Oh, dear God . . ."
Jim knew that this was the last time he would see this look on
Mae's face after a fight. "I don't have the money," he said, too tired
to find the words to make it easier. "They refused to pay me, took
away my license. They said that I'm finished as a boxer."
The fear in Mae's eyes turned to anger. She didn't care about
boxing licenses or fight rules. She only cared about her husband.
"Jimmy, what happened to your hand?"
"It's broken in three places."
Mae wasn't thinking about boxing now. "If you can't work, we
won't be able to pay the bills, buy food . . . We'll have to send the
children to stay with my sister."
"Mae, I can still work," Jim said. "Get the black shoe polish
from the cupboard. Nobody will give me a job if they see this cast
on my hand, so we'll cover it up."
Mae saw it in her husband's eyes then—Jim Braddock wasn't
going to be beaten. "I'll cut your coat so you can put it on over
the cast," she said, opening the shoe polish and spreading it on the
white cast. "Now we just need a piece of steak for your face, Jim
Braddock!" she laughed.
Six-year-old Rosy's face appeared around the blanket. Jim
smiled at her, deciding, not for the first time, that he was a lucky
man to have Mae as his wife.