Between Friends (6 page)

A boy of about nine, Lillian’s grandson was overweight and sullen, as if he would rather not be there for his father’s service. Again Dallas was struck by the lack of sorrow and loss that anyone, other than Lillian and Vin Marco, was feeling or expressing for the dead man.

Dallas recalled the funeral when her grandmother had passed—her father’s mother. The neighborhood Baptist church in Philadelphia was jammed with people from Mother Oliver’s community. Ladies in their extraordinary hats and veils, the men in their good suits, sitting stiffly and respectfully until the service began. The church choir sang, and the lead mezzo-soprano put the spirit of God into everyone in the congregation. “Amen, Jesus” and “Yes, Lord!” and “Sing it, Sistah” jumped out during the eulogy. Everything about the church, the ceremony of death, the energy of the parishioners, had a deep, soulful poignancy. All of that was missing for Nicholas.

Dallas felt a pair of thin arms circle her from behind, and small hands lightly covered her eyes. She smiled and reached for the young body standing behind her chair.

“Hey, Megan! I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

The child giggled and then hugged Dallas around the neck. They were pressed cheek to cheek.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Megan laughed, coming around the seat to sit next to Dallas and hug her again.

Dallas playfully pinched the little girl’s nose and patted her knee affectionately. “Well, I am.” She turned to Valerie. “Why on earth did you bring her tonight? There are only grown-ups here.”

“No, there isn’t,” Megan was quick to correct, her gray eyes wide and bright in her face. A cascade of light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down her back almost to her waist. She pointed across the room. “I was talking to those kids before.”

Dallas followed the pointing finger and spotted three children among the Marco adults.

“See,” Megan said.

“Okay, you’re right,” Dallas conceded. “But you don’t even know the man who died.”

Megan began playing with the heart-shaped pendant around Dallas’s neck. “Mommy said she grew up with him. Did you grow up with him, too?”

“Well, I knew him,” Dallas responded honestly. “But he wasn’t a friend of mine.”

Megan nodded but then frowned at her. “Then, how come you’re here?”

Dallas was amused by the child’s perfectly reasonable question. “Good question. I’m a friend of his mother’s. I was sure your mom and grandmother would be here. And now I get to see you.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Megan asked.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Let me check my schedule and I’ll talk to your mom. Maybe next weekend, how about that?”

“That’s cool.” Megan nodded agreeably. She reached for Dallas’s purse and opened it. “Did you bring something for me?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here, remember?”

“Megan Marie, don’t do that,” Valerie ordered her daughter as she began to rummage around in Dallas’s purse.

“Aunt Dallas told me I could …” Megan said, continuing her search and withdrawing a thick white envelope from the bag. “What’s this?” she asked, holding it up to Dallas.

“I almost forgot,” Dallas said, taking the envelope. “It’s a mass card for the Marco family.”

“Do you want me to take it over to them?” Megan asked.

“No, I think I’d better do it,” Dallas said, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

But a quick glance showed that Vin and Lillian were no longer among their guests on the other side of the room. For a second Dallas thought of just handing the envelope to anyone from the family still sitting in the parlor. And then she realized that everyone was very quiet, that several people sat staring at the floor or at one another, and others were looking toward the door. Finally, Dallas sensed it, too. The subtle shimmer of conflict.

“I want to see, too,” Megan announced, getting up to accompany Dallas.

“No, you don’t. You stay right here and sit still,” Valerie told her daughter in no uncertain terms. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Dallas headed toward the voices in the outer hallway. She heard Vin’s voice first when she reached the door. Strident and clear, but laced with emotions other than grief. There was great pain … and anger.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have no respect?” Vincent Marco complained.

Dallas heard Lillian, pleading and anxious. She walked into the foyer, the card clutched but forgotten in her hand. Vin stood facing off with someone.

It was a man who was turned partially away from her. Vincent spoke angrily at him, while at the same time attempting to maneuver Lillian out of the way, who’d insinuated herself between the two men to keep them apart.

Dallas gasped. “Lillian, be careful …”

The tall man turned his head quickly in her direction. Their gazes met and held for a mere second before he turned his attention to Vin Marco again. But Dallas stood momentarily rooted as she stared at his profile.

