Lizzie
After two long years in El Paso, I had finally carved out a life for myself. Everything started to turn around when I stopped waiting for a door to open for me and started looking for ways to force one open.
I set my sights on a housekeeping job at the Hilton, and because a sign in the front window assured me they weren’t hiring, I started lingering in the laneway near the staff entrance. From a distance, I noticed staff coming to that back door with their arms loaded with trash, struggling to carry it to the industrial bins a little way down the lane, then having to rest the trash on the ground while they shifted the heavy lids off the bins. A second set of hands made that whole process so much easier, so I turned their problem into an opportunity and appointed myself the Hilton’s unofficial trash assistant.
I did this for weeks, right through the worst of a bleak winter, wearing multiple layers so I didn’t freeze. Henry thought I’d lost my mind, until the day the housekeeping manager came to the door and greeted me by name. She didn’t offer me a job right away. Instead, she let me clean the staff room and work in the hotel laundry, places where I’d never see a guest or their belongings.
“I can’t pay you,” she said bluntly. “But I can promise if you’re reliable and prove you’re trustworthy, you’ll be at the front of the line when a position does come up.”
And six weeks later, when one of the maids quit to get married, my hard work paid off. We had one hundred and thirty guest rooms to service and I was the first to raise my hand to complete a task, even if it was onerous or particularly filthy. That ingratiated me to the rest of the team. I wouldn’t say I made friends at work, but I certainly earned the respect of Mrs. Thompson and the other maids—and more importantly, I learned to fit in.
The housekeeping job brought enough income for me and Henry to move back into the rooming house, but better accommodation wasn’t the magic fix for Henry’s mood I’d hoped it would be. His charm had always defined him, but it was impossible to charm his way to employment when he always seemed to find himself at the back of a line of desperate men.
My brother had never lied to me before, so I took him at his word when he said he’d been out looking for work during the day, but I wasn’t surprised his job search was going badly. Even now that he had access to laundry facilities and a washroom, Henry wasn’t cleaning himself up. It perplexed me as much as it frustrated me.
“Maybe if you...you know, got up a little earlier?” I suggested. Then I drew in a deep breath. “Maybe you could shave too. I could give you some money for new clothes—”
“Don’t judge me, Lizzie,” he snapped. Henry had never been one to speak harshly to anyone, especially me. Something was changing in him. There was a dullness to his eyes.
The rooming house was vastly more comfortable than the homeless camp, but I figured that if I had a deposit for rent in advance on an apartment, we’d be well-placed to move once Henry found work. Within a few months, I had a little bundle of bills in that envelope. I was devastated the day I came home from work to find it gone.
“You shouldn’t have left money in the room,” Henry said when I told him we’d been robbed. I recoiled, stunned by his sharp tone.
“Where else would I leave it?” I needed a man to come to the bank to sign for me to open an account, which Henry offered to do, but I worked such long hours that we just hadn’t found the time.
“I don’t know, Lizzie!” he exclaimed. “This place isn’t much better than the homeless camp. I’m so sick of the noise and the smell of cabbage from the damned kitchen and waiting to use the bathroom!”
“But...it’s all we can afford,” I said, stunned. He scrubbed a hand down his face, drew a few ragged breaths, then gave me a miserable look.
“I’m sorry. I never thought it would be like this.”
“I know,” I said uneasily. “Something will come up...”
“Maybe we should try to go somewhere else. I’ve heard there’s more work in California—farmwork, even. We could take some of your wages and buy bus tickets. Try our luck there.”
“Henry, no,” I said, startled. Farmwork did sound much better than housekeeping, but I couldn’t leave a real job for the chance of a theoretical one, especially after how hard I had worked to get it.
“Maybe I should just go, then,” he said flatly. “I lined up to ask about this new unemployment compensation program today. They’ll give me five dollars a week for fourteen weeks. I could save it all. Use it for bus fare.”
“Something will come up,” I said, throat tight. “Please don’t give up just yet.”
I was already working six long days a week, but watching Henry’s mood spiral downward, I grew desperate to change something—anything—that might help him. When I told the housekeeping manager I needed more money, she found me a night shift in the hotel restaurant, waiting tables. And finally, Henry and I moved into an apartment.
