The Art of Forgetting (26 page)

              De Luca looked up to the ceiling. “A little later, I peel him an orange, you know, one of those Sicilian blood-red oranges. The lady from the grocery store down the street brought them special for him, wrapped one by one in pink tissue paper.” De Luca glanced at Lloyd with a rueful smile. “The things we remember!” He shook his head. “And you know what I saw in the old man’s eyes? Something that had been missing for quite a while – something that had been robbed of him by disease and old age.” De Luca sighed. “I saw dignity. Yes, dignity. And what can be more important than that?” He tapped the pads of his fingers together. “Two weeks later he passed away in peace.”

              Lloyd glanced at the letter opener on De Luca’s desk. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

              De Luca tapped his temple with a finger, “Yeah, but I’ll never forget.”

              Chapter 25

             
S
aturday morning, Lloyd filled the Subaru’s gas tank and drove through the automated car wash. The Ducati would have to sit in the garage today. In fact, it might end up spending a whole lot more time on its kickstand.

              At noon Erin was waiting curb-side for him as he drove up to her apartment building. She was glowing in a breezy summer dress which billowed with each gust of wind. She got in the car with a skittish, schoolgirl grin.

              “Ready?” Lloyd asked her.

              She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, strapped on her seatbelt and rested her hands stiffly on her knees. “Ready,” she said.

              Lloyd pulled away from the curb. A red light on Harlem Avenue gave him the chance to turn his head and study her profile.

              “Why are you so jumpy?” he asked.

              “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

              “You’re not nervous about meeting my mom?”

              “No, of course not,” Erin said.

              She kept her gaze straight ahead as the light turned green. Neither spoke for a few blocks, Lloyd stealing glances of her every so often.

              Finally Erin said, “Your uncle…”

              “What about him?”

              “He wouldn’t happen to be Father Roy Copeland from St. Vincent de Paul?”

              “Yeah, that’s him,” Lloyd said. “You remember him?”

              “God, I knew it!”

              Lloyd smiled. “What’s the matter?”

              “He taught me catechism,” Erin said.

              “He taught the whole neighborhood catechism.”

              “He hated me.”

              Lloyd shook his head. “Uncle Roy is incapable of hating anyone.”

              “Well, he hated…” she pointed at herself with both index fingers.

              Lloyd chuckled.

              “I’m serious. He always told my parents I had a rambunctious spirit.”

              “How old were you then?” Lloyd asked. “I mean, chances are he won’t even remember you.”

              “Oh, he’ll remember me, all right.”

              Lloyd took the west-bound ramp onto the Eisenhower. The car engine whined as he accelerated to pass clear of a slow-moving Cadillac.

              “And all this time I thought Milk-Duds was the rabble-rouser in your family,” Lloyd said.

              “You have no idea.”

              Erin was still jittery as they stepped up to the concrete front porch of Ellen Copeland’s home. Lloyd reached for the doorbell but hesitated before pressing it. He turned and smiled at Erin. She flattened the hem of her dress with her palm and nodded once.

              Lloyd said, “Hey, you’re beautiful.”

              Erin punched him in the shoulder and said, “Okay, ring it already.”

              A few seconds later the door opened. Ellen Copeland stood there with a nervous smile. “What took you so long?” she asked.

              Ellen’s skin was sallow, her eyes sunken. Lloyd was startled by how frail she looked. She picked up on his alarm and lowered her chin.

              “Don’t be mad at me, Lloyd,” she said.

              He stepped towards her and smothered his mother in a long embrace.

              “Don’t be mad,” Ellen said, still in his arms. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

              “What are you talking about mom?” Lloyd said.

              “I’ve made such a mess of things. Just promise me you won’t be cross with me.”

              “I can’t be mad at you, Ma.”

              “Life’s too short to hold grudges, my boy. Just remember that.”

              Lloyd let go of her and she immediately busied her hands straightening her collar, which did not need straightening, and touching her hair, which was not in the least out of place.

              “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Ellen asked in the same voice she used when Lloyd would bring classmates home in Junior High School.

              “Actually, we’ve already met, Mrs. Copeland,” Erin said. “I’m Erin Kennedy; Daniel and Brenda Kennedy’s daughter.”

              “Dear Lord! But you were just a child,” Ellen said bringing her sinewy hand to her mouth. “Your parents?”

              “They’re doing well – retired in Boca Raton,” Erin said.

              “Won’t you send them my love?” Ellen turned to Lloyd and knitted her brow as if she were about to scold him, but her face softened and she let out a cry of laughter. “Finally, Lloyd, you do
something
right.”

              “You’re happier than the day I graduated medical school.”

              “Blood is thicker than water. Remember that,” Ellen said.

              “That’s not what they taught me in medical school,” Lloyd said.

              “Dear Erin, don’t pay attention to everything my son says,” Ellen said. “He’s a block-head, but his heart is in the right place.”

              “Yeah, I know,” Erin said.

              Lloyd turned to Erin and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

              The roar of a low-flying jet drowned out his voice. Ellen Copeland waved them inside and shut the door.

              “Roy’s cooking one of his fancy Italian dishes,” Ellen said as she put a hand on Erin’s waist. “Roy!” she called out. “Come look who’s here.”

              Roy stepped into the hallway, drying his hands on a terry cloth kitchen towel.

              “Try to guess who this is,” Ellen said, tugging Erin by the forearm. “It’s Erin Kennedy!” she blurted out without giving Roy a chance to say anything. “Daniel and Brenda’s kid, do you remember?”

