Authors: Michele Martinez
Dan was so shocked by Seamus’s appearance that it took him a minute to realize Diane was standing right beside him. He hadn’t laid eyes on his ex-wife since all the funerals right after 9/11. Dan’s youngest brother, Sean; Patty’s husband, Eddie O’Dare; a bunch of cousins, scores of their friends. The Irish in the services took a heavy hit. And making it that much worse was Diane, showing up at the funerals hanging all over her new husband, her white skin glowing against a black dress. Here she was now in the flesh, looking beautiful, but older, and harder somehow. The change was noticeable.
“Danny,” she said, her hand going to her throat. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“What, like I’m not gonna come? You know I love the old man.”
“I’m just surprised. I’m glad to see you.”
And she stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. She still wore the same perfume, and the smell of it took him back. He’d been wondering if he’d feel anything, and he did. He felt nostalgic and sad, like a lot of years had passed and neither of them had much to show for it. But he did, now. He had Melanie. He’d had a
hard time finding his way, all those bleak years without Diane, but once Melanie had come along, he’d finally gotten his bearings.
“How’s he doing?” Dan asked.
“They disconnected the life support yesterday. He’s been unconscious since then. They didn’t think he’d last this long. But he has a morphine drip, so he’s not feeling any pain.”
“I’m so sorry. He’s young, too.”
“Seventy-one. Is that young?” she asked.
“In this day and age.”
Diane was gazing at him intently. Her eyes were bright blue. If they’d ever had kids, the eye color wouldn’t’ve been in doubt. But it had turned out she couldn’t. That had been hard for both of them, and he’d always said it was what drove them apart. She felt guilty about it and acted out. But he knew he was making excuses. Diane had always been fickle, somebody a more careful man wouldn’t have put his faith in.
“I could use a cup of coffee. The cafeteria’s open twenty-four/seven,” she said.
He nodded toward the bed. “I’m here to pay my respects.”
“Sure, of course. But when you’re done? We’re collecting stories for the eulogy. I figure you must have some nice ones about him.”
She smiled at him sadly, twirling a strand of her golden hair around her finger the way she had when they were kids. He studied her face. It was beginning to look familiar, less hard around the edges, more like the girl he remembered.
“Okay,” he said after a moment.
She nodded. “I’ll wait outside. Take your time.”
Dan approached the bed. He reached out to grasp the old man’s hand, but Seamus had IV’s going into both arms, and Dan worried he’d screw something up. Instead he pulled a chair over and sat down beside him. The acrid chemical odor emanating from Seamus’s emaciated body smelled like death.
“Seamus, it’s Danny O’Reilly. I came to see you. I don’t know if you can hear me or not.”
Memories came rushing in, and he choked up so bad that he was forced to stop. Seamus had been more of a father to Dan than his old man had.
“So I…uh, listen, I know we haven’t seen too much of each other the past few years. It’s a shame, this thing with me and Diane coming between us. But you’ve been like a father to me, Seamus. You know how my old man is. I would never talk against him or nothing, but it meant a lot that you stepped up when he maybe, uh, had too much on his plate. You made me feel like I was worth something, like somebody saw the good in me.”
He stopped again, fighting for composure. Dan thought he saw Seamus’s lips move. He bent down eagerly, putting his ear to the old man’s mouth.
“You want to say something?”
There was nothing, barely even a whisper of breath. Still, Dan felt like Seamus had heard him.
He straightened up. “Anyways, I came by to say…to thank you for what you did for me over the years. If anybody’s right with God, it’s you, so I know you’re heading upstairs. I’m hoping to wind up there myself someday, and I’ll look for you. We’ll grab a pint, tell a few war stories.” He paused, touching Seamus on his waxen cheek. “Okay, then. I’m not gonna say good-bye.”
Outside, Diane and Patty were deep in conversation. They broke off the second they saw him.
“Going to the cafeteria,” Diane said to her sister. “You want something?”
But Patty’s phone rang, and she waved the question off in her rush to grab the call. Some guy, probably. The Fields girls always had guys dangling on a string. Which reminded him.
“I heard you and Paul split,” he said to Diane as they stepped into
the elevator. All of a sudden, in the space of the few minutes he’d spent with Seamus, he’d started feeling comfortable around Diane again.
