The Edge of Lost (21 page)

35

T
he din of locomotives and passengers, coming and going, swirled down the platforms of New York’s Grand Central. Porters worked to maneuver trunks through the Saturday crowd, hindered by the clustering of blissful reunions. Over all of this, conductors bellowed their usual scripts of “all aboards” and “last calls.”

Shan set down his luggage and scanned the surrounding faces. In the last photograph Lina had sent, she was just eighteen. His mind had preserved that image in a timeless tomb. It hadn’t occurred to him how the additional years could have transformed her features.

Removing his fedora, he wiped his forehead with a pocket scarf. The morning air hinted at summer’s coming humidity.

“Tommy,” a woman’s voice drifted from behind.

He turned but couldn’t spot Lina. Then his name came again and he startled at the caller. “Josie …”

She stood before him, clutching her pocketbook, her hands covered in ivory gloves. Her large-brimmed hat matched the black and white of her polka-dotted dress. Its moderately slender cut verified that her figure hadn’t changed.

“Welcome back,” she said. Her red lips stretched into a smile, as awkward as the light kiss she then placed on his cheek. When she lowered onto her heels, Shan bristled at the reenactment of an old scene.

This time he used his own handkerchief to erase any marks, and a pang of resentment surprised him. As if somehow she were to blame for all that had happened.

He looked around. “Lina was supposed to meet me. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

“Actually … she’s at home.”

Shan realized then, though he should have right away: this encounter wasn’t a coincidence.

Josie swiftly explained, “She thought it’d be all right if I came instead. Of course, she’s over the moon about seeing ya. Your whole family is.”

He arched a brow. “The
whole
family?”

Another discomfited smile. “Well—your folks.”

Shan nodded, forbidding himself even an ounce of disappointment. “Figured as much.”

And that was the truth. Less obvious was Josie’s connection to Lina’s message. From what little he’d been told, after Shan was gone Josie had continued working for Max, but her relationship with Nick had abruptly ended, which made her presence now all the more puzzling.

“Josie, it’s nice to see you and all—but why are you here?” He rephrased, not intending to sound unkind. “Have you been told what’s going on?”

After a pause, Josie glanced toward the station. “Why don’t we go inside? Get a cup of joe at the Oyster Bar. Whaddya say?”

Her tone achieved casualness, but her preference to sit for the conversation only heightened Shan’s apprehension. He gestured with his hat. “After you.”

She led him through the station, neither of them speaking until they took their seats in the bustling restaurant. She’d requested a corner table with relative privacy. As soon as the waitress brought their coffees, Shan cut to the point.

“Josie, if you know what’s brought me here, I wish you’d tell me. Lina wired about some emergency. But when I called—”

“It was me,” Josie broke in. “The telegram. I sent it.”

Shan sat back in his chair. Learning he’d been tricked made him even more wary.

“I just didn’t know how else to get you to come. And Lina said it was okay to use her name—”

“Well, I’m here. Now tell me why.”

She took a sip of coffee, her crinkled chin conveying a desire for something stronger. Finally she looked him in the eye. “It’s Nick. I’m worried about him.”

“Nick?”

“He’s been in plenty of pickles before and always came out okay. But I really think he’s in over his head this time.”

Shan’s resentment now felt justified. He had spent the entire train ride fretting over Mr. Capello’s finances and well-being, even considering problems that might have befallen Lina and her mother. Instead, the “emergency” referred to an inevitable bind for a guy with a penchant for playing loose with the law.

As if reading the thought, Josie added, “Believe me, Tommy. He truly needs your help.”

“And he told you that. Right?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “This is Nicky we’re talkin’ about. You know he won’t ask for help from nobody.”

“So why would he suddenly take it from me?”

“Because,” she said, “you’re his brother.” Her reply was so matter-of-fact it seemed she’d forgotten what had split them all apart.

Shan shifted his gaze away. A couple of kids seated across the room were laughing between bites of custard. The warmth in their interaction underscored how opposite Shan and Nick’s had been for years, even before their fallout.

Josie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m no dummy, all right? With you and the family, I’ve always known there’s more to it. That you were adopted or somethin’. But Nick cares about you. More than you know.”

Her words, their undeniable sincerity, moved Shan unexpectedly. He felt the spark of old regrets, yet snuffed them out. While he couldn’t discount the many years he’d thought of Nick as family, the guy had made it clear that Shan no longer held that title.

Besides, there was no guarantee Shan could help, assuming Nick allowed it. Who knew how deep a hole he’d dug for himself? If he and Max weren’t bootlegging anymore, no doubt they had found some other lucrative scheme, and Shan knew all too well how Nick treated warnings.

“Let me guess. The feds finally caught up with him.”

She smiled wanly. “I wish that was all.”

Curiosity trumped Shan’s aversion to hearing more. “What, then?”

