Standing alone by her flower arrangement, Nina felt a headache starting over her left eye. She felt someone tap her gently on the arm. She turned around and saw Elena, wearing a Great Adventure sweatshirt over her stretched-out stirrup pants, standing beside her.
Timidly, the woman handed Nina a laminated Mass card with a picture of an Aryan-looking haloed Jesus on the front. She said something to Nina in Spanish. Nina caught the word padre. Nina did not understand the language, but when she looked into the older woman’s eyes she could see they were filled with sympathy. “Thank you,” said Nina. “Gracias.” Nina smiled, and clasped the woman’s rough hand in her own. The older woman nodded, and headed back toward the den as Gemma reappeared at Nina’s side.
“That was so nice of her,” said Nina, showing Gemma the Mass card.
“She got one for Patrick, too,” said Gemma. “Well, we’re all the family she has here. I mean, she has people back in Panama, of course …”
“Speaking of family, how’s the rest of your family?” Nina asked. “What do you hear from your father?”
Gemma stared across the elegant, candlelit dining room. Her forehead wrinkled slightly. “Um … I heard from him … last year. The new wife was pregnant at the time. She’s probably had the baby by now. Didi calls me once in a while. Although she never got over the fact that I eloped.” Gemma smiled weakly.
“I’ll bet not,” said Nina wryly, remembering Gemma’s stepmother and her fixation on wedding matters. “It must have been strange for you growing up in that house. I mean, you were so brilliant. Did they appreciate that about you?”
Gemma frowned again, this time in puzzlement. “I don’t know. Well, it doesn’t matter. Patrick appreciated me.”
We all rewrite history to suit ourselves, Nina thought. She didn’t remember Patrick appreciating Gemma until he was accepted to enroll at Rutgers. But if Gemma remembered it differently, it didn’t hurt anything. “He should appreciate you,” Nina said loyally.
The doorbell rang, and Gemma frowned. “I’d better get that. Nina, will you have some lunch?”
Nina nodded and picked up a plate from the buffet. She wasn’t hungry, but it would be rude not to eat after Patrick and Gemma had gone to all this trouble. What she really wanted to do was to kick off her black heels and trade her fashionable boatneck black sheath for a comfortable bathrobe. But, headache or not, there were rituals one had to observe. She held her plate against her chest like a shield and looked without appetite at the lavish plates of food. She picked out a few items and carefully forked them onto her plate. She was conscious of a sudden hush that had fallen on the room. When she turned around, she saw Lindsay Farrell standing in the doorway.
Lindsay looked like an acolyte of St. Lucia in her long ivory-colored gabardine trench coat, her cheeks pink, her blond hair dazzling in the glow of Patrick’s Venetian chandelier. Just beyond Lindsay’s shoulder, Nina could see Gemma’s narrow face, her eyes wide and anxious.
“Patrick,” said Lindsay.
Patrick, who was seated at the table wolfing down his lunch while George Connelly was speaking to him, looked up, and started in surprise.
“Lindsay,” he said. He stood up to greet her, smoothing down his tie and kissing her, European style, on both cheeks.
“I knew the service for your dad was today,” said Lindsay. “Since I’m right next door, I wanted to stop by. Hi, Jimmy, Nina. I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you doing, Jimmy? Long time no see.”
Jimmy looked up at Lindsay warily. His face was still slack with surprise at the sight of her. He did not stand up. “Fine. Thanks.”
“Glad you’re here,” said Patrick smoothly to Lindsay. “Can you stay for lunch?” He pointed to the extravagant buffet.
“Oh, Patrick,” Lindsay exclaimed. “I never saw that Provençal sideboard in place. It looks magnificent in here.”
Patrick beamed. “Come in the living room. I want you to see what I did with that pair of Italian commodes you found for me.”
Lindsay demurred. “I don’t want to take you away from your family at a time like this. Really, I just came to offer my condolences. Oh, and these chocolates,” she said, lifting a small gilded gift bag. She turned to Gemma. “Gemma, I’ll bet your boys like chocolate.”
