Rosanne reached out to touch Ceily’s hand as she went by.
A minute passed in silence and Rosanne thought the service would come to a close. But then she heard high heels on the marble floor and she saw Mrs. C slowly walking down the aisle. She stepped up onto the altar and turned around, holding pieces of paper and glasses in front of her with both hands. She smiled slightly and said, “My name is Catherine Cochran and I am a friend of the DiSantos family.” Her voice rang loud, clear, cleanly through the chapel. “There are three people who were unable to be here today, and each asked that a few words be read in their absence.”
She slipped on her reading glasses. The papers in her hands shook. “The first is from my husband Michael, who is out of town. He says, ‘I never had the honor of meeting Frank DiSantos, but I have known his wife Rosanne for years. And from knowing her, I know he matched her in compassion, strength, humor and love.’ “
Rosanne wiped at a tear and pulled Jason onto her lap.
“The next is from my son Henry. He wished to say, ‘I liked Me. DiSantos a lot. He was friendly and always very funny. He once helped me write a report for school about the Vietnam conflict. He knew all about the battles and the troops and he told me exactly what I should write about. I got an A. I also learned what the word “bravery” means.’ Cassy recited the next two lines while looking at Rosanne. “’I hope I grow up to be as brave as he was. I know his son Jason will be.’”
“And the last one,” Cassy said, unfolding a letter, “is from one of our neighbors, Mrs. Emma Goldblum, who is recovering from a minor illness.
She says, ‘In the fifty-four years I have lived on Riverside Drive, I have never known a finer family than that of the DiSantoses. The passing of Mr. DiSantos is of great sadness to us all. But the friends of the DiSantoses are comforted by the legacy he left behind—his beautiful, loving wife Rosanne and his blessed little boy, Jason. In them, the memory of Mr. DiSantos will be kept alive, nourished by love, and made everlasting in our hearts.”
Rosanne lowered her head on top of Jason’s, her tears flowing freely.
Cassy took off her glasses. She was fighting back tears, but her voice did not betray her. “I only wish to say that I too will always love Mr. DiSantos—for it was through him that his family came to be such an important part of mine. A place, I pray, they will always remain. Thank you.”
Rosanne was now openly sobbing. Cassy stepped down from the altar and slid into the chair next to her. She took Jason onto her own lap and put a protective arm around Rosanne.
The service was closed with the Lord’s Prayer.
19
THE RECEPTION
Rosanne stood there, dazed, holding Jason’s hand. People came up and hugged her, told her how sorry they were, how beautiful the service was... Sam had to explain twice about the buffet before Rosanne could understand what he was talking about. He extracted a card from his pocket and held it up.
WYATT
182 Riverside Drive
APARTMENT 10A
New York, NY 10024
“Everyone is coming back to the house,” he said again. “Harriet and the girls have been cooking for a week. They’ve gone ahead and are waiting for us.”
“Who?” Rosanne said, trying to clear the fog in her head.
“All of us,” Sam said gently. He hiked up his pants and squatted to address Jason. “Hello there, young man.”
Jason turned his face into his mother’s dress.
“I bet I know someone who’s hungry... someone who could go for a piece of fried chicken... or maybe some ice cream....”
One eye appeared over the fabric.
Sam glanced at his watch. “What do you say, Jason? You want to come to our house and watch the tall ships come up the river? Hmmm? What do you say?”
Jason rubbed his eye, smiling.
“Then it’s settled,” Sam declared, rising. He took Rosanne’s arm. “The station wagon’s just around the corner, in front of the church,” he said, leading her out of the chapel to the street. Rosanne shielded her eyes against the blaze of sunlight; Sam kept a hand on her. “The kids are all set up to watch the ships,” he said, “so you can have a little time with your husband’s friends.”
In the front of Riverside Church, on the Drive, the threesome walked along one of the highest rises of the valley. The Hudson was gorgeous, bespeckled with small boats, but then—there in the center—through the trees, they could make out a majestic clipper ship, sails billowing, gracing its way up the river.
