Riverside Park (30 page)

THE DAY AFTER
Emma Goldblum died she was laid to rest next to her husband in a Long Island cemetery. A few weeks later, as she requested, a small memorial service was held on the terrace of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument of Riverside Park. It was a bad day out, windy with rain threatening to turn to snow, but Jackson Darenbrook dispatched a crew from the West End Broadcasting Center with a corporate tent, which included attachable sides with plastic windows and space heaters. Between the whipping winds and rains and space heaters, however, everyone was either very cold or sweating while seated in their padded folding chair. Some were even simultaneously both, as young Emily Stewart claimed.

“Mother wrote everything out about how—
exactly
—she wanted this service to go,” Daniel Goldblum said, holding up a sheaf of papers for everyone to see. “So if any of you have any complaints you'll have to take it up with her.” Pause. “She even
wrote that line for me to read—that you'll have to take it up with her.” Everyone started laughing, which was a good beginning.

As his mother had directed, Daniel read from a history of Jewish immigration to New York, which focused on the arrival of Emma's own parents from Eastern Europe after World War I. Then Daniel read a brief outline of her life. Jason then got up to read a poem she loved, about God's green earth; Rosanne went up to read some remembrances of happy times Mrs. Goldblum had dictated, about Operation Sail on the nation's Bicentennial, when the great ships had sailed up the Hudson, about the block parties and about her friends and neighbors.

“‘When you have lived in this neighborhood of New York for as long as I have,'” Rosanne read for Mrs. Goldblum, “ you come to appreciate its magnificence—and its significance.'”

Cassy noticed Amanda Stewart mouthing the words; she had helped Emma to write this.

“‘Of how beautiful God made this place, and of how dramatic the city's history had to be in order for us to reach this special place. We are blessed in this community, as people who have come so far from so many places, to have this place and to have each other. Never in my life have I been prouder of this neighborhood, this city and this country, than I was after 9/11. God bless you all. I love you. And God bless America.'”

They were all crying their eyes out at this point, of course, and Jackson put his arm around Cassy. The baby Wyatt was crying and Althea carried him to the back of the tent. Howard and Amanda Stewart sat with their heads pressed together. Sam gave Harriet his handkerchief and put his arm around her. Daniel Goldblum's wife was patting his back, and Jason was holding his mother's hand.

Cassy had paid to place Emma's photograph and obituary in
the
New York Times
. It was not a remarkable life to read about but the obituary was meaningful to those who knew her. Perhaps most significant was how Emma had requested it to read:

In lieu of flowers she wished donations to be made to The Riverside Park Fund.

Daniel and his second wife (“the floozy with a heart,” Rosanne called her) elected to lunch with distant relatives while the neighbors went back to Mrs. Goldblum's for something to eat. It was a quiet affair, with people simply eating and drinking and talking about memories they shared of Mrs. Goldblum. Jason, in a sharp blue blazer, gray slacks and tie, acted every bit the polished young man he had become, playing host.

“Can you get over the changes in him?” Cassy asked Howard Stewart. “He's really a young man now.”

“I look at those two—” he gestured to Emily and Teddy, playing a card game on the floor in the corner “—and I just can't believe it. Where does the time go?”

“I'm afraid it only gets worse, Howard. Time passes faster and faster.”

He nodded. He was watching Amanda now, Cassy could see, and his expression made Cassy inwardly smile. Something had changed in the Stewart household recently. She assumed it had to do with Amanda and the children planning to move back to Manhattan this summer. Cassy was happy for the Stewarts because it was clear the bond between husband and wife had been renewed in an almost adoring way. At least that was the way Howard was looking at his wife in this moment.

Howard frowned suddenly. “Excuse me, Cassy,” he said, touching her arm, “but my son is trying to sneak his twentieth brownie. Teddy!”

“So what do you think?” Jackson said, coming to stand next to Cassy. “Time to shove off?”

She sipped her iced tea. “Attorney Thatcher wants to read the will and then we can go.”

Jackson looked at his watch. “So when will this happen, do you think?”

Cassy went over to confer with Rosanne and Thatcher, who both agreed now would be fine. Cassy made the rounds of the room, telling people what was happening next. “This is by Emma's request,” she explained, encouraging people to fan out around the living room and take what seats were available.

