Damaged Page 13

  “Ma, it’s me,” Mary said, when she reached her mother, then leaned over and kissed her soft cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late, what’s the matter?”

  “Maria?” Her mother looked up, her sparse gray eyebrows lifting, then she grabbed Mary’s hand and squeezed hard. “Is Elvira, she say they fix my hair.”

  “Don’t worry, Ma. That’s why we’re here. They’re going to fix your hair. Mine too, and Elvira’s, for the wedding.” Mary stroked her mother’s short gray curls, which look freshly trimmed and smelled like mangoes. “Did they already do you? Did I miss everything? And where’s Courtney?”

  “No, no, no, you no understand, Courtn’, she wash alla, she cut alla, but is Elvira.” Her mother shook her head, agitated.

  “What did Elvira do?”

  “Elvira—” Her mother started to answer, but clammed up when El Virus came clacking toward them, in a black V-neck showing major cleavage bedazzled with I STILL GOT IT, which she had on with her black stirrup pants and black half-boots with stiletto heels. She believed that bedazzling improved everything, including the wedding dress she’d wanted Mary to marry Anthony in, but that was another story. She piled on the makeup and wore her hair in a tight black perm, which was truly permanent.

  “Hey, Mare!” El Virus gave them a manicured wave hello as she approached with a tattooed-and-pierced Goth stylist. “’Bout time you got here!”

  “Sorry,” Mary said, when El Virus got closer. “What’s going on? Where’s Courtney?”

  “Courtney cut your mom’s hair, but she felt sick and had to go home. I got a better stylist anyway, one who knows what to do with your mother.” El Virus jerked her thumb at a skinny twenty-five-year-old with heavy black eyeliner, black lipstick, and short matte black hair, which matched her black tank dress, black belt with studs, and black Roman sandals. Mary assumed she liked black, or had been to a funeral.

  “I’m Lucretia.” Lucretia smiled, revealing a silvery grille that reminded Mary of the braces she never had, and in Lucretia’s hands was a silver tray that held a number of hair products Mary had never seen before.

  “What’s that stuff?”

  “It’s for your mother,” El Virus interjected, then took Mary’s arm and tugged her toward the empty hair station next to her mother. “And look what I got for you!”

  “What?” Mary asked, increasingly bewildered.

  “Check this!” El Virus waved in front of the black-lacquered counter, and on its top sat round brushes, big-tooth combs, and bottles of pump hairspray, but next to them were long strands of hair, ranging from dark blonde to light blonde, hanging from a thin plastic string that looked like fishing wire.

  “Extensions!” called out a young girl from behind her, and Mary turned around to see a second stylist, who looked and dressed like Lucretia except that her grille was gold, not silver, and suddenly nothing was making any sense.

  “Where’s Ellen?” Mary wanted Ellen, the hairstylist Anne had recommended for her. “And I don’t want extensions.”

  The second stylist answered, “Mary, I’m Teegan, and Ellen had to drive Courtney home. Ellen said I should take over, so I’m here to do your hair. I think your mother-in-law is right. You totally need extensions. Here, sit down, please.”

  “No, wait—” Mary said, though she allowed Teegan to press her into the black swivel chair beside her mother while she tried to figure out what was going on.

  El Virus stood between the two workstations, cracking her gum. “Mary, the extensions were my idea, and you totally need them. Nobody in Hollywood has their real hair. Take it from me.”

  Mary bit her tongue, as Elvira had never been west of Eighth Street. “Elvira, I don’t want extensions. I’m not going to wear extensions.”

  “But it makes your hair fuller.”

  “I know what they are.”

  “Give it a try, you’ll like it.”

  “I don’t want them.”

  “Anthony will love them.”

  “Then let him wear them.”

  Lucretia picked up the extensions and plopped them in Mary’s lap, like a small dog that needed grooming. “She’s right, give it a try. We use only one hundred percent human hair at this salon. You need to pick some that are highlights, some that are lowlights, and some that match your exact color. We’ll do that while your hair is dry, then we’ll get you a smock, get you shampooed, and we’re good to—”

  “No, no, no!” Mary said, at the same moment that she heard her mother, next to her, saying:

  “No, no, no!”

