The Art of Forgetting (21 page)

              He parked in a space next to another motorcycle and entered through the smoked glass tinted door. The café was furnished in an elegant, modern European décor. A rich aroma of coffee mixed with the acrid smell of unfiltered cigarettes and cigars. The bar counter was nothing short of a work of art in Italian marble.

              Four elderly men sat at a corner table arguing in Italian, playing cards in hand. An aloof young man in a shirt and tie sat alone at another table. He looked up at Lloyd, licked his thumb and turned the page of a newspaper printed on pink stock that lay spread open on his table. A geezer in a tweed sports coat with gray stubble sprouting from skin the color and texture of leather stood at the bar, spooning way too much sugar in a demitasse. Behind the bar, a burly man with a lush, black mustache and wavy hair polished a wine glass with a cotton rag, keeping a watch on Lloyd all the while.

              Lloyd stepped up to the bar. The bartender placed the wine glass on a towel lined shelf, hung the rag on a small rack and resumed staring at Lloyd.

              “An espresso, please,” Lloyd said.

              Without a word the barista removed the handle from the chromed espresso machine. He emptied the packed grinds by slamming the metal basket against a padded bar that was fixed diagonally across the top of a trash can, then rinsed the basket in a sink before delivering a precise aliquot of fresh-ground coffee from a large dispenser. He torqued the handle back onto the espresso machine, flicked a toggle switch and a few seconds later, set an elegant demitasse atop the matching saucer he had already placed on the marble bar top. He completed the picture by depositing a tiny spoon on the saucer. Then he walked a few steps down the bar, put a hand on a silver sugar dispenser that had two long spoons sticking out of it like antennae, and slid it next to Lloyd’s coffee as the leather skinned man watched on with melancholy eyes. Finally he stood there, both hands resting on the bar top, gawking at Lloyd, as if challenging him to criticize his creation.

              Lloyd added a dollop of sugar to the cup, stirred and took a sip. It was the best coffee he had ever tasted. He downed the rest in one drag.

              “Good?” the barista asked.

              “
Very
good,” Lloyd said. The burly man didn’t move. He kept his eyes fixed on Lloyd. Lloyd turned to look at the geezer in the tweed jacket who was also staring at him. The old man smiled a partly toothless smile making Lloyd look away.

              “So, what do I owe you?” Lloyd asked the bartender.

              “Are you Italian?” the burly man asked.

              Lloyd shook his head.

              “Two dollars,” said the bartender.

              Lloyd pulled two bills from his wallet. “What would you have said if I told you I was Italian?”

              The bartender took the money. “I would have said, ‘
Due scudi, minchione!
’”

              The leather man cackled and wheezed and slapped the surface of the counter. The bartender slipped the money in the cash register, picked up the cotton rag and started polishing another wine glass.

              “Hey, friend,” the leather man said. “You sure you not Italian?”

              “Pretty sure.”

              “Maybe just a little Italian, no?”

              “Irish and Welsh,” Lloyd said.

              “Irish and Welch? You no look Irish. You look Italian.  Maybe your mother, she aah…” he made some indiscernible hand gestures.

              “Gennaro!” the barista shouted. “
Fatti i cazzi tuoi!
” then his expression softened as he looked over Lloyd’s shoulder. “
Mi scusi, padre
…”

              Lloyd felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice said “Non è niente.”

              Lloyd turned and saw Uncle Roy in a short sleeve black shirt with a clerical collar, straining a thin smile. “Shall we take a table?” Roy asked.

              As the men ambled toward a table the barista strode around the counter, wiped the table top and held the back of the chairs as they sat. A miraculous transformation. “What can I get you?” he asked with a flustered smile.

              “
Un macchiato
,” Roy said. “And you?”

              “I already had an espresso,” Lloyd said.

              “Oh, but you have to try this.” He looked up at the bartender. “
Due per piacere
.”

              The bartender bowed his head slightly, said, “
Benissimo
.
Due macchiati
,” and hustled back behind the counter.

              “You’re pretty smooth with your Italian,” Lloyd said

              “One of the perks of living in Rome.”

              “I thought the guy was going to kiss your hand.”

              “One of the perks of being a priest.” Roy smiled, but his eyes had a faraway look. He looked tired, Lloyd thought, weary, and if possible, a little older than he had appeared just a few days ago.

              “You sleeping okay?” Lloyd asked. “You look like you’re still on Vatican time.”

              “Let me be blunt, Lloyd,” Roy said. “The reason I came back to the States is because your mother is ill.”

              Lloyd smiled and shook his head. “Mom’s fine. She just gets in her little moods sometimes…”

              “She has pancreatic cancer. The doctors say it’s inoperable.”

              The barista approached the table with a small tray. “Two macchiati, and some homemade cookies, compliments of my wife. Anything else I can get you?”

              Roy shook his head and whispered, “
Grazie
.”

              The man retreated shielding his chest with the tray. “If you need anything…”

              Lloyd stared at the cookies, his mouth agape. “You sure?” he asked.

              “The cancer’s spread too far. It’s too late. She doesn’t have much time left.”

              “Why didn’t she –”

              “She’s been in treatment for the last few months. Didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want to worry you and, well, she thought she somehow let you down.”

              “Let me down?”

              Roy shook his head. “With you being a doctor, she felt that getting cancer was like… cavorting with the enemy.”

              “Where is she?” Lloyd asked.

              “At home, resting.”

              “I have to go see her.”

