She sighed deeply, letting herself relax for a moment under his touch. “Nothing you can give me, dear.” She reached up and patted his hand. “It’s just enough that you’re here. Why don’t you go see Aaron while I fix us some tea?”
“Go ahead,” I said to Gabe after Rachel went into the kitchen. “You need to visit with him alone for a little while. I’ll come out when Rachel brings the tea.”
“Okay,” he said and walked toward the French doors off the dining room. Through the thin lace curtains I could make out the outline of Aaron sitting on a patio chair, facing the back yard garden.
I sat down on the gray leather sofa and looked around the room. It was decorated in a way that reflected Rachel’s personality, in subtle, elegant grays and blues with touches of maroon and rose in the needlepoint pillows and framed Degas prints. A brightly polished brass menorah reigned alone on the cherry-wood mantel. Framed pictures of their daughter, Esther, a Hebrew translator for a small publishing house in New York, sat on the delicate curved-leg end tables. A piece of needlework lay folded neatly across the arm of a maroon wing-back chair. I picked it up and read the tiny words stitched in single-strand gold embroidery thread on antique white 18-count Aida cloth.
“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, The Lord is One.”
“I started that during Aaron’s last stay in the hospital,” Rachel said, walking back in the room.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, holding it away from me and admiring the elaborate border of intertwined grape vines, deep golden roses and the palest of yellow honeysuckle. “What will go here?” I pointed to a blank area underneath the finished verse.
“The same verse in Hebrew. I can only work on it a bit at a time these days. I think I regret choosing so small a fabric, it tires my eyes so, but it’s too late to change now.” She smiled ruefully.
“It’ll be worth it when it’s done,” I said. “It has a delicacy that would be lost with a larger count. I wish it were finished. I’d love to exhibit it down at the museum.”
“Since I seem to only work on it at the hospital, I suppose I hope it’s never finished. Shall we join them on the patio?”
“Benni Harper!” Aaron’s voice strained with the physical effort of his greeting. His gaunt, sallow face lit up in a smile. “My favorite shiksa cowgirl. Come give me a hug. Turned any bulls to sopranos lately?”
He was wearing a navy blue sweat suit and a blue and red Kansas JayHawkers cap, a gift from Gabe. When I bent to hug him, his back felt as frail as fish bones underneath my fingers. I closed my eyes and inhaled his musty, dying scent, trying to imagine the bulk of the man who could once pin Gabe to the ground.
“How’re you doing, Aaron?” I chose a patio chair next to him.
“Still got the forked end down,” he said, gesturing at his thin legs. “Though just barely these days.”
Gabe walked over to the edge of the backyard, peering over the back fence at the Embarcadero below, where tourists took pictures of the crusty commercial fishing boats, bought sea shell wind chimes and Styrofoam bowls of oniony clam chowder. Morro Rock gleamed obsidian-black in the bright sunlight. Rachel handed me a fragile china cup of tea and fussed about, rearranging Aaron’s tea and cakes until he told her to quit being a Jewish mother and go show Gabe the impatiens that were blooming across the back fence.
“She’s always trying to feed me,” he said to me, as we sipped the strong, minty herbal tea. “And she never lets me have caffeine anymore.”
“She feels helpless,” I said. “She probably feels like if she can control your diet, she can control everything else.” I picked up an iced ginger cake and took a bite. Though Aaron and I had visited less than a dozen times since we first met two months ago, from the beginning we’d established an easy, open rapport. We knew the cancer gave us no time for the indulgence of social artificiality, and also knew the one thing we had in common was we cared about Gabe.
“I worry about her.” His dark eyes seemed to sink further into their hollows. I couldn’t help but notice how the yellow in his skin seemed deeper than the last time we’d visited, as if some unknown artist’s hand had painted on another thin layer of color. “She needs to do something besides take care of me. It’s going to be harder for her when ...” His voice trailed off.
I reached over and took his hand. It felt shriveled and dry and scratchy, an old man’s hand, even though Aaron had just turned fifty-nine two weeks ago. “She’ll be okay. It’ll be hard, but she’ll be okay.”
