Worn Masks by Phyllis Carito Read Free Book Online Page A

each word. “It would seem your
aunt is blocking the way when a male resident comes down the hall. She is
pushing men away from other women in the sitting area.”
    Mary Grace questioned, “Are you sure my aunt is doing that? That
wouldn’t be Aunt Maggie.”
    The psychologist continued. “I wanted to talk to you about what we believe is the cause of this
aggressive be havior. Maggie has revealed an incident that may have left
her with detrimental feelings all of her life.”
    Mary Grace resisted laughing and saying that “Aunt Maggie didn’t
have a life.”
    The psychologist had an aide bring in Aunt Maggie. Then the
psychologist began to relay the story that Aunt Maggie had revealed to her earlier that week, adding ev ery few
words, “Is that so Maggie?” And Aunt Maggie, chin tucked into her chest,
nodded. Mary Grace heard the words but couldn’t connect them with Aunt Mag gie.
A man, a man who the family knew as a friend,
had ab ducted her when she was twelve years old on her way back from
getting bread at the bakery up on the avenue. She had wanted this chore, this
show of her being a big girl. It wasn’t her fault, but he had ruined her. 
    All the years Mary Grace had just tagged Aunt Maggie as a typical
old maid, the child who stays at home to take care of aging parents. Mary Grace
had not thought past that. Thinking about it now, she had admired Aunt Maggie
in photographs, her classic 1930s movie star look, strong cheek bones, full
lips over a wide smile of straight teeth, a curvy figure with shoulder pad full
shoulders, ample breasts proportionate to her waist and hips, ending with long
dancing starlet legs. Why wouldn’t she have had suitors? 
    It seemed none of that mattered. It was not that there had been no
suitors good enough for her. “She believes the event ruined her. Do you
understand? A girl, who was defiled had to stay in the house, was not longer a
candidate for a gentleman. She had to take care of her parents, and over the
years watch her brothers live their full lives.”
    “What?” Mary Grace’s mind was flooding with thoughts about interactions
over the years. “How could this be? No one knew. No one helped her.” Mary
Grace’s voice trailed off. This was
horrendous. Was it any won der Aunt Maggie was screaming in her actions
about what she had never before even whispered.
    Mary Grace just couldn’t believe it. She
pushed back. “Could it be some random dementia and not that she is really
recalling pieces of some horrid past event?”
    “Your aunt does not have dementia.” That was that. The nursing
home had informed her. Sitting across from Aunt Maggie, Mary Grace cupped Aunt
Maggie’s arthritic hands in her hands. They sat quiet in the late afternoon
light coming through the slats of the blind in her room. Is this what had
happened, some unspeakable life event, to the women Mary Grace had seen when her
mom was in the nursing home, women locked in to memories ingrained in their
minds, where their lives had walked off a cliff? 
    Mary Grace took the house keys from her car,
and back at the house tried to find some hints to what Aunt Maggie was talking
about. How many times had this man come to the house? Had Mary Grace ever met
him—an old man with amnesia for his violent behaviors—or still smiles for
little girls?
    Mary Grace decided to take to the nursing home the black-and-white
photographs she found in the tin box in the pantry. Although when she showed
them to Aunt Maggie, her aunt could hardly make out most of the people–the
combination of her macular degeneration, and how the photographs had faded to
grey—Mary Grace described them. “ . . . many people sitting around a table in
the cellar, a party, maybe it was my father’s birthday? Who would be there?
There are men standing together.” Mary Grace hesitated. “Was he there?”
    The Aunt Maggie she knew so well, eyes and head down, averting
everything, asked, “Is there a chicken on the table?” 
    “Yes, I