Without asking permission, Sam swept Jason up into the air and held him up over his head. “Can you see, Jason?” After Jason got over his startle (and decided not to cry), his hand shot out to point. “Mommy, look!”
Sam laughed and settled Jason on his shoulders.
Driving down to the Wyatts’, after every turn Sam made, he placed his hand on Rosanne’s forearm—as if he thought she might make a break for it. He talked to Jason the whole while, telling him about the boats he would see. And about what flavors of ice cream they had.
Rosanne edged a bit closer toward the window, resigned to the fact that Mr. W had her trapped.
Rosanne saw it all but felt very little. Mrs. W hugged her for a long time at the door. Jason shot off to the living-room windows where Althea and Samantha were in charge of Operation Sail (six chairs, six pairs of binoculars and a standing telescope). Creature was sitting by himself in an easy chair, drinking a bottle of beer, watching the kids. The Rubinowitzes were on the couch, balancing plates of food. Ron and his wife came out from the kitchen with Joey; they all hugged Rosanne and she clung a second or two longer to Ron, thanking him for all he had said. Joey’s wife was introduced. Amanda and Howie arrived with a case of soda and a carton of fruit juices. Nicole grabbed Rosanne from behind and wailed and then Mrs. C arrived carrying foil-covered trays and someone put a cup of coffee in Rosanne’s hand and Jason begged her to come and look and Mr. W whispered was she all right and Rosanne said she didn’t know. People held her hand, rubbed her back, and kissed her. “Hello. Yes. Thank you for coming. Thanks. Yes. He’s over there. Thank you. I better get the door. No? Thank you. It was. I was glad you could come. It has been a long time. Thank you. Fine. I think so.”
“Sam,” Cassy said, crossing the kitchen. He was in his shirt sleeves, carving a ham. “Cassy,” he said, glancing up from his work. “I’m glad you came.”
“I could hardly refuse after your note.” She moved in a little closer to the counter. She raised her hand slightly to say something, saw that it was shaking, and reached down to hold onto the edge of the counter. “I don’t know what to say—except to thank you for your understanding. Your kindness.”
“My kindness?” he said, looking over at her. “I attacked him.” He thought about this a moment, resting the knife on top of the ham.
“I’d like to apologize to Samantha,” Cassy murmured.
“No,” Sam said, shaking his head, “that’s not necessary. We talked with her and she understands.” He resumed carving. “An alcoholic can be the most terrifying creature in the world—until, that is, you realize he is an alcoholic and then all the insanity makes perfect sense.”
At the word “alcoholic,” Cassy visibly recoiled.
It did not escape Sam’s notice. He put the knife and fork down, sighed, and wiped his hands with a dish towel. “Cassy,” he said, lowering his voice, “I’m an alcoholic.”
Cassy didn’t look as though she was going to last long.
“I haven’t had a drink in eleven years, but I’m still an alcoholic. A recovering alcoholic.”
Cassy was staring down at the ham. “How did you stop?”
Sam laughed to himself. “Well, it’s kind of a long story, but the upshot is that after Harriet left me”—Cassy looked up at that—“after my girlfriends left me, after my boss threatened to fire me, after my doctor told me my liver was in trouble, my blood pressure was through the roof... Oh, hell,” he laughed, tossing the dish towel on the
stove, “I don’t know. I just finally woke up one afternoon, sick and tired of being sick and tired. And lonely. And messed up.” He shrugged. “The next thing I knew my boss was signing me into a rehab.”
“But how—” Cassy began, but Harriet came zooping in with a platter. Harriet looked at the two.
“Don’t let me interrupt—I just need a refill,” she said, transferring ham onto the platter.
“Harriet and I thought maybe you might want to stay for a little while after everyone leaves—and talk a bit.”
“You’ll feel better, I think,” Harriet said. She finished with the ham and turned to Cassy, offering a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s difficult, Cassy, to talk about it, but you have to believe me when I say there’s nothing that’s happened in your household that hasn’t happened in ours. Sam and I...” She gazed at her husband, eyes distant. “We”—she sighed, smiling, swinging her eyes back to Cassy—we’ve been through it all.”
