by Triss Stein
“Uh. What do you mean?”
“I came by late last night. Thought I’d say good-bye before I headed out to this job on the Island, but before I parked I saw Darcy going in, carrying a bag from Dunkin’ Donuts. I know a crisis sign in your life.” He was teasing, just a bit, but he also sounded cautious. At least it was clear he didn’t know anything.
Could he read my mind over the phone line? Because he went on, “Chris will tell me if you don’t. Or I could talk to Darcy herself.”
“Darcy is no blabbermouth.”
He laughed at my vehement response. “True. But Chris will tell me anything.”
That might be true. And besides, I did want to tell him. He had that effect on me, something entirely new in my life.
After my explanation, there was a long silence, so long I wondered if we had been cut off. Then, cautiously, he asked, “And you are okay?”
“I am. I am fine.”
“You called Darcy. You didn’t call me.”
“No, Joe. No.” I felt a flutter of—what? worry? guilt? “You have it all wrong. Chris called Darcy on her own.” I left out the part about telling her not to call him.
Another long silence and then he broke the tension with a laugh.
“Geez, Erica. Do you think maybe wandering off like that was a bad idea?”
“Yes, as it turned out, but I could not have known, could I?” I sounded calm, mature, not defensive. It took effort. “It was just a little walk, with lots of people nearby.”
“Sure it was. Sure. But next time it doesn’t work out, would you please call me? I’m here. You know?”
“Are we still on for Thursday?”
“You are changing the subject.”
“I can’t get anything past you.” I giggled. Joe has that effect on me, too, another new thing in my life. It had been a lot of years anyone but Chris made me giggle.
“You bet. Pick you up at seven.”
Joe and I had been friends for a long time. Now we were something more, but I wasn’t sure what it was, and wasn’t sure what I wanted it to be either. I was beginning to have a clue about what he wanted, though.
The truth is, I didn’t know how to do this anymore. Date like a grown-up. I married so young, maybe I never knew how. Now I was in the midst of trying to understand something as large as the Navy Yard, but I felt baffled by my own life.
Chapter Three
Conti’s murder was on the news in all forms and first thing in the morning. It was not the lead story—he was not a rap star or a football player or a former mayor—but the unlikely time and place and victim made it a story. He had been a player in New York for a long time
I saw it on the local news as I made my coffee. The NYPD spokesman sounded deeply harassed. And who could blame him? It had been less than thirty-six hours.
“Do you have leads?” “Witnesses?” “How is his family reacting?”
I scanned the story in the Times as I drank my coffee. They had interesting details about Conti’s career and wrote reasonably, if not helpfully, “NYPD is working on the situation, with nothing to report so far.” They noted that calls to family members and his office were not returned. I read it on my regular Brooklyn news e-lists. They were all doing a good job of keeping the story alive even though they had nothing new to add.
I didn’t want to read every word, but I soon learned I wasn’t going to be able to avoid it. When I walked past a news shop, it was screaming at me in headlines from the tabloids on display. All of which I bought.
I felt Conti’s murder was following me, when all I wanted to do was forget it. Of course I knew that was absurd. No one was sending me messages, but I felt it even more when Lisa called me.
“I can’t believe it. I stayed after the meeting to do my job and I missed the actual big story.” She paused, then pushed on. “Did you happen to see anything while you were out looking around?”
What I wanted to say was, no. Definitely no. I wanted to not talk about it. Somehow, though, what left my mouth was, “Sort of.”
I could hear the intake of her breath. “Do tell.”
I started to describe how I happened on the police cars and the ambulance, but I couldn’t do it. I’m a terrible liar. It takes too much energy when all my work is about trying to tell the truth.
“I was there. I saw it.”
“You…what?”
“I saw it happen.”
A long silence. Then, “Can I interview you? Right now? I need you to tell me everything.”
“No, no. No! I don’t want my name in your paper. I want to forget about it.”
“No problem.” She sounded unreasonably cheerful about all this. “Reporters have a wonderful friend called ‘anonymous sources.’ No one will connect you. Tell me all about it.”
So I did. She asked a few questions. I said, “That’s it. Not much to tell, after all.”
Her response was, “Are you kidding? I have more than anyone else. My editor will love me. And I love you.” Her jubilant voice changed. “Seriously, thank you. I owe you big-time.”
“I might even remind you of that one day. Go write your story.”
Back to work, I entered the dates my advisor had forced on me into several calendars, paper and digital. I’ll admit that it looked scary. That was certainly her intention.
When I needed a break, I did not head to online news sites. I checked the predicted weather in Buffalo. I jotted a list of things to bring, including bagels. I jotted a reminder to Chris, “Cold at night there. Pack a robe and warm pj’s.”
And I finally talked to my dad.
“What’s this I heard about you coming to Buffalo with us?”
“And good morning to you, too. Did you have a good night’s sleep? How was your breakfast?”
“Come on. I have a busy day.”
“Well, my breakfast was at a diner, and I had the All American, with eggs, ham, home fries, and rye toast. Thanks for asking.”
