Michael could hear the smile in Alan’s voice. It warmed him down to his toes and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “Nah, you’re just in time. C’mon in.”
Alan stepped into the foyer bringing with him the February chill. “Wow, something smells great. But I didn’t expect you to cook for me. I figured we’d go out or maybe order in pizza.”
“I like to cook, and I hardly ever do it anymore.” Michael took the other man’s jacket and hung it on the coat-tree. “Besides, it’s the least I can do, considering that I’m going to have you reading legalese all evening.”
Dinner wasn’t the only thing smelling good, Michael thought, leading the way into the study. Alan was wearing that woodsy cologne again, the same stuff that had caused him to go temporarily insane the other night. But there would be none of that tonight. Just dinner and paperwork.
“I brought the laptop with me.” Alan set it down on the table.
“Tommy said to tell you to be sure to change the password the first time you sign on. Under no circumstances are you to leave it as password. Or so my brother says anyway. Though if you want to, I’ll never tell.”
Michael grinned. “Seeing as I’m a rebel and all, I’ll probably do just that.”
There was a pause, but it didn’t feel awkward.
“I’m not sure how soon you were planning on dinner, but do you want to get started on the estate stuff?”
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“It’ll be another half hour or so.” Michael gestured toward the row of filing cabinets. “Everything is in there, somewhere.
Insurance papers, the will, all that stuff. I also have copies of the death certificate in case we need them. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”
“Not a problem.” Alan crossed to the filing cabinets. The first drawer opened with a soft whoosh.
“How about some wine while you’re looking?”
“That would be great.”
In the kitchen, Michael checked on dinner then poured the wine. By the time he returned to the study, Alan had moved to the couch.
“Phillip was incredibly organized,” Alan said, accepting a glass of cabernet from Michael. “He had everything in a file called estate documents which I found in the second drawer I looked in.”
“Yeah, he was meticulous about stuff like paperwork.” He chuckled then sipped his wine. “Phillip is the only person I ever knew who not only saved the owner’s manuals and instructions for every appliance he ever owned, but knew exactly where they were.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He used to punch holes in them and put them in a binder. Can you believe that? I used to tease him about it sometimes and he’d say--”
Michael broke off, struck by a pang of grief so sharp it stole his breath.
“Are you okay?”
Michael nodded. “It just sneaks up on me sometimes, you know? The fact that he’s really gone, like really gone, forever.”
“I don’t really know what that’s like. But it must be awful.”
Alan touched Michael’s arm. “Come and sit.”
He sat and sipped his wine.
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From the living room the music was a distant murmur, the only other sound the occasional turning of a page as Alan went through papers.
At last Alan said, “If it’s all right, I can start going over some of these documents.”
They worked until the oven timer beeped. Alan poured more wine while Michael filled plates and brought them to the table.
They ate in silence for several minutes, but again, Michael found the quiet more comforting than awkward. It was nice having someone to eat with, someone to talk to. It was nice having Alan to talk to.
“Can I refill your glass?” Alan asked.
Michael nodded and reached for his napkin. The wine bottle clinked softly against the rim of his wineglass followed by the quiet splash of liquid.
“I like that painting,” Alan said.
Michael heard him set down the bottle and pick up his fork.
“Which painting is that?”
“The one hanging on the wall behind your chair. It looks like a modern work, all blacks and reds and yellows. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to see something in there, but I like it anyway.”
Michael smiled into his wineglass. “That was one of Phillip’s favorites. The artist was blind, probably still is for that matter. I don’t think he’s dead.”
“Really? A blind painter. I never—” Alan stopped.
“I never either. I think Phillip liked the idea of a blind guy painting more than he liked the actual canvas. Personally, I can’t imagine not being able to see my own work.”
“It would cut down on that perfectionist tendency that some artists have. I would think anyway, since you’d never be able to judge if it was perfect or not.”
