“After Shelley got arrested, I found a lawyer who specialized in drug cases. He got her off, but it took almost five grand. I was stupid. I believed her when she said she quit using the stuff.” God, how I’d wanted to believe her. “But one day I came home from work and the apartment looked like a bomb hit it. I thought we’d been robbed—until I found her note tacked on a cupboard door. She’d taken what she wanted and left. And she warned me not to go looking for her. I paid two hundred and fifty bucks to get the locks changed that night. I didn’t know the check would bounce.”
“What did you do?” Richard asked.
“I couldn’t afford to hire someone, so I took a few days of vacation and found her myself. But I didn’t trust myself to see her. I was afraid I’d beat the shit out of her. She was staying with one of her friends from work—the job she’d gotten fired from. I called. At first she hung up on me, but after a few days she told me we were through—that she had a new life. It turned out her new life was selling drugs.”
“What did you do?” Brenda asked.
My anger drained. “Nothing. You can’t make someone love you. So, I worked. Sometimes eighteen-hour days. I put my heart and soul into that job. That’s why I was lost when I got laid off. It kept me from thinking about her and what she’d done. It kept me sane.”
“Jeff, I had no idea,” Richard said.
“I almost believed I was over her when the cops called me to identify her body.” I took a breath to steady myself. The memories were still like acid eating at my soul—like it had happened yesterday. The lump in my throat grew. “The place smelled. Not of formaldehyde or anything, but like . . . death. You could almost taste it.”
Brenda inched closer, frowning.
“The cop stood there, watching me as they flashed her picture on the video screen. It was unreal, like something out of a bad movie. There was my beautiful Shelley lying on a gurney.” I took a breath, forced myself to continue. “Because the top of her head was gone, they’d positioned her at an odd angle. They’d cleaned her up, but I was familiar with crime-scene pictures. I could tell it was bone and brains matted in her hair . . . .”
I stared unseeing at the beer bottle’s label in front of me, remembering that dreadful scene. “Cops always suspect the husband first. I mean, I did own a gun. But she was shot with a nine millimeter and I owned a thirty-eight. It didn’t take them long to figure out what really happened. Technically, I was still her husband—I’d never done anything about a legal separation. I guess part of me hoped she’d come back.” I swallowed, trying to quell the anguish mounting inside. “Guess who got to pay for the funeral?” My voice cracked as I thought back to that awful day. The empty chapel—my empty life.
“She had no family that I knew of. I was too ashamed to tell my friends at work. Just me and a priest, and that damned casket—”
I lost it then—hunched over, fighting the tears that prickled my eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at them.
Suddenly Brenda was hugging me, bathing me in the warmth of her concern. Richard stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder.
“Why didn’t you call us?” he asked. “You didn’t have to go through it all alone.”
Hindsight. I should’ve done a lot of things different.
The ticking quartz clock on the wall was the only sound in that silent kitchen. I straightened, cleared my throat, and wiped my face with my sleeve. Brenda squeezed my hand. I still couldn’t look at either of them.
“That’s why Patty got to me this afternoon. She’s just about Shelley’s age. She does her hair the way Shelley did. And when she asked me if my medication got me high—” I took a breath, forced myself to continue. “I can’t deal with her.”
Richard sat down again, looked me straight in the eye. “First of all, she’s not Shelley. Maybe she was nervous. People say and do dumb things when they’re nervous. She’s reaching out to you. Isn’t there the slightest possibility she could feel something genuine for you? Look at the years we wasted.”
What he said was true.
Okay, Patty had made a bad first impression. Suppose it was just a case of nerves.
“She invited me to some family thing on Saturday.”
“Would it hurt to go for an hour or so?” Richard said.
“I’ll bet Maggie would go with you. Or we could go with you for moral support,” Brenda offered.
“No. I don’t want her to—” Insult you was the first thing I thought of. “I don’t want her to think she can impose on your generosity.”
