Evolution (17 page)

I hadn’t bothered to go to her place to even pick out a dress.
The undertaker had supplied something. I didn’t even bother to look. Didn’t want to see that face again. Or the damage that the bullet had done. The sight of her on the gurney in the morgue was enough to last me through eternity. Maybe one day I’d remember her as I’d first known her—pretty, smiling—but the hurt was still too fresh for that now.

“You stupid bitch,” I said out loud.
Who cared? There was no one around to hear me. And was it really so strange to see someone talking to the recently deceased?

“Shelley, you fucked up one time too many times.”

But at least I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore, wonder where she was or how she was living. What trouble she could get into. Or if she’d surface, demanding my help. Now she was just another crime statistic. Let the drug dealers take each other out. How many times had I heard that gem? But even drug dealers had families. People who had at least once cared about them.

Yeah, I still cared.
Tears welled in my eyes. I could give into them now. Now that there was no one to see them. Anger and sorrow vied for prominence. I’d never felt such intense hatred or love for anyone in my life. Anyone. And I’d thought she’d loved me. For a while, anyway.

I took a breath to steel myself.
Maybe I’d go to that little Irish Pub around the corner from my—formerly our—apartment, spring for a few beers—maybe even some Irish whiskey. My own private wake for Shelley.

“Good-bye, Shelley.”

I turned and walked away. I didn’t look back. I would never go back to that place.

But Shelley had been a person—who’d lived
, loved, and had been loved. That she’d been a jerk her last year on the planet shouldn’t condemn her to anonymity through the ages. Besides, it was the right thing to do. Doing the right thing ... did that make you a chump? Especially when that person had abused you; had taken advantage of you?

Still, I wondered how much a monument would cost....

***

REUNITED

Things were becoming very uncomfortable at work. Rumors spread through the office that changes were about to come and those who didn’t give their all would have their head on the chopping block. I was determined not to be one of the sacrificial lambs. With Shelley dead, I had a life to lead and lots of time to fill so I wouldn’t think of her. I spent far more than forty hours a week at work. I’d go home late, my brain numb, have a few drinks, and hit the sack. Get up early and start the process all over again.

Sitting at my desk, some three weeks after Shelley’s death, Marcia, the department secretary, poked her head into my office and said, “Jeff, there’s a Dr. Alpert on the phone.
I asked what the call was in reference to, but he said it was personal. Do you want to take it?” she asked, sounding concerned. Did she think I was sick or something? Maybe. I’d been avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. Lack of decent sleep, too much coffee and bourbon, and not enough food, had left me looking like I sorely needed a vacation—or a healthy retreat.

My stomach knotted
; an old familiar feeling. I’d dreaded this call, but it would be better to talk on the phone than explain things in a face-to-face encounter—not that they were that frequent. That would be even more uncomfortable. And better to get it over with now than deal with it later. That could be a lot worse.

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” I said, and leaned back in my office chair, mentally preparing myself.
I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Jeff?”

“Hey, Rich. What’s up?”

There was a pause.
“It’s been a while. I just called to see how things were with you.”

Terrible.
Couldn’t get much worse
. I didn’t comment.

“I tried calling you at home the last couple of evenings, but there was no answer.
Is everything okay?” the worried, disembodied voice asked.

I stared at the colored graphs decorating the otherwise featureless walls of my coffin-like office.
It wasn’t the voice that set off those feelings of inadequacy. There’d never been any hint of accusation or blame in my older brother’s voice. God forbid Richard should ever get angry. A paragon of virtue, that’s the way our mother had always seen him.

“I’ve been working late a lot.”

“Shelley didn’t answer, and—”

“Look, I don’t know how else to say this, but ... she’s dead.”

“What?” Richard asked, shock evident in his voice.

“She was killed three weeks ago.”

Shocked silence.

“Oh my God.
What happened? Why didn’t you call?”

“There wasn’t anything you could do.”

Another long silence.

“An accident?
How—?”

How could I explain it so it didn’t sound so ... sordid?
But there really was no way to do that, because it was sordid.

