The Altar Girl: A Prequel

CHAPTER 24

It was a surreal moment. Donnie Angel stood leaning on crutches beside my mother, the two of them beaming at each other as though they were about to be nominated for sainthood. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t prepared for this event. I’d considered it, of course; I wasn’t an idiot, at least not usually. I’d heard Donnie Angel admit how much he enjoyed this particular ceremony. I’d noted the sincerity in his voice when he told me how much it meant to him to return to his community and be welcomed, if only for a day. But there was no reason for him to be here. None whatsoever. His parents were dead, and he needed me doing his dirty work for him, namely, looking for the cash and the inventory. That’s why I’d banished this possibility from my mind.

There was no rational explanation for Donnie’s presence. And yet, there he stood, two feet away from me, a cast on his left leg, the one I’d proudly broken.

“You remember my daughter,” my mother said, “don’t you, Bohdan?”

She asked the question in Ukrainian, but Donnie answered in English. He’d had limited Ukrainian language skills growing up. My mother undoubtedly knew this but to a Uke Mom, a Uke kid was forever a Uke kid.

“Of course I remember her,” he said.

He extended his hand. I had no choice but to take it. It felt like snakeskin plucked from the fridge. I tried to slip out of his grip as soon as his fingers tightened, but he held my hand firmly, braced himself on the crutches, and kissed it. I’m sure my mother thought he was being a classy European fellow, but that was only because his back obscured her vision, and she couldn’t see his tongue linger on the back of my palm before his lips engulfed my knuckle.

I cringed. It was a full-body shiver that started at my wrist and spasmed down to my toes. It was as discreet a rejection as my mind, body, and soul could demonstrate under the circumstances, given I was surrounded by men, women, children, and Easter baskets.

My mother didn’t notice my reaction. She was too busy cooing.

“What a gentleman,” she said.

I regained my composure. “Good to see you, too, Donnie,” I said.

My mother frowned. “Donnie?”

I managed to keep smiling. “How long has it been?”

“Who’s Donnie?” she said.

“Sixteen… eighteen years?” I said.

His lips turned down. “What do you mean? We ran into each other in New York a few days ago. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

“Will someone explain to me who Donnie is?” my mother said.

She knew he preferred to be called Donnie instead of Bohdan. Such a rejection of one’s proper Ukrainian name was a sore point with the older generation, and I knew she simply wanted to tease him.

“Bohdan is Donnie,” I said.

“Oh, really,” my mother said. She glanced at Donnie. “How did you manage that translation?”

“You know how it is in America, Mrs. T. It’s easier to conduct business when someone can pronounce your name real easy.”

“It’s easier? Who said easier is better? Would you rather be the man who made it easy, or the one with the different name that everyone remembers?”

“Geez. That’s a good point, Mrs. T. I never thought of it that way.”

My mother nodded with satisfaction before frowning again. She glanced alternately from Donnie to me. “Who ran into whom in New York?”

“I bumped into gorgeous, here, on the Upper East Side,” Donnie said. “Same neighborhood where you live, right?”

I didn’t want my mother to get suspicious and start asking questions about how and why we bumped into each other. I needed to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“We never got a chance to talk,” I said. “So what have you been doing with yourself all these years?”

“Yes,” my mother said, clearly intrigued by the question. She knew Donnie’s reputation and probably couldn’t wait to hear what lie he was going to spin. There was no reason for her to be afraid of the conversation, even though she knew he was a criminal. After all, she had no idea he’d kidnapped her daughter and she’d broken his leg. “Tell us, Donnie. What do you do for a living?”

Donnie dazzled us with a smile. “I own a chain of rental shops.”

“Rental shops?” my mother said. “Like tuxedos and dresses for weddings?”

Donnie laughed. “No, Mrs. T. Like furniture, televisions, and microwaves.”

My mother looked incredulous. “People rent microwaves?”

“Sure,” Donnie said. “It’s big business. I have stores in Bridgeport, Norwalk, and Waterbury. And I’m opening up a new one in Newark. My first store outside Connecticut.” He leaned back on the crutches and thrust his chest forward.

This was news to me but it made sense. Rent-to-own schemes charged huge interest rates and repossessed property. It was as close to criminal as a legitimate business could get.