  “Ma, what is it?” Mary turned to see her mother covering her head with her hands while Lucretia was trying to spray something onto her hair. “Lucretia, what are you doing?”

  El Virus dismissed Mary with an airy wave. “Don’t worry about it, Mare. Lucretia’s takin’ care of your mother’s bald spot.”

  “What?” Mary cringed. Her mother was supersensitive about the bald spot at her crown, which was why she got her hair teased every week at her corner beauty salon.

  Lucretia raised the shiny black can. “This is a scalp concealer, and it hides her bald spot. Wait ’til you see. Let me just spray this, then it turns to powder. The chemicals make, like, fibers, and you can’t even see the bald spot, and we follow it with a finishing spray—”

  “No, no, no!” her mother said, cowering under her hands.

  “She doesn’t have a bald spot,” Mary said, to save face for her mother. Her mother had never acknowledged the existence of her bald spot, and both Mary and her father supported her denial, which was how they did things in the DiNunzio family. Because they loved each other.

  El Virus snorted. “Oh, your mother’s bald! She’s really bald. I remember when I first met her, her bald spot was about the size of a fig, then a plum, but then it got to be the size of an orange, and pretty soon it’s gonna be as big as a cantaloupe—”

  “—Ma, don’t listen to her, you’re not bald—”

  “—and Mare,” El Virus continued, “you’re gonna be bald too, it’s hereditary. That’s why you need the extensions, on account of the fact that your hair is so thin, and nobody wants thin hair on her wedding day. You gotta have volume, a lotta volume, like me—”

  Mary stopped listening, stood up, put the extensions on the counter, and crossed to her mother. “Ma, you okay?”

  “Maria, no.” Her mother’s cloudy eyes began to glisten, which broke Mary’s heart.

  “I don’t like it here. Do you, Ma?”

  “No, no, Maria. I no like.” Her mother lowered her hands, blinking.

  “Let’s go home.” Mary picked up her mother’s glasses from the counter, unfolded the acetate stems, and slid them onto her mother’s lined face, kissing her on the forehead.

  “Andiamo!” Her mother blinked her tears away and hopped out of the swivel chair like a much younger woman.

  “I love you, Ma.” Mary unsnapped her mother’s plastic smock, helped her out of it, and left it bunched on the chair. Underneath she had on her flowered housedress, which smelled of mothballs and oregano, which was perfect.

  “Ti amo, Maria.” Her mother smiled again, then picked up her handbag.

  El Virus looked at them like they were crazy. “Ladies, what’re ya doin’? Where ya goin’? This place is great! And Mare, wait, I tol’ Teegan to get you false eyelashes because your eyelashes are real thin, too—”

  “Elvira, thanks, but no thanks.” Mary turned to Lucretia and Teegan. “Ladies, we appreciate it, but this isn’t our style.”

  “Whatever,” Lucretia and Teegan said in unison.

  “Hmph, I’m staying!” El Virus folded her arms over her bedazzled breasts.

  “Please do, you’re welcome to, Elvira.” Mary managed a smile, only to maintain relations. “Let me treat you to it, they have my credit card info. Feel free. Get a manicure or a pedicure, whatever you like, but I’m going to take my mother home.”

  “Suit yourself, Mare.” Elvira shrugged. “Thanks. Bye.”

  “Ciao
, Elvira.”

  “Bye, Elvira.” Mary took her mother by the arm, and as they turned and headed for the door, she realized this was the second time she was walking out of a room today, which was a personal best. Or worst.

  El Virus called after her, “Hey, Mare, can I get a Brazilian, too?”

  Her mother looked up at her, not understanding. “Che?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It took Mary a long time to calm her mother down, and Mary didn’t succeed until her mother started cooking, making her a big bowl of spaghetti, which she ate, and then Mary’s father had gotten home, so she stayed while her mother made him a big bowl of spaghetti and he ate it, at which point, world order was restored in the DiNunzio household, through carbohydrates.