“I know she will. No doubt she’ll be at the synagogue every day, trying to mother whoever will let her. It’s not only her I worry about.” When he looked over at Gabe, his breath came out in a loud shudder. He pulled the black velour robe that was draped across the back of his chair over his shoulders. “I never can seem to get warm these days,” he said with a small laugh. Gabe laughed at the same time. The sound echoed across the lawn and we watched him dip his head close to Rachel’s ear, point at something down on the Embarcadero, and then her high, thin laughter joined his.
“It’s good to see her happy for a change,” Aaron said. “I can’t seem to make her laugh anymore.” His face grew liquid with sadness. “Sometimes, she almost seems angry with me.”
“She’s not angry with you,” I said. “She’s just angry with ... life. I still get that way sometimes. Trying to figure out why things happen. Being grateful for what you’ve had, but angry because you don’t have more, don’t have it all. Then ashamed at your greediness when there are people in the world who’ve never had one tenth of what you’ve had.”
He shook his head and stared out at the silvery ocean. “I feel like I’ve failed her. A real man sticks around, takes care of his family.”
“Excuse me, Aaron, but that’s about the biggest piece of cow crap I’ve ever heard from you. You didn’t choose for this to happen.”
He gave me a small, close-mouthed smile. “I can always depend on you to tell it like it is. You’re right, but I’m still afraid, Benni. Not so much for me, but for her. She’s going to have to grow old without me and that tears me up. I want to tell her that, but when I look into her beautiful eyes, I can’t. We’ve been married thirty-three years and I’ve known you two months. Why can I tell you and not her?”
“Because you have nothing to lose with me. Because you’re still her husband and want to protect her. That isn’t a bad thing, you know. Deep down inside, I think it’s what everyone craves.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who loves them enough to take care of them.”
He reached up and adjusted his cap. “Smart words from such a pretty little package. No wonder Gabe is in love with you.”
I laughed and smacked his hand gently. “Says who?”
“You mean that boy hasn’t spoken up yet? What’s the matter with him? I guess he and I are going to have to have a little talk.”
I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare say a thing, you wily old matchmaker. We’re working on our relationship, but things are kind of ... complicated. You know how different we are. It’s going to take a little time.”
He grabbed my hand, squeezing it with amazing strength, his voice intense and full of more than just physical pain.
“Time is something that can’t be wasted, Benni. You and I know that. Forget the differences. No matter what, promise me you two won’t throw one single minute away. Not one single minute.”
Before I could answer, Gabe and Rachel walked back within hearing range.
“You’ll never believe what we just saw,” Gabe said, still laughing. Rachel tucked her arm in the crook of his, an indulgent, relaxed smile smoothing out the worried lines of her face.
“What’s that?” Aaron asked.
“Gabe’s in danger of losing his status as a Los Angeles refugee,” Rachel said. The cool air caused her pale cheeks to blush a delicate rose. “He now makes fun of the tourists almost as wickedly as we do.”
“Bermuda shorts and cowboy boots on a guy t
hat had to weigh two-sixty, at least. We don’t even allow that in Southern California.” Gabe reached over and gave Aaron a gentle slug on the arm. “He had about as much taste in clothes as you, amigo.”
Aaron lifted his nose and sniffed with feigned hurt. “Mr. Button-down-collar-Midwest-yuppie here was always jealous of my droll and unique sense of style.”
We all laughed, and Rachel walked over and placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, giving us the subtlest of looks. The physical strain of our short visit was already showing on Aaron’s face, though he tried to mask it with a trembling smile. I laid a hand on Gabe’s arm and said, “I think we’d better go.”
“Not already,” Aaron said. “You just got here.”
“Benni’s right, compa,” Gabe said. “You need your rest. We’ll come again soon.”
“If you have time,” Aaron said. “I don’t want you goofing off on that job and make me look bad.” His face grew pensive. “Sometimes I miss that place like fire. Give me a quick rundown on the O’Hara-Violet murders.”