It was a fifth-floor walk-up, just three small rooms, but we had our own kitchen and bathroom. I experienced a new level of tired, working double shifts every day, but in addition to the bump in my wages, there were other unexpected benefits. In that little hour between my jobs, I could take the elevator all the way to the top of the Hilton.
The rooftop balcony had been converted into a beautiful outdoor area for the guests. From one side, I could see right over the Rio Grande into Mexico, and from the other, mountains and rocky outcrops and clear, open space. I’d walk to the edge and look out to the northeast, staring until my eyes watered, as though if I just looked hard enough, I’d see all the way up through New Mexico, back to my home in Dallam County.
The top of the Hilton El Paso wasn’t quite as sacred or peaceful as Mother’s moments on that little chair with Elsie, but the idea was just the same. I had to compress all my grief and my longing into those few minutes each day. It was the only time I ever stood still long enough to let myself acknowledge all that I’d lost, and just how lost I was in El Paso.
One night, I placed a steaming hot plate of food in front of one of our regular guests. His name was Calvin Miller, and he stayed at the hotel for a night or two each week, sometimes longer. He liked to stay in a room on the highest available floor, and rumor was he was a widower, consulting on new airplanes at Fort Bliss.
I wouldn’t have noticed Calvin if I walked past him on the street. I guessed he was in his late thirties, probably close to fifteen years my senior. He was tall and wiry with a neat dark beard trimmed close to his face, and he wore thick glasses that magnified his hazel eyes. Having serviced his room, I knew he was fastidiously clean and he always traveled with piles of aeronautics textbooks. Overall, Calvin looked and carried himself like someone too clever for an ordinary existence.
“You’re not your usual self this evening, Miss Lizzie,” he said.
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Miller,” I said, as brightly as I could, but I struggled to fix a professional smile on my face. I’d been mugged walking home one night—the thief making off with my bag and apartment keys but no money, given I didn’t even have any spare change that week. Even working as hard as I was, I was barely covering the expenses on the apartment.
“You have this worry line, Miss Lizzie. Right here.” Calvin touched the spot between his eyebrows.
“Just tired, I guess,” I said, flushing. “Can I get you anything else?”
“It’s quiet tonight, huh?” he said. It was almost ten o’clock, and only a single table of businessmen remained in the restaurant, finishing their drinks. The restaurant would close soon, and then I’d start my cleaning. “Have you eaten?”
“I...uh...I usually eat when I finish my shift.”
“Take a seat, Miss Lizzie,” he said, motioning toward the chair opposite him, then toward his plate. He’d ordered his usual—steak, fries, and a side of vegetables. “Share this and chat with me.”
“Oh no, I—”
“Come on,” Calvin cajoled. “Haven’t you heard I’m a lonely widower? Your boss won’t mind if you sit a minute and keep me company. If you get in trouble, I’ll tell them I insisted.”
I took another glance around the room, just in time to see the table of businessmen I’d been serving drop their napkins onto their plates. One of them waved at me as he left, and since Calvin and I were alone in the restaurant anyway, I sank into the empty chair opposite him.
“Did you grow up here, Miss Lizzie?”
I shook my head.
“My family had a farm near Oakden.”
“Oakden...? I don’t know it.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s a tiny little town in Dallam County.”
“What brings you to El Paso?”
“My brother and I came here looking for work. We lost the farm in the drought.”
He grimaced. “Lots of families losing their farms these days. I’m sorry.”
I nodded silently, and he twisted the plate so that the fries were closest to me. Just as I began to tell him I wasn’t hungry, my stomach rumbled at the scent. I sighed and took one.
“Thank you. What do you do for work, Mr. Miller?”
“Call me Calvin, please,” he said. “I’m an aeronautical engineer. I work for a specialist firm up in Albuquerque.”
“Isn’t Albuquerque a long way from here?”
“Not too far, four or five hours, depending on how busy the road is. This is just a temporary contract,” he said.
“I’m worried about my brother,” I suddenly admitted, not sure why I felt comfortable sharing this with a stranger. “He can’t find work. I don’t know how to help him.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s almost twenty-seven.”
