“Yes, it’s normal, but I said, how long will I follow them? How long do I do exactly as they do? Do I follow my cousins all the way to Holy Cross Cemetery?”
“Probably. The Palazzinis have a plot.” Peachy threw her hands up in frustration.
“Interesting. Even that has been determined. Well, I didn’t get that far in my thinking. I never thought about dying because I wasn’t living.”
“So what is this that we have been doing all this time, if it wasn’t living?”
“Existing.”
“Okay.” Peachy put her head in her hands as though holding her brain would help it get around the idea of what was happening to her.
“You’ve been so patient. A smart man would’ve married you and given you what you wanted and worked hard every day to give you more as you dreamed it up along the way. But I’m not very smart. It’s taken me thirty years to figure out I’m unhappy.”
Peachy unsnapped her purse and fished out her handkerchief. “You couldn’t have figured this out three years ago? Binny Falcone got a letter from Chi Chi Alzaro saying he was in a godforsaken trench in France when he figured out Binny wasn’t for him. Turns out he never saw a trench—he was at a party with a French girl when he had his particular epiphany because it sat on his lap—but it turned out all right because Binny was young and had time to grieve the loss and get back out into the world to find a nice guy and get her dream. But it’s too late for me. It’s all over. It has passed me by—all of it.”
“That’s not true, Peachy.”
“Isn’t it? Look at me. I’m washed up like an old whore in a Laundromat who’s out of soap and quarters.”
“You will find happiness, Peachy.”
“You can get everything back in this life but time. It’s gone, Nicky, and there’s no replenishing what has been lost.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This is what you do to a girl who had half her family locked up in an internment camp in New Mexico? Really? My family hasn’t been through enough? They lived in a chicken coop for two years and ate beef knuckles and rye bread and wept, and all you can say to me is you’re sorry?”
Peachy stood up and walked to the car, flung the door open, and got in. Nicky got into the driver’s seat.
“Do not speak to me.”
Nicky drove Peachy home in silence. He could hear the drip of her tears as they hit her patent leather purse.
Nicky pulled up in front of her house. “Peach.”
Peachy opened the car door and swung her legs out before Nicky could open the door on his side of the car. She was halfway up the steps on her parents’ porch when he got out. She had her key in the door before he could run around the front of the car. He was halfway up the walk when Peachy slammed the front door behind her from the inside. He heard the snap of the bolt.
Nicky stood back and watched, as he had many nights, under different circumstances, the lights going on inside the dark house as Peachy made her way up to her bedroom. As always, the light in the hallway flipped on and off as she climbed up to the second story; the overhead light upstairs turned on and off as she went into her bedroom. She turned on her bedside lamp. But this time, instead of going to the front window and blowing Nicky a kiss, she pulled down the shade and walked away, leaving a rectangle of light in the blue darkness.
Act II
The course of true love never did run smooth.
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream
6
Hortense bowed her head and tapped out the code, using the lever, as she took down the telegram coming in over the wire. She spun in her seat to the typewriter, typed out the message, and looked up at Nicky. “Those are the same clothes you had on yesterday.”
“I had a bad night.”
“You shouldn’t go out when you have the early shift.”
“I pray I will never have a night like that ever again.”
“Then do yourself a favor and lay off the liquor. There’s nothing worse than a young man with a sauce problem, unless it’s gambling. Then you’re both drunk and broke.” She peeled the message off the Western Union ribbon and glued it to the letterhead. “You up for a ride to Roseto, Pennsylvania?”
Before Nicky could answer, they heard the thunder of footsteps on the metal stairs up to the office. Aunt Jo and Uncle Dom, followed by Dominic, Gio, and Nino, crowded into the office.
“You’re in trouble, Nicky,” Uncle Dom panted.
“Al DePino is on his way over here to kill you,” Gio announced.
“You broke off with Peachy?” Aunt Jo took her nephew by the shoulders.
“Last night.”
“You’re lucky the old man didn’t come over here and stab you in your sleep.” Gio went to the window, as he was experienced at surveillance.
“I didn’t sleep.”
“It isn’t going to matter to him,” Uncle Dom said. “He’s gonna take you dead or alive.”
“You have to hide,” Aunt Jo implored him.
“Good morning.” Calla Borelli stood in the doorway, holding a bakery box of pastries. “I brought over a little thank-you gift for filling the theater. We closed the show in profit, thanks to you.”
“Not now!” Dom thundered.
“We got a matter of life and death here!” Gio added, but took the pastry box from her.
“I can come back later.” Calla turned to go.
“No, stay,” Nicky implored her.
Mabel came through the door in her bathrobe, panting. “Nicky, you got to get out of here. You are dealing with volatile people. I have a cousin on my Polish side—”
“I thought you were Irish,” Nino said, surprised.
“I have one Polish grandmother. That’s why I can bake. Anyhow, my cousin crossed Al DePino—nobody’s seen him since.”
“We’ve got a telegram to deliver to Roseto, PA. Who is taking it up there?” Hortense said impatiently.
“You’re not worried about this?” Aunt Jo turned to Hortense.
“I have a terrible anxiety. Inside, my organs are collapsing on each other, but somebody around here has to stay calm,” Hortense said evenly.
“What’s in the telegram?” Gio asked.
“I’m not allowed to tell you. All right. I’ll tell you. The ambassador that was scheduled to attend the Jubilee is sick and can’t make it.”
“That’s the guy you look like!” Gio punched Nicky’s arm. “The guy on the banner!”
“I look like the guy who can’t make it.” Nicky looked at Calla. “I have a twin.”
“I’m bonded by Western Union to make sure this telegram gets to Chief Burgess to alert him that the cat can’t make it for their Jubilee. So who’s delivering the telegram?”
“Mrs. Mooney, forget the telegram. We have to hide Nicky,” Aunt Jo cried.
“Put him in a trunk. Ship him to New Jersey. The Spatuzzas have a farm,” Gio offered.
“I saw that in a Van Johnson picture,” Dom commented.
“Me too. I couldn’t make that up.” Gio sorted through the pastry box, choosing a cannoli.
“I can’t do trunks. I’m slightly claustrophobic.”
“So’s a casket, if we don’t hurry. And that’s a permanent residence.” Uncle Dom drummed his fingers on the wall.