Cheated By Death (20 page)

A steaming pitcher of water sat on the front
step. Clean towels were draped over the iron railing.

“You have to wash your hands,” Richard
advised.

“Another custom?”

“It’s an act of purification after being in
close proximity to the dead.”

I followed his lead, washing my hands before
we entered the quiet, crowded house. The atmosphere seemed charged,
not so much with grief, but with a sense of relief. The funeral was
over; it was time to regroup. Black fabric draped all the mirrors
in a show of respect for the deceased. After such a loss, the
living don’t need to be concerned with their appearance.

Patty made a beeline for Richard, taking his
coat before whisking him off to be introduced to all the relatives,
and leaving me to fend for myself.

Shucking my raincoat, I wandered into the
kitchen, and saw a lavish spread of food covering the kitchen
counter. Ruby had donned an apron to protect her black mourning
dress. She pushed a plate into my hand. “You’re so skinny. Doesn’t
your Maggie feed you?” she asked, and stood on tiptoe to kiss my
cheek.

I attempted to smile. “She tries.”

“And you’re so pale. You should take
vitamins—with minerals. Now sit, sit.” She ushered me to one of the
chairs around the Formica table. “Will you have some tea?”

“I’ll have coffee if you’ve got it,” I said,
more interested in a strong caffeine fix for my pounding head. It
was a big mistake for me to come. I took a bite of bagel, chewed,
and struggled to swallow it.

My gaze wandered to the family room, where
Richard and Patty stood conversing. She smoked a cigarette, holding
an ashtray. He nodded sympathetically, his face a study in
kindness. Nearby, the chair my father had sat in less than a week
before was empty. Seeing it left a hollow feeling in my gut.

Ruby set a cup of coffee in front of me.
“There you go, dear. Let me know if you need anything else.” She
patted my shoulder, transmitting another blast of unwelcome
emotion.

I fumbled in my pocket, found my vial of
pills, and downed two of them with a sip of black coffee.

Images from the past bombarded me: three
funerals meshing, superimposed. Three coffins. Three deaths. My
mother, my dead ex-wife—Shelley—and Chet. Three people who could’ve
shown me love—three people who’d chosen not to. What was it in me
that was so unworthy?

Then again, my father’s dying moment would
always haunt me. The one time he’d reached out for me, I’d rejected
him—let him die alone, without another’s touch.

My throat closed as guilt set in again.

Voices in the living room distracted me. Ruby
turned away from the sink, her brow furrowed as she looked from the
front of the house back to Patty.

I got up. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Ray, that friend of Patty’s.”
Disapproval filled her voice. “They had a terrible fight after you
left the other night. He’s
not
Jewish,” she muttered, as
though that explained his rudeness. It reminded me, too, where I
stood.

“I just wanna pay my respects,” said the
voice. “Patty!”

Patty looked up as Ruby gestured for her. She
gave Richard a tight smile and hurried into the kitchen. “What is
it?” she asked Ruby.

“Patty!” Ray hollered.

“Oh, God!” Patty groused, recognizing the
voice. She stamped out her cigarette, slammed the ashtray onto the
table, and stormed off.

I followed.

Walking into that living room was like
penetrating a bubble of corrosive anger. It radiated from all
around, and made me stagger back. Vera’s son-in-law, Michael, stood
near the doorway, blocking the way. Ray’s thinning brown hair was
combed back. The bright blue ski jacket he wore was zippered
half-way, revealing a dress shirt and tie underneath. His eyes,
fever bright, were filled with accusation.

“What the hell do you want, Ray?” Patty
grated.

“I just came to pay my respects,” he said,
lowering his voice as he took in the menacing glares all around
him.

“I asked him to leave,” Michael said.

Richard wandered up to stand behind me. The
other men were on their feet, edging closer. Ray backed up. He
caught sight of me and time seemed to stand still. A wave of
dizziness swept over me. My sight wavered as though a powerful
x-ray shot through me, so strong was his rage.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Ray said,
backing up a step.

“Then why don’t you just go,” Michael
said.

“I’ll call you later, Ray,” Patty said.

“You promise?”