“She was murdered.”
That’s right; a simple explanation—keep the voice neutral. Don’t let any emotion enter it. I always had to be a brick in front of Richard. No way would I show weakness.

“My God, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

“Are you okay?”

Not really
. “Yeah.”

“What happened?” he asked again.

Of course he couldn’t just let it go. He had to know the details. Still, another part of my mind told me that was human nature. And as a caring, nurturing person, it was Richard’s way to express concern and offer comfort. That’s why he was a doctor, after all.

“She liked cocaine—a lot.
I hadn’t seen her for almost six months when the cops called. They said it was a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Oh, God, Jeff, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. We were finished before she died, and now I’m getting on with my life.”

A long silence followed.

“Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

Another lie. Shelley had bled me dry when she left. Getting back on my feet financially had been a struggle. And then there were the funeral expenses sitting on my Visa card waiting to be paid.

“Brenda and I will be in Hartford for a seminar next week.
We’d love to see you.”

No way to get out of this.
Not without being rude. Even Richard didn’t deserve that.

“How long’s it been?
A year or two?”

“Almost three years,” Richard replied.

That long already? At least Richard would spring for a good dinner at one of Manhattan’s best restaurants. But then, he could afford it. And Brenda was good company. She’d fill the long interludes when there’d be no conversation between us.

“Name the day.
How about Tavern on the Green?” I suggested, knowing it was Brenda’s favorite restaurant. That’s where we met last time. When they met Shelley for the first—only—time.

“That’ll be great.”

Another awkward silence followed.

“I’ve missed you, kid.
I worry about you.”

“I’m a grownup now, Rich.
I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” That was snotty, and I felt ashamed.

“Okay.
Well, I’ll talk to you next week so we can firm up a date and time.”

“I’ll wait for your call,” I agreed. God, I sounded like a prick.
“Hey, thanks for calling.”

“I’ve missed you,’ Richard said.

Man he’d changed. When we’d lived together he barely had time to acknowledge my existence. But the last few times we’d met he’d seemed somber. Not quite as introverted as I’d been in my teens, but not the same dynamic guy I’d lived with for three plus years.

“I’ll see you next week,” he said, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah. Bye.” I hung up the phone.

I stared unseeing at the pile of unfinished work on my desk.
It was a long time before I could make myself go back to it.

#

Brenda Stanley loved the twinkling lights that lit the trees outside the restaurant. Sure, lots of places decorated in the same manner, and the food wasn’t as good as it should be for the prices, but Tavern on the Green held such warm, wonderful memories. But this time would be different. This time Jeff’s troubles were sure to overshadow the evening.

Geek?
Possibly. Solemn? Humorless? And chronically depressed? That about summed it up. But she liked him anyway. There was something special about him. Those sad brown eyes—so unlike his older, more successful brother—deserved regard. And she couldn’t imagine the pain he’d endured this past year.

She wrapped her arm around Richard’s, proud to be with this tall, handsome specimen of a man.
When he’d interviewed her for the assistant’s position some eight years before, she never dreamed one day she’d be living with him, loving him. A deeply caring man, he was intelligent, kind, and sexy as hell—something she’d never really thought about in a white man. And he was totally without prejudice, something she didn’t think possible.

“This way,” the hostess said, leading them to a table overlooking the park.
Richard waited for her to be seated and took the seat opposite. He looked nervous.

“Your waiter is Sam.
He’ll be along shortly,” the hostess said.

“Thank you,” Brenda said.
The woman walked away and she studied Richard’s drawn face. “Interesting lecture.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending.
“Sorry?”

“Dr. Martin’s lecture.
I thought his ideas on Zydlicaine’s application for pain management were brilliant.”

Richard frowned.
“You’re going to have to fill me in. I’m afraid the Foundation didn’t get its money’s worth sending me to this seminar.”

“You did seem preoccupied all day.”

“I’m worried about Jeff.”

Of course.

Brenda toyed with the fork at her place, and wished the waiter would get there. A sherry would warm her through and ease her into the evening. “He’s going to be the same as he always is. You’re going to be disappointed,” she said finally. “Why do you torture yourself?”