Gemma looked at the bag as if it were on fire. “Not that kind,” she said.
“Jesus, Gemma,” Patrick muttered, taking the gift bag and setting it on the table.
Gemma looked helplessly at her husband. “They don’t, Patrick. They like Hershey bars.”
Lindsay glanced into the den and gave the twins a wave, which they ignored. “I can see that,” she said.
Patrick took Lindsay by the elbow. “Come see the commodes,” he said.
Gemma looked at her other guests. “Keep on eating,” she said with a frantic note in her voice. Everyone dutifully turned their attention back to their plates to avoid looking at Gemma. She began to collect platters of food from the buffet, piling them on top of one another and carrying them toward the kitchen.
Hearing the clatter, Patrick returned to the dining room. “Gemma,” he demanded. “What do you think you’re doing?” Lindsay stood in the door of the dining room, looking at them curiously.
Gemma stood very still, a crooked tower of food-filled plates teetering in her arms. “I’m clearing up,” she said in a small voice.
“It’s not time to clear up,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to clear up.”
There was a silence in the room as Nina and Jimmy kept their eyes trained on their plates. They had a history of pretending not to notice marital quarrels, no matter how they escalated. But the discord between Patrick and Gemma had sabotaged whatever small measure of camaraderie had existed in the room.
All of a sudden, Rose Connelly pushed back her chair and stood up. “Gemma’s right. We shouldn’t leave all this food lying out. It could spoil. I’ll help you put it away, Gemma.”
Patrick turned and glared at Rose, but she seemed impervious to his displeasure. She picked up a plate of tomatoes and mozzarella garnished with ribbons of basil and headed for the kitchen. Nina saw her opportunity. She stood up. “I’ll help as well,” she said. Ignoring Patrick, and the thudding in her head, she followed Rose’s lead and picked up a couple of dishes. All she could think of was how soon she could leave.
11
IT was only four o’clock when Nina arrived back at Aunt Mary’s house, but it seemed to her as if the day had been interminable. What do my brothers and I have in common anymore? she thought. We are survivors of the same family. Our lives have been twisted by the same horrible events. We are a constant reminder to one another of how our family jumped the track, crashed, and burned.
She entered her aunt’s house and only turned on one light in the living room. She felt slightly sick to her stomach, and even the light from the one lamp hurt her eyes. She slumped down on the couch and pressed her eyes with her fingertips. Gemma had tried to force her to take Keith’s flower arrangement when she left, but she’d refused it, saying she had nowhere to put it. The truth was that she didn’t want it. It was a nice gesture on Keith’s part, but it only served to remind her of how alone she felt, now that her father was gone. A flower arrangement was no substitute for a shoulder to lean on. What she needed on a day as grim as this one was someone to be there with her, to go to the bathroom and get her a cold washcloth for her head, to make her some tea.
She thought back over her relationships, the love affairs she had had. She’d had passionate flings, and two long-term romances, but she always seemed to hold back a part of herself from the men she cared for. Sometimes the troubles the men in her life fretted over made her feel impatient, and that always signaled the end of the relationship. But how could she commiserate about a contract that was not renewed or a promotion that wasn’t offered when she thought about her father, an innocent man in a prison cell in Bergen County? John, a guy she’d lived with for two years, once told her
, in a moment of sarcasm, that his problems never seemed to measure up to hers.
The pain in Nina’s head jabbed her. She couldn’t stay awake and deal with it. She needed to sleep, and let it pass. She kicked off her black high heels and shuffled in her stocking feet to the downstairs bathroom. She took two extra-strength painkillers and, not bothering to change out of her dress, returned to the living room, where she fell across the couch, praying for oblivion and relief.