Michael laughed. “True enough. Except then you’d have to rely on other people to tell you whether it was really any good or not. I don’t think I would like that.”
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By the time he’d finished his second glass of wine, Michael’s mood had mellowed and his eyelids were feeling heavy. Paperwork was the last thing he felt like doing. Still, that was why he’d invited Alan over.
Oh, really?
A little voice in Michael’s head whispered. Is it really?
Of course it was. He slammed a door on that snarky little whisper and pushed back his chair.
“If you’re finished, we can move to the study.”
“Sounds good.” Alan’s chair scraped back. “If I top off our glasses that should kill the wine.”
They had just returned to the study and settled on the couch when the doorbell rang.
“Expecting someone?” Alan asked.
Michael shook his head. “No, I have no idea who that could be.”
Setting his glass on the end table, he rose. “I’ll be right back.”
He opened the door cautiously, not because it was especially late or because the neighborhood was dangerous. It wasn’t. He was just always cautious about opening the door to someone he wasn’t expecting.
“Hi, sweetie, it’s me, Karen.”
“Yeah? Karen who?”
He made it sound like a joke, like he always did. Phil’s sister never seemed to get that after knowing her for twelve years he could recognize her voice.
“Oh, Michael.” Karen laughed, just like she always did.
“What are you doing here?” With little choice, Michael stepped back and opened the door so she could come in.
“Didn’t you get my message?” She brushed past him. “I called you yesterday and said I’d be by tonight to help you get the estate stuff together for the lawyer. Tell me you didn’t get my message.”
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“I didn’t get your message.” He did his best to quell his irritation. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t listened to his messages in days.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now so—”
“No, really, it’s a shame. I could have saved you a trip. I’ve got the estate under control and I’m going to call the lawyer tomorrow and make the appointment.”
“How can you have it under control?”
Michael heard Alan’s footsteps, heard him join them in the foyer.
“Oh,” Karen said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Hi, Karen. How’ve you been?”
There was a pause then Karen laughed. “Oh, Alan, I didn’t even recognize you without your scrubs. What are you doing here?”
“Alan’s giving me a hand with the mail and the other paperwork. That’s what I meant when I said I had it under control.” He wanted her to leave, but politeness won out. “Would you like something before you go? Coffee or tea? I think the wine is all gone or—”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
He didn’t say it was no trouble. Politeness only stretched so far. And he was getting a weird vibe from her. What was that about?
He heard her putting her coat back on. Good.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Michael.” Karen leaned in enveloping him in a Chanel-scented cloud and kissed his cheek.
“You too, Alan. It was nice seeing you.”
The two men stood in the foyer, listening as she started her car and drove off.
“She didn’t sound like it was especially nice to see me,” Alan said.
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this must have looked to Phillip’s sister. “I think she didn’t like finding me here with … with you.”
He’d been about to say finding me here with a man, but that seemed wrong somehow. Not that there was anything wrong with him having a friend over.
“If this is going to be a problem for you, me helping you, I mean …”
“Why would it be a problem for me?”
“I don’t want to cause trouble with your family.”
“They’re Phillip’s family. And it’s not going to cause trouble.”
“How do you know?”
Because he wouldn’t allow it to cause trouble.
“Phillip’s family doesn’t pull my strings, Alan. I make my own decisions.” The comment sounded sharp, even to him. But maybe it needed to sound that way. If nothing else, he certainly needed it to be the truth.
“Okay, there’s a step coming up.” Karen squashed Michael’s hand in the crook of her arm like if she didn’t hang on to him he might take it into his head to try for an escape.
Not that the thought of bolting hadn’t occurred to him. It had, more than once during the drive to Jane and Ross’s place for their middle daughter’s first communion party.
He adjusted the position of his hand on her arm so the backs of his fingers weren’t smooshed against the side of her ample boobage, but she must have thought he was going for that escape, and she was having none of it. She grabbed his hand with her free one and secured it right back where it was before between her fleshy upper arm and her equally fleshy left breast. Great.