“I don't care what she said,” Rosanne said to Cassy, “I still think this is creepy.”

“Just sit,” Cassy instructed her, absently patting Rosanne's shoulder before moving on to steer more people into chairs.

“Very well,” Attorney Thatcher said, drawing a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. “This is not a formal reading, but this is the last will and testament of Emma Goldblum—”

There was a short sob from Amanda Stewart, who had covered her face.

Attorney Thatcher was not unmoved. He cleared his throat and proceeded. “It meant a great deal to Mrs. Goldblum to have you all gathered here. She wanted you to hear this together, so there would be no question down the road as to what her last wishes were.”

They all looked at each other.

“Separate from the will itself she left a detailed list regarding the distribution of her personal property. Anything not specified on this list shall go to her son, Daniel.” Attorney Thatcher
looked around the room. “You should know that Daniel has already agreed to fulfill the wishes of his late mother, although in regard to this list of personal property he has no legal obligation to do so.”

They all looked at each other again, except for Rosanne, who kept her eyes on the window, looking neither right nor left. She was exhausted, Cassy knew, to the point of numbness.

“Mrs. Goldblum wanted her grandmother's walking stick, with the silver handle, to go to Amanda Miller Stewart,” Attorney Thatcher said. Amanda's eyes filled again and her daughter went over to sit in her mother's lap. “She also wanted Amanda and Howard Stewart to have her signed, first edition of
The Painted Bird
.”

“We're getting a bird?” Teddy whispered. A few people laughed.

“The watercolor of the Hudson River that hangs in the foyer—” there were murmurs because it was so beautiful and such a familiar sight to them all “—is to go to Cassy Cochran.” Cassy was totally unprepared for this.

“She wanted Sam and Harriet Wyatt to have her husband's stamp collection.”

The Wyatts looked thunderstruck. It was a valuable collection.

“Her engagement ring is to be held for Jason DiSantos until such a time as he marries.”

There was a murmur of approval.

“And, finally, her tea service and set of bone china is to go to you, Rosanne.”

Rosanne smiled slightly, eyes still on the window.

“Now, in terms of Mrs. Goldblum's estate,” he said, consulting his paper again. “She has left two hundred thousand dollars to her son, Daniel, and she has also set up a trust for
you, Rosanne, and you too, Jason, of ten thousand dollars a year for ten years. This is to commence in the new calendar year.”

“What?” Rosanne said, turning to look up at the lawyer. “What are you talking about?”

“I also have an immediate gift for you, Rosanne and Jason, from Daniel Goldblum on behalf of his mother, of ten thousand dollars each.”

“So it won't be subject to taxes,” Sam murmured to Rosanne. “That's why the amount is ten thousand.”

Jason went over to sit on the arm of the chair next to his mother. “But I don't get it,” Rosanne said, clutching her son's hand. “What was she doing, robbin' banks? Where did this money come from?”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” Sam said, confused.

“A large portion of this money is from a settlement Mrs. Goldblum reached with the owner of this building,” Thatcher explained.

“Settlement for what?” Rosanne said.

“To move out of this apartment by July first of this year.”

Rosanne looked to Cassy and Cassy looked, openmouthed, at Attorney Thatcher. “Is that why Tarnucci was at your office that day?”

He nodded. “The open market value of this apartment has been estimated at three to four million dollars. Mr. Tarnucci had approached Mrs. Goldblum some time ago. And until recently she had not been interested in relocating.”

There was a stunned silence and then Rosanne burst out laughing. “She knew she would be gone by July. That's why she made the deal.”

Is that why Emma had refused treatment?
Cassy wondered.
To obtain a significant inheritance for her son and Rosanne and Jason?

“I hasten to add,” Attorney Thatcher said, “that Mrs. Goldblum told me she was looking forward to moving.”

“I bet she did,” Rosanne said, making people half laugh and half cry.

“There was no fraud perpetrated!” Thatcher insisted.

“Of course not,” Cassy said, “and no one is saying there was. I'm sure at the time Emma was planning to move into a senior's residence. Isn't that right, Sam?”