“Vin, stop it. You’re acting crazy,” Lillian said urgently.

He tried to put her aside. “Get out of my way.”

“I don’t want to start anything, Vin. Get a hold of yourself,” the man said firmly but calmly. “Look what you’re doing to Lillian.”

Vincent’s face flushed deeply with his rage and frustration. “I bet you’re glad Nicky is dead. Is that why you came?”

“I came because I’m really sorry. No matter what you want to believe, I didn’t hate Nick.”

“No … but you couldn’t leave things alone. You couldn’t stay away and just let it be!”

Vincent started for the man again, and Lillian tried to throw herself against her husband’s chest.

“Don’t, Vincent, please … you don’t know what you’re saying …” Lillian cried out, her voice breaking with the strain of her loss, finally cresting into tears.

Dallas felt a stab in her chest as she watched Lillian fall apart and cry. For several seconds all that could be heard was Lillian’s deep pain. In the background was the low volume of recorded organ music that only seemed to increase the drama of the moment.

Vincent, finally losing control, struck out. But the man was quicker and grabbed Vincent’s arm, pulling it back as Vincent lurched forward.

“Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to hurt you …” the man gritted as he momentarily struggled with Vincent Marco. “Vin, calm down.”

“Oh, my God …
they’re going to kill each other
!” Lillian cried.

Dallas moved on sheer nerve and instinct, and a desire not to see Lillian get hurt if the two men really began to fight. She forced herself between the two of them and grabbed Lillian, pulling the woman out of the way.

“Vincent, you have to stop,” Dallas pleaded. “You’re scaring Lillian …”

Dazed, Vin stared at her. She placed a protective arm around Lillian. Vin turned his attention to focus on his wife, who stood sobbing into her hands, her shoulders heaving with emotion. A crowd had gathered in the hallway, in a semicircle looking on but not daring to do anything. Vincent stumbled haltingly to Lillian, and Dallas released her as he gathered his wife’s quaking body into his arms.

“I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Lilly … don’t cry.” He glanced up at his opponent, sadness and frustration clouding his eyes, but he’d come to his senses. “Nicholas is dead,” Vincent murmured emotionally. “Can’t you have a little consideration for what my family is going through … for how Lilly and I feel?”

Boldly, the man stepped forward to touch Lillian’s shoulder. He gently and briefly massaged her back in comfort, and then let his hand drop.

“More than you realize, Vin,” he said. “But I’ll leave if Lillian wants me to.”

Lillian made an attempt to compose herself. She reached back over her shoulder to pat the man’s arm. But she didn’t say anything. Vin, still holding on to his wife, began to maneuver her back into the salon, past the gaping and embarrassed onlookers who slowly followed them.

Dallas was alone in the foyer with the man. He was looking toward the entrance of the salon, as if trying to decide whether or not to go in.

Her heart was thudding quietly with shock. It was Alex Marco. But he looked very different. He had changed. Still, even now there was a fearless impregnability that seemed only to have gotten more solid since she’d last seen him.

He sighed, and Dallas knew that it was not with relief but disappointment at the awkward encounter with Vin. Alex put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing them with a black crew neck sweater and a short leather jacket. Cowboy boots finished the picture. It was a distinctive, individual style that suited him.

Something on the floor caught his attention, and he bent to retrieve a white envelope.

Dallas hadn’t realized that she’d dropped the mass card in the melee and it was now bent and dirtied. He stared at the envelope, turning it over as if looking for some identification. And then Alex looked at her.

The memory she’d held for so many years had stayed exactly the same, but Alex had not. His hair was now cut in a short and more orderly style. Military length. And it was mostly prematurely gray. It was startling and she couldn’t help staring. It made his skin the same shade as her own. It emphasized his countenance, the dark brows and faint five o’clock shadow. His face had filled out and was not so thin, but his prominent jaw and cheekbones were more clearly defined. He was more muscle and tone. What Dallas remembered most about Alex had been lost somewhere in his youth. He was a mature man now.