“Yeah. I didn’t even see it coming, that asshole,” she said. “What are you gonna do, right? You probably think I deserve it. I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
Dan said nothing.
“I screwed up big-time, didn’t I?” she said, and gave a nervous little laugh. The elevator reached the basement level and they walked down a short hallway to a cafeteria that reeked of steam tables and cleaning fluid.
“I heard you’re dating some Puerto Rican girl with a kid,” Diane said, when Dan continued not to reply. “I heard your dad’s not too happy about it, either.”
She flipped the lever on the coffee urn, filled two Styrofoam cups with light brown coffee, and handed him one.
“Ah, he’s full of shit. He never even met her. I won’t introduce ’em until he acts more respectful. Besides, I don’t live my life by him. You know that.”
“Oh, hey, wait a minute. I just remembered something,” she said, and went over to the counter where the desserts were. She came back with a piece of carrot cake. They paid and sat down at the nearest table, the only two people in the place besides the Salvadoran woman working the cash register. Diane put the slice of cake down in front of him, smiling.
“Happy birthday. Carrot cake’s still your favorite, right?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I guess you can’t forget the date. Happy birthday to you, too.”
“It was weird, all those years, celebrating our birthday apart. Did you ever feel that?”
Their eyes met. He felt strange, light-headed, like he was falling back in time. “It was your idea,” he said finally.
She held his gaze. “You ever think maybe we just got married too young?”
“Honestly, Diane, I never think about it,” he lied. Looking away, he took a swig of the coffee and grimaced at its metallic taste.
“Coffee here sucks, huh?” she asked after a moment.
“Yup.”
“So what’s up with the Spanish chick?”
He took a bite of the cake instead of answering. “Cake’s not bad. Better than the coffee, anyway.”
“Come on. What’s she like?” Diane persisted.
“What do you care?”
“I’m interested. I’m always hearing about you. People love to tell me what you’re up to. You know how that is, right?”
He smiled, chewing. “Maybe.”
“Thought I’d get it from the horse’s mouth. Is that such a crime?”
“All right, let’s see. She’s smart. Beautiful. She’s a prosecutor. We have some cases together. Satisfied?”
“Oh. A lawyer.” Diane nodded slowly, like everything made sense now. “Nobody told me that part.”
“What did you think, she was a welfare mother or something? She went to Harvard, for Chrissakes.”
“Okay, whatever. No need to get defensive.” She frowned. There was a vertical crease between her brows that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. “I don’t see you with somebody from Harvard. That seems wrong for you.”
“I’m out of my league, but she puts up with me.”
“It’s serious?”
“Yeah, it is.”
He saw the news hit Diane, saw how she’d been hoping for a different answer.
“What, like headed-for-the-altar serious?” she asked, her tone joking, brittle.
“Maybe,” Dan said. Time was weird. He’d been wrapped up with
this woman his whole life, then she was gone, and now she was back again, so familiar that he could hardly believe the years between had happened.
“Oh.” She swallowed and looked away.
“But who knows? It’s too early to say. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything.” Diane had enough going on, between her marriage falling apart and Seamus dying. She didn’t need to worry about Dan getting married to someone else.
“Okay.” Diane’s smile reached her eyes. The lines around them were new also, and they made him feel protective of her.
“Now, about that eulogy,” he said, taking another bite of the carrot cake. “Let’s talk about the old man.”
F
riday morning,
on her way to an appointment with the head of security for Target News, Melanie made what she thought would be a brief detour to the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home to pay her respects to Suzanne Shepard. She did it because she thought it was the right thing to do, but her little trip turned out to have some unanticipated benefits.
Frank E. Campbell was Manhattan’s prestige funeral parlor, the place where the wealthy and socially prominent took their final bows. It sat, austere and imposing, on a fine Madison Avenue block, within striking distance of the palatial apartment buildings of Fifth and Park Avenues and convenient to the best shopping. The rich and famous didn’t even need to call a limo to take them there, although of course they preferred to. Two uniformed officers and a sober-suited funeral director took shelter from the sun under the red awning, checking IDs to make sure that no unauthorized mourners crashed Suzanne Shepard’s last personal appearance.