Josie gripped her cup on the table and lowered her voice. “At the club, word has it, some of the guys were caught skimming off the top. And that Nick was one of ’em.”

“Stealing from Max?” Shan caught the spike in his volume. “Nick wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Times have been tough. The liquor’s still selling—all legit now. But the club’s been slower, and folks got a lot less to gamble. Shop owners, I imagine they’re hurtin’ too. That means less dough all around.”

“So he got desperate,” Shan murmured. This, he hated to admit, was something he understood. “How much did he take?”

“I tried to find out more. Went to his place when he didn’t come to work last week. Told him I was worried.”

“And?”

“And he said he was fine. Wouldn’t say nothin’ else. But then, I’m not one he’d confide in … ever since …” She let the reference dangle, not needing to expound. “All I can say is, he didn’t look good, Tommy. As long as I’ve known him, I never seen him like that.”

“Does the rest of the family know?”

“Just Lina. I told her all this, too. And she agreed you were the one to help.”

Shan definitely didn’t share their enthusiasm. But at least they hadn’t burdened Nick’s parents yet, Mr. Capello in particular.

“See, I was thinkin’,” she went on, “you could go and talk to Max. He’s always liked you a whole lot. I’m sure he’d listen, even work something out.”

“Josie, I haven’t seen the guy in almost a decade.”

“But you could try, though. You could do that, couldn’t ya?”

Regardless of history, Shan dreaded to imagine the worst. He assured himself that Max was a businessman; given Nick’s long-standing relationship with him, surely the two would come to a sensible agreement.

Shan wanted to say this, but the plea in Josie’s face impelled him to relent—as much as he was capable. “I’ll think about it.”

After a pause, she nodded. Her expression dimmed from disappointment.

Leaving his coffee untouched, Shan rose and tossed two dimes onto the table. “I’ve got to visit the rest of the family, seeing as they’re expecting me.”

Thanks to Josie, as it turned out.

“Of course,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

He grabbed his suitcase, battling a rise of guilt, and walked away. Before leaving the station, he would buy a return ticket to Pittsburgh. One night here would be more than enough. The Capellos were good people, no question. They just weren’t a part of his world anymore, and he’d be wise not to forget that.

36

T
he welcome that waited at the Capellos’ didn’t meet Shan’s expectations.

It far surpassed them.

Mere seconds after he’d knocked, Lina swung the door open. The force of her embrace caused him to drop his suitcase. Before he could catch his breath, Mrs. Capello nudged her way in with a stern chiding.

“What takes you so long to come home?” She held her fists on the hips of her apron, the joyous crinkles at her eyes betraying her. When Shan smiled, she cupped his face with ever-strong hands. Gray streaks through her bound hair attested to the passage of time.

Mr. Capello approached the entry in silence. His hair, too, had silvered, and his cheeks and middle had slimmed. A few of the lost pounds appeared to have transferred to his wife, but both exuded a healthful glow.

When Shan extended his hand, Mr. Capello ignored the offer. For the first time ever, he greeted Shan with a hug. It lasted but a moment, yet managed to weaken the defenses Shan had grown accustomed to upholding.

Mrs. Capello ushered him inside. “Come, rest,” she said, closing the door. “Lina, help make lunch.”

The two women—a description oddly befitting Lina now—headed for the kitchen. Not waiting for his wife’s orders, Mr. Capello swooped up the luggage and shuffled up the stairs. He appeared stronger than ever.

Only then did Shan truly absorb his surroundings. The same davenport, sofa chair, and radio. Same dinner table and chairs. Yet it was the scents of meatballs and spices and simmering gravy that filled him with the greatest comfort. He’d forgotten just how much he had missed a home-cooked meal.

There was one change, however, to the room. The wallpaper had been replaced with a fresh design of tiny flowers in misty green. The wine stain was gone. Same for the singes left from the fire.

If a person didn’t know better, he would be hard-pressed to believe anything but happiness had ever filled this home.

 

The afternoon passed with a feast of food and wine and words. At the table, Shan listened to Lina spill all the latest: who’d moved in and out of the area, which businesses had opened and closed, which teenage children had been disowned over one transgression or another, from eloping in secret to working as a taxi dancer for ten cents a twirl.

Mrs. Capello then spoke about the new variety of squash she’d planted, which apparently had earned a great deal of praise from other wives in the borough. She also described a recent date night with her husband at the Palace Theatre—among the last thriving stages for vaudevillians—as well as the latest films.

Naturally, this led to a debate with Lina over the correct names of the titles and starring actors. To bring this to an end, Mr. Capello diverted to the subject of popular radio programs. Many comics were not only salvaging their careers this way but actually finding profound success.

Mr. Capello proclaimed to Shan: “You should be on these shows.” As if it were that simple.

“We’ll see, Pop. You never know.”