“And are alive to tell about it,” Sam added.
Harriet patted Cassy’s arm, said, “Please stay,” and left the kitchen.
Sam moved over to pick up a scrap of ham from the carving board and pop it into his mouth.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Cassy whispered, holding a hand to her temple. She brought it down to cover her mouth. She coughed. She kept her hand pressed against her mouth for a moment longer and then dropped it. “Michael’s already lost his job.” She paused and then reluctantly looked up at Sam. “And he’s gone. I don’t know where he is.”
Sam sat her down in a chair and poured her a tall glass of seltzer, chock full of ice. He watched her drink some and then sat down beside her. “Has he ever left before?”
Cassy shook her head. “Never.” She drank some more seltzer. “It’s been a week.”
“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “Look, Cassy, I know how upset you are, how scared you must be. But frankly—and I know this will sound strange right now I’m more concerned about you than I am about Cochran.”
Cassy put the glass down in front of her and held it with both hands.
“You know,” Sam said, crossing his arms and resting them on the table, “Cochran’s been drinkin’ for years and, if he’s the kind of drinker I think he is, he’s just holed up somewhere, drinking as much as he damn well pleases, hoping he’s scaring the hell out of you—which he is.”
This apparently made some kind of sense to her, for Cassy’s expression eased slightly.
“Cassy.” Sam’s voice was firm but gentle. “Stop and think a minute. What do you really think he’s doing? Do you really think he’s lying in a ditch somewhere? You’ve called all the hospitals, I bet”—Cassy nodded, yes—and somewhere, somewhere you must know that he’s playing some kind of game with you. The question is, do you really want to play it anymore?”
She took a sip from her glass.
“What would happen,” Sam continued, “if—instead of running yourself into the ground with worry and ‘what ifs’—you decided to spend this time taking care of yourself, getting some rest, recharging your batteries, so that when something does happen, when there is something you can do, you’ll be ready to do it.”
Cassy sighed. “Michael did call my son—Henry—two days ago. At camp.”
Sam smiled. “So he is alive.”
A faint smile. “Yes.”
Sam bit his lip, watching her for a moment. “Look, Cassy, I think what we should do right now is take a little vacation from all of this. Just for an hour or two. If you want, we can write it down. ‘Three o’clock—resume agonizing over Michael.’ “
Cassy laughed, sort of.
Why don’t we go in and join the kids and watch the ships for a while? Maybe even laugh—just once,” he hastened to add, offering a smile of encouragement. “Maybe we can look out and see how beautiful the river is, and the sky, and the trees, and the sun—and my daughters, of course, who take after their father.” Sam got up.
In a minute, Cassy got up too.
“We have something to tell you,” Amanda said to Rosanne, pulling her down beside her on the Wyatts’ bed. Howard closed the bedroom door.
“I know all about it,” Rosanne said.
Amanda and Howard exchanged looks.
“Well, geez,” Rosanne said, “Howie’s only sittin’ there pawin’ ya in church for Pete’s sake. Any” —she leaned forward to accentuate her point to Amanda—”knave could figure it out.”
Howard blushed scarlet and Amanda made a high-pitched sound in her throat. “Oh, my,” Amanda finally said, turning away to smile.
It took a few minutes, but Howard and Amanda got unflustered enough to tell Rosanne their news: the police had caught the burglars who had broken into the Stewarts’. Window washers. They caught them up the Drive and found Howard’s “stupid Cross pens—wouldn’t you know, that’s what I’d get back—” in their possession. They had come down from the roof on a scaffold and slipped in through the bedroom window.
Howard ended his story by saying that he was sorry, for everything. He felt if it hadn’t been for
“No,” Rosanne said, cutting him off. She patted his arm. “No, Howie,” she murmured, tears rising. “He had—Frank was in trouble before the robbery.” She rubbed her eye and dropped her hand. “I can’t blame anyone, else I’d have to blame myself.” Pause. “It was going to happen anyway,” she finished.
