A Friend is a Gift You Give Yourself - William Boyle Page 0,1
standing in front of Vic’s casket.
Rena wasn’t happy when she found out—in the middle of everything else—all the details about Adrienne and Richie Schiavano, Vic’s right-hand man, and she let it be known. Turned out they’d been an on-again, off-again thing since Adrienne was in high school. A kid, that’s what Adrienne was when they started up. This all came out at the funeral. Rena was floored by the news. She couldn’t believe it had gone on behind her back, behind Vic’s back. She couldn’t believe that Richie would disrespect their family like that. She couldn’t believe that Adrienne was such a puttana. Sure, she had bigger things to worry about, but she channeled much of her anger toward Adrienne. A natural reaction. Still, Adrienne holds this grudge against her for speaking up about the relationship with Richie. Rena was just concerned with the order of things, that’s all, what’s right and not right in the eyes of God and everyone. She remains concerned.
But it goes back longer than that, too. Adrienne was always either embarrassed by her mother or hating her for something. Not right. Rena’s more than a little sick in her heart over all of it, especially Lucia being caught in the crosshairs. High school age now and she doesn’t even have a relationship with her grandma. Shame.
Rena picks up the phone and dials Adrienne. She’s written hundreds of letters over the years, tried calling thousands of times.
One ring. Adrienne picks up. Rena hasn’t heard her voice since the last time she tried calling a couple of months back. “Yeah?” Adrienne says, sounding sleepy.
“Adrienne? It’s Mommy.”
Click. Adrienne slamming the phone down without hesitation.
Rena hangs up and just stands there. She takes a few deep breaths. She’d prefer not to cry. She thinks about a horrible article from the Daily News she read the day before, about a man hacked to death with a machete on the D train. A machete. Thinking about it keeps the tears back. What kind of person thinks this way?
The doorbell rings. She wonders who it could be on a Sunday. Or any day, really. Maybe those Watchtower people. Or a real estate agent trying to get her to sell the house again. Sundays don’t really matter anymore. Not what they used to be. Like everything else.
She goes into the hallway and sees a bulky figure through the tattered curtain on the window in the door. “Who’s there?” she calls out, refusing to get too close.
Sound of throat-clearing. A man. “It’s Enzio!”
She moves closer and pushes back the curtain to look outside. Her neighbor Enzio is standing there wearing a Members Only jacket, his hair slicked back, blowing his big nose with a white handkerchief. He’s holding flowers in his free hand—daisies, her favorite. This is no coincidence. Over coffee, Jeanne had been hounding her to get a boyfriend again, saying she was only sixty and far from dead. All the eligible bachelors in the neighborhood had come up. Enzio from the corner was one. Eighty, if he’s a day. He washes his beautiful old car with no shirt on in his driveway. He wears his shorts high, the button often undone over his belly. He calls her baby and honey and dollface when she passes his house. He’s got the skeeviest smile.
“It’s Enzio,” he says again, softer this time. He tucks his handkerchief into his pocket.
“What do you want?” Rena asks.
“Just to talk.”
“What’s with the flowers?”
“Come on, open up, huh?”
She hesitates but makes a move toward the lock. She’s what, gonna be afraid of a sad old man like Enzio? All he does is wash that car and read the racing forms in a booth at Mamma Mia across the street. A widower. But a different kind of widower. His wife, Maria, is fifteen years gone. Long as Rena knew her, Maria was a shut-in, wore a housedress and watched TV all day, doped on meds. Whatever the problem was, Rena was pretty sure it was made up. The whole neighborhood knew that Enzio ran around on Maria. Could’ve been that Vic had a goomar or two over the years, but he kept it quiet if he did, showed Rena respect. Still, everyone forgave Enzio his indiscretions. A wife like that, gone in the head, someone who’d totally cashed in her chips—well, a man needed a little excitement. Rena had always heard the gossip and didn’t give it much thought. Disgraceful on his part, sure, but a wife had certain duties.