A Castle in Brooklyn(70)
When Francine put her head on the pillow each night, sometimes just before the first glimmer of sun, the dream would appear before her like a yellow brick road. Not some fancy island, but a farm. Broad as the eye could see with quacking white ducks and fat pink pigs and tiny peeping chicks, sleek black horses, milking cows, and dogs, not three, but a dozen of them running all over the place. It was true that she didn’t know the first thing about farms, how to run one, not even how to buy one, and the only farms she had ever seen were the ones on TV and Miller’s pumpkin farm, where she and the family would visit each fall when she was just a kid. Maybe it was because of all the animals roaming about, making noises at all hours of the day, or maybe it was because country life was so far removed from what she knew since she was born—the concrete cities, the screeching of tires, the stench of an open garbage can left standing too long in the heat. She knew only that she had to have a farm one day and could see herself waving the chicks in with the hem of her apron and lying on a lounger with thick pillows on a wide porch, watching a rainbow shimmer up in the sky. She wouldn’t even mind getting up at five in the morning if she had a farm. She realized it was an impossible dream, something that would always remain in her head. Even so, it was hers.
While it was Francine’s idea to move to Brooklyn, she didn’t exactly love the notion of making the trip and having to deal with a bunch of Yankees who would make fun of their lack of sophistication when they called soda “pop.” But the way she saw it, speaking with a Brooklyn accent and rushing all the time were not things to be proud of. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice about the move. New York City was the place to be for steelworkers, something Albert had some training in, what with high-rises going up every month, it seemed, and the call for fearless workers who weren’t afraid of heights. There weren’t many buildings going up in Norcross, Georgia.
There was another reason they had moved, something she didn’t want too many people to know about. The boys had gotten into trouble with the law, and some of the cops already knew their names. Albert had busted up some guy in a bar a few years back and had done some time for drag racing and sending one of his friends to the hospital after he ran into him. Elias’s crimes were worse, and it all stemmed from his addictions. At one point, he was doing heroin and even robbed a grocery store because he needed to score some cocaine. He had also gotten arrested for carrying without a license. Where he got those guns she had no idea. But after rehab, he promised her that he was done with all that. That was why she didn’t mind the weed so much. And now there was the problem with Albert’s son, Billy. Only last year, when Billy turned thirteen, she had been called to the school on more than one occasion when the boy was caught fighting, cursing the teacher, or losing his temper in one way or another. And while boys will be boys, she thought, it wasn’t a good sign.
Still, even though she thought getting away would be the best idea for them all, Francine was somewhat reluctant to come east. They had been here once before. Ten years earlier, when Albert was just getting started with his steelwork, his friend in Brooklyn had told him about a job opportunity on a high-rise with an underground parking garage they were erecting in Tribeca. Since Francine could find a job doing medical filing almost anywhere, and she figured that maybe Patrick could work in one of the Home Depots, they decided to make the move. Besides, a change of scenery might be good for Elias. So, with Albert’s son Billy in tow, they made the move.
Life in the city didn’t last long, though. They were there no more than a month when Albert got into another car accident that hurt someone else. Still, they couldn’t take any chances. The family didn’t need more trouble. It wasn’t Albert’s fault, anyway, she reasoned. It was just the sun. And that was when they had decided to head back to Norcross.
Francine didn’t want any more trouble, but now she was worried again. There was little doubt that with the boys and the kid living there full-time, and their friends coming and going, the “old” lady—well, maybe they were the same age—knew pretty fast that there were more than just the two of them living in the house. Sometimes Francine would see the woman in front of her house, tending the flowers or looking up at the sky like she was wondering if it was going to rain. But Francine was smart enough to see behind the neighborly veneer and could tell whenever she was giving her the old snake eye.
“How y’all doin’, Miss Florrie?” Francine would lean over and call from her spot on the front porch, two of the three dogs lying at her feet. The woman would nod back at her, then put her eyes on the soil again as if it were the most important thing in the world. No one could say nothing about their family, after all. On the first of the month, like clockwork, Francine would show up on Florrie’s porch, envelope in hand. Each time, Florrie was surprised to see her and would look down at the white envelope when offered, not bothering to open it, then back up with her eyes on Francine before the words escaped from her lips.
“Thank you.” And then like sugar, Francine would smile, turn on her Keds, and walk right back into her home. Rent paid. No questions asked.
In this way, Francine ensured that no outsiders, least of all Florrie, would be entering the home, for if they did, they were bound to find it not a little different from the house Francine saw on that first day. Just as soon as they moved themselves in, almost immediately, Francine had asked Patrick to rearrange all the furniture, which had been positioned the same way, toward the front of the home, toward the rising sun. Maybe it had been moved that way by one of the former tenants, because surely the two ladies she had met before moving in seemed too sensible. To Francine, it was ridiculous to be squinting all the time when you were watching your show. Then there was the downstairs powder room. More than once when Francine had to go, the toilet had backed up with such a stench that Patrick had to hold a hankie over his nose when he used the plunger. No point in calling a plumber, because after a couple of these bad events, he had it all fixed. Turns out Patrick was good for something.