by Ingrid Thoft
“Yikes,” Fina said.
“I know, and they’re not labeled,” Bobbi said sheepishly. “It was one of those projects I always meant to get the girls to do, but it never happened.” She brushed her hand along one box. “I don’t think I can bear to go through them right now.”
“Of course not,” Fina said. “Just leave me to it.”
“You sure you don’t want any coffee?” Bobbi asked as Fina maneuvered the first box off the stack.
“No, thanks. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Bobbi left, and a minute later Fina heard the dulcet tones of the local classical radio station drifting up from the kitchen.
Sitting on the floor, the boxes arrayed around her, Fina was able to make quick work of the first few, which dated from the girls’ high school years. The Barone girls were involved in a range of activities, including soccer, softball, the honor society, the school newspaper, and the international relations club. There were programs and certificates and stacks of photos from games and events.
Fina dug into a box of correspondence next. There were birthday cards and letters from summer camp and a sampling of romantic missives. Fina put aside Liz’s sisters’ items as soon as she identified them as such; no need for Fina to be a witness to Dawn’s and Nicole’s awkward years. But she took her time reading Liz’s letters. From what Fina could tell, she’d had a couple of particularly close friends in high school and maintained limited correspondence with them in college. There was one boy with whom she traded notes in high school, but he was no longer in the picture once freshman year of college arrived.
When her phone rang, Fina pulled it from her bag and pushed herself up to one of the beds.
“Hello,” she answered, stretching her back.
“Fina? It’s Greta Samuels.”
“Oh, hi, Greta.” Fina owed Greta a phone call since she’d volunteered to break the bad news to her, but Fina didn’t want to have that conversation now. She also didn’t want to have that conversation until Risa sent the letter detailing her reasons for not donating her kidney.
“I need to be in touch with Risa.”
“Really?” Fina asked, and stood. She shook out her legs to get some blood flowing and wandered over to the window that overlooked the backyard. Since Bobbi’s property bordered a state park, all she could see were snowdrifts and bare trees.
“It’s an emergency.” Greta’s voice sounded strained.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“I woke up yesterday not feeling well, and it’s just gotten worse. They’re running some tests, but I need to talk to Risa.”
“About what exactly?” Fina asked.
“That’s none of your business!”
Fina sighed. “Does this have an impact on your transplant?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to discuss it with her.”
“Greta, I’m sorry that things aren’t going well, but there’s nothing Risa can do for you at the moment. She’s still trying to figure out her next steps in this process.”
“But things have changed,” Greta said.
“Why don’t you have your doctor call me, and then I can give Risa his update.”
“You’re just trying to keep me from her,” Greta said.
“I’m trying to protect her.”
“From me?”
Fina was quiet for a moment. “I suppose so.”
“But I would never do anything to hurt her.”
“You already have, Greta. It drives me crazy that you don’t get that!”
“If I die, it’s going to be your fault!”
“No, it’s not, and comments like that only make me more reluctant to put you in touch with her. Your illness is nobody’s fault; it just sucks.”
“You’ve never liked me,” Greta said bitterly.
“Initially, I didn’t have any feelings about you, but you’re right—I’m not your biggest fan now.” Fina looked at her watch. “Give your doctor my number. Tell him I’m your niece if you have to, and I’ll pass his information on to Risa.”
“I don’t understand why we have to involve him.”
Fina was quiet for a moment. “Because I don’t trust you, Greta. It’s not that hard to understand. He can call—”
A dial tone buzzed over the line. Fina pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. “Seriously?” She’d been starting to feel a twinge of guilt about not telling the truth, but when Greta hung up on her like a tween, it offset any misgivings Fina was having.
She plopped back down onto the floor and picked up where she had left off. She tried not to think too much about Greta as she sorted through piles of yellowed notebook paper. Liz and her friends were in college just as the computer revolution was getting under way, so letters and cards hadn’t yet been replaced by e-mails and texts. She flipped through ticket stubs from concerts and team photographs. Fina found receipts from a trip to Fort Lauderdale and a few dried flowers tied with a faded ribbon.
She was halfway through the boxes when Bobbi hollered up the stairs to offer her a turkey sandwich. Fina joined her downstairs for lunch and asked questions about the materials she’d just sorted through.
“If it’s too painful to talk about Liz, I understand,” Fina said.
“I want to talk about her. That’s one of the things I’m afraid of,” Bobbi said, brushing potato chip crumbs from her hands. “That no one’s going to talk about her anymore.”
“If you talk about her, I imagine people will follow your lead,” Fina said. “They’re probably just trying to be sensitive even if they’re misguided.”
Bobbi told Fina more stories, and half an hour later, they reluctantly decided to return to their respective tasks. Fina climbed the stairs back to the past, and Bobbi cleared the dishes and contemplated the future without Liz as she composed more thank-you notes.