THE sound of the doorbell woke her, and Nina sat up, disoriented by the dim light in the room and the fact that she had been asleep. Her watch read 7:00 and for one confused minute she didn’t know whether it was morning or night. And then it came back to her. The funeral. The lunch at Patrick’s. Her headache. She frowned, and thought about her head. It seemed … better. Thank God. But she was hungry and thirsty. And there was someone at the door. Automatically, she rose to answer it, and then she thought, Why? There was no one she wanted to see. She didn’t want to hear any halfhearted condolences or self-satisfied homilies about people living and dying by the sword. She’d seen it all in the newspaper and heard it on the television. Nina sank back down on the couch cushions. Go away, she thought. Whoever you are.
The doorbell sounded again.
Just stay put, she told herself. It’s bound to stop.
The bell rang again. The caller was persistent. Maybe they had seen her through the sheer living room curtains when she first sat up. She realized that it was no use wishing them away. Someone knew she was here and was not going to leave until she responded. She got up, shoved on her black shoes, and walked to the door, straightening her black knit dress and calling out irritably, “Just a minute.” She looked in the vestibule mirror and saw how pallid her face looked. She’d worn her hair up in a chignon to the funeral, but now it fanned out, coal black and tangled, around her face and down her back. She ran a hand through it, pinched her cheeks to give them some color, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
The man on the doorstep was looking out at the lamplit street. When he heard the door open, he turned to face her. It was a stranger.
“Nina?” said the man.
Nina frowned. She felt as if she recognized him but couldn’t place him. His black hair fell in a curve against his high cheekbones. His skin was the color of polished amber and his black eyes studied her narrowly.
“Do I know you?” she said.
He shook his head and smiled. “No,” he said. “I just feel as if I know you. My name is Andre Quinteros. I’m a … I was a friend of your father’s.”
“Oh my God, of course,” she said, blushing. “ I knew I’d seen you somewhere. You testified at the parole hearing. You’re the doctor from the prison. Dr. Quinteros.”
The man nodded. “I heard about Duncan. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I know this is a bad day for you but … I wondered if you might have a few minutes. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Nina frowned. “I am not … exactly at my best right now.”
“I know,” he said. “I hate to trouble you, today of all days, but I really … I think it’s important.”
Duncan’s supporters were few, and here was one who had come to pay his respects, she thought. “It’s okay, come in,” said Nina distractedly. She stepped back from the door and Quinteros followed her into the house. “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.
“Your father called me when you came to stay here.”
“He did?” Nina said, surprised. She realized that she had been monitoring Duncan so closely that she thought she knew everything he did. Obviously, she was mistaken. She hadn’t known about his visit with Jimmy. Or his keeping in touch with this doctor. In so many ways, she had been ignorant of his intentions. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. We talked for a while.”
“What did he say? Did you … ?” Nina shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Sit down. I’m still a little out of it. I just woke up. I got a terrible headache after the funeral and I just … had to lie down.”
“How’s the head now?” he asked.
“It was better when I woke up. But now it’s starting to hurt a little bit again.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I … I’ll look for something later. I have no idea what’s here.”
“You probably haven’t eaten anything all day,” he said.
“I couldn’t really manage it at lunch,” she admitted.
“I haven’t eaten either,” he said. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”
Nina started to protest and then she stopped herself. This was not a stranger. This was someone who had been a friend to her father. Suddenly it seemed as if this was exactly what she needed—to be with someone who had known her father and cared about him. “That would be great,” she said. “I’ll get my jacket.”
NINA slid into the booth opposite Quinteros. The waitress passed by and handed them two enormous menus with red faux-leather covers and gold tassels along the spine. Nina opened her menu and shook her head. “Diners and traffic circles,” she said. “Two great New Jersey institutions.”
“I hope you mean that in a nice way,” he said teasingly.
“Absolutely,” said Nina. “I am a Jersey girl, born and bred. God, I don’t know how to choose here.”
“I love their pastrami,” he said.
Nina frowned at him disapprovingly. “You’re a doctor?”