Richard let out a breath.
“Because he has a shitty life. Always has—probably always will.”

“You don’t give him much credit, do you?”

“Every year he drifts farther and farther from me.”

“You’re doing it again,” she chided.

He smiled. “I can’t help it. One day he’ll come around.”

“You hope.”

His lips crinkled upward. “Yeah. I hope.”

Suddenly Richard looked up, his eyes going wide with pleasure, and Brenda knew Jeff was there.
She turned her head, saw the slight man with dark eyes follow the hostess across the restaurant.

Richard stood.
Jeff offered his hand, but Richard pulled him into a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you, kid.”

She suspected Jeff always cringed when he heard the familiar nickname, but then
, Richard allowed no one to call him “Rich” except his younger brother.

Jeff pulled back.
“Brenda,” he said by way of greeting, and brushed a perfunctory kiss against her cheek.

She was awash in a sense of sadness.
His, no doubt. After what he must’ve been through....

“Did you order already?” Jeff asked, taking his seat between them.

“We just got here,” Richard said.

Jeff nodded.

Okay.
Now how could they get over the awkwardness of the situation?

More silence.

“Let’s get the crap out of the way,” Jeff said. “Shelley’s dead, and the marriage was over six months before that happened. I’m fine. I’ve got a great job and I’m getting over all this.”

God, he’s a terrible liar
, Brenda thought, studying his face. His mouth was tense, his eyes troubled. Everything about him screamed HELP ME, but from what Richard had told her and what she’d observed herself, Jeff would never allow himself to ask for that help.

One day it would all come to a head.
One day he’d need his brother ... and, of course, Richard would be there. But … in the meantime....

“How’re things with you guys?
Still enjoying the California sun?”

“For the time being,” Richard said.
“Our funding’s been cut again. We’ve got another year, maybe two, then I don’t know what’ll happen.”

“Does it matter?
I don’t know why you just don’t call it quits and fly to Tahiti.”

“I’m afraid of melanoma,” Richard said with a straight face.

“Buy a pharmaceutical company that makes sunscreen,” Jeff said, with just the hint of a smile.

He was referring, of course, to Richard’s millions.
Brenda knew Jeff wasn’t envious of his half-brother’s extensive wealth, but he didn’t mind teasing Richard about it, either.

Siblings.

She felt a pang of regret, thinking about her two surviving sisters. It had been five years since she’d seen them. She was only a hundred or so miles from them now, and yet they may as well be on the Moon. She could well identify with Richard’s dissatisfaction at his relationship—or lack thereof—with his only brother.

The waiter finally arrived.
They ordered a round a drinks and silence settled once again. This didn’t bode well. Jeff and Richard were as different as night and day, with virtually nothing in common. Jeff tolerated Richard, and Richard longed to be more than a signature on a Christmas card to his younger brother. Years ago, Jeff had erected a stone wall around himself that no one could penetrate. No one except Shelley, and now even she was gone. And she had a feeling Shelley had really screwed the poor bastard before she’d been killed. She’d screwed Richard out of ten grand, too. But that was something Jeff would never know. Richard wasn’t going to tell him about it, and neither would she. But it still grated on her nevertheless.

The drinks arrived and the waiter departed.

“To happier times,” Richard toasted.

They lifted their glasses, clinking them.

Jeff took a sip of his beer, then set the glass down. He looked thin; he wasn’t eating well. And there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time she’d met him. But then he’d been happy. For the first time in his life, Richard said. He’d been with Shelley. When he looked at her, his dark eyes had shined. He’d been alive. How had he dealt with her betrayal? Maybe he hadn’t. That would explain the dead look in his eyes.

And things would only get worse.
He wouldn’t believe her if she told him that. He was the type who only believed in what he saw. But maybe even that would change one day. She had hunches ... and lots of times those hunches were proved right. At least she had Richard convinced of it.

Small talk dominated the meal.
Jeff hardly touched his sole. Richard ordered a round of after-dinner drinks. Jeff sipped his Grand Marnier and listened to Richard jabber about work. He offered no opinions, initiated none of the conversation. Just sat there with those dead eyes.