Michael gave up. He so was not up to any of this, the whole Di Martino family gathering with all of its attendant hovering and fussing. But there was no way to extricate himself from the obligation. Any and all sacraments were a huge deal in this family. Michael ascended the steps with no trouble. He’d been to Ross and Jane’s place about a million times during his years with Phillip and he knew the layout, inside and out, almost as well as he knew his own house. He didn’t bother saying so to Karen. It wouldn’t do any good. Whenever she played sighted guide to his blind guy, she was always a nervous wreck, which caused him to be irritated and short tempered. So it was better just to keep his own counsel as much as possible. Besides, Ross had promised to run him home, so at least they wouldn’t have to go through this again on the way out.
Inside the house was a mob scene. Music blared from the stereo in the family room, turned up so it could be heard throughout the entire downstairs. The roar of conversation and laughter roiled around Michael, mixed with a baby’s wailing and some kind of noisy game the kids were playing that involved lots of shrieking and racing around. It was a pretty typical family
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gathering for the Di Martinos.
“Hey, you’re finally here.” Jane greeted them just inside the front door, hugging and kissing them each in turn. “I thought you got lost or something.”
“We were late leaving the house, as usual,” Karen said with a pointed glance in her husband’s direction. “Then when we got to Phil’s place they had the street closed off. Who ever heard of construction on Sunday anyway?”
Michael didn’t have to be able to see to know what sort of look Brian was getting.
“It’s Michael’s house now, Kar.” Brian eased around his wife and closed the front door behind them.
Karen huffed out a breath. “That’s what I said.”
“No, it wasn’t. You said Phil’s place.” Brian touched Michael’s arm. “Let me have your jacket, Michael. I’ll put it in the guestroom with the rest of our stuff.”
Resigned to the fact that he was not going to escape any time soon, Michael surrendered his jacket. Brian took it along with Karen’s coat and wandered off.
“Let’s find you a seat.” Karen caught Michael’s hand again and tugged him into the living room. “You know I didn’t mean anything by that, right? It was just a slip of the tongue.”
“Mean anything by what?” He allowed her to settle him on the far end of the sofa next to great aunt Marie who was pushing ninety and usually slept through any and all family gatherings.
“About it being Phillip’s house. I just can’t get used to the idea that he’s really gone and sometimes I forget, you know?”
Before Michael could formulate any kind of response other than that he wished like hell he could forget, someone yelled
“Mom” and the moment passed as Karen turned her attention elsewhere to see who was calling her.
“Just a second, sweetie. Mommy will be right there.” She turned back to Michael. “Just sit tight and chat with Aunt Marie.
I’ll get you a plate and some punch in a minute.”
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“He doesn’t want punch, Karen. Punch is a girlie drink.”
Ross’s meaty paw landed on Michael’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Here you go, Michael. Have a beer.”
A bottle was shoved into Michael’s hand. He accepted it gratefully. “Thanks, Ross. I think a beer is just what I needed.”
“Well, then, I’ll leave you two to drink your manly beers. But, Michael, you just let me know when you want a plate.” Karen patted his hand and drifted away.
He sighed, sipped his beer and let the buzz of conversation wash over him.
Parties like this were not his thing. Phillip had known it and kept their attendance to only the most necessary occasions.
He hated not being able to walk around, not even to make his way to the bathroom independently on account of all the extra people and chairs. He hated when people came up to him and he had no idea who they were. Even worse were the ones who began the conversation with “Do you know who this is?” like they were playing some conversational version of blind man’s bluff.
Phillip had known all this, known it instinctively because they had never talked about it, and had stuck by Michael’s side at all these functions, shielding him from the worst of his family’s best intentions.
At the thought of Phillip, a wave of grief swept over Michael then, so strong and unexpected it stole his breath. He closed his eyes and did his best to will it away because he couldn’t give in to it, not here and not now in front of all these people.