Bridge of Sighs

covenant came at a price, though. Above the store was an apartment that Ikey had always rented to the sort of people who, according to my mother, belonged in the West End, people who saw nothing wrong with sitting out on their rickety porch shirtless on hot summer nights, who hung over the railing and hollered down to people who pulled up at the curb below, honking the horns of their ancient, rusted-out Buicks and Pontiacs. The flat was vacant now, unrentable to decent people until we could find the money to make repairs. “I’m not leaving this house, Lou. It was bought with my parents’ money. They knew better than to give it to us, but they did anyway. I’m not moving in above that store. Not ever.” When my father started to protest that he had no such intention, she stopped him cold. “Don’t ever tell me it might be fixed up nice. That living above the store would be more convenient. That we could be happy there. Don’t ever do that.”
    My father, of course, promised he wouldn’t.

DIVISION STREET
     
    M Y FATHER’S LOSING his dairy job and buying Ikey Lubin’s at least resolved the issue of where I’d go to school that fall. When he heard of our intention, Father Gluck paid us a visit and tried to dissuade my parents from taking me out of St. Francis, reminding them that it teetered on the brink and couldn’t afford to lose good Catholic students like me. We had, he said, an obligation—to our faith, to the diocese, to the good sisters who taught us. He addressed these remarks to my father, perhaps in the hope that he was the one who required convincing. “
My
only obligation,” my mother told him, deftly dispelling that misconception with a single pronoun, “is to this family. St. Francis will have to fend for itself.”
    “You don’t mean that—” Father Gluck began, but my mother cut him off.
    “But I do.”
    The priest, deciding on another tack, turned his attention to me. “You’ve done well at St. Francis.” He was smiling benevolently, but I’d never liked the man, the way his eyes bored into you as if you’d done something wrong, or were about to. “You’ve been happy there? You like the sisters? Sister Bernadette takes good care of you?”
    I allowed that all of this was true. A priest was saying it, so what choice did I have? And I did like Sister Bernadette, though it was also true I’d lately told my mother often that I’d be glad to get out from under her too-watchful eye and I was looking forward to public school. I suppose I might have repeated all of this to Father Gluck but, coward that I was, instead held my tongue.
    “And you’re feeling better now?”
    I glanced over at my mother. Had I been feeling poorly? I saw her eyes narrow dangerously. My father looked as perplexed as I was.
    “Those public school boys did a bad thing to you, didn’t they?” Father Gluck said, his smile even more empathetic now, as if the incident at the trestle had been on his mind more or less constantly since it happened.
    “Don’t you dare try to frighten him,” my mother said, her hands starting to tremble.
    The priest regarded me for a beat before turning back to my mother, a pause apparently intended to suggest that he was unused to taking orders, particularly from a woman. If so, he must have been even more surprised when another command came right on its heels.
    “And don’t try to frighten me.”
    “Tessa,” the priest said, now showing
her
his benevolent smile. “I’m not the enemy.”
    When my mother looked away, unable to meet his eye, I suddenly feltill. She’d begged my father to call the rectory and tell Father Gluck not to come, after he’d cornered my father at Mass on Sunday—my mother staying home to nurse a cold—and explained that he wanted to discuss my leaving St. Francis with all three of us. “Tell a priest he can’t come?” my father had said. “How am I gonna do that, Tessa?”
    “Okay, fine,” she conceded. “But I swear to God you better not take his side.” So far my father hadn’t said a word, but she now seemed to realize she was on her own, the poor woman. Raised Catholic, she had no reason except perhaps her own rebellious nature to believe she could do battle with a priest and win. I could see she was lost, an apology forming on her lips, when Father Gluck made an unexpected and welcome mistake. “We both want what’s best for Luce—” he said.
    I saw my mother stiffen. The man had started to call me by my nickname. Was