Vincent didn’t make it home. I should have been angry that he didn’t try harder to get a seat—or if necessary, standing room—on one of the packed trains out of Chicago, but instead I was relieved. How could I talk to him? What could I say? I was afraid if I saw him face-to-face, I would reveal too much.
Mimi and Pop and Father Longo helped me make the arrangements for my mother’s funeral, and the church overflowed with her friends. I sat with Mimi and Pop in the front row of St. Leo’s and when I chanced to look behind us, I was overwhelmed by the sea of people. Even our milkman was there, along with the ladies from the Italian bakery on the corner, our butcher, and the nurse from our doctor’s office. All those people who had cared about my mother and who now stood ready to help me, feed me, hold me up. My throat tightened with tears, as much from this outpouring of community love as from the loss of my beautiful, too-young-to-die mother.
People flooded our little kitchen with food that evening. There was so much ravioli, gnocchi, eggplant parmesan, and lasagna that I didn’t know what to do with it all. I crammed what I could into our small refrigerator and gave away what wouldn’t fit. Mimi stayed by my side nearly every minute, stroking my back and my hair, mothering me now that I had no mother of my own. I was so focused on my grief that I nearly forgot about the baby. About Henry. I nearly forgot about my predicament.
The day after the funeral, our landlord stopped over to tell me my mother had been behind on our rent.
“I hate-a to tell you tis at-a tis terrible time,” he said in his thick Italian accent, “but your mama? She owe me for two mont.”
I was shocked. That was so unlike my responsible mother. I found her checkbook in her night table drawer and saw the reason she was in arrears. My tuition had gone up and she hadn’t told me. We never talked about finances and I felt selfish now for taking any money from her when I was twenty-three years old and should have been making my own. If I’d known the dire straits we were in, I could have dropped out of school and found a job to help out.
I paid our landlord with eighty-two dollars from my savings account, leaving less than a hundred dollars for me to live on. I didn’t tell him I would be leaving. He owned the Russos’ house as well and I didn’t want him to tell them anything. Besides, I hadn’t heard a word from Henry and it was beginning to look like I was back to being on my own again. I imagined Henry was struggling with second thoughts about his impulsive proposal. Maybe he’d never been serious about it in the first place. I lay awake two nights in a row, trying to figure out what to do. On the third day, though, he called.
“Sorry it’s taken me a bit to get back to you,” he said, “but I’ve managed to get a train reservation with a roomette for you for this Wednesday and we should be able to meet with the justice of the peace immediately after your arrival on Thursday. I’m not sure of the time yet, but—”
“Henry,” I interrupted, both relieved and frankly terrified of suddenly stepping into that unfamiliar new life. “I … I can’t do it this quickly. My mother died last week and I have to deal with the house and—”
“Your mother died?” He sounded stunned. “How terrible for you. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. I know we have to … I know we should get married quickly. But it’s just me here, and I need to clean out my mother’s … things.”
“How long will that take you?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe a week?”
He didn’t respond right away. “Make it sooner,” he said finally. “It’s best if people think you, you know. That you conceived on our wedding night.”
I was nearly three months along. We weren’t going to fool anyone. “I know,” I said. “I’ll hurry. I’ll do my best.”
“Do you need money?” he asked.
I hesitated. Yes, I needed money, but I wasn’t ready to take his. Not yet. “No, thank you,” I said. I was pleased that he offered. He was going to be someone I could count on, and right then, I needed that more than I could say.
* * *
Henry’s call energized me but not nearly as much as the call I received from Vincent that evening.
“I got a ticket, finally,” he said. “I’ll be home Friday night and can stay the weekend.”
“You don’t need to come home,” I said, panicking. “I’m doing all right and I know it’s difficult for you.”
“No, I’m coming,” he said. “I keep picturing you going through your mother’s things alone. How hard that’s got to be. I don’t want you to be alone, honey.”
“Your mother’s helping,” I said, which was a partial truth. Mimi wanted to help, but I was shutting her out. I couldn’t bear to have her close by any longer. I felt as though every word that came out of my mouth was a lie. Plus, I was not only emptying the house of my mother’s personal belongings, carting bags of clothing and books to the donation center at St. Leo’s. I was also emptying it of everything we owned. Everything I could carry.
“I’m coming and that’s final,” Vincent said.
Oh, Vincent. To see him one more time. To touch him. Wrap my arms around him. I couldn’t let it happen.
I would have to be gone by the time he arrived.