by Triss Stein
“So it wasn’t over?”
“It was never over. Never. Not through Annabelle, not through Jennifer, not through the other girls. I was the one.” She stopped, put her hand over her heart as if it was beating too fast. “That’s enough. Since you have nothing else to tell me, I am leaving.”
“But I have more questions for you. And you should talk to the detectives and tell them…”
She was already walking away. A car appeared at the curb. She got in and left without turning around again or giving me a chance to ask any of the questions tumbling around in my mind. I didn’t even know any way to verify anything she had told me. I punched in her name and found a few listings but none the right age. I punched in her phone number and got “unlisted” back. I hadn’t even been able to see the address on her driver’s license. So…nothing.
I pulled out my computer and sat in the deepening chill, writing up as much as I could remember. I would have to contact NYPD again when I got home. I was dreading how stupid I would feel, not even being able to identify her.
Home. Chris’ coat on the sofa and her book bag on the floor told me she was home. I threw my coat on top of hers and began pulling items out of the refrigerator. Soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches, a nice supper on a cold fall night.
“Chris!” I shouted. “Supper in ten?”
Mumbles from above. I took it as a yes. I would ignore the morning argument.
Chris came in as the smells of vegetable soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches were warming up the kitchen and announced, “I am still mad about this morning.”
Exactly what I did not need to hear at the end of this difficult day. “You’re mad? That material was for my work. Which, may I remind you, does provide a little income and is for our future. You should have at least asked.” I took a deep breath. “That would be only common courtesy.”
She made the same grumpy face she has been making since she was two. I almost melted then and there. Almost. Moms of teens have to be tough.
“Well, my schoolwork is my future. As you tell me and tell me and tell me. College. Scholarships. Remember saying that? So why isn’t that just as important?”
I turned around, back to the frying pan, and by exercising enormous self-control did not say a word. By the time I was slapping the crispy sandwiches onto plates, she muttered, “All right. All right. I should have asked. Satisfied? And you know you would have said yes.”
Good thing I was facing the stove, because that made me smile. Of course I would have.
Chris went on, carefully, “Anyways I talked to Grandma today and she sent a message for you.”
“Yes? Eat up.” Soup bowl and melty sandwiches were on her plate.
“She said, look out for stuff about some meetings with politicians? And a big rally? Can that be right? She said she remembers being at a rally, and would remember more, she’s sure, if you had pictures.”
“Now that’s weird. I was actually looking at some of those photos this morning. That’s all she said?”
“Yup. For you, anyway.” She grinned provocatively. “We had quite a talk.”
“Oh? Anything I need to know?”
Chris smiled and shook her head.
“When are you going out with Joe?”
“What?”
She repeated with exaggerated patience, “Joe? When are you going out?”
“Later.”
“’Cause he left a message on the phone. Said to text him with the time.”
“That’s it?”
She nodded and slid me her phone. “Here. You can tell him right now.” She smiled a bit smugly. “Don’t want him to think you didn’t get his message.”
“You are way too involved in this.”
“That would be a matter of opinion. And what are you wearing?”
“Chris, it’s only a neighborhood place with a friend. Not the White House.”
“And I repeat, what are you wearing?”
“Good jeans, nice top. What I always wear.”
“Not bad. I’ll pick earrings for you.”
I was about to protest when I remembered her earring collection far surpasses mine.
By then Chris was on her way back to her cave. I called to her, “You know, you can ask me for any help you need on that project. It is what I do for a living, more or less.”
Words floated back. “Thanks but I’ve got it. No help needed.”
That put me in my place.
I couldn’t put off the NYPD call anymore. I had the card of the cop who talked to me that night. Somewhere. I had it somewhere.
Detective Ramos. I didn’t remember the name. I hoped for a message system, but he answered himself. I didn’t remember anything about those cops, but he remembered me.
“Ms. Donato, what can I do for you?”
I took a deep breath. “It might be that I can do something for you. I maybe learned something useful. It was strange…”
“I’m listening.”
He sounded patient but not thrilled.
As I explained about who I had met, he quickly became more interested. “You have nothing except her name? Nothing at all? Come on!”
“She was trying to be mysterious! I think she liked it.”
“Great.”
“But she called me twice and I have the number she was using. That’s worth something, isn’t it? Even though it comes up as unlisted.”
“You tried it, did you?”
“Well. Yes.”
“We can trace it back and probably pull her driver’s license, too. And you made notes, you said? Can you send them to me?”
I gave him Mary Pat’s phone number and he gave me his e-mail.
“And she said she knew the first Mrs. Conti from when they were kids? Looks like I need to have another talk with Mrs. Conti then.”
“So it is a little useful?”
“Could be.”
“And will you tell me if you learn more from her? I would like to…I mean, it would be helpful…”
“I can’t promise that! Or anything. It’s a murder investigation, not a game of Clue. I’ll be doing my job. That I can definitely promise.” He stopped, then went on. “We appreciate your information, though, and thanks for that. Is that everything?”