“Da-ad!” I sounded like a teen-ager. I moderated my voice.
“Ok, Dad, I get the point. But I do have a busy day.”
“And I got your point. Yeah, Chris and I cooked up that plan. Makes sense, doesn’t it? I am certainly the better driver and I have the better car, with a bigger trunk and more legroom.”
Plenty of room in that old gas guzzler, it was true, and he kept it in perfect condition. I could not say the same about my ancient Corolla.
“But listen, Dad? You and Jeff’s mom were never the best of friends.” To say the least. “I’m not so sure this will work out. All of us under the same roof and all.”
“I offered to stay at a motel, but Judy wouldn’t hear of it. Worse comes to worse, I will stay with an old friend. She couldn’t object to that.”
“How do you have an old friend in Buffalo?”
“His name is Western. Best Western.”
“Ah. Okay. But that doesn’t do anything about Jeff’s mom.”
“Phyllis? You worry too much. Her and me, we talked some after Jeff died. And she sent me a nice card when your mom left us. There was a saint on it but the thought was kind. I think she’s mellowed.”
That was a stretch but I could see I was never going to talk him out of this. Not with Chris ganging up on his side. Plus, it’s true, his car is much more reliable.
“So your plan is?”
“Pick you up after dinner Friday. Less traffic at night, you and Chris sleep in the car. Get there maybe midnight.”
“But did you talk to…?”
“Yes, talked to Judy. She said any time is fine, she’ll have the coffee and cake waiting. She was always a nice girl.”
“Speaking of food, I hear Phyllis has been cooking up a storm.”
He laughed.
So there we were with a plan.
I did my other chores. Packed haphazardl
y. As long as I had clean underwear and warm pj’s I would be fine wearing sweat pants and a warm sweater around the house. Then I spell-checked the report for work and sent it in.
I hustled out to finish my errands and picked up a pizza for Chris.
I took a deep breath then. Now to get ready to go out. On a date. I guessed it was a date. I still had to do some mental gymnastics to think I was dating Joe.
Joe knows me very well, too well maybe, and has seen me with dried glue in my hair scraping old wallpaper, sweaty after a long bike ride in the summer heat, with eyes swollen with tears when a family friend died. But now that things were different, or moving that way, I thought I should make a little effort. Shower and shiny blow-dried hair. Check. But what to wear to a local restaurant? Much nicer than pizza or the abundant fancy hamburger places? Clean jeans? Steal a cute top from Chris? And some makeup? Was that the right amount of effort? Or was that trying too hard?
It was a long, contemplative shower
In spite of my confusion about what to do, how to dress, and then the underlying question of what we were doing, the idea of seeing him put a smile on my face.
Oh, yes, I was in some real trouble here. And to think we used to just be friends.
***
I did date occasionally, after I had crawled out of the shock of becoming a widow with a three-year-old, but it took me years to get there. It always seemed a little pointless, though. No one was Jeff, so why bother? Recently I’d been seeing the older brother of a high school friend, but in the end, it was too much like dating a cousin. Too familiar. We stopped with no hard feelings.
And then there was one intense fling, when Chris was away at camp. With an impressive man who turned out to have ulterior motives. It left me with a bruised heart and ego.
This was different. Whatever “this” was.
Dad likes him. But then, Dad’s judgment in this area is questionable, to say the least. That Woman, his girlfriend after mom died, was a disaster.
Chris likes the idea. Loves the idea. Campaigned for it long before it was even a possibility. I have told her I don’t take romantic advice from someone too young to have a driver’s license. Her recent retort has been that in most of the state, she’d be driving right after her fast-approaching sixteenth birthday.
Darcy makes fun of me. She says I am over-thinking. Just go with it, she says. He’s a good guy and he likes you, in spite of knowing you so well.
Of course her judgment is suspect too. She introduced me to the last disaster. And she has been married since the week she graduated from college, so what does she really know? She pointed out that with four grown children, there was no form of romantic dilemma she had not heard about, from the married man to the girlfriend who liked women better than men after all.
Chris gave me a passing grade on my outfit, fluffed my hair, and told me, shaking her head, “Nicer shoes, mom! I keep telling you! Try the black sandals.” She called to my exiting back, “The ones with heels!” I was not taking love life advice from her, but for fashion? Well, I am that desperate sometimes.
We were going slow, Joe and me. He’s made it clear that his skirt-chasing days are on hold indefinitely, but maybe not forever. And yet, every time I am tempted to speed things up, I pull back. Fear? Of him? Not likely. Of losing what we do have. Maybe.
And yet, I was all smiles waiting for him. Chris gently turned me to the mirror. “See?” Then she retreated to her room.
“What? Don’t you want to say hi? Catch up?”
There is no sarcasm on earth like a teen’s simple, “Sure thing.”
When he came in, I was tempted to walk right into his arms. And then I didn’t. It didn’t matter. He walked right into mine. I had no problem with that.
“I missed you, out there alone in the wilderness of Suffolk County.” He whispered it into my ear, while hugging me.
