Water from Stone - a Novel (21 page)

Forty-Four

Mar.

Mar takes a sip of wine and stares out over the moonscape that is her backyard. A foot of snow blankets the ground and the moon casts a tapestry of shadows across the landscape. Her father, who had arrived right after the accident and then had stayed on well past the holidays, and Lizzie are sleeping upstairs and it is just Mar, Picasso and Luther Vandross playing softly in the background.

“So, what do you think, fatso? Is it the holidays or the real thing?”

The dog looks up at her as if considering. She chuffs her answer and drops back down onto her paws.

Mar smiles. What can you expect from a dog? The landscape is pretty, though. With her own lights turned off, she can see far into her back yard, can see millions of stars in the clear mountain air.

Give it up
, Mar, she tells herself.
It’s time to let go
. She picks up a photo of Joaquin taken on their wedding day. He looks so strong, so confident, so happy. The man had his whole life before him. A whole life that would last just another ten days.

Mar closes her eyes and pictures him in front of her. She can almost feel the hands he lifts to her cheeks, can almost smell the aftershave he wears. There is no mistaking the love in his eyes, or the words
I love you
on his lips. With a last kiss to her forehead, he turns away.

When she opens her eyes, the image is gone. But it had been so real, as real as the tears streaming down her cheeks. She wipes at them and kisses Joaquin’s picture one more time before gently laying it on the table and picking up the other photo.

Kevin. Kevin with Lizzie happily snuggled into the baby pack he wore. Kevin with the long hiker’s legs and gentle hands. The baritone voice that sent her to sleep and laughed so freely. The man Lizzie adores and Mar finally admits she loves. It has been fifteen months since he left and the long absence has convinced her of her feelings. The visits have always been too short and there have been so many moments, big and small, that she would have liked to have shared with him. A favorable art critique, Lizzie’s fourth birthday, the accident. Yes, she would have liked Kevin to have been there for that.

Mar picks up the phone. It is time. Hell, it is past time.

She smiles at the
brrrrrrp
sound of the phone ringing at his hotel in Ireland. It is a happier sound than the annoyingly metallic ring of an American phone.

“Hello?” he picks up.

“Kevin? It’s Mar.”

“My god, Mar! What an amazing surprise!” His laughter floats across the ether and knocks her smile into full wattage.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s the middle of the night for you, but I just had to talk to you.”

“No, no, this is great. I’ve been sitting here for hours waiting until it was a decent time to call you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, absolutely. It’s wonderful to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Fine. Fine. Wonderful, even. I couldn’t wait. There’s just something I have to tell you and I didn’t want to wait until morning.”

“Really?” His voice, so full of hope and happiness, warms Mar’s belly. There are no more doubts that this is the right thing. Asking Kevin to help her to find a way so that they can be together is definitely the right thing.

“Yes, really,” she laughs.

“Well, that’s great. God, you sound good, Mar. And I’ve got something to tell you, too, something wonderful.”

Mar sucks in a deep breath. Is this it? Is he going to ask her to marry him over the phone? She catches herself before her shriek of YES! can escape her lips. “So?” she finally manages.

“No, no. You called, tell me your news first.”

Mar shakes her head. Let him wait a moment longer, let the excitement build. She laughs. “Nope, caller’s prerogative. It’s my dime so I say you have to give it up first.”

“Mar, Mar, sweet Mar.” His sigh tickles her ear and, closing her eyes, she can almost see him take a deep breath before plunging in. “OK. Me first. Are you ready? Are you sitting down?”

“I am.”

“Good. OK, here goes. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve decided it’s time to get married.”

“Yes!” she screams. And then she is laughing and crying and she misses his next few words.

“Mar? Mar? What’s wrong?”

The worry in his voice brings Mar back to the call. “No, nothing. Nothing at all. Oh, God, Kev, I’m just so happy. I was sitting here, waiting to call you and thinking about it and then, I just, oh, I’ve got to go wake my dad and tell him.”

“Mar? Are you OK? You’re taking this awful well. I mean, I’m glad you’re happy, it means everything to me, especially considering. But, waking your dad?”

“He’ll be thrilled. He’ll want to know.”

“Yeah, OK, but he doesn’t even know me.”

“But he’s heard all about you.  Really, don’t worry. When will you be able to get back here?”

“Well, with the wedding plans and all, I think it’s best if I cancel my trip. That’s one of the things I wanted to tell you.”

“Cancel your trip? I don’t understand.”