“No. Not exactly.” I took a deep breath. “I remembered something. At least I think I did. And you said to call if I did.”
Suddenly his voice sounded very alert. “Ah. I hoped you might. And what would that be?”
I told him what I could, fumbling for words. The shooter was white. Something made me think, not young. Dark clothes.
“And that’s it?”
“I’m afraid so. It was only a second of seeing him.”
“How about visiting the scene together?”
That was unexpected and extremely unwelcome. What I get for being a good citizen.
“I would, but I don’t see the point. It was just that second, in the dark. I don’t remember another thing.”
“We have ways of making you remember.” He was silent for a second and then laughed. “Uh, that didn’t come out quite the way I intended. Let’s say sometimes we can shake loose a little more from the memory bank. Pick you up tomorrow at eleven?”
Something in his voice told me that if I said no, he’d ask again. I told him eleven was fine.
I was done. Off the hook for tonight. I was sweating but I was done.
Chapter Seven
Joe and I were going out to a quiet neighborhood bar, glass of wine, a chance to talk. He surprised me with a small envelope. “Put it someplace safe.”
“Joe?”
“Theater tickets.“ He grinned. “I am taking you out for a real date night soon.”
“Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?” I was laughing, joking, but he didn’t exa
ctly laugh with me.
Then he took the envelope back. “On second thought, I’ll keep them safe better than you will.” As we left, he said, “So how was your trip? It seems no one ended up in custody.”
I giggled. “No, no, we were all okay. But my dad? He went to church with Phyllis. Church! My dad! You have no idea what a shock that was. Just being friendly, he said. Just establishing better ties with Phyllis.”
“But did it work? Better ties, I mean.”
That was Joe, making me think things through again. I found myself saying, “Yes, it probably did.”
“And what else did everyone get up to?”
My stories about the personalities involved in the visit, and my reactions, took us until we got to the wine bar. Joe is a good listener and we all need someone, sometimes, who will let us prattle on.
We ordered and then he looked back at me. “So, what I get is, one, Chris got an excellent project going and, two, you may have something useful for your current responsibility and, three, your father and your daughter charmed a woman you’ve always called a dragon. Sounds like a good weekend’s work to me, worth the trip.”
“I hate to admit it, but you could be right.” I hadn’t even put that into words for myself. “She wasn’t quite such a dragon this time. Phyllis, I mean. But I’m glad to be home.”
He smiled and tilted his glass toward me. It felt good—no, it felt wonderful, to have someone in my life who would let me unload like that and at least pretend that he liked it. How long had it been that I had been going it alone? Certainly I had friends but I did not have a lot of time for socializing and never assumed they wanted to hear every little detail about my life. Joe wanted to.
It took me a while to notice he wasn’t saying much about his.
On our second glass, with a plate of mixed Greek appetizers, I asked, “Is something wrong?”
He looked wary.
“I’m prattling on and you are hardly saying a word about yourself. Is it me? Am I being too self-centered?”
“I wasn’t sure… ah, hell. I’ll tell you. My sister’s come back to town.”
“Which one? The high school principal? Or your other sister in Connecticut? Oh, wait. You don’t mean back, like, moving to Brooklyn?” I’d met the sisters. It seemed unlikely.
“Not those sisters.” He wouldn’t look at me as he said it.
I sat back. “Okay. What in hell are you talking about?”
He was silent for a very long time. I gulped down almost all my wine before he finally answered, “I have three sisters, not two. Jan in Merrick, nice house, principal, dentist husband, grown kids. Kate in Hartford, college kids, insurance exec, and so is her husband. Not them. I have another one. Alix, the baby.” He smiled, but only a little. “She’s about your age.”
“And she’s the baby? Seriously? I am no baby.”
“Kidding.” He put up placating hands. “I was kidding.” Long pause, then he went on. “You don’t know Alix, though. She is…was…ahh…not quite adult.” He stopped talking, took a bite and a drink.
“So my two big sisters, they were the good kids. Did well in school, had careers, families. The lives our folks planned for us.” He stopped. “I was the one who was off the blueprint. In and out of school, took a few tries to find a career. Married for about five minutes, no kids. Myself, I know my life has turned out fine but they worry about me.” He shook his head. “Not too much room for other ideas about life with my parents.
“But Alix? She came along late, when they were, I guess, tired of raising kids.” He rubbed his forehead, that classic gesture of weariness. But Joe was never weary. I kept my mouth shut for a change and waited.
“She was the family wild child. Bad boys and alcohol, mostly. Artsy ideas with no focus. First rock guitar, then painting T-shirts. I found her at fifteen, with a six-pack, weed, and a boy old enough to have his own car.”
“What did you do?” To a parent like me, it was a scary story. But he wasn’t her parent. “How old were you then?”
“Twenty-four, maybe. I dragged her out of the car, told the kid what would happen if he ever came around again. It turned out he was twenty, not a kid, and I marched her home.”