“Yes. Now please go!”

Ray glared at her for a long moment, an
unreasonable fury seething from him. Then he turned and let the
storm door bang behind him. He kicked aside the glass pitcher,
which shattered on the concrete walk.

Michael stalked after him, and then stood at
the bottom of the drive to make sure he left. Several cousins went
out to pick up the mess. The others crowded around the windows to
watch the show.

My head was ready to split. I took a breath
and looked at Patty. “What was that all about?”

“Ray can’t get it through his head that I’m
not interested in him. I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said,
but she was looking at Richard, not me.

My overloaded brain felt like a saturated
sponge. Nausea made me shaky and my knees gave way. Richard grabbed
my arm, steadying me.

“We’d better go, too,” he said.

“Too late. I gotta crash—now.”

“Is something wrong?” Ruby asked,
concerned.

“Can Jeff lie down for a few minutes?”
Richard asked.

“Oh, Sweetie, I’m sorry you’re not well. We
all knew Chet’s time was short, but it’s still such a shock.” Ruby
moved closer, touched my face. The swell of compassion she
transmitted was too much for my battered psyche.

I tried to push her hand away. “You don’t
understand—” I started, but Richard cut me off.

He shoved me forward. “Come on.”

All eyes were on us as Ruby led us past the
crowd in the living room to a bedroom off the side hall. Twin beds
were heaped with coats and she and Richard cleared one for me. I
shrugged out of my jacket and collapsed onto the chenille spread.
Ruby lowered the shade at the window and discreetly left.

“Sorry I dragged you here, Rich. I thought I
could make it—”

“We’ll leave as soon you’re able.”

“You’re the best.”

He pulled the door closed and left me
alone.

I lay there, breathing shallowly, desperate
not to jostle my aching head, and trying not to listen to the
muffled sounds of voices in the other room. My cheeks felt
hot—humiliation at showing such weakness in front of all those
strangers—my family.

I was really tired of that particular
emotion.

I tried to blank my mind, but the image of
Ray’s hate-filled gaze was burned onto my brain cells.

What was it about Patty that inspired such
passion in other men?

I must’ve slept—undisturbed by dreams of the
dead man—for when I cracked open my eyes the shadows on the wall
were long. The mound of coats on the other bed was gone and the
house was still. My back and neck ached from the too-soft bed and
flat pillow, but the pounding in my skull had diminished.

I found the bathroom and threw cold water on
my face. I still felt like shit, but well enough to leave. I
wondered about making an entrance and decided I was making too big
a deal of my infirmities. After all, I never had to see these
people again.

The late afternoon sky was washed with pink
near the horizon and lamps blazed in the living room. How long had
I slept?

Richard and Patty were together on the couch,
huddled over a photo album, deep in conversation. Something about
that irritated me. Jealousy? That didn’t seem right. Richard’s suit
jacket was draped over the back of a chair. His loosened tie and
rolled-up sleeves made him look more like a working class stiff
than a wealthy physician.

I staggered closer. The book was open to a
black-and-white photo of an elderly woman. Her face was familiar,
as was that of the child on her lap.

They looked up. “Feeling better?” Richard
asked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been asleep for almost three hours,”
Patty said. “But it’s given Richard and me a chance to become
friends.” Her smile for him was sweet, or maybe beguiling.

“Sorry to be so much trouble.” I couldn’t
keep the edge from my voice. Hadn’t I made the same flip remark to
Richard only days before?

“Oh, it’s okay,” Patty said, her attention
totally focused on my brother. “Richard explained all about your
problems. It sure is nice to have a doctor in the family.” She
beamed at him like a silly schoolgirl. But Richard wasn’t a member
of
her
family. And what precisely had he been telling
her?

Richard obviously enjoyed the attention. And
why not? She was almost half his age. I suppose she was
attractive—in an incestuous kind of way.

I leaned against one of the upholstered
chairs and looked at my watch. “We should get going. Brenda will be
worried.”

“I called her,” Richard said. “Maggie’s
picking her up at the clinic.”

Patty’s hand snaked across Richard’s arm—he
seemed mesmerized. And his disregard for Brenda’s safety bugged
me.