Quinteros smiled. “I’ve got to get it while I can. When I move back to Santa Fe I’ll miss it. They don’t do deli out there.”
“Move back?” Nina said.
“Well, my fiancée lives out there. So does most of my family.”
Fiancée, she thought, surprised by a fleeting feeling of disappointment to know that he was taken. “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place, Sante Fe.”
“It is,” he said.
The waitress returned and looked at them questioningly, holding her pad at the ready. “I’m told the pastrami is great,” Nina said with a smile. “With pickles.” She caught sight of herself in one of the myriad mirrored surfaces in the huge diner. She looked completely drab and washed out. Exactly the way she felt.
While Quinteros placed his order, Nina watched him thoughtfully. He was not much older than thirty, she suspected, but he had what she would call an “old face”—the face of an old soul. Even when he smiled, his eyes turned down as if he were sad.
The waitress left, and Nina sat up against the cushioned back of the booth. “So, Dr. Quinteros …”
“Please, Andre,” he said.
“Andre and Quinteros. That’s kind of unusual,” she said.
“My mother is from Quebec,” he said.
Nina nodded. “And you work at the prison.”
Quinteros squinted and calculated. “Three years now.”
“Why the prison?” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking. I mean, not only is it far from where you plan to live, but I’ve logged a lot of time there. It’s a depressing place to be.”
Andre nodded in agreement. “It is. It’s dismal. I won’t be sorry to leave it behind me. But I was idealistic when I finished my residency. I thought I could do some good. Provide better care than the inmates were used to.”
“Very noble of you,” said Nina, unable to disguise a hint of skepticism.
“No. It’s not noble … I had a brother in that prison,” said Andre. “Herve, the youngest.”
“Had? He’s out now?”
“No, he died in custody, actually. About six years ago.”
Nina was taken aback. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. She recognized his offhand tone, as if it didn’t hurt him to say the words. She had perfected that tone herself.
“He lived in Newark. He was busted for drugs,” said Andre. “He got into a fight with another inmate and somewhere in the scuffle he got a ruptured spleen, but nobody knew it. His abdomen was distended. T
he doctor at the prison examined him and said he had gas. Gave him laxatives.”
“Gas? The doctor didn’t know the difference?”
Andre shrugged. “Didn’t know. Didn’t care. He was a hack. An alcoholic. It didn’t much matter to him. Herve died in his sleep the next night.”
“Oh my God,” said Nina. “That’s awful.”
Andre nodded. “As a matter of fact, your father tried to intervene. He recognized the misdiagnosis. They put him in solitary for speaking up and making trouble.”
Nina shook her head. “He never told me about that.”
“Well, he wasn’t the one who told me, either. I heard about it from one of the inmates when I went to work there. But it always made me feel a little bit … indebted to your father.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me. More than you know. Thanks for telling me that,” said Nina. For a moment they were silent. Then Nina said, “How old was he? Your brother.”
“Nineteen,” Andre said. “Don’t get me wrong. He was no angel. He had a bad drug problem. But his death … Well, it devastated my parents.”
“I can imagine,” Nina said.
Andre smiled. “A lot of people thought Herve deserved to die. They don’t know what prison is like.”
Nina nodded, grateful to be with someone who did know. She fell silent, thinking of visiting days at the prison. Aunt Mary always made sure she had a ride if she couldn’t drive Nina herself. Some of the people from Aunt Mary’s church used to drive her, and Nina would muster some small talk with whoever was at the wheel on the way. But the ride back was interminable. The drivers never knew what to ask her about her visit with Duncan, and she tried not to notice them casting furtive, pitying glances her way.
“Two pastrami sandwiches.” The waitress had reappeared and placed their sandwiches down in front of them. Andre picked up a half and began to eat it.
Nina stared at the plate. It looked good, and it smelled good, but she still didn’t feel much like eating.
“Go ahead,” he said, noticing her reluctance. “Get started on that. You need to eat something.”
The Girl Next Door Page 11