“Good for you,” my mother said. She seemed genuinely impressed. “We hear all these rumors about you, you know. But you’re telling me you’ve cleaned up your act.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. T. A man gets to a certain age, he’s got to take a good look in the mirror. It ain’t no fancy job like a doctor or nothing, but we’re providing an important service to folks who can’t afford the basics.”

My mother nodded. “It’s an honorable profession. You’re doing good for your community. Yes, you are.”

Donnie chuckled and nodded in my direction. “Tell that to your daughter. I offered to buy her a glass of champagne that night we ran into each other, but I don’t think my bubbly was good enough for her.”

My mother scolded me with a glance. “You refused a glass of champagne from an old friend?”

“Kicked her heels up and ran away from me like a gazelle,” Donnie said. “All I saw was legs. She looks great, though, don’t she?”

My mother shrugged as though he were stating the obvious. “She’s my daughter, isn’t she?”

Donnie burst into laughter.

A bustling young woman with two little girls dressed like pink bunnies knifed past us. She searched in vain for an empty space on the table. I realized we were completely surrounded. Bodies were packed tight and deep. I couldn’t have made a run for it if I tried. We were trapped at the center of the gym. My mother, the charming sociopath from the Ukrainian-American gutter, and I.

“Truth is, I shouldn’t be laughing,” Donnie said. “A close friend of mine died yesterday.”

My mother touched him on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Anyone we knew?”

“He’d just moved up north. Decided to go ice fishing. Lake’s still frozen this time of year. Or so he thought. He fell right through.”

“That’s awful,” my mother said. “And he was alone? There was no one there to save him?”

Donnie shook his head solemnly, and then planted his eyes on mine. “Only his two dogs. Loyal to a fault. They jumped in after him. The three of them drowned together.”

My mother offered more sympathy.

Donnie didn’t take his eyes off me. “It just goes to show you. You can never be sure how solid the ground is beneath your feet.”

I doubted Donnie had a friend who’d died. In fact, I doubted Donnie had any friends at all. His fiction was a message. I was the friend in his story. My assumption of safety was the ground beneath my feet. But who were the two dogs?

“Speaking of feet,” my mother said. “What happened to your leg?”

Donnie held my gaze and smiled slowly. In the time it took him to spread his lips and flash his teeth, the ice began to melt beneath my feet. Both my legs were shaking. What would he tell her? And exactly what was he telling me?

“Sports injury,” Donnie said.

“I didn’t know you were a sportsman,” my mother said.

Donnie wiped the smile off his face. “My cleats got stuck in the carpet.”

“What kind of sport were you playing indoors?”

Donnie paused. I could picture the knife-edge of my shoe connecting with his tibia, hear the sound of the paint stick cracking in half. In retrospect, I couldn’t believe I’d done it. And now he was here to tell me he was going to kill me. My legs wobbled so badly I feared everyone around me would notice them.

“Soccer,” Donnie said. “It was an indoor stadium in Waterbury. AstroTurf.”

“Afro-turf?”

Donnie chuckled. “No, Mrs. T. AstroTurf. It’s fake grass. Like a carpet over concrete.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Sounds like a rug from another planet. Who plays soccer on a carpet?”

“If I ever see the guy that pushed me when my cleat got stuck…”

My mother gasped. “Someone pushed you?”

Donnie bored into me. “Yeah.”

“You’ll get even the next game. Forgiveness is overrated.” My mother raised a fist and screwed her face tight. “You stick him where it hurts.”

“I love your style, Mrs. T. But I doubt I’ll ever see him again. He knows me too well. I’m sure he’s left town. Left town for good.”

The crowd hushed. Father Yuri appeared at center court, inside the perimeter of tables. A cassock with golden hues hung like a tent from his shoulders. The two altar boys behind him were dressed in black.

Donnie held both crutches in his left hand and gave my mother a hug. “It’s so great to see you, Mrs. T,” he said. “You’ll always be my Mrs. Robinson.” He pulled back, left his arm around her, and smiled at me. “Your daughter is so lucky to have you and her brother. Alive, and well, and close by. You can’t put a price on family, can you, Nadia?”