I cleared my throat. “I can handle the car
ride now.”

Patty’s short skirt was reduced to the size
of a handkerchief, exposing a generous portion of her
black-stockinged thigh. Was it my imagination, or did Richard’s
gaze seem permanently fixed?

“We need to get home to let Holly out,” I
said, reminding him of Maggie’s dog locked in his house. “Unless
you don’t value your carpets.”

He looked up at me. “Oh, yeah.” He smiled at
Patty, that stupid, sympathetic grin that had annoyed me earlier in
the day.

I turned away and found my coat. Ruby emerged
from the kitchen. The goodbyes seemed interminably long. Richard
received hugs from the women like
he
was the long-lost
relative. I stood back while my ire continued to rise, making my
head pound.

Patty walked us to the door. She kissed
Richard’s cheek, pulled back, looked at him, a seductive gleam in
her eye. “Thanks for making this day easier on me.”

He patted her hand. “I was happy to help
out.”

My anger flared white hot. “Good-bye, Patty.”
I charged forward, and headed for the car.

Richard still had my keys—I had to wait for
him to unlock the passenger side door. Patty stood behind the storm
door and waved as the car pulled away from the curb.

Rush hour traffic choked Sheridan Drive.
Every bump in the road conspired to jostle my battered brains.

“What the hell got into you back there?”
Richard spat at last.

I eyed him coldly. “You. And
her
. The
way she fawns over you. Can’t you see what she is?”

“She’s a nice person who’s lost someone she
loves. Why do you always think the worst of people?”

My head ached fiercely. I was in no shape for
a battle with Richard. I stared out the window.

“Patty’s not so bad,” he continued. “You
ought to give her a chance.”

I squinted at him across the seat. “I don’t
plan to see her again.”

His voice hardened. “She’s your sister. As
much as I’m your brother.”

I didn’t want to discuss it.

“What are you going to do about Hanukkah?” he
pressed.

“I’m not Jewish. I don’t celebrate it.”

“Would it hurt you to go to Ruby’s
party?”

“I suppose Patty invited you?”

“Yes, she did.”

“How about Brenda?”

“Of course she invited Brenda, too.”

Was he so naive? Couldn’t he see what she was
up to? How could so intelligent a man—so educated a man—be taken in
by a bimbo like Patty?

I took a breath, holding onto my temper.
“Rich, I don’t feel well. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“There you go, hiding behind your headaches
to avoid any meaningful emotional contact.”

“The reason I have headaches,” I reminded
him, “is because I have
too
much emotional contact. And what
kind of doctor are you to lay this shit on me when I’m ready to
puke my fucking guts up!”

“Go ahead, insult me. I’m immune to it.”

He braked for a red light. I was tempted to
get the hell out of the car and stalk off into the twilight. But I
really was too sick to pull that kind of childish stunt.

The light went green. The car surged
forward.

“Will you go to Ruby’s party?” Richard
pushed.

“Probably not.”

“I think you’re making a mistake. They’re
nice people. They care about you.”

“Yes, they probably do.” I left it at that,
closed my eyes, and sank back in the seat.

Richard took the hint. We ignored each other
for the rest of the ride home. But this wouldn’t be the end of the
discussion. And I had a feeling that ridding myself of Patty
wouldn’t be so easy, either.

14

I wasn’t up to another lecture from Richard,
so instead of going over to get Brenda the next morning, I took the
coward’s way out and called her. My car had been running for five
minutes and the heat had finally kicked in by the time she came out
of the house.

Brenda hopped in the passenger seat, and
buckled up. “Jeffy, you still look like shit.”

“I don’t feel that great, either.”

“Oh, hon, I can drive myself.”

“It’s not safe.”

She shook her head and gave me a wry smile.
“It looks like I’ll be the one protecting you.”

I put the car in gear and started down the
drive.

“What’s bothering you?” Brenda said. She’s
almost as adept at reading me as I am at reading her.

I called her bluff. “Who says anything’s
bothering me?”

“You phoned instead of coming over. That’s
not like you. You’d better tell me now—I know you don’t like to be
nagged, and you know I will.”