Two hours later, Fina was ready to accept defeat when she came upon a small bundle of letters held together with an elastic band. She started with the oldest one and read through the stack, shocked and vindicated by what she read. They were love letters, of a sort. Liz’s missives were urgent and optimistic in tone, but her boyfriend’s responses were more measured. She seemed to be pushing for more, and he was pulling back, tempering his feelings with caution. Since letters from both were included in the stack, Fina assumed the ones Liz had written had been returned to her at the end of the relationship, or perhaps she’d claimed them rather than leave them in her boyfriend’s possession.
But it was the last letter that Liz had written to Kevin Lafferty that gave Fina pause.
No wonder she wanted her letters back.
Senior year of college, when she was the leading scorer on the NEU women’s soccer team, Liz Barone got pregnant.
—
Fina wanted nothing more than to jump in her car and track down Kevin, but she had a coffee date with a possible felon; she’d be a fool to miss that.
Her meeting with Darren Segretti was at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Chelsea, a curious choice for a potential date, but an excellent choice in Fina’s book. It was a public place that was frequented by cops, and it had delicious snacks. All blind dates should work that way.
She opted for a space at the far corner of the lot and retrieved a bag from the trunk before ducking into her car once more. Fina couldn’t see anyone nearby, so she took a dirty-blond wig out of the bag and pulled it over her own hair. The wig had cost a fortune, but it was worth every penny. No one could tell that it wasn’t her own hair, and it completely masked Fina’s real identity. She was a little creeped out that it was made of human hair, but she did all kinds of creepy things in the line of duty. A quick glance in her visor mirror ensured that her new mane was securely in place.
A moment after stepping into the sweet-smelling shop, Fina spotted him, which wasn’t hard since he was the largest and only black man in the place. He was sitting at a table near the window, his legs splayed. She kept an eye on him while waiting in line, and by the time she put in her order for a glazed donut and a hot chocolate, she was convinced it was Darren Segretti, but not her bomber.
Just to be sure, Fina borrowed the key to the ladies’ room, the route to which led right by Darren. Up close, his nose looked different from the surveillance photo, and though he was tall, he wasn’t broad like the man she was looking for. He gave her the once-over on her way by, but he wasn’t expecting a dark blond with respectably sized breasts. He was waiting for a brunette with huge boobs, like the fake picture she’d posted, and she certainly didn’t fit the bill.
Back in her car, Fina felt a little guilty for standing the guy up, but got over it quickly. Darren had friended a stranger and had arranged to meet her the next day at Dunkin’ Donuts for a date. There was no way the guy had wholesome fun in mind.
—
After a moderate crawl on Route 16, Fina picked up 1A at Bell Circle and drove north to Lynn. It was twenty minutes of gas stations, more Dunkin’ Donuts, car dealerships, and defunct racetracks before Fina pulled into a large lot on the water. It was on the early side for dinner, but there were already two dozen cars parked there. The neon sign for the Galley was festooned with garlands and a large wreath, and an illuminated Santa stood guard next to the entrance despite it being mid-January. Fina had been here before—twice for a case and the other times for the outstanding fried clams. She did another quick check on her hair before making the cold trek to the entrance.
Inside, the space consisted of a large square bar and two separate dining areas, one of which was sunken down a few steps. Lobster traps and buoys hung from the ceiling, and the plastic placemats featured a glossary of nautical flags. It was kitschy, but it was also real. There were still people in the area who made their living from the sea.
Fina climbed onto a bar stool and took stock. There was a smattering of patrons, including some older guys on the other side of the bar, a young couple a few seats away, and a few solitary drinkers. There were no black guys, but that didn’t mean Zack Lawrence wasn’t going to show.
Fina had worked out her approach on the ride up and decided that she wouldn’t identify herself as the man’s Facebook friend. She suspected that her bait-and-switch with the photos might annoy him, which was no way to start a relationship. Instead, she would try to make him feel better about being stood up—if he showed.
“Bud Light, please. In a bottle,” Fina told the bartender, a woman who’d seen better days. Her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her mouth bore the telltale wrinkles of a smoker. The lighting wasn’t very forgiving, but even if she were lit like Elizabeth Taylor, the woman would look sallow.
A couple of minutes later, a young black man Fina recognized as her Facebook friend Zack walked into the bar. She examined him out of the corner of her eye, which wasn’t hard to do since he was a giant. Fina guessed he was about six feet five inches and 260 pounds. He was wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, which didn’t do much to hide his belly. Fina couldn’t be 100 percent sure, but she felt confident this was the man who had incinerated her car. A frisson of excitement ran up her spine.
Fina pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages rather than strike up any conversations. She was certain that one of her bar mates would do the honors before too long, providing her an opening for approaching Zack. That was one of the odd things about local watering holes during non-prime hours; they were often a curious mix of people who didn’t want to talk to anyone and people who wanted nothing more than a friendly ear. They made for odd bedfellows.