“Well, we’re here for you,” Richard said.
“Thanks.” That one small word seemed incredibly inadequate for all I felt for them.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Richard asked.
I hefted the nearly empty beer bottle. “Yeah, I would.”
“It’s only chicken,” Brenda warned.
I met her warm, brown-eyed gaze. “I love chicken.”
She patted my shoulder, got up, and went back to the unfinished salad on the counter.
Richard punched my arm, and gave me an encouraging smile. “You’re okay, kid.”
That simple gesture made me feel better. No matter what Patty or Chet represented, Richard and Brenda were my family, and I loved them. Even if I couldn’t say it out loud.
CHAPTER
5
Thanksgiving: just another raw gray day in Buffalo. While the nation hunkered down for parades and college football, I spent a good part of the day outside, winterizing the three cars—filling the washer reservoir with blue stuff, and checking the oil and the tire pressure. To thaw out, I took a leisurely shower and found a pink-cheeked Maggie in my kitchen when I emerged in my bathrobe, with a damp towel draped around my neck. She greeted me with a warm kiss.
“What have you got there?” I asked, peering around her at the grocery bags she’d dumped on my breakfast bar.
“I didn’t want the dessert to slide apart in the car so I’m putting it together now.”
She gave me another quick kiss, slipped out of her coat, and went straight to work. A milk glass cake stand came first. Then, as if by magic, she produced four layers of chocolate cake.
“It’ll be Black Forest cake,” she announced.
I settled onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, watching her fuss, trying to keep a grimace off my face. “I don’t like gooey desserts.”
“But Brenda and I do. And stop pouting, will you?”
I’m not big into holidays. They had never been a part of my past. But since most of Maggie’s family had scattered to various in-laws, she’d been grateful for Brenda’s invitation to join them for dinner.
“Have you noticed anything odd with Richard and Brenda?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s going on.”
“Such as?”
She rolled her eyes theatrically. “God, men are so obtuse. They’ve been looking at each other and smiling a lot. Doesn’t that give you a clue?”
My gut tightened. Why did I feel such unease?
“To tell you the truth, I’ve been so preoccupied about Chet and Patty I haven’t noticed a whole hell of a lot.” I thought about it. “Brenda switched to decaf coffee.”
“Big deal—I’ve been bugging her to do that for months.”
Maggie sighed and finished putting the cake together, dotting the top with goo-covered cherries. It looked like a picture out of Gourmet Magazine, but it wasn’t something I wanted to eat.
She looked at me with sympathy. “Don’t worry, I made a nice, boring apple pie for you.”
“Thanks. We can head over as soon as you’re ready.”
She rinsed her hands, dried them, then reached for her coat. “I’m ready.”
A minute later we’d crossed the driveway and I opened the door, letting Maggie in ahead of me. The house welcomed us. The aroma of roasted turkey was like ambrosia.
Brenda stood at the kitchen counter, slicing carrots. “Come on in,” she called. M
aggie set the cake down on the counter and stepped forward to give Brenda a hug.
“Gee, you’d think it was months—not days—since you two last saw each other.”
“Not to mention the fact they’re on the phone for hours at a time,” Richard said, entering the room. “Hi, Maggie.” He received a peck on the cheek despite his greeting. “Who’s thirsty?”
“I am,” Maggie said. “Got any sour mix?”
“Whiskey sour it is,” he said, anticipating her request.
“Beer for me,” I said.
I watched Richard make the drinks, noticing he filled a glass with club soda for Brenda.
“Shall we adjourn to the living room?” Richard asked.
“Sounds good to me.”
“I’ll catch up in a minute. I want to finish this,” Brenda said. Maggie hung back to help her.
I followed Richard, who set his drink on an end table by one of the leather wing chairs. He turned on a couple of lamps while I settled on the far end of the comfortable leather couch.
I sipped my beer and studied my brother’s face. “Maggie says something’s going on with you two.”
