Brooklyn Bones (30 page)
“I know, I know. Rosemarie phoned me.”
I kept quiet. I had no idea what to say, so I waited.
“She was quite upset, Rosemarie was. She couldn’t do what she promised.”
“It wasn’t her fault. She seemed to be very helpful but your daughter…” Whoa. Thin ice. I shut up.
“Yes, my darling daughter.” The sarcasm was intense. “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? My daughter. She’s forgotten what happens when she tries to override my orders so disrespectfully.” She smiled, not happily. “I am actually on my way to my lawyer to discuss this company name change. I’m not as old and helpless as she thinks.”
Could Petry possibly think that? I certainly didn’t.
“My driver will escort me up to my appointment.” She motioned to a nearby man in a uniform. “But not to forget about Rosemarie’s call. She had pulled some of the files from the cartons to give you directly. She thought maybe you did not realize how big a job you would have to take them all. She’s not sure it’s really what you wanted most, but of course I explained it very well to her. You can go back any time to pick them up; she only wanted the OK from me. Is that good?”
“Good? That is great! I am so grateful.”
She refreshed her lipstick, stood up with the help of a brightly painted cane, and draped her elegant silk stole around her shoulders with the help of the man in the uniform. “I’m off to battle. Wish me luck. Lipstick on straight?”
I went in the opposite direction, toward the subway escalator, thinking that in a battle between a team of lawyers and Mrs. Rogow, I was betting on the little old lady. It would be no contest.
I checked the subway map. Was there any possible way to get to the warehouse on my way home? Ah, yes. It meant a few blocks walk through the area Mrs. Rogow had described as very questionable, and questionable it was, an almost abandoned industrial area, with no foot traffic and no stores. I walked fast, with that attitude which says, “Bother me at your peril,” and nothing happened at all.
Rosemarie had folders packed in a large cardboard envelope with a tie, and accepted Mrs. Rogow’s greeting with a laugh.
“Now I don’t know if it’s exactly what you need. These old self-made guys? Think they had a system? They were making it all up as they went along. The boxes were kind of by neighborhood, then year, and then block. So who knows if it’s exactly the right files? But hopefully, it’s a start.”
“I am really grateful. But won’t you get into a battle with Ms. Petry, if she finds some things missing?”
She assumed an innocent expression and Betty Boop voice. “Oh, my goodness. Things get lost over the years. And I’m an ignorant office worker. It’s soooo unfortunate.”
“I get it. Thank you again. I’m off to the subway.”
“You hold on. I have drivers going out all day. Someone can drop you at home, if you don’t mind riding in a truck.”
In a few minutes, I was climbing into a truck cab with a driver who had a delivery of documents for the Brooklyn Museum. She handed me the envelope, winked and said, “Happy hunting.”
As I left the truck, I heard the silly burst of music that signaled a text message. “Mom. You’re not picking up. Y? Am on way home now! Ride had to leave today. See you dinner time-ish. Yay.”
Chris as soon as tonight? I felt all the free-floating tension of the last few days melt as a big smile grew across my face. Would it be replaced by Chris-induced tension right after she walked in the door? Maybe, but right now I couldn’t wait to see her. It took me a few minutes to remember I had plans of my own for tonight. First things first. And that would be my daughter, always, and especially now, after my talk with Nettie Rogow.
I called Steven. There was no answer; I left a message. I texted. No immediate response. I went grocery shopping. Not quite the fatted calf, but at least I could provide Chris’ favorite chips and dips and soda.
I came home to find Steven on my stoop. He came in with me.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but I had bad reception, saw that you called but couldn’t get the whole thing. And I was nearby, meeting with some people, so I came in person.”
I explained about Chris, apologized, explained some more about how I’d love to reschedule but could not do it until I knew when she would return to camp. He looked genuinely disappointed and I was absurdly pleased by that.
We seemed to have settled down on the couch and we seemed to be holding hands.
“Let’s visit here instead. A mini-date.” He put his feet up on my coffee table, made himself comfortable and invitingly patted the cushion next to him. We sat close, and I told him about the productive day and unusual day, about the unusual Nettie Rogow, the unexpected help of getting documents for my work, my hope that I could learn about Rick indirectly by learning more about that right time and this place. It was so comfortable, and comforting, to have someone to tell, I lost sight of the fact that he did not actually think my asking questions was a good idea. The increasing chilliness of his expression brought me back to reality.
“Why can’t you stop? How can you pretend that this isn’t serious? Come on! A man was shot to death and another was beaten up. You’ve been threatened. Your daughter is coming home. You don’t want to be close to this.”
My voice was ice cold. “Are you trying to tell me to forget about it all?”
“Yes! Yes, I am.” He held my chin gently, getting me to look right at him. “Erica, I was trying to say it this morning. I care about you. Who knows how it happened, but we have something, just beginning, and you know it. I can’t stand on the side and watch you keep wading right into these deep waters. People drown.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry but please, let the police department deal with all these incidents. You cannot be involved.”
“Cannot? Are you saying ‘cannot’ to me?” I jerked away. “God help me, I was kind of liking you too, but I don’t now. My world feels upside down to me, and I’m not one to sit around and let that continue. And you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Whatever gave you that idea? You’re not my father and I wouldn’t listen to him anyway. You are not my husband, or even my boyfriend.”
His face was white and rigid. He half-smiled, bitterly. “Well, I had high hopes on that for this evening.” He stood up, stared out the window, then turned back to me. “Look. Everything I say is coming out wrong. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
I stood up.
“I think you should go.”
“Erica, I…”
“Please go now.”