After a moment Rosanne looked to Amanda. “I wish you’d tell Mrs. G, though. About the burglars.” She remembered something. “And what’s this about her being sick?”
“She broke her hip,” Amanda said.
“Aw, no,” Rosanne said, holding her hand to her brow.
“But she’s fine,” Amanda hastily added. “They performed a hip replacement operation and she will be better than ever. But she must stay on in the hospital to recuperate.” She gave Rosanne’s hand a squeeze. “Rosanne, she is just fine. Really. Actually, she’s having a rather grand time of it up at St. Luke’s.” Pause. “And she’d like very much to see you.”
Rosanne got up from the bed and went to the window. Leaning on the windowsill, she said, “She fired me, ya know.” Amanda frowned and looked at Howard. He shook his head, shrugging.
Amanda got up and went over to her. “When?”
“Right after the robbery. I figured you told her and—”
“Oh, no, Rosanne,” Amanda said, reaching for her hand. “No, no—I never told her anything about it.” She paused, thinking. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, “I believe I understand it now. Rosanne—” She made Rosanne face her. “Mrs. Goldblum didn’t want anyone to know of her— Pause. Tentative, “Her husband’s pension was discontinued, you see.”
Rosanne frowned. “You mean she was broke?”
“Well, yes.”
“Ohhh,” Rosanne, said, nodding, looking back out at the river. “Ohhh,” she said again. “Oh, man,” she then said, pulling away from Amanda, “poor Mrs. G. I thought—and geez, there I was yellin’ at her.” She shook her head, moving toward the door. “I’m gonna go see her tonight.” She opened the door. “St. Luke’s?”
“Yes,” Amanda said.
Rosanne nodded.
Howard stood up. “Rosanne, I, uh—”
Rosanne waved a hand at him. “I won’t tell nobody, Howie, if that’s what’s worryin’ ya.” She threw her head in Amanda’s direction. “About Sleepin’ Beauty, I mean.”
“No,” he said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s not it. I just wanted to say—not that you’d want to—but, anyway—I’d sure like it if you’d come back on Mondays again.”
“Ha!” Rosanne said, falling back against the door. “With a bazooka, I will!”
“Well, I didn’t think so—” Howard began.
Rosanne shook her head, looking across the room to Amanda. “What is it with this guy?” she said, jerking a thumb in his direction. She looked back at Howard. “Listen, Howie, I’ll let ya in on a little secret. After the prince woke up Sleepin’ Beauty, he didn’t go back to th
e gingerbread house to live with the witch.”
“Rosanne—” Howard sighed, sliding a hand into his pocket.
“Rosanne, nothin’,” Rosanne said, closing the door behind her.
Silence.
Amanda walked over to Howard and took his hand. He looked at her, his expression sad. “She’s right, you know,” he said. Amanda dropped her eyes.
No,” she murmured, “she’s not.”
Ron had just finished explaining that he was a division sales manager for Kop-Tech. “You’re making my life difficult, you know,” he said to Sam, facing him on the couch, “with that ZT 5000 you’re bringing out.”
“That’s Dad’s,” Althea volunteered, watching the river through binoculars. “Jason,” she said, “look at the one coming up now.”
Cassy, sitting in a chair, lowered her binoculars to look at the magazine in her lap. “I think it’s the one from Spain—the Juan Sebastian de Elcano. It says it’s named after the commander of the only ship that returned from Magellan’s expedition.”
“Buenos dias,” Samantha said, dancing about.
“I can’t see!” Jason cried.
“Here, sweetie,” Rosanne said, kneeling behind him. “Let me point you in the right direction.”
“Three hundred fifty-one feet,” Cassy was reading. “Mast, one hundred sixty. Crew, three hundred forty-three.”
Ron was looking at Sam. “You’re the guy behind the ZT?”
Sam was tracing the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Well, I had something to do with it.”
“He’s getting a huge raise for it,” Althea said, bringing her binoculars down. “Aren’t you, Dad?”
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