              “How could I possibly forget Erin Kennedy?” Roy said with a smirk. Erin blushed. “There’s simply no way to forget those beautiful eyes. And I remember your parents fondly.”

              “Is that
all
you remember, Roy?” Lloyd asked.

              “Your brother…” Roy said.

              “Sean,” Erin said.

              “Milk-Duds, they called him. Milk-Duds Kennedy,” Roy said.

              “I hate that nickname,” Erin whispered.

              “He was a spirited boy,” Roy said, “but charming.”

              “How about Erin?” Loyd asked. “What do you remember about her?” Erin stepped on his foot.

              “Erin?” Roy said, “Why, she was a joy. An absolute joy.”

              Lloyd eyed Erin and mocked her by raising a single eyebrow.

              “Are you kids hungry?” Roy asked, bouncing on his heels.

              “Famished,” Lloyd said. “Something smells great, what are you cooking?”

              “Penne alla Vodka,” Roy said. Lloyd and Erin smiled at each other. “Have you had it before?”

              “Just once,” Lloyd said.

              They sat around the small dining room table, laid out with a fresh table-cloth. Roy poured Merlot for Erin and Lloyd, his own glass still half full, and mineral water for Ellen. He scooped the pasta from a ceramic bowl, serving himself last.

              “Don’t forget the cheese,” Roy said. “I hope you don’t mind Pecorino instead of Parmesan. That’s what we prefer in Rome.”

              “When in Rome…” Lloyd said and scooped a heaping spoonful of grated cheese on his dish. He picked up his fork but his mother shot him a menacing look.

              “Aren’t you going to bless the food, Roy?” Ellen asked.

              Roy took a deep breath, clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and bowed his head. Lloyd bowed his head just slightly, but kept his eyes fixed on his uncle. Roy parted his lips but said nothing. After half a minute he straightened, opened his eyes and picked up his fork. He looked around the table with a serene smile and said, “
Buon Appetito!”

              “I couldn’t even see your lips move this time,” Lloyd said.

              Roy plunged his fork in a mound of pasta, raised it up and said, “It’s what’s in the heart, not what’s on the lips that matters.” He scooped the food in his mouth and chewed slowly.

              “I guess you take after your uncle,” Erin said to Lloyd.

              Lloyd speared his pasta, lifted his fork, letting it hover just in front of his mouth and said, “You see, that was made to sound like a compliment but there was a definite barb concealed in it. Don’t you think so, Roy?”

              Roy dabbed his lips on a cloth napkin, placed it back on his lap and said, “She certainly has a rambunctious spirit.”

              Lloyd flinched at the words. He quickly glanced at Erin. She was trying to hide behind her wine glass, taking a slow drag, her face a bright crimson.

              “I think you’re an absolute darling, Erin,” Ellen said. “And with Lloyd, heaven knows you better be a little rambunctious.”

              “Oh, she is Ma. Believe me, she is,” Lloyd said. Erin kicked him softly in the shin and shot him a wry smile.

              “What line of work are you in, Erin?” Roy asked.

              “She has a Ph.D. in bio-medical ethics,” Lloyd said.

              Roy widened his eyes and nodded. “What was the subject of your dissertation?” he asked.

              “Oh, it’s sort of an obscure topic,” Erin said.

              “In my line of work, I happen to dabble in obscure ethical matters from time to time. I have a moderate interest in the subject,” Roy said with a hint of a sardonic smile.

              “I’m sorry,” Erin said. “I didn’t want to bore you. I wrote an analysis of the Willowbrook State School incident contrasting deontological and teleological theories.”

              Roy looked up at the ceiling, narrowed his eyes and after a few moments nodded. “I wonder, do you subscribe to Kant’s principle of Categorical Imperative?” Roy asked. “Do you believe that individuals do not rely on divine inspiration for moral guidance but are naturally endowed with a sense of ethical truth?”

              Erin hesitated. “Yes, actually, I do.”

              Roy nodded. “Right. So do I. So do I.”

              “Roy has a Ph.D. too,” Lloyd said.

              “But that was so long ago,” Roy said, waving his hand.

              “They don’t come with an expiration date, do they, these degrees?” Lloyd said.

              “What was your Ph.D. in?” Erin asked.

              “Talk about obscure…  I studied the Classics: Latin, Greek…  My dissertation was on the spirituality of the Stoics.”

              Ellen Copeland straightened her shoulders, “Well, I solved a Sudoku puzzle in the Trib the other day.”

              “The easy one?” Lloyd asked.

              “Medium difficulty,” Ellen said lifting her chin to peer down her nose with a smug smile.

              “Wow!” Lloyd said. “I solved a phrase on Wheel of Fortune once.”

              Ellen raised her glass. “Way to go, son.”

              “Lloyd tells me you work at the Vatican now. That must be interesting,” Erin said.

              “It’s a dream job,” Roy said. “Just imagine, if you can, walking into the Sistine Chapel in the early hours of the morning, without the tourists. And behind the scenes? Why, there are more works of art piled in the storage rooms than can be displayed in the Vatican Museum. You have no idea. But my favorite place is still the library.”

              “Tell her what you do, Roy,” Lloyd said.

              Roy took a sip of wine. “I catalogue and translate ancient church documents, mostly Latin and Greek of course. Once in a while I’ll dabble in Aramaic.”

              “That sounds fascinating,” Erin said. “You must be privy to all sorts of church secrets.”