              Roy shook his head. “No, not now. She still doesn’t want you to know.” He took a sip of coffee and swallowed hard. “Even made me promise I wouldn’t tell you.”

              “And when was I going to find out?” Lloyd asked.

              Roy inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nose. “When, indeed?” He took another sip of coffee. “When it’s too late I suppose.”

              “I’m going to go see her.”

              “Not yet,” Roy said with a shrill note. “Lloyd, your mother is a stubborn woman. You have no idea… Let me reason with her first. Let’s give her a little breathing room. I’ll keep you abreast of things.” He put a hand on Lloyd’s forearm. “There’s nothing you can do. Now eat a cookie so we don’t offend the nice man.”

              Lloyd picked up a cookie, turned it in his fingers before taking the tiniest of bites. It crumbled under his teeth. He took another bite and chewed mechanically. His mind was a blur. Roy looked at him silently for a moment, a pained smile on his face.

              The door to the café opened. A man stepped in, stopped in his tracks before walking next to their table. Roy looked up at him. Lloyd was oblivious to the man’s presence.

              “I thought that was you,” the man said. “When I walked in, I told myself, now doesn’t that look like Dr. Copeland. And sure enough, it
is
you.”

              Lloyd fluttered his eyes and looked up as if he were looking into the sun. The man reached out and shook Uncle Roy’s hand. “Nick De Luca. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

              “I’m Father Roy Copeland – Lloyd’s uncle. The pleasure is all mine,” Roy said.

              “Is that a fact?” De Luca said. “I’m sorry. Somehow I never imagined Dr. Copeland having a priest as an uncle. But then, why not?” De Luca chuckled. “And I surely never imagined seeing you here of all places… not in a million years. But I see you got the cookie treatment.” De Luca winked at Roy and laughed again.

              “What are you doing here?” Lloyd asked.

              “My uncle owns the place… and he’s not a priest. I rent an office from him upstairs.” De Luca reached into his back pocket for his wallet, extracted a business card and handed it to Lloyd. It read,
De Luca and De Luca, Security and Investigations
.

              “Who’s the other De Luca?” Lloyd asked, his mind in a fog.

              “That would be my brother Vince. He runs security for Wrigley field. This is just a little thing we do on the side. Mostly neighborhood stuff: tracking down unfaithful husbands, a little security consulting for the shops in the area… you know, nothing big.”

              “Won’t you have a seat, Signor De Luca?” Roy said.

              De Luca glanced at Lloyd. “Oh, you’re very kind… but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

              “It would be our pleasure. Wouldn’t it, Lloyd?”

              Lloyd stared at the business card and said nothing.

              De Luca glanced at his wristwatch. “Won’t you look at the time!  I’m terribly sorry, padre. I’m expecting a phone call… upstairs.”

              “Then don’t let us detain you.” Roy stood up and shook De Luca’s hand. “So pleased to meet you.”

              “Pleasure’s all mine, Father,” De Luca said with a wide grin. He turned to Lloyd and said, “Dr. Copeland, if you ever need anything, my cell phone’s on the card.” The tone of his voice dropped a half-note and his grin faded slightly. “Anything at all, just call me.”

              Chapter 18

             
W
hen Lloyd returned to his apartment, a vague heaviness weighed down on his shoulders. He climbed the stairs with leaden footsteps, tossed his key ring on the table, and walked to the fridge. He pulled open the stainless steel door and stood leaning on it, staring inside for a few moments. Straightening his spine, he shut the door, trudged to the living area and slumped on the sofa.

              The apartment felt empty, desolate. This wasn’t the first time to be sure, but whereas in the past Lloyd knew how to shake off the feeling, if only temporarily, this time he worried that the emptiness would linger, like the musty miasma that permeated his college dorm all of Freshman year.

              The relationship with his mother might not have seemed affectionate in the traditional sense. Neither of them felt it necessary to indulge the other with pleasantries. Hugs were only exchanged when the feeling called for it. Instead, the relationship had evolved into a playfulness that was mutually comfortable, almost utilitarian. Yet the bond was undeniably strong.

              As he neared graduation from high school, Lloyd destroyed the letters from Eastern colleges with offers of scholarships knowing that if his mother had found them she would have urged him to spring at the opportunities. Instead, Lloyd decided to attend college locally, then remained for medical school and residency as well.

              At some level, he still needed her. Now she would leave him, without making a fuss of it, trying to maintain that steady Copeland stiff upper lip. And what would he tell her now?  Mom, I love you?  How awkward that sounded, even if sincere.

              Lloyd pulled the silver lighter from his pocket and studied the engraved inscription on its face. “
Blest be the tie that binds
” was etched in a thin scripted calligraphy. His grandfather had purchased the lighter to celebrate the birth of his first son and bequeathed it to him upon his death. It became Lloyd’s keepsake when he graduated from high school, “to keep the chain unbroken”, his mother had said. From that time, it served as a reminder: a reminder of family bonds, a reminder of a mission he felt was entrusted to him.

              He sat up on the sofa, set the lighter on the coffee table and pulled out his cell phone. Scrolling to Erin’s name, he hesitated a moment, his pulse racing. With a nod of his head he squeezed the call button.

              Erin answered in a chipper voice.

              “It’s Lloyd.”

              “I know it’s you, silly.”

              Lloyd couldn’t think of what to say.

              “What’s up?” Erin said.

              “I was just thinking, are you doing anything?”

              “Yeah. I was sitting here waiting for you to call,” Erin said with a laugh.