But her luck was rotten, and it stayed that way.
Through Kathy’s childhood, Sylvia worked answering phones in the office of Eddie’s friend, Uncle Ray. Uncle Ray wasn’t her uncle either. Not by blood. But at least he acted like an uncle should. He stopped by their apartment frequently, bringing real gifts. Flowers or perfume or elaborate boxes of chocolates, Barbies or crayons or ribbons for Kathy’s hair. As she got older, records and books, and even one time at Christmas, a brand-new Walkman that ended up getting stolen in the schoolyard. Kathy eagerly awaited Uncle Ray’s visits, and not only for the swag. He’d ask what she was reading or how school was going. He’d notice she was alive. Sylvia, on the other hand, dreaded Ray’s visits. She’d fix him a drink and make polite conversation, but the whole time she was gritting her teeth, storing up insults and complaints that she’d let loose the second he left. His pudgy fingers, his dandruff, his shiny suits. He grosses me out, she’d say, or, When’s he gonna realize he’s not getting any, the lech? But she never told him to buzz off, and she kept on working for him, because the pay was good. And besides, Ray cared, and that had to count for something.
Uncle Ray was the only one, other than Kathy, who noticed when Sylvia grew thin and pale. When she got unexplained bruises or strange spots on her skin that the makeup couldn’t hide. He told her to go to the doctor, that’s what the health insurance was there for, and she should think about her daughter. But she didn’t listen. She started suffering from chills and fever on the regular.
On a cold, wet day in December, just after Kathy’s eleventh birthday, Sylvia called in sick to work. Kathy begged to stay home with her, but Sylvia wouldn’t hear of it.
“You need to be in school.”
“I want to stay home with you, Ma, please.”
“I said no.”
“Pleease.”
“Stop hovering. You’re driving me up the goddamn wall. Now go. You’ll be late.”
Her eyes welled. “Mommy, I’m scared. Why are you always sick?”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s a touch of the flu, that’s all. Get out of my hair and you can have McDonald’s for supper, okay?”
She went. But that day in school, she was catatonic, filled with terrible visions of what she’d find when she got home.
They came true.
There would always be before and after that moment. She walked up to the door, put her key in the lock, and her heart was pounding. She opened it, and the apartment was dim, but not dark. She could see crimson splotches on the carpet and smell the gamy odor. Sylvia’s foot peeked out from the kitchen. Following the trail of blood, Kathy advanced like a sleepwalker until she found her mother, sprawled, pale and lifeless on the floor.
A scream rose in her throat.
The next thing she remembered, she was pounding on the Russos’ door, yelling and sobbing.
“They killed my mother! They killed her. Help!”
Two cops arrived, a man and a woman. They made Kathy wait in the hall while they checked the apartment. Mrs. Russo cracked her door, staring out, but she didn’t invite her inside. A few minutes later, the female cop beckoned Kathy back to the apartment.
“What made you say somebody hurt her?” she asked. “Did you see something?”
Kathy was crying so hard that no words came out. The cop rubbed her shoulder.
“Hon, your mom’s not dead. We don’t know what happened, but she’s not stabbed or shot or anything. And there’s no sign that anyone broke in. Her pulse is weak. She mighta threw up blood. Is she sick?”
Kathy nodded.
The place looked like a crime scene, but it wasn’t. The cops called the paramedics, who arrived within minutes and conducted an examination. It turned out Sylvia had a massive nosebleed and fainted. They would take her to the hospital.
As they loaded her onto the stretcher, her eyes fluttered open, and she looked right at Kathy.
“Was it you who called the ambulance?” she said.
She shook her head, not wanting to admit it was her. Technically, the cops had called. She waited for her mother to get mad, to yell, or cluck her tongue in annoyance, because usually Sylvia hated asking for help. She hated fuss. But this time was different. She held out her hand. Kathy squeezed it, shocked at how cold it was.
“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be fine,” her mother said. “You know I would never leave you alone.”
But that was a lie. Sylvia left her alone all the time, and they both knew it. She turned her face away as they wheeled her mother out the door.