“Probably the one on West End at Ninety-sixth Street,” Sam said, backing her up.

“I think I remember her saying something about that,” Jackson said.

“Please continue, Attorney Thatcher,” Cassy encouraged.

It took a moment for him to sort himself but then Attorney Thatcher said to Rosanne and Jason, “She set up this trust because she wanted very much to assist you in the next phase of your lives.”

“This will really help out with school,” Jason said.

“Yes,” Rosanne said quietly.

“I don't know if everybody knows,” Amanda said, “but Jason got accepted early decision at University of Pennsylvania.”

“From Little League to Ivy League. Well done, Jason,” Althea said.

Others extended their congratulations.

“She wanted to make a difference in your life,” Attorney Thatcher said to Rosanne.

“Like she hadn't already,” Rosanne said quietly.

“Gran was the best,” her son agreed.

 

Cassy and Jackson started for home in the damp, cold wind. “Jack,” Cassy said after a few paces, “I don't want to do this anymore. Go on like this.”

Jackson stopped walking, pulling the collar of his coat up higher. “What are you talking about?”

She turned to face him. “I want a divorce.”

They stood there for a long moment, eyes locked, strands of her hair whipping in the wind. “No divorce,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Out of the question.”

“I'm not doing this anymore,” she said. “Not one more day.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets before looking at her again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want my life back.”

He shut his eyes a moment, vigorously shaking his head, and reopened them. “You're just gonna blow up DBS? What are we supposed to tell my family?”

“The truth. That you and I have been living separate lives for years.” It was starting to rain, but neither made any move to seek cover.

“Cass, shit, listen, this is crazy. We're not gettin' a divorce. You're just upset over Emma. When you calm down you'll remember that we're a team. With a
lot
of people depending on us. You just turned fifty-three for chrissakes, this is no time for you to pin your hopes on some forty-year-old dyke. You're gonna get killed.”

“This isn't about Alexandra. It's about me, Jack.
Me
. I can't remember being me since I was about six. Dammit, Jack, I want my life back. And I'm
going
to have it back before it's too late.”

“
COME, CHILDREN
, we're crossing the street,” Amanda suddenly said, veering off the sidewalk as the rain started.

“Amanda, what the heck—?” Howard said, holding the umbrella and hurrying to catch up with her.

“I don't think the Darenbrooks should be interrupted,” Amanda said, glancing over to where the couple appeared to be in some sort of face-off. Jackson was shouting but Cassy was standing her ground, hands in the pockets of her raincoat, her hair getting soaked.

“Oh,” Howard said, grabbing the back of Teddy's slicker as he charged by.

“Hey!” his son protested.

“Put your hood up,” Howard told him.

“Oh, let them go, Howard,” Amanda said. “I'll put them straight in the tub.”

The children ran ahead, stomping happily through the puddles and looking up, holding their arms out to the rain.

“So you think the Wren School's the one,” Howard said, taking his wife's arm.

“I think so. Don't you?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He looked at her. “Are you sure you're still up for the great financial review today? It's been a long day as it is.”

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I'm anxious to see where we are.” She made a face. “I'm afraid I've already busted the budget before we've even set it, Howard. I sent a check for five thousand to the Riverside Park Fund in Mrs. Goldblum's name.”

“That's not the five thousand that will break us.”

“I suppose not.” The children had run over to see a golden retriever puppy that was being walked.

“I wish Madame Moliere didn't look so happy about the prospect of leaving us,” Amanda said.

Howard laughed and she joined in. “You thought she'd be heartbroken and she can't wait to ditch us.”

When they reached the apartment they hung up their wet coats and Amanda herded the children to their rooms to check in with Madame Moliere and start the baths running. Howard went back to change and supervise Teddy's bath while Amanda took on Emily's. Afterward they parked Madame Moliere, Grace, Emily, Teddy and Ashette in their bedroom with a fire in the fireplace and the movie
Swiss Family Robinson
. “The real one,” as Howard called it, with John Mills.

“So, are you ready?” Howard asked Amanda, standing outside the study doors.

She nodded.

Howard pushed the door open and they both stood there a moment, taking in the piles and piles of papers that were stacked around the study.

“Oh, my,” Amanda said.