Being a regular on the radio required laying down roots, an idea Shan had ruled out long ago. But here, now, sampling the comforts of a real home again, it seemed an option he just might consider.

Reality was, his current gig couldn’t last forever. Politicians were cracking down on risqué entertainment, specifically Mayor LaGuardia. Plus the competition was growing fierce. While a nickel could buy a whole day of shows from the top balcony, skits on the airwaves came free of charge. And for those who could afford it, talkies were becoming the main draw.

But those thoughts could wait, for he could sense far greater concerns from Lina, her anxiousness growing for a private talk.

A neighbor came calling just then, bringing the meal to an end. Mr. Capello followed the man out to assist with a clogged drain. As Mrs. Capello cleared the dishes, Lina excused herself to help Shan settle.

And here it came.

Once they’d entered his bedroom—rather, the room that used to be his—she closed the door. “I’m guessing Josie told you everything,” she blurted in a hush.

“She told me what she knew.”

Lina waited for more, pressing him with those deep eyes of hers.

He lowered onto the desk chair. “As I said to Josie, even if I’m able to help, I don’t know why you both think Nick would let me. Our relationship—it was bumpy even before.”

Lina tsked, just like her mother. “That was stupid jealousy. It’d be different now.”

“Jealousy?” He stared, incredulous.

Yeah, there was a time he might have harbored some envy over aspects of Nick’s success. The luxuries of his lifestyle weren’t exactly shabby. But those hadn’t come until later.

“Is that what you thought?” he said. Then it dawned on him: “Because if you all think I went to Josie’s that night to prove something, or to try to become more like him—”

Lina cut him off with a groan. “Not you, silly. I’m saying Nick was jealous.”

After the initial shock subsided, Shan laughed. “Over what?”

Lina lifted her chin, taking this as a challenge. “Your grades, for one. Your diploma.” She counted off on her fingers. “Your closeness with Pop, even working together. Then there was your fancy job onstage. For crying out loud, you’d entertain all their friends at parties. And all that time, Nick wanted Pop’s approval more than anything. He finally thought he could get it by becoming some moneybags. Why do you think he went to work for Max in the first place?”

The unexpected recap sent Shan’s mind reeling. Perhaps this was the real reason she and Josie had demanded he return, because they viewed him as the cause.

He stood up, defenses revived. “I had nothing to do with Nick’s choices, and I still don’t. He always hated school. And he sure as hell never wanted to lay pipes for a living.”

“I know, you’re right—”

“As for the club, he’s the one who insisted we go there for a job, not me.”

“Hold on a second. I never meant you were to blame.” She raised her hands in a calming motion. “Please, just listen.” She glanced at the door, reminding Shan they weren’t alone. He felt heat creeping into his face.

He folded his arms and perched on the edge of the desk. Although he had plenty to add, he merely waited as Lina crossed the room.

She sat on the foot of Nick’s old bed. Clasping her hands, she said, “Did my parents ever tell you about Tomasso?”

Shan was taken aback. How could this possibly relate? Wary of the detour, he shrugged. “A bit. When I first got here.”

“Did you know he was Pop’s favorite?”

Shan had to admit, he’d always sensed a special adoration from both parents, understandable given the circumstances. But he shook his head regardless.

“Parents will tell you they love their kids all the same. But even when I was a little girl, I knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t Pop’s fault. He and Tomasso just had a special bond. And it was even more that way after Tomasso got sick. That’s when Nick figured out that bad attention was better than none at all.”

Lina closed her eyes, just for a moment, and continued. “One night over in Siena, after Tomasso died, Nick got out of bed to pray. He must have been eleven back then. He thought I was asleep, but I heard him crying. He told God he wasn’t truly glad Tomasso was gone, that he was just angry and sad when he’d said it, and he begged God for a second chance.”

A memory rushed back to Shan. He’d been with the Capellos barely a few weeks when he and Nick discussed Tomasso’s passing. There was something Nick had held back, and now Shan knew what it was.

“Don’t you see?” Lina met his eyes. “When you showed up out of nowhere, needing a home and a family, even a name—you were his second chance. But then you and Pop got really close. Going on outings together, talking about baseball all the time. And the way you made him laugh …”

Shan recalled one of the few times Mr. Capello had spoken of the boy. The resulting revelation struck like a winter gale, stealing his breath. “Was just like Tomasso,” he finished.

She nodded. “Exactly.”

For the majority of Shan’s life, he’d prided himself on his ability to read people, mimic them, identify their traits and quirks. But somehow he hadn’t seen this—though it wasn’t difficult to guess the reason.

Consciously or not, he had enjoyed the cozy spot he’d inherited in the Capello house, never affording much thought to what it might cost others. He’d been too preoccupied with how to keep what he had gained.

In that light, perhaps Shan deserved more blame than he’d realized.