  It was late by the time Mary left her parents’ house, and the sun had tarnished to a coppery hue, sliding like a penny on a wall behind the flat tar roofs, ugly satellite dishes, and sagging cables that marked the South Philadelphia sky. She drove past the rowhouses with their brick, stucco, or stone façades, the front windows bay or single-paned, plugged with rattling air conditioners. Raucous boys played in front of the houses, shouting to each other as they hopped on skateboards, flying with their arms extended, sending them into whoops of excited laughter.

  It made Mary think of Patrick, who never got to play like that, and she had second thoughts about going back to the office or even home. She’d called Edward again, but he still hadn’t replied, and she needed to get his signature on admission papers to keep Patrick on track at Fairmount Prep. She glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 7:17, and she took a right toward Broad Street, heading north.

  Traffic was light, since rush hour was finished and everybody was home, which meant that when Mary finally reached Juniata, she had to circle the O’Briens’ block of Moretone Street again and again to find a parking space. She kept an eye out for the brown Subaru or a red Passat, but she didn’t expect to see either after what had happened today.

  She found a parking space around the corner, on Bird Street. She got out of the car, chirped it locked, and walked down Bird, feeling the air cool now that twilight had fallen, darkening the sky. Lights went on inside the houses, and big TVs flickered in the living rooms, flashing on the front windows like electronic lightning. Women came outside to water potted plants, and men smoked cigarettes on their front step.

  Mary turned onto Moretone Street. The O’Briens’ house was on the right side of the street and she was on the left, and she saw immediately that lights were on in the house, so they’d gotten back. She glanced up at Patrick’s room, also lit, and just behind his window fan, she made out the outline of Patrick’s head, bent down, presumably over his artwork. The sight did her heart good, and she hoped he wasn’t too traumatized by yesterday’s events.

  She crossed the street, smiled at the neighbors she passed, then reached the O’Briens’ and on impulse, stopped and called up to Patrick’s window. “Hey Patrick, it’s Mary!” she called out, smiling. She expected his little head to pop into the window beside the fan, but in the next moment, his bedroom went dark.

  She assumed he was coming downstairs to open the door so she climbed the front stoop and rang the buzzer. She waited, but nobody answered. She rang again, but nobody answered again.

  “Patrick, Edward!” Mary called out, but there was still no answer, which left her nonplussed. She knew they were home; Patrick’s light had been on, and the downstairs lights were still on. She leaned over and peeked in the living room, but she couldn’t see through the curtains, except to confirm that the light was still on. But suddenly, in the next moment, the living room light blinked off.

  “Patrick? Edward?” Mary didn’t get it. She knew they were inside but they were turning the lights off. She flashed on her morning outside Grayson Elementary, ringing the buzzer and trying to get inside the school. If she didn’t know better, she would think Edward and Patrick were avoiding her, too.

  “Guys, it’s Mary! Patrick! Edward?” Mary rang the buzzer, then pounded on the door. She stepped back from the doorstep, walked back down the front walk, and peered up at the house, which remained dark inside.

  “Edward, Patrick!” Mary called out, making a megaphone of her hands, and in the next moment, the neighbor’s door opened and a ponytailed woman popped her head out, holding a baby in a diaper on her hip.

  “Yo, can I help you?” the neighbor called to Mary, with a frown.

  “Sorry!” Mary called back. “I’m a friend of the O’Briens and I wanted to see them. I think they’re home.”

  “I’m sure they are, they always are. But can you keep it down, please? I’m trying to put my baby down.” The woman went inside the house, closing the door.

  Mary took out her phone, pressed REDIAL for Edward, and went back up to the front door, listening for the ring of his cell phone. If she could hear it, that would mean he was in the living room. She couldn’t hear it. She ended the call, then leaned on the buzzer, longer, and let off. She knew Patrick had seen her even if Edward was taking a nap, so she knocked on the door one last time.

  “Patrick, let me in. It’s really important. I need to see you and your grandfather.” Mary waited at the doorway, listening, but no sound came from within.