Two stools away from Fina, in the opposite direction from Zack, was a skinny young man with a mustache wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a down vest. He was talking, but it was unclear if he was addressing his fellow patrons or the TV tuned to ESPN.
The bartender deposited Fina’s beer on the bar. “Do you want to see a menu?”
“Don’t need to. Fried clam platter with half onion rings, half fries, please.” She’d only had a few bites of her donut, and it was practically dinnertime.
The older woman submitted the order on her computer and walked back over to the men who were sitting on the opposite side of the bar. Their easy conversation suggested they were regulars. Fina turned her attention to one of the large TVs and watched a countdown of the previous weekend’s sports highlights. She glanced at Zack, whose eyes moved between the screen and the front door.
Ten minutes later, her clam platter emerged from the kitchen. Fina tipped her head down and inhaled the deep-fried scent. She smacked the ketchup bottle to dispense a pool next to her fries, then dipped a clam into the cardboard cup of tartar sauce. Zack looked at his watch and ordered a second beer. He seemed to know that he’d been stood up and was going to console himself with booze.
A few minutes after Fina started eating, the skinny man eased himself off his bar stool and tottered to the bathroom. When he returned, he approached Fina’s stool and studied her.
“Can I buy you a drinks?” he asked, slurring and stinking all at once.
“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t think so.” She wiped some grease off her fingers before picking up an onion ring.
“Why not?”
Fina looked at him. “Really? You really want to have that conversation?”
“I’m just offering to treat you right,” he said, his volume climbing. The whiskers on his chin and cheeks were patchy, suggesting a prolonged adolescence or lack of skill with a razor.
“Jimmy, leave her alone,” the bartender hollered from her spot on the other side of the bar.
Jimmy wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “I blame this on women’s lib.”
“As you should,” Fina said. “Another time, another era, I’d feel obligated to accept your offer.”
Zack guffawed from her other side.
“That’s not even why that should be that way so. If it was different, maybe then that would make no sense,” Jimmy declared, leaning toward her, giving Fina an unwelcome view of his pores.
“Jimmy,” Fina said firmly, “go away before I make you, and I can make you, believe me.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, stomping his feet, digging into the worn carpet.
Fina chewed a clam, preparing herself for battle, but then Zack heaved his large frame off his stool. He grabbed Jimmy from behind in a bear hug and deposited him on the other side of the bar. Jimmy made a weak verbal protest, but quickly settled into his new home. It was no wonder his protestations were weak; surrender was the only reasonable response to a man the size of a mountain.
“Thanks,” Fina said when Zack reclaimed his seat.
“No problem.” He picked up his beer and took a sip.
The bartender wandered over and asked Fina if she wanted another beer. She asked for a diet soda instead to wash the saturated fat through her arteries. The woman filled a glass from the soda dispenser and left a sad, flat specimen in front of Fina before returning to her cronies.
“I’m guessing Jimmy’s a regular,” Fina said, trailing a French fry through the ketchup.
“He’d sleep here if they let him,” Zack said, studying the TV screen.
Fina reached up to her ear lobe and surreptitiously tugged off her hoop earring and slipped it into her pocket. She let a few minutes go by before brushing the hair back from her face.
“Shoot,” she said at half volume. She glanced around the bar top and hopped off her stool.
“You okay?” Zack asked.
“I lost my earring.”
“What’s it look like?” he asked.
Fina showed the one still hanging from her other ear. “It’s a silver hoop. It shouldn’t be
hard to see.”
He looked around by his feet. Fina retraced her steps toward the door, bent over, studying the floor. On her way back, she circled near Zack’s feet.
“This is so annoying. I just got them.” She walked a few stools beyond him and then back toward her own seat, her eyes trained on the floor. On the way past, she stole a glance at his feet. He was wearing white tube socks with a distinctive logo on the ankle.
Fina’s pulse quickened. She climbed back onto her stool and reached up to pull off the other earring. “I must have lost it someplace else.”
“That’s too bad,” Zack said.
Fina picked through the remaining French fries. She was on a lifelong quest to find the perfect fry: crispy and oily on the outside, but soft on the inside.
“You know,” she said to him, “you look familiar. Have we met before?”
Zack looked at her before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m Amy, by the way.”
“Zack.”
“Nice to meet you. Maybe I’ve seen you in here before,” Fina mused.
“Maybe.”
“Do you live here? In Lynn?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What about you?”
“Salem, but I work in Lynn. You know the building on the corner of Maple and Wexford? That’s where I work,” she said, naming the location of Scotty’s deposition. “It’s got a garage out back.”
Zack shook his head slowly. He picked up his beer and took a long swig. “I don’t know it.”
“Oh, well. I thought maybe that’s where I’ve seen you before.”
“I’ve never been there.” He drained his beer and stood up, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Fina watched as he pulled out a few bills and left them on the bar.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you again one of these days.”
“Maybe,” he said, and grabbed his jacket. He lumbered up the stairs and pushed open the door, revealing the dark winter sky.