I leaned back to make it possible to look at him. “The wilderness? Easthampton? Home of the rich and chic?”
“Not my kind of place. I’m glad to be back home. Ready? I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”
“Chris! We’re going,” I shouted in an upstairs direction.
She shouted down, “Yeah, yeah. Have fun.” A giggle, then, “Don’t stay out too late.”
“My kid is a wiseass.”
“Yes, she is. It’s one of her most endearing qualities.”
“You don’t live with it full time.” I wasn’t truly complaining, though. I was in too good a mood for that.
We walked over to a surprisingly elegant neighborhood steak restaurant. I’d never been there before; I couldn’t possibly afford it. It was a lovely room, quiet and pretty; promising menu, without a doubt the best meal I’d had all week; service that made me sink in my comfortable chair, ready to be pampered. I leaned back and sighed.
Joe raised an eyebrow at me.
“Tough week? Are you planning to tell me more about it?”
So I did. And ended with, “And you can’t say I did something foolish. There was no reason that little walk should have been dangerous. None! There was a whole meeting room full of people just a shout away.”
He smiled. “Dark and empty path? Trees hiding you from the meeting area? Everyone still indoors when you went exploring? How could there possibly any danger?”
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. That attitude, right there.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t feel compelled to intervene.”
“It happened too fast. And you still think I am an idiot.” I wanted to be angry. I hate being told what to do. But the way he was looking at me made it hard to sustain. Then he laughed, and I had to, too.
“Things just seem to happen to you. It’s amazing.”
Our appetizers came, fancy little things I couldn’t pronounce but looked yummy. I was starved and could not remember last time I’d had a real sit-down meal. We didn’t need to talk for a while.
Then he looked at me. “There is something else. I can tell. Give.”
“How can you tell?”
He just smiled back.
“I met with my advisor today.” I needed a gulp of wine to continue. “She put me on a schedule. Me! As if I am in a freshman writing class! She seems to think I am malingering and will never finish.” I reached for more wine.
“I have wondered about that.” He quickly added, “No, not the malingering. I know you aren’t. But are you going to be a student forever?”
“That’s ridiculous. And insulting, too. You know I am working hard at it.”
“Of course I do. No insult intended. But don’t you need to leave the cocoon sometime? What comes next?”
Our dinners came just in time to stop the conversation. After a few delicious bites, Joe clinked his glass at mine. “I’m not pushing you. Not my job. So here’s to getting the job done, whenever you do.”
I could certainly agree to that.
After we’d made happy inroads into our meal, Joe said, “I’ve been thinking. I’m told that the big step in a modem relationship—hey, don’t look so scared!—is exchanging keys.” He wasn’t looking at me.
“What?” I dropped the chunk of asparagus flan I had speared. “You’ve always had keys to my house, since right after I met you.” He’s my contractor. Of course he has keys. I even call him when I can’t find mine.
“But you don’t have mine.” His expression was brimming with anticipation as he dangled a small key chain from his index finger.
“Well. Should I faint and say ‘Why sir, this is so sudden’?”
“You can’t faint and talk at the same time.”
I gave him that ‘don’t try my patience’ look I usually reserve for Chris.
“So what do you think?”
“Ah, yes. Umm, are there other sets out there in the universe, in other purses?”
“N
ope. Not in a long time.”
So I knew this was not nothing. I took a deep breath and put them in my own purse. With a smile.
He held my hand under the table. “Eat up but save dessert room.” Afterwards, I didn’t remember what I had for dessert. That has never happened before.
As we walked home, content and slightly buzzed, he said, “Tell me about this trip to Buffalo.”
“Oh, my Lord. What do you know?”
“A lot. Chris told me. You and Chris and your dad and your mother-in-law?”
“That’s it. With three of the above stuck in a car together for about seven hours.”
“Sounds fun.”
I lightly punched his arm before snuggling back in. “Not at all. As you know very well.”
“You going to be a crazy woman when you get home?”
“Very possibly.”
“Something to look forward to.”
“If I am, will you hate it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He held me a little tighter. “I have big shoulders. Use ’em to lean on.”
We said good-bye at my house, in the dark corner where the high stoop meets the wall. It took quite a while and included some heavy breathing.
We stopped for a break. “Is this too much like being teenagers?”
“Oh, yeah. Only now we’re hiding from your kid instead of your parents.”
“Sure have made a lot of progress in our lives.” I giggled. “But no, we’re not going into my house with Chris at home.”
“I know. Those keys I gave you?” He looked at me seriously, smoothing my hair. “We should start using them. No pressure, but give it some thought.” A quick final peck. “Come back from your trip with everyone in one piece, okay? No arrests. No felonies. And if it gets completely crazy, remember I’m only a phone call away.”
“I got it. That helps.”
Another kiss and we said good night.
I had a phone message when I went in, a shaky woman’s voice I didn’t recognize.
“They say you were the last person to see Michael Conti alive. Could I talk to you? I want…” A deep breath. “I need to know…I’d like to talk to you.”
No name. No identifying information. Not a business call. Not a reporter. And how the hell did she know I was there?
