Good Graces

would hold me down and Mickey would kick the sh… stuffing out of me.” Mr. Gary tries to smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “Of course, that was a long time ago. Before Mickey was called to the priesthood.”

“He didn’t have a true calling,” I say out loud, not meaning to.

“No, he certainly didn’t.” Mr. Gary doesn’t seem surprised that I know that, but Troo’s mouth has turned down on the corners. I’m supposed to tell her when I hear gossip that I think she’d be interested in hearing, too, but I never told her what Aunt Betty told me up at the Five and Dime that afternoon. I knew she’d get mad if I did. That was back when she was still playing Scarlett to Father’s Rhett. “Do you know the whole story, Sally? Why Mickey became a priest?” Mr. Gary asks. His words are getting a bit fuzzy around the edges. He’s had three of those whiskey drinks.

Troo sticks her tongue out at me ever so slightly and says, “I know! Aunt Betty told me that in the old days Father got caught bettin’ for a third time by the police and was supposed to go to jail, but then he got told by the judge that if he became a priest he wouldn’t have to do time.”

I cannot believe she didn’t tell me the minute she found that out! She can be so, so secretive.

Mr. Gary says, “That’s not all there was to it, but close enough.”

The three of us sit for a while listening to Mr. Moriarity’s dog bark down the block. Troo is twirling her hair and Mr. Gary looks like he’s trying not to break out in tears. “I always forget how the smell of the chocolate chip cookies hangs over the neighborhood,” he says. “When we were kids, we could go up to the factory and stand in line. You could get a bag of the broken ones for a nickel. They still do that?”

“Ethel goes up there every Friday afternoon because your mom loves dunkin’ them in a glass of milk before bed,” I say, reminding him one more time how hardworking and sacrificing Ethel is. How tender and caring. That she’s thriftier even than Mrs. McDougal.

Troo says to Mr. Gary, “Your turn.” She has the Old Maid. The first day we got the deck, she folded over one of the corners so she could spot it easier. She tugs it up a little higher than the rest of the cards to make it more tempting.

Falling into her trap, Mr. Gary plucks the card out of my sister’s fanned-out hand and asks, “Do you girls remember when I told you last summer that Mom had left Ethel something to remember her by in her will?”

After he had too many cocktails on this very same porch, he sloshed out that secret and made Troo and me promise not to tell anybody. I kept my word. I’m not sure if my sister did.

“Yup, we remember when you told us about all that money,” Troo says, pleased as all get out that she pulled a fast one on him.

“Well… Mom’s lawyer, Mr. Cooper?” Mr. Gary says. “He called to inform me that… if she should…” He reaches for his glass on the table and gulps the rest of it down. “In the event of her passing, Mother of Good Hope will be receiving quite a tidy bundle. Mom cut Ethel out of her will.”

“No! No! She can’t do that! Ethel… she deserves… her dreams… we gotta get up to the hospital and pour cold water over your mother’s head. Right away,” I say, throwing down my cards. “When she comes to, we’ll set her straight. Tell her that Ethel would never mix up her medicines or steal her jewelry or anything else bad.”

Mr. Gary snuffles and says, “I’m sorry, Sally. I feel as bad about this as you do. But other than a few gifts for the orphanage and St. Joe’s, the bulk of Mom’s estate will be going to the church. Mickey has been named executor of her will and unless Doc Keller agrees that Mom’s not of sound mind, which he doesn’t seem willing to do, there’s not a thing I can change about that.”

“But Father Mickey, he’s…” It’s my duty to mention the godforsaken things we know about him. I’m sure of it. “You should know that Father Mickey-ow!” Troo gives me the hardest pinch on the back of my hand.

“I’m sure Mom had her reasons, I… I just can’t figure out what they could be,” Mr. Gary says, looking toward the alley again. “Doesn’t she remember how Mick beat me over and over and… and… how the church has gone out of its way to make Jim’s life a living hell since he’s left?”

I don’t think he expects me to answer that question, but even if I could, Troo sets her last pair down on the table and says, “I win. It was great to see you again, Mr. Gary.” She stands, brushes the brownie crumbs off her legs and picks up her shopping bag. “Thanks for the refreshments. We hope your mother gets better really soon. We gotta go right away, Sally.”

I don’t know what her hurry is, but she’s already out the door.

