the Fourth of July parade. The Corrigan Three singing on the radio. On Decoration Day, on Thanksgiving, waiting for pie. Singing Christmas carols.
He tried to show the judge the scrapbook, but the judge waved it away. He looked down at his papers and looked at his watch and looked at his watch again. The minutes went by like long hours.
After what felt like an hour someone knocked on the door and came in and whispered in the judge’s ear. Delia hadn’t shown up.
We went down the courthouse steps and looked at each other in a daze.
“Something must have happened,” Da said. “She’d never give up like this.”
But what we didn’t realize that afternoon, standing on the courthouse steps, was that she was gone for good.
Everything else was still there in her room: her winter coat, her good shoes, her hats, dresses, sheets. Her books, her radio, even her rosary.
He wrote to the convent in Vermont, but the sisters hadn’t heard of her. Maybe we’d heard the name wrong. Sisters of Mercy, we thought, but could it have been something else?
“She’ll come back,” Da said.
“She’ll send us a card,” Muddie said.
“She can’t just be gone,” Jamie said.
Nobody looked at me. It was like Da’s old story of our birth. Everybody knew who was at fault. Everybody knew who was guilty. I was the one, after all, who had made the deal with Nate.
Nate promised Da he’d had nothing to do with Delia’s disappearance. He’d just talked to the judge and vouched for Da, for old time’s sake.
We waited to hear from her. We thought surely she’d come at Christmas, or send word. Surely she’d send a card on our birthday. Surely…
There was a shift then. Strange how Delia was the funkiller, the one who could flatten the fizz in the soda, could remind you it was raining, could tell you on a brilliant cold day that you’d catch your death. You’d think there would be more songs, more laughter after she was gone. You’d think that, wouldn’t you?
When a family breaks you don’t hear the crack of the breaking. You don’t hear a sound.
Thirty
New York City
November 1950
Here was where Delia had moved and talked, read the papers, had a cup of tea in the afternoon. Maybe there was a whole other side to my aunt. Maybe she sang along with the radio. Maybe she painted her fingernails. Because I didn’t really know her.
It was dark outside when I summoned all my courage and dialed the number. When I heard Muddie’s voice, I almost hung up.
“Kit!” she said when she heard my voice. “Oh, the newspapers! It’s all over, that picture of you….”
“So you saw it.”
“What happened? How could they print such lies? Everyone in Providence knows you’re Billy’s girl.”
I hung on, wanting to cry. Muddie’s belief in me was a steady thing, no more noticed than the sidewalk underneath my heels. But now I was glad of it. “Did Da —”
“I don’t know — he’s not home yet. Any minute. Are you coming for Thanksgiving? I can meet the train. Anytime —”
“I don’t know,” I said, stalling.
“But you have to come! Is Billy with you?”
“No. I was hoping he was in Providence,” I said, my heartbeat speeding up.
“Gosh, I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t called, but I’m sure he will,” Muddie rushed to say. “I’m sure he won’t believe any of this nonsense. Oh, here’s Da! It’s Kit on the phone! Hurry, it’s long distance!”
“I know it’s long distance!” Da shouted into the phone. “Kit? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Da —”
“I’m going down to that editor’s office and string him up by his tie, do you hear me?” he roared. “I’m suing him for libel! How dare they print such a lie! So you’re dancing with the man — you’re a dancer, aren’t you? Calling you a chorus girl —”
I was crying, leaning against the wall, tears sliding down my cheeks. He believed in me. Believed without my explaining or begging. “I am a chorus girl, Da.”
“I know, but it’s the way he wrote it. I’ve a mind to —”
“You can’t do anything. It’s in all the papers here. I’m just glad you don’t believe it.”
“Of course I don’t!”
“Da, I have to ask you something. What happened between you and Nate?”
“What happened? What do you mean? I haven’t seen him in years.”
“No, I mean, long ago. Why didn’t you stay friends?”
There was a pause. Then, cautiously, “Well, now, we’re friends. Of a sort.”