Gabe turned his back to me and gave Aaron a brief summary of what they’d found out so far, not revealing anything I didn’t already know.
“Dig deeper on the nephew,” Aaron said, his face thoughtful. “In most cases, as you well know, it’s a family member and usually the most obvious suspect.” Gabe glanced quickly over at me, and it took everything I had not to stick my tongue out at him.
“Yes, I know,” Gabe said. “But we’re looking into other possibilities. I’ll tell you more the next time I come to visit.”
Right, I thought, when I’m not with you.
Aaron’s eyes moved from Gabe’s face to mine, an astute look on his face. Then he said to Rachel, “Did you ask Gabe about that noise?”
She touched her throat with a delicate hand. “I almost forgot. It’s the car,” she explained. “It’s making an odd noise, and Aaron wants you to look at it.”
“No problem,” Gabe said. He went over to Aaron and stooped next to the chair, laying a hand on his friend’s arm. For a moment, they stared at each other, silent. “You behave yourself,” Gabe finally said, squeezing Aaron’s arm. “Do what Rachel tells you.”
Aaron reached over and grabbed Gabe’s hand. “Always have, little buddy, always have.”
Rachel walked us out front where a dark blue Cadillac Seville was parked. After some fiddling around under the hood, Gabe turned to Rachel. “It’s just a cracked spark plug. I’ll pick one up at the parts store and bring it out tomorrow.” He closed the hood with a bang and turned to me. “Ready to go?”
He was unusually quiet on the drive back to San Celina, but I chalked it up to worry about Aaron. From my own experience, I knew there wasn’t anything anyone could say or do to make this any easier for him, so I didn’t even try.
“Are you going to Miss Violet’s funeral?” I asked when he pulled up into my driveway.
“No,” he said. “But I’ll have men there, though I doubt they’ll find out much. I expect there will be quite a crowd.”
“Probably.”
I unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle.
“Benni, we have to talk about something.” The serious tone of his voice caused me to freeze.
“What about?”
He rested his hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “Mac came to see me yesterday.”
My pounding heart seemed so loud, I was certain it would burst my eardrums. “Oh, really? Why?”
“I think you know.”
I studied the hands clenched in my lap. “Maybe you should just tell me.”
He hit the steering wheel so hard it sang, and a barrage of Spanish burst from him. It sounded, in the enclosed area of his car, more menacing than I knew it actually was, but that didn’t mean I had to listen to it, so I opened the car door and stepped out. He sprang out of the driver’s seat and was standing next to me before I closed the door.
“Benni, did you know he removed evidence from the scene?” At that moment, the eleven inches his six-foot frame had on me felt more like eleven feet.
“Yes, but...”
He hit the hood of the Corvette with his palm. “Do you know how much I wish you hadn’t said that? I was hoping, praying, that it wasn’t what I suspected. What am I supposed to do now? You want to tell me that?”
“Did Mac tell you?” I asked, trying to buy time because I had no explanation that would satisfy him.
“He didn’t have to. When I asked him if anyone else knew about this, he asked if he could be excused from answering that question. It didn’t take a genius to add up that equation.”
“Did he tell you what he took?”
His lips thinned underneath his mustache. “No, that’s why I’m asking you about it. I want to know exactly what you saw, and”—his voice dripped with sarcasm—“if it’s not any trouble, just why you didn’t tell me about it five days ago?”
“All I saw was him taking something out of the nightstand. That’s it. And I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to find out if it had any bearing on the murders before I did.”
He made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “You just don’t get it, do you? What you did makes a mockery out of everything I stand for, everything I am. Do you understand what it will look like, what I’ll look like, when this comes out? Has it penetrated that thick, stubborn skull of yours that you broke the law?”
I was perilously close to breaking down and sobbing, but I wasn’t about to do it here in broad daylight in front of Gabe. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “He’s my friend, Gabe. What else could I do? And by the way, just out of curiosity, which bothers you more, me breaking the law or your precious public image?”
