Pasco seemed to see the question in Danny’s eyes, and, unbidden, said, “We didn’t outfight the old Yankees . . .” He paused to make sure that the children were in bed and the women were in the house and then continued, “We outloved them. We took our women to bed and made babies.”
It was true; what had made them poor—small houses crowded with hungry mouths—had made them rich. What had ostensibly made them weak had made them powerful.
Looking at him now, it makes Danny sad. Liam interrupts his reverie. “What’s she doing with that little greaseball?”
Danny doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about. He’s looking across the fire at Pam, who’s leaning against Paulie. Even with the hood of a sweatshirt covering most of her hair, she looks beautiful in the firelight.
“Leave it alone.”
“I’ll leave it alone,” Liam says.
Marty finishes his song.
If I had money enough to spend
And leisure time to sit awhile,
There is a fair maid in this town
That sorely has my heart beguiled.
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,
I own she has my heart in thrall,
Then fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all.
It gets quiet then. Mary and some of the women start picking things up and bringing them back into the house and other people just sit and look into the fire or start drifting off.
Danny nudges Terri. “Let’s go down the beach.”
Trying to look inconspicuous but feeling self-conscious, Danny gets up and he and Terri sneak down the beach until the fog hides them. He pulls her down and unsnaps her jeans.
“Twice in one day?” Terri asks. “Some kind of record.”
“The baby ain’t gonna make itself.”
He doesn’t last long, and what with all the sun all day and the sex and the booze, they fall asleep.
She was fourteen years old.
Cassie was in bed reading a book, having fled from her parents’ party downstairs, when “Uncle Pasco” opened the door and slipped into her room.
“I came upstairs to use the bathroom,” he said, “and I saw your light on.”
“I was tired of the party.”
“I don’t blame you,” Pasco said. “A bunch of old farts. Nothing to interest a pretty girl like you. You are a pretty girl, you know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach.
“Yes, you do,” Pasco said. “You know you’re pretty and you know how to use it. I’ve watched you.”
He shut the door behind him.
Cassie can still smell him. Fifteen years later, sitting on the beach by the embers of the fire, her arms wrapped around herself, she can still smell Pasco’s cologne, the cigar smoke on his clothes, the red wine on his breath as he moved toward her on the bed, leaned over, took her chin in his hand, tilted her face up and kissed her. She can still feel his tongue swirl in her mouth, the spit from his mouth seep into hers.
“Don’t,” she said. “Please.”
He answered by running his hand up the inside of her blouse.
“Nice,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want this.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know you do.”
“Please, Uncle Pasco.”
His hands reached under her jeans.
“I’ll tell,” she said.
“No one will believe you,” Pasco said. “And if they did, what will they do? Do you know who I am? Do you know what would happen to your father, your brothers, if they came after me? You know what would happen, because you’re a smart girl.”
She knew.
Fourteen years old, she was wise to the ways of their world. She knew who her father was, who Pasco Ferri was, what would happen. So when he pulled her jeans down and then climbed on top of her she stayed silent.
Stays silent still.
It wasn’t long after that she started to steal sips from the bottles her parents kept in the bar. Or found guys to buy for her. Then it was grass, then it was heroin, because heroin gave her distance from that night, made it seem like just a bad dream.
When her mother asked her why, and her father screamed at her and called her a junkie and a disgrace, she held her tongue and never told because she was afraid that they wouldn’t believe her and more afraid that they would.
She never wanted to be touched by a man again.
And never has.
Danny’s out cold when he hears the shouting down the beach.
Pam’s voice, not so deep but still throaty.