She felt bewildered and excited and let down. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d thought about Alex Marco over the years, imagining what he was doing and what he had become. Wondering if he ever thought of her. Now it all seemed so foolish and pointless. Why should he have?

He stared at her, but Dallas couldn’t tell if Alex remembered who she was. Or if he did, he thought better of saying so.

He held out the envelope to her and looked closely at her.

“Is this yours?”

The sound of his voice made her start. That, at least, was exactly the same. “Yes,” Dallas mumbled, lowering her gaze and hastily accepting the card. Now she only wanted to minimize her contact with him.

She only had two choices. She could go around him and return to the salon. Or she could leave.

“I forgot to get one.”

Dallas frowned at him. She tried to keep her gaze politely inquisitive, impersonal. She tried not to examine him too closely. “What?”

“A mass card. Not that it would have made any difference,” he said.

She nodded, aware that he was looking closely at her. Suddenly she didn’t want him to place her, to remember the where or when. “You could mail one,” Dallas found herself suggesting.

“Is that what you’re going to do? Or just forget it and throw it out?”

She shook her head. “I’ll leave it by the guest book.”

“Afraid to go back in there?” he asked.

Dallas arched a brow at him. “Are you?”

He laughed lightly, and for Dallas the sound spiraled up from the past. It was ironic and deep, and the amusement was wry. It was very familiar.

“No. But this is bad timing. Vin was right. I shouldn’t be here,” he said. His mouth shaped into a curious smile as he gazed at her. “So, what are we going to do? Stand here like outcasts, go in and risk another fight? Or leave?”

Dallas smiled grimly and shook her head. She slowly walked over to the side table against a wall and placed the mass card on the opened pages of the guest book. “I don’t think I’ll go back in. I shouldn’t have come to begin with, either.”

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze assessing her. “Then, why did you?”

For the first time Dallas realized that for all she recalled about Alex Marco she really knew very little. Her adolescent memory died, and she was left facing a man who was, in essence, a stranger. In a way that made it easier for Dallas to talk to him.

“What if I asked you the same thing?”

Surprisingly, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Curiosity, maybe. Sympathy? I don’t know.” His face briefly registered a tight, dark flash of emotion that clenched his jaw.

“Well,” she sighed, “it’s your turn. I’ve already been in there. I’m going to leave.”

“I’ve already had my turn,” Alex said cryptically. “You saw what happened.” He put out his hand toward her. “Look … let’s forget that. Don’t you know …”

Another voice interrupted from behind them. “Dallas? I wondered what happened to you. I heard Vin screaming. What’s going on out here?”

Valerie started toward them from the salon. Although she was directing her questions to her, Dallas could see Valerie’s interest focused on the man she was standing with. She turned to Alex once more, to find him watching Valerie’s approach with equal interest.

Valerie turned to Dallas with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“It was my fault,” Alex spoke up.

Valerie stood protectively next to Dallas, but she acknowledged Alex’s presence with a wry grimace. “Nick’s been dead for only three days and people are still getting into fights because of him.”

Alex shrugged, amused by her comment. “Can’t blame him this time. It was me and Vin.”

“Why were you yelling at each other?” Valerie directed to him.

“I’m an easy target,” Alex said.

“Who are you?”

Alex glanced briefly at Dallas before responding. “Alex Marco.”

The verbal confirmation felt as if it were ricocheting through her body, but Dallas kept her expression blank.

Unexpectedly, Valerie chuckled. “I thought so.”

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“We’ve never met, but Nick used to talk about you. Mostly rotten things.” Alex grinned. “I’m Valerie Holland. I used to live in the neighborhood. Nicky probably never talked about me.”

“I would have remembered,” Alex murmured.

Valerie’s smile accepted the implied compliment. Dallas witnessed the interplay between Valerie and Alex. Val was in no way trying to gain Alex’s attention, but it was happening nonetheless. She began to feel superfluous but stood still. It was a trick she’d learned to do when she was just a child and she was made to feel invisible by the presence of others. She began to back away.

“Val, I’m leaving,” Dallas said. “Say good night to your mother for me, and tell Megan I’ll talk to her next week about a visit …”