Melanie flashed her credentials and got waved inside, where she stepped into a small elevator with a blonde wearing a tight black dress,
four-inch sling-back heels, and a black picture hat. Though her perfect smile and generous cleavage weren’t on display at the moment, Melanie instantly recognized Kim Savitt from the photo Detective Estrada had shown her yesterday. Kim’s overpowering gardenia perfume made Melanie sneeze, which in turn caused Kim to shoot Melanie an annoyed glance. She was talking on a cell phone and apparently finding it difficult to hear.
“What? Say that again…Oh,
come on,
Miles. I told you, I can’t,” Kim said, studying her manicure with a frown, as if it were, to her expert eye, less perfect than it appeared. On her left index finger, she wore a square-cut diamond that reached to her knuckle. Kim seemed utterly oblivious to Melanie’s presence in the elevator.
“
Because
. I’m going to Suzanne’s viewing, then I have to find something good to wear to Danielle’s party at Buddakan tomorrow night. They’re expecting photographers from
Avenue
…No, just the viewing. The funeral’s tomorrow…Do whatever you want, but don’t expect
me
to talk to you if you show up. All of New York’s gonna be there, and I need to be careful. Drew’s lawyer is having me watched. He’s got some pond-scum PI after me.”
The elevator doors opened.
“Gotta run,” Kim said. “I’ll see you Sunday. Don’t call before then; they’re watching my phone bills, too. Kiss, kiss.”
She snapped her phone shut and met Melanie’s eyes briefly, as if by accident, without seeming to actually see her. They both stepped out of the elevator. Trouble in paradise? Could Kim and Miles Ortiz be on the outs, leaving her willing to snitch on him? Melanie had to bite her tongue to stop herself from demanding an interview on the spot. She’d find her opportunity later, but for now it felt like dirty pool to corner the woman at a viewing—although she had to admit Kim Savitt didn’t exactly look brokenhearted.
Melanie stayed a few steps behind Kim as they made their way into a large, high-ceilinged room, soothingly lit and filled with the hushed
buzz of whispered conversation. The carpet was thick and soft and absorbed the sound. Between the backs of the moneyed and influential, Melanie caught a glimpse of a gleaming mahogany coffin hoisted on a stand at the front of the room. Before it, Lorraine Shepard greeted the mourners like a royal princess receiving guests at court, extending her hand with lofty courtesy, her coiffed head erect. Melanie’s eyes flew around the room until she spotted young Charlie seated on a chair near a window, rubbing his face with his hands. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him, so Melanie maneuvered through the crowd to his side.
“Charlie?” she said gently, touching his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He looked up at her, his cheeks wet. Recognition dawned in his eyes. “My mom in a box. It’s too weird. How can that be her?”
Charlie’s shaggy hair showed fresh teeth marks from a comb. He wore a prep school blazer with a crest and beat-up Top-Siders without socks, so that his too-short khakis left several inches of gangly white ankle exposed. He looked even younger than he had yesterday, and Melanie’s heart ached for him.
“You’ll see her again someday,” Melanie said.
“I wish I believed in that afterlife stuff. Maybe I’d feel better. But the truth is, my mother’s dead, I’ll never see her again, and my life is ruined.” His eyes welled up, and tears streamed down his face. Melanie gave him a Kleenex from her bag.
“Your life isn’t ruined,” Melanie insisted. “What happened is incredibly sad, but people survive the loss of a parent. I did. My father left me when I was just about your age, after a terrible act of violence.”
Charlie wiped his eyes with the Kleenex, looking interested.
“He owned a furniture store in Bushwick,” Melanie continued. “He was shot during a robbery. I was there. I saw the whole thing. My father survived, but he was really different afterward. He left us—
moved back to Puerto Rico, remarried, had a second family. I’ve only seen him twice since then. So for me, it’s like he died, except…I always thought it was my fault somehow. I’m telling you this because I had a terrible time, but I got through it. I have a daughter now, and I love her more than I ever knew I could love anyone. I have a job I love. You just go on, and eventually things get better.”
“I know you’re trying to help. But don’t lie. Your life was never the same again after that, was it?”