look,” he promised.
“I don’t have to go,” I lied. My bladder was bursting.
“Didn’t you just get up?”