“She went, just like that?”
“Hell, no. She yelled and cried, but stopped when I pointed out she was lucky it was me and not our dad.”
“Joe? You didn’t!”
“I did. Of course I wouldn’t handle it that way now.”
“I was…I wasn’t…”
“Yes, you were. You were wondering if I had lost my mind, right? Well, I was not much more than a kid myself then, but enough older to see she was getting herself into deep trouble.”
“How’d that work out?”
“I honestly thought I had scared her into behaving, but she only got smarter about covering it up.” He stopped there, ate a bite, sipped the wine. “At seventeen she ran away to Florida with a different boyfriend. To live on a citrus farm! She had a baby that she gave up for adoption, all before she was old enough to vote. Not that she probably ever did vote. Or go back to school or hold a regular job or any of those usual things.”
“But, wait. I don’t understand. Did you hear from her over the years? You? Or anyone?”
“Me. I did. I was the other confused one, at least for a while, so she thought I understood. She did show up at our grandmother’s funeral, surprising all of us. Stood at the back, cried, and disappeared before anyone could talk to her. She sent me a postcard, after, saying only ‘Sorry. I couldn’t stand to have them all lecture me.’ And now I get the occasional phone message about how she will be on the street if I don’t send her money right away. Always to be paid back when the next big idea works out.”
“Do you? Send the money?” He turned red. “Of course you do. ’Cause you are still her big brother.” I jumped up and hugged him, right there in public. He looked pleased and embarrassed in equal parts.
I sat back down, adjusted my clothes and my expression. “Does she? Ever? Pay it back?”
“Never. The plans always hit a bump, never her fault, and then she disappears again for a while.” He stopped for a long time, pursued the last of his spinach pie across his plate with a fork, and poured another glass. “She creates chaos whenever she shows up. She’s my baby sister and there have been whole years I did not know where she was living.”
“And now?”
“She is back. Single. Living at the Y.”
“Good grief.”
“She left me a message. She’s in town, will be here awhile, when can we get together? She sounded…she sounded normal.” His voice sounded strangely far away. “No slurred speech or incoherent statements this time. Here.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll play it for you.”
He was right. She sounded like an ordinary person trying to make a date with her brother. Except for the last sentence in a shaky voice. “I have a goal. It’s to clean up the past.”
I didn’t know what to say. At least I didn’t know what to say that would be safe. Joe usually has that quiet assurance that goes with being such a physically capable guy. I had never seen him thrown until tonight.
“So did you? Call her? “
“Tomorrow.”
“This call was not…”
“I know. She sounds like a normal person. No way for me to tell you how unlikely that is.”
“Is this all on you? I mean, your parents? Your other siblings?”
“Well, I’m not telling anyone, at least until I know what she is up to. My folks don’t need the aggravation at this time in their lives.” He took a deep breath. “Actually they got that ‘tough love’ counseling at some point and told her not to show her face until she got her life in order.” He saw the uncensored reaction on my face. “Uh, yes, possibly they could have managed that better.”
His parents lived in a F
lorida retirement community and I knew were slipping from active retirees to failing health.
“Truth is, she broke their hearts again and again.”
What could I say to that? If it were Chris off the deep end, destroying her life, I didn’t know how I would bear it. Or handle it. At that moment, with Chris safe not more than a few blocks away, I was having trouble breathing, merely thinking about it.
Joe finally smiled at me. Almost smiled. “So all that drama between you and Chris?” He waved his hand. “And you and your dad? It’s nothing, so much fluff.”
“Not fluff. It’s completely different. He’s the one…” If he wanted to distract me, he was succeeding.
“I know, I know. Just saying, there are problems. And then there are real problems.”
“I get it.” I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I got his point.
It was time to go, drinks done and snacks serving as a meal. He held me tight as we walked home, but he wasn’t exactly there, not dependably present, as he always seemed to be with me. His mind was somewhere else. Maybe back in the past with his sister.
Good night was a hug and quick peck.
“I’ve got to get home and just think out my approach for that call in the morning. I might call in the middle of the night for an edit. Think you can deal with that?”
“Any time.” I owed him a few middle of the night calls.
I went in thinking about this surprise, this new look into Joe’s life. And I thought I knew all about him.
I almost knocked on Chris’ door for a girl-to-girl chat. Then I came to my senses and settled for calling good night.
***
The next morning, Mrs. Pastore and I walked over to an old coffee shop, a New York tradition with an enormous menu, friendly waitresses, and low prices. The food was mediocre but with so many choices, it was easy to avoid the leathery eggs and order a safe corn muffin. A pot of coffee was there in front of us before we even asked. It was followed almost immediately by a tiny, white-haired smiling woman in big puffy coat.
When she was done unwrapping scarf, gloves, coat, and hat, Mrs. Pastore did her job. “Annabelle, this is Erica, my neighbor. Erica, say hello to Annabelle Conti.”