“She’s very astute.”
“You going to tell me?”
His smile was enigmatic. “Not just yet.”
I took a sip of beer. I don’t like playing games. But this was his party. They’d probably finalized their Christmas vacation plans. Some exotic locale, no doubt.
I cleared my throat. “Are we going to the Bills game next Sunday?” He had season tickets.
“Sure.” Richard sat down, took a sip of his drink.
Now what could we talk about?
Richard stared into his drink, looking thoughtful.
“Something wrong?”
“I got a call from an old school friend this morning. He’s in private practice in Rochester.” He took a sip of his drink.
“And?” I prompted.
He didn’t look up. “A colleague of ours from the old days was killed recently. He wondered if I’d heard. The alumni bulletin will probably mention his passing.”
I got a queasy feeling in my gut, reminding me of those disturbing dreams I’d been having. “How’d he die?”
“A hunting accident. Marty had a string of bad luck. His son died in a motorcycle accident last spring, then his wife was murdered—apparently in a robbery gone wrong. Jim said Marty had been drinking heavily and quit his job with the state.”
Giggles from the hallway distracted me. Richard’s face lit up as Brenda entered the room. Maggie placed a tray of veggies and dip on the coffee table, settling beside me. “Dig in,” she said.
“It’s that sun-dried tomato kind you like,” Brenda told me, taking a carrot and gouging some out of the ceramic dish. She perched on the arm of Richard’s chair.
I studied the two of them. They looked . . . smug.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Brenda’s smile was radiant. “We’ve known for a while, but we didn’t want to say anything.” She looked to Richard, who nodded for her to continue. “We’re pregnant!”
“I knew it!” Maggie cried and jumped up to hug Brenda.
I sat there, stunned, my stomach knotting.
Pregnant. This announcement didn’t bring me joy—but what I felt was more than simple apprehension. The threat of HIV hanging over Richard’s head—both their heads.
“Jeff?” Richard prompted.
“I thought you said you guys couldn’t have sex. Not even with a condom—until six months after—” That terrible night flashed before my mind’s eye. The shotgun blast—all that blood. Richard, desperate to save a dying man—with no latex gloves to protect his bare hands.
“How?” I asked.
“Brenda laughed. “I must’ve become pregnant just days before our wedding.
In fact, they’d been married five months, but because of the threat of AIDS, they hadn’t yet consummated their marriage. And yet Brenda didn’t really look pregnant.
“You could say something positive,” Richard said, eyeing me.
“Sorry.” I laughed nervously, tipped my beer bottle in his direction. “Congratulations.” I stood, reached over to shake his hand. “When?”
“About four months from now,” Brenda answered.
“You’re almost through the second trimester? If I gain five pounds—I look it,” Maggie complained.
Brenda smiled. “Hey, I feel every pound of it.” She patted her belly, her baby bump barely noticeable. “Too much can go wrong during those few months. And because of Richard’s situation—” She looked at him, her expression darkening. “I guess I didn’t want to say anything to jinx myself.”
I choked on my beer as a sick rush of fear coursed through me. Something told me Brenda would never carry her baby to term.
I couldn’t stop coughing. Maggie slapped me on the back and Brenda and Richard were on their feet, clucking like concerned medical professionals.
“I’m okay,” I rasped, took a few careful breaths and cleared my throat. Richard scowled but said nothing.
“Well, if the rest of us can all swallow our drinks,” Maggie said, glaring at me good-naturedly, “I propose a toast. To Baby Alpert. Or should that be Baby Stanley-Alpert?”
“One name is enough,” Brenda said. “Alpert.”
That made Richard smile.
“May he or she be as happy and healthy as we are tonight,” Maggie finished.
“Hear, hear,” I said, raised my glass, and hoped to God it would come to pass.
Maggie settled on the couch again. “Have you picked out names?”