“Plenty old enough to help himself.”
“It’s not always that simple.”
Calvin nodded. Then he offered me a quiet smile.
“It all depends on how big your heart is, I guess.”
When I got home that night, Henry was in bed. I turned on the light in the little kitchen and sat beside him.
“Henry?” I whispered.
His eyes opened a crack, and he peered at me in the dull light coming through the kitchen door. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled like whiskey.
“I took the money from the pantry,” he said miserably.
“You took the money for the electric bill?”
“It’s not the first time I did it either. I took that money from your envelope back at the rooming house.” His voice cracked as he confessed, “Lizzie, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He looked so dejected, I couldn’t even bring myself to be mad, but I was plenty hurt. I blinked quickly to clear the tears from my eyes before Henry could see them.
“It’s okay,” I lied uneasily. “Did you take all of it this time?”
“No. About half.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Lizzie, I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.” The air in the room was thick with tension. My brother seemed genuinely exhausted and I had a sudden, terrifying understanding: he was tired from the effort it was taking him to keep breathing. When I blinked, I saw him cradling Dad’s body beneath that tree on the farm, the sun rising behind them, our entire world changed with one split-second decision. “I’m letting you down, Lizzie. I’m a burden to you, and—”
“Don’t you dare speak like that. You’re the only family I’ve got now, and you’d never be a burden to me.” He blinked hard; he couldn’t quite clear the tears before I saw them. “We’re a team, right? We always have been.”
“It’s not a team when one player is doing all of the work, sis,” he whispered. Then he offered a weak smile. “Hey, listen—I’m tired, and you must be too. I need to get back to sleep.”
He was right—I was exhausted. Even so, I was too scared to fall asleep, in case he wasn’t there when I woke up.
“You have that worry line between your eyes again, Miss Lizzie,” Calvin said, a few weeks later. We’d fallen into a habit of chatting the nights he was at the hotel, and I generally looked forward to his company, but I felt uncharacteristically fragile that night—like if he prodded me, I’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.
I’d worked three Sundays in a row so we could meet the electric bill, but I had to keep the cash in my locker at work. Henry was disappearing for days.
I set Calvin’s steak and fries on the table, then forced a smile.
“It’s just been a long day, that’s all.”
Calvin lingered over his meal that night. I’d long cleared his plate and finished my cleaning, but he was still sitting there, making notes in the margins of a document. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after eleven.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller,” I said, approaching his table. “The restaurant is closed now.”
“I know,” he said. He closed a folder over his document, then lifted his briefcase up onto the table and slipped it inside. “There’s a diner just down the road where we can go for a milkshake, or we can have a chat while I walk you home. Up to you.”
“Thank you, Calvin,” I said quietly. “I appreciate it, but I’m okay. Really.”
Only as soon as I said those words, a tear leaked onto my cheek. Mortified, I swiped at it with the back of my hand, but Calvin’s expression only softened.
“Lizzie...”
“I’m okay,” I insisted weakly. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”
I was worn-out from worrying and utterly exhausted. Every single night, as I made that walk home, I wondered what I’d find when I opened the apartment door.
“Come on,” Calvin said gently, rising to his full height. “Let me put this up in my room and I’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes.”
I was seated opposite Calvin in the diner down the block, a milkshake untouched in front of me. He’d devoured his, and now he was listening intently as I rambled about my brother.
“My father had these black periods his whole life—good days and bad days—but especially once the drought got bad. I mean, things were bad—don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it seemed like things were worse for Dad than for anyone else.” I struggled for words as I rubbed my forehead. “There’s a darkness that runs in the men in my family. Henry isn’t lazy or overreacting. I know that things really do feel hopeless to him, but he’s not even trying to find work now. Not really. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“Henry’s pride is hurt because I’m supporting him, and now that’s part of the problem. But what am I supposed to do? Quit my jobs, let us live in a homeless camp again?”
“Good grief, Lizzie. Of course you shouldn’t do that.”
“I think it was the same for our father and I bet Henry knows that. Dad was so reliant on Mother, and then when she died—he didn’t even try, not for a single day. He—” I broke off, reluctant to even say the words aloud. Calvin winced, then leaned forward.