  “Patrick, please? It’s really important, and I’m not going away unless you let me in.” Mary waited at the door another moment, then sat on the front stoop. She didn’t want to disturb the neighbors anymore, and she didn’t know what was going on, but she would give it another minute. Her phone started ringing, and she looked down at the home screen, which showed it was Anne Murphy, from the office. Anne must have been calling to hear how the hair-and-makeup trial went, so Mary sent the call to voicemail. This wasn’t the time or place for a conversation about extensions, plus she knew Anne would definitely be in favor.

  Suddenly, the door opened behind her with a scraping sound, and Mary turned around to see Patrick frowning at her.

  “My Pops is taking a nap. I’m not allowed to wake him up. Can you come back later?”

  “No, and I’m sure he won’t mind if I wake him up, because this is important.” Mary tried the screen door, but it was locked. “Patrick, unlock the door and let me in.”

  “I can’t. My Pops will be mad.”

  “No, he won’t, I promise. Please?”

  Patrick unlocked the screen door, then stepped back and let Mary into the living room, which was dim without the lights on.

  “How’re you doing?” Mary asked him, glancing around the living room, which was empty. So Edward wasn’t sleeping on the couch, a time-honored tradition in the DiNunzio household, but Patrick was acting distant.

  “Okay.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yes.” Patrick shrugged, looking down.

  Mary crossed to the table lamp and turned it on, but Patrick was strangely subdued. He had on a faded black Transformers T-shirt with the same gym shorts as yesterday and bare feet. It felt warm inside, the window air conditioner barely making a difference. “What did you guys do today?”

  “Nothing.” Patrick shrugged again, still downcast.

  “Really?” Mary glanced upstairs, reflexively. “But you weren’t home, were you?”

  Patrick didn’t reply, but he started sucking his lip, and Mary wondered what was making him anxious.

  “I called your grandfather but he didn’t answer. Is he taking a nap upstairs?” Mary walked to the bottom of the stairwell and put a hand on the banister. She was starting to wonder if something was wrong.

  “He’s in bed.” Patrick didn’t turn around, just stood still, his head down and his arms hanging at his side.

  “Okay, you wait here, and I’ll be right back down.” Mary went up the stairs, not understanding why Patrick was behaving so oddly. She reached the top of the stairwell, which was too dark to see anything. She felt around for a switchplate and flipped on the light, illuminating the hallway. She knew that to the left was Patrick’s bedroom, but to the right must ha
ve been Edward’s. The hallway ended in a closed door, and she walked in that direction.

  There was an open door on her right, a bathroom, and then she passed an open door to her left, which seemed to be a small den. She reached the end of the hall and knocked on the closed door.

  “Edward, it’s Mary.”

  Mary waited outside the door. She was getting a bad feeling, but then again, maybe it was nothing. Patrick was a little boy, and kids acted funny without reason.

  “Edward?” Mary said more loudly, then knocked again. She waited, then opened the door. It was dark in the room, which had only one window, with a thick roll-up shade pulled down to the top of the window fan.

  “Edward?” Mary’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she saw Edward in the bed under a white sheet, lying still. Too still. Instinctively, she entered the room, went to his side, and touched his shoulder.

  “Edward,” Mary said, hushed.

  Edward didn’t move.

  Mary turned on the lamp on the night table. She gasped in horror. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Edward lay motionless in bed, his eyes closed and his head resting on a thin pillow. His mouth hung open grotesquely, his jaw had gone completely slack. His face was drained of color, and his skin ashen. A white sheet covered his body from the chest down. He had on lightweight blue pajamas.

  Mary had to make sure. She touched Edward’s shoulder again and felt the chill of his body through the thin cotton. She removed her hand and leaned over him, turning her head so that her ear faced him. She prayed to hear breathing, but there was no sound. She straightened up stiffly, trying to collect her thoughts. She considered trying to feel his neck for a pulse, but she couldn’t bear it. She knew what she would find.

  An unpleasant smell came from the bed, and she knew without looking that Edward had soiled the sheets. She made a mental note to strip the bed and wash the sheets before Patrick saw anything upsetting.