“I’ve been scanning the baby book for months.” She laughed. “We’ve narrowed it down to maybe twenty.”
“What room will you use as a nursery?”
“Jeffy’s old bedroom,” Brenda said.
“Wonderful. I’ve got scads of ideas for decorating it.”
“I’ve got to check the turkey. Come on in the kitchen and tell me,” Brenda said.
Once they left, the silence dragged. I drained my beer, unsure what to say. Subdued, Richard still worked on his Manhattan.
I forced a smile. “So, you’re going to be a daddy?”
“Yeah. If I’m still around when the poor kid graduates from high school, I’ll be—” He did a little mental arithmetic and frowned. “Oh, God, sixty-seven.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I thought Brenda wasn’t interested in having children?”
“She wasn’t interested in getting married, either. But here we are. It’s a natural progression, isn’t it?”
“How long have you known?”
“Since September. To tell you the truth, I thought you would’ve guessed—or rather, gotten one of your funny feelings.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I have been getting funny feelings about Brenda. But I never put it all together. Damn slipshod of me.”
“This doesn’t change anything. I mean, I don’t want to lose what we have. I value your friendship.” He colored in embarrassment. “I need you—if only to play catch with the kid when I’m too old.”
Or if he wasn’t there?
I forced a smile. “Thanks.” I leaned back against the couch. “First I find out my father’s still alive, and I have a sister I never knew about. Now I’m going to have a little niece or nephew. Eight months ago I had no family at all.”
“Have you and Maggie thought about getting married?” he asked.
“That’s rushing it a bit. Besides, Maggie’s not eager to tie the knot again. Besides, I’m not exactly a bargain. I can’t support myself, let alone a wife.” Maybe I never would.
Richard shrugged. “If she wants a family, time’s getting away from her.”
“It doesn’t matter. She had a hysterectomy three years ago.”
“Oh—that’s right.” He looked genuinely sorry.
“I’m sure she’s already plotting how to spoil your kid. Has Brenda told her family?”
“She called her
sister, Evelyn, last night. I’m not sure the news was well received. Her mother definitely wouldn’t want to know. And since she gave Willie our address, Brenda doesn’t want to speak to her anyway.”
I shook my head ruefully. “Life’s too short for that kind of shit.”
“Tell me about it.” He was quiet for a moment, then raised his glass. “No more somber talk. This is a celebration. We’ve—I’ve—got a lot to live for.” He took a sip of his drink.
Richard’s forced smile only increased the anchor weight on my soul.
What was I thinking? Thanks to medical science, being HIV-positive was no longer a death sentence. It was a big inconvenience to those who suffered from it, but with the right combination of drugs people like Magic Johnson had survived well into his second decade of good health.
Still, as I raised my empty glass in salute, I looked forward to later when I could go back to my own place, and get blissfully drunk, and not feel so damned responsible for the coming disaster. Because I couldn’t get over the feeling that whatever happened to Brenda’s baby would somehow be my fault.
Sophie Levin wasn’t always home. Late at night I’d drive by the apartment where she lived above a bakery, and the place would be dark. If it wasn’t, I’d drop in on my way home from work and share a cup of coffee or hot chocolate and shoot the shit with the elderly woman who’d come to be my friend. Much as I hated the word, I thought of Sophie as my “psychic” mentor. She saw colors—auras the new-age gurus call them. I tapped into others’ emotions. But we were kindred spirits.
A quick look at my watch confirmed it was after three. I’d left a sleeping Maggie back at my place and walked the two miles to Sophie’s place. As anticipated, the light was on in the shop’s back room. I jogged across Main Street and moments later rang the bell. Sophie appeared within seconds.
“I’ve been waiting for hours,” she scolded me. “An old lady like me needs her rest.”
I followed her through the retail shop and into the back room where she held court. Two cups of steaming cocoa sat on the scared little card table, along with a plate of macaroons and a sheaf of paper napkins.
Cheated By Death Page 6