“I am not even going to dignify that asinine remark with an answer.” He walked around the car and got in. I followed, past the point of regretful tears and into the angry kind.
“What are you going to do to him?” I asked, standing next to his open window.
“What can I do? I don’t even know what he took and he won’t tell me. Frankly, I don’t even know why he bothered to come in.” He started the engine and shifted into reverse.
“Okay, tell me this, Gabe. Tell me what you, the great upholder of law and order, would have done if it had been Aaron. Or Rachel. Or your son. Tell me you would have turned them right in without a second thought. You tell me that and maybe I’ll consider your point of view.”
He was silent for a moment, then answered in a flat, cold voice. “It’s obvious we are never going to see eye-to-eye on this subject, and since who I am appears to be so reprehensible to you, I suggest we end whatever it is we have right now before someone really gets hurt.”
“Fine with me,” I said.
As I watched him drive away it hit me, like a fist in the stomach, how little we actually knew about each other, how whole parts of our lives were lived before we’d even met and how different those lives had been. “Forget the differences,” Aaron had said. Simple, wise advice from a good friend. But, it appeared to me, at this moment, impossible to take.
12
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I was changing into a navy silk dress for Miss Violet’s funeral and saying all the things to my reflection in the mirror that I hadn’t thought to say to Gabe. I was furious and hurt and feeling so crazy, I wanted to scream. I would have too, if I could be certain Mr. Treton was out of hearing range. It would only take the slightest peep out of me and he’d immediately call Dove, and trying to explain the situation to her when I didn’t even understand it myself was beyond my present emotional capability. It seemed impossible to put into perspective what my true feelings were when my hormones had an entirely different agenda. Gabe drove me nuts, but the thought of never seeing him again terrified me. If old age is a return to your childhood, as so many of the staff at the retirement home enjoyed pointing out, then middle age must be adolescence again. The confused and angry feelings I was
having were so similar to what I experienced at fourteen, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find acne sprouting on my chin.
First Baptist Church’s new parking lot thronged with cars parked somewhat haphazardly because the contractor still hadn’t painted in the lines for parking yet. Attendance at Miss Violet’s service was predictably heavy, with both legitimate mourners who’d had her as a teacher or friend and with curious gossips hoping for a tidbit to take home. After signing my name in the guest book, I slipped into a back pew, feeling both at home and alien in the comforting cyanic blue of the sanctuary. I concentrated on the large olive wood cross suspended over the crystal water of the baptismal and let the familiar gospel songs and Mac’s deep, liquid voice wash over me. I didn’t listen too closely, fearing the memories it would stir. Though in the last year I’d come to church sporadically, this was the first funeral I’d attended in this building since Jack’s. I looked down at the faint indentation where my wedding ring once was, and wondered where I’d be a year from now. Feeling tears gather at the back of my eyes, I turned my mind to the distraction of the murder investigation. It seemed a safe thing to dwell on, a puzzle to be solved, if you didn’t think too deeply about the people who died.
Looking around, I had to admit Gabe was right about one thing. It would be almost impossible for his detectives to pick out the murderer in this crowd. One of his detectives, a skinny, bespectacled Hispanic man who’d just been promoted to plainclothes, stood at the back of the church and slowly scanned the crowd. The searching manner cops have, the lingering looks they give certain faces, was becoming familiar to me now. I’d teased Gabe about it, telling him he scrutinized everyone as if they were a wanted fugitive. A wounded expression crossed his face at my comment. “You’re not far off,” he’d said. “I hate it, but I’ve gotten to the point where I label everyone I meet ‘victim’ or ‘suspect.’ It makes me sick and sometimes”—he paused for a moment, hunting for the right word—“angry, I guess, like something’s been stolen from me.”
When the service was over and the procession past her coffin started, I slipped out, knowing the dry eyes I’d maintained during the service would fail me then. Besides, I’d spotted Dove on the other side of the church and I was determined to avoid her. All she’d have to do was take one look at my face and she would know something was wrong, and at this point, I didn’t feel up to talking about it to anyone.
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