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problem.”
    With hands dusty with flour, Olga guided Sarah into the living room. Peter Nikovich, a brawny man with a huge, black handlebar mustache and thick half-glasses sat in his easy chair with the Russian newspaper, Izvestia, on his lap.
    “Go sit with the boy,” Olga ordered.
    Newspaper in hand, Peter marched to the kitchen.
    As soon as the women were alone, Sarah explained in a whisper: “There was nothing I could do.”
    “You should stop you husband. A mother is supposed to stand up for her children.”
    “But Stanley’s not my...”
    “No different. You the mama now.”
    Sarah sat down on the overstuffed sofa and ran her fingers over the handmade doily covering the arm. “You don’t understand. Walter’s had a hard life.”
    “You tell me one person who works in that mill who don’t have a hard life.”
    “But Walter’s mother...”
    Olga stood over Sarah with her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to hear about no mothers. You make it your business Walter don’t hurt that boy. And little Annie too!”
    Together the women heard a loud sizzle and hiss. Olga exclaimed, “Da cabbage!”
    Sarah followed Olga back to the kitchen. While Olga adjusted the flame under the cabbage pot, Sarah took Stanley by the hand, led him out the door, and went home.
    Walter did not come home for supper. Sarah washed the dishes, wiped them, and put them away. She then went into the living room to watch television. Anna Mae was on the floor near the couch cuddling her doll. Stanley was upstairs with his cutouts. Sarah heard a car out front. She hurried to the door.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    It was dark when Walter struggled out of the driver’s seat, unaware of the substantial space between his car and the curb. Once out, he slammed the door. He stumbled on the curb but didn’t fall. After a few more steps, his feet seemed to tangle. He landed hard in the middle of the wet sidewalk. His left knee stung and he pulled aside the ripped pant-leg, revealing blood mixed with cinders. Again on his feet, he reached for the handrail and climbed up onto the porch. He took out his house key. His body swayed. He could not put the key into the lock.
    He pounded on the door. It opened. He lurched forward into the hall. Sarah tried to catch him but he landed in a heap at her feet. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he waited for the hallway to stop spinning.
    Sarah knelt beside him. “What happened, Walter? You’re a mess.”
    “My sh-sh-shister died.”
    “Mary? Mary died?”
    Bracing himself on the banister, Walter struggled to his feet. “My brothers—Nick—Andy. They were at the bar. Mary had...” The word ‘cancer’ stuck in his throat.
    “Oh, Walter. I’m so sorry.”
    “Sorry shit!” He lunged at her. “You knew, didn’t you?!”
    The blow to her face was off-center but he had swung hard enough to knock her off balance. If she hadn’t backed into the banister, she would have fallen.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Stanley gathered his boxing pictures then sat near his bedroom door listening. His father was yelling. His words were slurred.
    “Sorry shit! You knew, didn’t you?”
    He should never have cut his dad’s magazines. It was all his fault. He wanted to go down and tell his dad he was sorry. But he was afraid.
    “How come that bastard’s up?” his father bellowed.
    Stanley looked across the room. Anna Mae was not in her bed.
    “It’s early, Walter,” Sarah explained.
    Alarmed, Stanley realized that his three-year-old cousin was still downstairs. His heart pounded. There was nothing he could do to help her. The voices grew muffled. Were they in the living room? He heard a scuffle. Someone ran through the house. The back door slammed shut. His father yelled, “Go ahead! Run away bitch!”
    Stanley picked up a handful of scraps. Good! Sarah probably took little Anna Mae next door to Mrs. Nikovich’s. She would be safe there. His fear turned into anger and he found a target in the things he believed