Kevin laughs  softly. “I don’t think Annie’d appreciate our more lenient American sensibilities. They’re still a little conservative over here.”

“Annie?”

“I know, I know. Short for Ann Catherine. She’s one of those fourth cousins twelve times removed I told you about. Our families split off a couple of centuries ago, but these people, man, you just tell them your last name and they track you back. Anyway, I think her father’d shoot me if I told her I was going off skiing with an old girlfriend.”

Mar’s head is spinning. She feels sucker-punched and has a hard time finding a breath.

“Mar? Mar?”

“I’m here,” she manages weakly.

“Listen, I know this is kind of sudden and I dropped it on you like that. It’s just, being with you, I thought, I really believed, we could have made it. I wanted so much for us to. But, there I was thinking she’s the one for me and you were still caught up in Joaquin. I guess it took me a long time to realize that you weren’t going to come around. And then I met Annie. I know it’s fast, but she’s a great girl. Funny thing, we have so much in common and, well, it feels good. She’s…”

Mar gently sets the phone down and walks stiffly to the sink. She wills her mind to be still until she gets there. Once there, however, it hits her in a rush and all the wine, the food she’d eaten at dinner, her heart and soul spew forth in great, heaving spasms. When she is empty and nothing but the acid dregs of bile are coming up, she lets herself sink to the floor where she curls into a fetal ball and begins to cry, great soul-wrenching sobs of despair. Picasso pads over and tries valiantly to lick the tears from her face.

Forty-Five

Sy.

Sy sits at his desk. It is Tuesday, his day to review the firm’s current cases. He picks up the Gorman file. What a stupid, pathetic case that has been. That poor kid, stuck with that mother, beating up on him, pushing him down the hotel’s stairs so she could file an insurance claim. Sy had filed his report, along with photos, hospital reports from earlier “accidents,” neighbor reports of continuous abuse, all of it. Though it wasn’t really conclusive that the kid hadn’t fallen down the stairs at the hotel, it showed the mother had a long history of abusing the kid and, as her lawyers had to have told her, wouldn’t look good for her in court. In any case, the insurance company sent a thank you note along with payment. Makes his heart go all flippy-floppy saving them big bucks, thinking about the poor kid. Jesus.

Around noon, Dora comes in with two Styrofoam boxes of food. Lately, she’s been thinking about her yearly trip to Florida to see her sister. She wants to lose some weight, fit into a nice dress when they go to the Indian casinos down there, show off a little flesh, put it out there a little before it all ends up around her ankles. She’d talked Sy into doing the Atkins thing with her. Hence, the boxed lunch from the steakhouse around the corner.

Sy takes off his reading glasses, tosses them onto the desk. “That smells good, Dora. Whatcha got?”

“New York today. In that sauce you like, the mushroom one? And some green beans. I told them not to put in too many, but we can have some. You want some soda? Water, maybe?”

“Nah,” Sy replies, clearing the files off his desk. “I think I’ll have more coffee. We got any left?”

“Yeah. I put on a fresh pot before I went out. I’ll go get you some.”

Sy is arranging the food on his desk when the door to his office crashes open.

“You-mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch!” the broad from the insurance case screeches at him, gun raised, pointing it at him. “You fucking scumbag asshole mother fucker! They took my kid away, asshole pig, they took my kid and you’re gonna pay for it.”

And she shoots him. Just like that.

Sy, who had been too shocked to react to her ranting, is now doubly so as the bullet tears through his chest, slams him back into his chair. He looks up at her dumbly, his brain not yet catching up with the events, his out-of-shape body not reacting like it is supposed to.

“What, what the...?” he begins, staring at her in disbelief.

The crazy lady brings the gun back up, aims a little lower, more toward his heart. In the second that Sy gets ready to die, another screeching female tears into the office, arm raised, steak knife coming down in a mean arc, catching the bitch in the back. The gun goes off again as Mrs. Gorman goes down, the bullet whizzing by Sy’s ear, snapping him out of it.

“Oh, fuck me,” he says, trying to get up, get to Dora, keep her from yanking the knife out and plunging it back into the broad’s body. And now that one is screaming, adding to the general chaos as Sam bursts into the office, her gun drawn.

“Dora, no!” Sam orders. “Leave it, she’s down. You pull it out, you could kill her.”

“Well, what the fuck you think I’m trying to do?” Dora snaps, her hand frozen on the hilt of the knife, her fat ass sitting on the woman’s thighs, not letting her get up, even if she could, a knife in her back.

