Valleys of Death Read Free

either. They’d all grown up since I’d been gone.
    I got to the house just before midnight. It was one of a dozen two-story row houses. I jumped out of the cab, tossing a few bucks to the driver, snatched my duffel bag from the seat and ran up the old white steps. It was late, so there were no lights on in the house. I banged on the door and rang the doorbell.
    No answer.
    All of a sudden three heads popped out of the second-floor window.
    â€œWho’s there? What do you want?”
    â€œIt’s Bill,” I said. Neither my brother nor my sisters recognized me.
    All of a sudden a little head popped up between the other three. It was my youngest brother, Tom.
    â€œIt’s our brother Billy, go down and let him in.”
    All four came down and opened the front door. I was shocked by what I saw. I had been their big brother and took care of them, but now two of them were teenagers, Dottie and Jean; John was twelve and almost a teenager.
    Tommy, the youngest, marched out onto the stoop and helped me with my bag. He seemed to remember me more than the others. We sat around the kitchen table and I fixed myself a ham and cheese on rye bread and had a beer. While I was eating, they were talking a mile a minute.
    â€œHow long will you be home?” Dottie asked.
    â€œDo you have a picture of your girlfriend?” Tommy asked.
    I tried to keep up, but I was in awe of how much they’d changed. Dottie had always been pretty, but she’d grown into a beautiful young lady. Jean too was well on her way to being another beauty. She still had the black curly hair that had earned her the nickname “Mop Top.” When I was home, I used to sing and dance for her while I was getting ready to go out. John had grown into a stocky teenager. He looked like a young Babe Ruth, and Tommy, the de facto spokesman despite being the youngest, seemed more mature than his nine years. While they were talking, I realized how much I had missed them.
    My mother didn’t get home until two-thirty in the morning. She had Frank, her boyfriend, in tow. I could tell they were three sheets to the wind. That was no change. My mother wouldn’t stop saying how surprised she was to see me. When they walked in, I got up from the couch and hugged her. Frank stood nearby and we shook hands.
    â€œIt is good to have you back home, Billy,” my mother said.
    She was surprised at how much I had changed.
    She was forty-three years old, but she always looked ten years younger than she was. My father and mother had been separated for five years. How it lasted as long as it did, I’ll never know. She had been the life of the party for as long as I could remember.
    The next day I called my father. I hadn’t seen him since I’d left four years ago. We made arrangements to meet for lunch on Allegheny Avenue, outside a Horn & Hardhart restaurant. It was a famous self-serve restaurant in Philadelphia where working people could catch a quick lunch. Dad had taken me to this restaurant once or twice when I was a young kid, and I thought it was great, and here we were together and I still thought it was great. I remember I had my favorite dessert, Philadelphia cheesecake.
    As I walked down the street, I saw him coming toward me. He looked a little shorter than I remembered. Before I could react or say anything, he grabbed me and right in the middle of the sidewalk, hugged and kissed me. It embarrassed the hell out of me. We went in and grabbed a table by the window. By the time we got to the Philadelphia cheesecake, we’d caught up. But when we started talking about my mother and siblings, I could see the tears well up in his eyes.
    â€œBill, I see Dottie once a month. She meets me on Frank-ford Avenue and I give her the child support money. Most of the time we just hug and cry. It’s hard.”
    I quickly changed the subject.
    â€œWhere are you living now?” I asked.
    â€œI’m still at Herron’s