I stalked through the house to the front door, unlocked it and held it open. He followed me but stopped there, put his hands on either side of my face, and said, “I’m not giving up.”
I closed the door behind him with a satisfying slam. Then I sat for a long time in my dark living room, on my drop-cloth covered sofa, unable to move. I was right. I knew I was. I had to do this, get some parts of my life right side up again, and Steven was completely out of bounds.
Being right was not actually much comfort, though. What was I thinking, anyway, sliding into a cozy relationship as if it was a warm bath, when I had so much else on my mind? It was turning into just one more complication, the last thing in the world I needed in my increasingly confusing life.
My best cure for sad musing is work, but I didn’t get very far. There was insistent pounding on my door. Steven, back? No, Chris was on the top step clutching a backpack, and waving to a very young woman in a car at the curb. There was hugging, squealing, a shouted “thank you” to the counselor. My daughter was home.
“Oh my god!” She flopped down on a drop cloth-covered sofa. “This place is still chaos.”
“Yes, well, I guess Joe slowed down without your help.”
She giggled. “I should yell at him. Right now what I want is a hot bath with at least half a bottle of bubble bath.”
“Well, let me look at you first. Tan, mosquito bites, sun streaks in your hair?”
She grinned and shook her head.
“Ah, late night experiments with cosmetic products?”
“Cool, isn’t it?” She turned her head in all directions and said, “Like my earrings? I made them in a class.”
“Macramé and glass beads? Very creative.”
“OK? You’ve seen everything. Tub is calling my name.”
I fiddled, doing nothing at all, until she emerged wrapped in a terry robe and clouds of lavender.
“That felt great. So now, catch me up on everything? I feel like I’ve been gone for months.”
“What do you want to know?”
She looked at me with something like suspicion.
I fumbled an answer and her eyes opened wide. “You’re blushing. You’ve been dating someone! Is that it? Wait. Is it Joe?”
“What? What in the world are you talking about?”
“Well. I was thinking about this while I was away. You need to get more of a life. You know, I have to start getting on with my own life and I’m going to college in a few years. You need to start getting ready for that.”
She was so earnest, I almost laughed, but she went on. “And Joe is actually pretty hot, for a guy his age. You should hear what my friends say when they see him here.”
“Your friends are just…”
“Young women with eyes in their heads! And he’s here a lot.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing. He’s my friend and that’s what I am to him, too.” What it’s always been. I was not in the mood to think about this any further.
“If you say so. But if you were dating someone you would be….”
“What else is on your mind? My social life isn’t exactly my favorite topic.”
“Humph. I’ll get you to tell me before I leave.” My face must have showed my emotions, because she suddenly said, “Oh, Mom. Is it Rick that’s been on your mind? I’ve been worried about that. I, you know, I didn’t want to leap right into that.”
She jumped up and hugged me.
“Oh, honey. I’ve been managing, but it kind of grabs me every so often. Know what I mean?”
She nodded. “I totally do. Me too.”
“I still don’t have any real information about what happened. They don’t know, or they aren’t telling.” And I certainly wasn’t telling her what they think they know. It was hard enough for me to know it. She didn’t have to. “And I need to write a eulogy and plan a service, and…” I imagined the protest in her face. “No, no, it won’t be until after you are back. I know you would want to be here. But it’s all hard.”
“It seems impossible not to see him again, or say good-bye.”
“Hard, isn’t it? He bugged me so much, sometimes, but now that he’s gone….”
She nodded. “Kind of like grandpa being so far away. I guess I adopted Rick for another grandpa, sort of.”
“He adopted us, too. Me, when I was little, and then you too.”
“He taught me how to smoke so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself when I tried.”
“He did what? Smoke?”
“Yeah. He said I was sure to try sometime so I should do it right. Then he told me after I try it, I should never do it again or I’d answer to him.”
“That’s not the only thing he did behind my back. He used to sneak you bags of candy at Halloween. Months later I would find them stashed in secret hiding places in your room.”
“You knew about that?” There was indignation all over her face.
I laughed.
“Were there ever any aunt Ricks? You know what I mean.”
“Oh, there were a couple of them. The last was when you were small. There were girlfriends, though. You’re old enough to know it now—Rick was definitely a player.”
She considered that. “I can see it. He was a big flirt and he had—hmm—that kind of something. Even for an old guy.”
I looked at my daughter, already more grown up than the last time I had seen her, and told her about Wanda. I left out the part about the cops. “Wow. She sounds interesting. Why didn’t he ever introduce us?”
“I do know the answer to that. He thought of you as too young to know about this part of his life.” She began to protest until I added, “Hell, he always thought of me that way too.”
She laughed. We shared some more memories, and I realized I could write a eulogy now. It still felt all wrong, telling all this without being able to finish the story, to tell the secrets, and the way it ended. But it felt right too. It would be the truth, what I was going to write, even if it was not the whole truth.
“What happened between him and grandpa? Grandpa only said they grew apart.”
“You’ve asked him? Grandpa?” I was astounded.
“Sure.” She looked at my expression and said calmly, “Well, we do e-mail, you know. Kind of every few days. We talk about all kinds of things. He’s out of the hospital and says he’s coming home soon.”
“Wait. Wait! I’m a few steps behind you here. He said you write but I had no idea you were really discussing things.”
“Mom! He’s my grandpa! Of course we do. Even if you are both too stubborn to.” Her expression radiated disapproval.
I ignored that. “If he’s out of the hospital, and not home, where is he?”
“He’s home, there. He’s coming home, here. Don’t know when yet. When the doctor says he can fly.”