I don’t rush right out after her. Troo stuck our host with the Old Maid. I can’t leave him sitting here by himself feeling so defeated. Ethel wouldn’t like that. So I say, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite and if they do, beat ’em black and blue with your shoe.” That’s the same thing she would tell him if she was here. I’m being charitable. But I’m also reminding him one more time how Ethel has slaved over his mother for so many years, just in case he should believe for one second those terrible things Father Mickey told him about my good friend falling down on the job. “And by the way, just so you know, Doc Keller is not the end and be all. He can’t even cure his own stinky breath. ’Night.”

Catching up to Troo in our backyard, I get her by the arm and say, “Why didn’t you let me tell him about Father Mickey doin’ what he’s doin’? Didn’t sound like Mr. Gary’s nuts about him either. He mighta believed us.”

Troo yanks outta my grip. “So what if he does? What do ya think he’s gonna do about it?”

“He could tell Dave. He could explain to… somebody would have to listen to him. He’s a grown-up and-”

“A fairy who’s livin’ with our old pastor in the land of fruits and nuts! Nobody ’round here is gonna take anything he says seriously. You saw the way people were makin’ fun of him after Mass on Sunday.”

They really were. When Mr. Gary walked past the St. Francis-is-a-sissy statue sorta up on his toes, more than a couple people snickered.

As I go through the back door of our house, another reason comes to me why my sister didn’t want to tell Mr. Gary about the bad stuff that Father Mickey is up to. There’s always the chance Mr. Gary really could do something to help us. That would mean Troo wouldn’t get her revenge and she wouldn’t like that at all. She needs to do that plan.

Both of us call out “Good night” to Mother and Dave, who are on the living room davenport with their arms around each other, and head straight to our room. Troo peels off her grimy shirt and shorts, switches on the fan and swan dives into our bed. Her head hits the pillow like a brick, so she doesn’t hear Mr. Gary crying from next door the way I do. I feel plenty bad for him, but his feelings are not what I’m thinking about. What’s rushing around in my mind is what Mr. Gary told us about Ethel not getting Mrs. Galecki’s money when she dies. How his mother is leaving it all to the church instead of to the hardworking woman who so rightly deserves it. Mr. Gary told us he doesn’t know why she would do that, but I think I might.

During his many visits next door, slippery Father Mickey musta slowly but surely put a bug into Mrs. Galecki’s ear. The first thing he would have to do is convince her that Ethel was the one who stole her emerald necklace after he rolled under Mrs. Galecki’s bed, opened up her hatbox and helped himself. After he was sure she fell for that lie, he probably picked another rose from her bush and set it in her lap before he said so charming with his black Irish smile, “It would be very charitable if you left your money to me, I mean, the Church, dear Bertha, and not to an outsider, who is also a Negro and a thief. It’s your chance to guarantee a spot for yourself in heaven.”

He could use that money to pay back the gambling debts he owes Mr. Fazio before he makes him a cement overcoat and drops him in Lake Michigan. But how did Father find out that Mrs. Galecki had all that dough in her will? I know from watching movies that kind of thing is usually kept very confidential. Did she tell him what a wad she has? As much as I would love to think that, I don’t. She’s like Dave that way. Neither one of them is showy about how much money they got.

No, it wasn’t my next-door neighbor who told him that she’s rolling in it. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Father Mickey. And my sister. Their heads together up at the rectory. I don’t have to wake snoring Troo up to tell her, You told Father, didn’t you? You promised you wouldn’t, but when you were having one of those chatty visits, you bragged about what Mr. Gary told us last summer. How his mother was a huge moneybags. I know you. You were trying to impress Father with how you’re friends with somebody rich, and you did. He never gave a hoot about visiting Mrs. G until recently. Ethel told me it’s only been the last few months that he’s been coming by. That’s how long you’ve been getting your extra religious instruction.

I’m getting surer by the minute that one afternoon when Ethel needed to do her grocery shopping or make a trip to the drugstore, Father Mickey told her, Go right ahead. I’ll be happy to watch Bertha until you get back.

Ethel would be so grateful for the help. She wouldn’t think twice about leaving her patient in his trusting priest hands. She’d even ask him if he’d mind giving Mrs. Galecki her special medicines if she left around two o’clock.