“Oh, hell’s bells,” Jonesy comes in, takes one look and turns around, hurries to Dora’s desk, calls 911.

“Dora, now get off her, she’s not going anywhere. Go see Sy. Sy? You OK?”

“I’m shot,” he says, and falls back into his chair. “Ah, hell,” he whispers as all goes black.

Forty-Six

Jack.

Mortuary John hangs his winter coat on the booth’s coat rack and drops down onto the bench across from Jack. He is wearing his funeral outfit today and there is a look about him, a tightness around the eyes, that catches Jack’s attention. “Tough one?” he asks.

“Fuck.” John takes a deep breath and sighs, shakes his head.

Jack returns his attention to watching the people in the restaurant.

“It was a kid,” Mortuary John finally speaks up. “A little girl. Some psycho shooting off guns in the street and a bullet comes in through the window, takes half her face off. She’s just sitting there, playing with her dolls and, boom, half her face is gone. The other half, though? It’s perfect. Beautiful. Her momma wanted an open casket, wanted to see her baby one more time, so we had to turn her head sideways, like she’s sleeping. Man, I don’t get this world.” He wipes his eyes and takes hold of the bottle Jack pushes his way. “Thanks.”

Something about the story hits Jack hard. It must have shown on his face because when Mortuary John next looks at him, he sees it there. “Aw, fuck, Jack, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s OK. I’ve just been thinking about her a lot lately.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, really, it’s OK.” He sighs and looks up at his friend. “It’s just that, sometimes, when I hear something like that, it makes me wonder.”

“No news, then? Nothing from the FBI or maybe that detective you hired? What’s his name? Sy? You haven’t heard anything from him in awhile.”

“I didn’t tell you? He was shot.”

“No effing way!”

“Way. Thanks,” Jack reaches for the beer a waitress has just put in front of him. “Some woman from a case he was working on got pissed and shot him.”

“Is he OK?”

“He will be. He’s recuperating.”

“This is one screwed up world we live in.”

“Tell me about it.”

After the waitress has dropped off menus, Mortuary John picks up the conversation. “So, no news, huh?”

“No. None. Not from him or Shaheen.”

“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Mortuary John looks him over. “So, uh, how you doing? Really?”

Jack’s smile is strained as he raises his beer. “Good,” he finally answers.

John leans forward onto his crossed arms and searches Jack’s face. “You sure about this, my friend?”

“About Caroline?”

“Yeah about her.”

Jack appreciates the concern. After all, the only time he and Caroline had gone out with John and his wife, it had been a pretty awful evening. Something about the chemistry just hadn’t clicked. “I’m sure.”

“She is one fine looking lady. And smart.”

Jack looks off into the middle distance. “She is. And funny and kind.”

“And rich. Don’t forget rich. Her granddaddy owns New York. Well, at least the half Trump hasn’t got his paws on yet.”

Jack smiles. There is no denying that. “And rich,” he agrees.

“But she’s not the one.”

Jack clears his throat. It still twists his heart. He takes a swallow of beer and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Man, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I respect you, though, I gotta tell you that. I respect a man who can walk away from that kind of money in that kind of package because he’s doing the right thing. Hell, most men’d do the wrong thing for at least a coupla years, collect the interest. Know what I’m saying?”

“She can do better.”

“Goddamn, you’re the only one that can say that and I know you really mean it.”

Jack smiles sadly. It just is what it is and he doesn’t have any more to give her. “Did I tell you I’m thinking of leaving?”

“The law firm? Her granddaddy giving you a hard time, now you dumped his granddaughter?”

“No, not that. New York.”

Mortuary John looks shocked. “The city? You’re thinking about leaving the city? What? Move out to the ‘burbs? Man, that’s slow death out there.”

Jack has to laugh, it is so rare to catch MJ so completely off guard. “Not just the city.  New York, the Northeast, the whole thing.”

“And go where? Like to California?”

“Home.”

“Oh, shit. Not that bumfuck town you grew up in? Jacky, rural America’s not for you. They got cows and chickens and things out there. Corn! They got corn as far as the eye can see. Now, I ask you, what the fuck you gonna do with all that corn?”

“I’m serious. Dad’s thinking about retiring. He should retire, take Mom traveling like she’s always wanted.”

“They can travel. You don’t have to go out there so they can travel. It’s not like they can’t grow the corn without you there, tellin’ ‘em how it’s done.”

“Are you hungry?” Jack tries to cut him off. “Do you want to order now?”

“Hell, no! I wanna hear about you joining the Bible Belt.”