“Did your father take his life?”
I nodded, feeling myself becoming emotional. I had survived so much, but I had no idea how I’d go on if I lost Henry.
“Sometimes a mind can play tricks on a person,” Calvin said, his eyes kind. “There is no shame in that for you or for Henry. For your brother, the best thing is probably the structure of a job. A reason to get out of bed each day and a paycheck, so he can feel proud again.”
“I know,” I said heavily. “I don’t mean to say he hasn’t tried. In the beginning, he really did try everything.”
“Maybe I could make some inquiries for you.”
“Would you?” I said in surprise. “You barely know me. You’ve never even met Henry.”
“I can’t make any promises.” He shrugged. “But I can talk to some people. Let me see what I can do.”
The next week when he was back in town, Calvin again suggested we go for a milkshake after I finished my shift. As we walked from the hotel toward the diner, he cut straight to the chase.
“I know this might not be what you had in mind, Lizzie, but has Henry considered enlisting?”
I stiffened.
“It’s hard to enlist these days.”
“It is. The military has turned away more men than they’ve taken over these past five or six years.” The Depression had even hit the government hard and military budgets weren’t what they once were. “I hoped I could find him some labor work on base, but there’s just nothing there to find. Not for a civilian. But if Henry were willing to enlist, I could put in a good word for him. I spoke with an Army enrollment officer and he said that would mean something.”
“Why would you do this for us?”
“I like you.” Calvin shrugged. “It’s lonely here sometimes. You keep me company. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“I guess we are,” I said, but then I hesitated. “But he’d have to go live on base, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course. And there’s no guarantee he’d be stationed here.”
“I just don’t think...” I trailed off, unsure of how to express my thoughts without insulting my brother. Henry couldn’t handle a jackrabbit drive. How would he handle a military career? I couldn’t even imagine him in a uniform.
“It would mean three hot meals a day, a roof over his head, and more importantly—structure and a reason to get out of bed. I know this much for sure—every man needs a purpose.”
When I opened the door that night, I was immediately hit by a wave of body odor. The apartment was still and silent, and the lights were off. On previous nights I’d turned the kitchen light on so as not to disturb Henry, but I offered him no such kindness that night. I turned the main light on, the one right above his bed. The blankets rustled, and then in a furious movement, he pulled them over his head.
“Don’t start, sis,” Henry mumbled, voice thick with sleep. I crossed the room in a few brisk steps, then threw the blankets back. Henry covered his face with his arms and made more sounds of irritation and complaint. He hadn’t shaved or showered, and he was still wearing his trousers from the previous day.
“You should enlist,” I blurted. Henry stilled, then gradually opened his eyes, squinting against the light of the bulb.
“I went to an enrollment tent when we first got here. I waited in line all day, didn’t even get the chance to sit down for an interview. They were turning almost everyone away.”
“But if they would accept you, you would want to enlist?” I asked, surprised.
Henry dragged himself into a sitting position, still rubbing his eyes.
“Dad once told me that there are some men who are cut out for that life, and some men who aren’t. I don’t know that I’m the right kind of man,” Henry muttered, idly scratching the scruffy whiskers on his cheek.
I stared at my brother, absorbing the shadows under his eyes and the bleakness of his gaze. I knew exactly what Henry meant—he was soft and sensitive in the very best kind of way. Wouldn’t those traits be liabilities for a man in the military?
But we were at peace, and anyway, Henry wouldn’t have to remain in the Army forever. All we needed was to force structure into Henry’s life—to prop him up for a few years until the economy recovered and he could find a civilian job.
“My friend at the hotel knows an enrollment officer and thinks he can get you accepted. You need to do it.” I drew in a deep breath. “I am asking you to do it.”
Henry blinked. Then he frowned.
“But, Lizzie—” he started to protest, but I reached to take his hand, squeezing it forcefully as I said, “We can’t go on this way. We just can’t, Henry.”
I watched the emotions play out on my brother’s face. First came shame and guilt and remorse, then frustration and irritation and embarrassment and anger. But all of this faded as quickly as it rose, and then Henry looked away as he nodded. By then, he simply looked resigned.