The people behind us were craning their necks to see Father Yuri, but when a man in crutches begged their pardon they listened. A narrow gap formed in the crowd. As Donnie Angel disappeared among them, the people returned to their places and sealed the gap. The evil Moses, I thought, was leaving the building.

“Still a handsome devil,” my mother said. “Just like his father. He had a crush on me. The father, that is. You know, if he has turned himself around, you could do worse. Don’t those rental places make a lot of money?”

Father Yuri began the ceremony with a prayer. My mind swirled. The dogs who died in Donnie’s imaginary story were his supposed friend’s closest companions. They were the equivalent of family. When Donnie told my mother how lucky I was to have a mother and a brother, he was making it clear to me that he’d kill them both if I didn’t leave Hartford immediately and stop asking questions.

There was a more logical analysis to be made but I was incapable of making it. Donnie Angel knew that my mother and brother meant more to me than anything or anyone else in my life, and he’d left no doubt in my mind that he would shatter the ice beneath their feet without any hesitation. As Father Yuri walked around the basketball court blessing the Easter baskets and sprinkling holy water onto each and every one, I plotted my exit. I needed to get out. For my mother’s and brother’s sakes, I needed to leave Hartford immediately.

But before I could depart I had to wait for the ceremony to end and the crowd to disperse. It took less than ten minutes but the delay was excruciating. I passed the time by watching the altar boys and remembering when I was one of them, young and invulnerable, protected by my belief in a just God and eternal salvation. Back then, I couldn’t wait to leave Hartford and start a new life, away from my parents, their expectations, and the ethnic traditions that constrained my youth. Now here I was, two decades later, desperate to escape again.

I knew my mother would become inveigled into multiple conversations with her friends after the ceremony. She’d want me by her side. It would take her close to an hour to get to the car. She wouldn’t realize, of course, that each minute I lingered, her and my brother’s lives were increasingly at risk.

I had to get away immediately.

I spotted an acquaintance of my mother’s from Rocky Hill, Mrs. Smith, and a solution sprang to mind. I walked over to her, said hello, suffered through a minute of small talk, and then asked her for a favor. Afterward, I hurried back to my mother, who was receiving compliments on her Easter basket from a handsome, elderly man I didn’t recognize. One of her suitors, no doubt.

“Mrs. Smith is going to drive you home,” I said. “Something’s come up. I have to go back to New York now. I’m going to switch cars on the way home.” I leaned into her ear. “I’ll leave the key on top of the driver’s side rear wheel.”

My mother pulled her neck back, disappointment etched in her face. She glanced at her friend, who stood by expectantly.

“But I wanted to introduce you to some people.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’d love to hang out with you, but I can’t.”

She studied me again. Her expression turned serious. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Nothing. Just business. Go home with Mrs. Smith.”

My mother hesitated as though she wanted to ask more questions. But then she cleared her throat and raised her voice so everyone could hear her.

“I understand, my kitten,” she said. “It’s not easy being a top financial executive these days. I appreciate that you came. You go, take care of yourself.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek.

Her kiss disoriented me. Even though it was for show, under any other circumstances it would have made my day, year, or quite possibly my life. But now it simply reminded me how arrogant I’d become and how close I was to ruining the lives of the two people who mattered to me the most. I wanted to climb into a time machine and go back and change things, or jump into a vat of acid and dissolve my entire being.

I started to leave but she tugged on the sleeve of my coat.

“One more thing,” she said, leaning into me. “Ignore what I said before. Stay away from that Bohdan Angelovich. He was bad news from the moment he came out of the womb. His mother was a pathological liar and so is he. Don’t believe a word he says. Promise?”

“Yes, Mama. I promise.”

“Good. Now don’t forget. Send me that big check soon.”

Kisses and advice in exchange for money. That was a new one, I thought.

I kept my head down as I headed for the stairs for fear someone would recognize me and call my name. I couldn’t imagine stopping to reminisce and wasting more time, but I didn’t want to be rude to good people. I held my breath until I got to the door and exhaled when the sunshine hit my face outside the school hall.

My relief didn’t last long.

Donnie Angel’s van sat idling in front of me.