Brooklyn Bones Read online

  As I left the truck, I heard the silly burst of music that signaled a text message. “Mom. You’re not picking up. Y? Am on way home now! Ride had to leave today. See you dinner time-ish. Yay.”

  Chris as soon as tonight? I felt all the free-floating tension of the last few days melt as a big smile grew across my face. Would it be replaced by Chris-induced tension right after she walked in the door? Maybe, but right now I couldn’t wait to see her. It took me a few minutes to remember I had plans of my own for tonight. First things first. And that would be my daughter, always, and especially now, after my talk with Nettie Rogow.

  I called Steven. There was no answer; I left a message. I texted. No immediate response. I went grocery shopping. Not quite the fatted calf, but at least I could provide Chris’ favorite chips and dips and soda.

  I came home to find Steven on my stoop. He came in with me.

  “I’m sorry to barge in, but I had bad reception, saw that you called but couldn’t get the whole thing. And I was nearby, meeting with some people, so I came in person.”

  I explained about Chris, apologized, explained some more about how I’d love to reschedule but could not do it until I knew when she would return to camp. He looked genuinely disappointed and I was absurdly pleased by that.

  We seemed to have settled down on the couch and we seemed to be holding hands.

  “Let’s visit here instead. A mini-date.” He put his feet up on my coffee table, made himself comfortable and invitingly patted the cushion next to him. We sat close, and I told him about the productive day and unusual day, about the unusual Nettie Rogow, the unexpected help of getting documents for my work, my hope that I could learn about Rick indirectly by learning more about that right time and this place. It was so comfortable, and comforting, to have someone to tell, I lost sight of the fact that he did not actually think my asking questions was a good idea. The increasing chilliness of his expression brought me back to reality.

  “Why can’t you stop? How can you pretend that this isn’t serious? Come on! A man was shot to death and another was beaten up. You’ve been threatened. Your daughter is coming home. You don’t want to be close to this.”

  My voice was ice cold. “Are you trying to tell me to forget about it all?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am.” He held my chin gently, getting me to look right at him. “Erica, I was trying to say it this morning. I care about you. Who knows how it happened, but we have something, just beginning, and you know it. I can’t stand on the side and watch you keep wading right into these deep waters. People drown.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry but please, let the police department deal with all these incidents. You cannot be involved.”

  “Cannot? Are you saying ‘cannot’ to me?” I jerked away. “God help me, I was kind of liking you too, but I don’t now. My world feels upside down to me, and I’m not one to sit around and let that continue. And you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Whatever gave you that idea? You’re not my father and I wouldn’t listen to him anyway. You are not my husband, or even my boyfriend.”

  His face was white and rigid. He half-smiled, bitterly. “Well, I had high hopes on that for this evening.” He stood up, stared out the window, then turned back to me. “Look. Everything I say is coming out wrong. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  I stood up.

  “I think you should go.”

  “Erica, I…”

  “Please go now.”

  I stalked through the house to the front door, unlocked it and held it open. He followed me but stopped there, put his hands on either side of my face, and said, “I’m not giving up.”

  I closed the door behind him with a satisfying slam. Then I sat for a long time in my dark living room, on my drop-cloth covered sofa, unable to move. I was right. I knew I was. I had to do this, get some parts of my life right side up again, and Steven was completely out of bounds.

  Being right was not actually much comfort, though. What was I thinking, anyway, sliding into a cozy relationship as if it was a warm bath, when I had so much else on my mind? It was turning into just one more complication, the last thing in the world I needed in my increasingly confusing life.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  My best cure for sad musing is work, but I didn’t get very far. There was insistent pounding on my door. Steven, back? No, Chris was on the top step clutching a backpack, and waving to a very young woman in a car at the curb. There was hugging, squealing, a shouted “thank you” to the counselor. My daughter was home.

  “Oh my god!” She flopped down on a drop cloth-covered sofa. “This place is still chaos.”

  “Yes, well, I guess Joe slowed down without your help.”

  She giggled. “I should yell at him. Right now what I want is a hot bath with at least half a bottle of bubble bath.”

  “Well, let me look at you first. Tan, mosquito bites, sun streaks in your hair?”

  She grinned and shook her head.

  “Ah, late night experiments with cosmetic products?”

  “Cool, isn’t it?” She turned her head in all directions and said, “Like my earrings? I made them in a class.”

  “Macramé and glass beads? Very creative.”

  “OK? You’ve seen everything. Tub is calling my name.”

  I fiddled, doing nothing at all, until she emerged wrapped in a terry robe and clouds of lavender.

  “That felt great. So now, catch me up on everything? I feel like I’ve been gone for months.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She looked at me with something like suspicion.

  I fumbled an answer and her eyes opened wide. “You’re blushing. You’ve been dating someone! Is that it? Wait. Is it Joe?”

  “What? What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Well. I was thinking about this while I was away. You need to get more of a life. You know, I have to start getting on with my own life and I’m going to college in a few years. You need to start getting ready for that.”

  She was so earnest, I almost laughed, but she went on. “And Joe is actually pretty hot, for a guy his age. You should hear what my friends say when they see him here.”

  “Your friends are just…”

  “Young women with eyes in their heads! And he’s here a lot.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. He’s my friend and that’s what I am to him, too.” What it’s always been. I was not in the mood to think about this any further.

  “If you say so. But if you were dating someone you would be….”

  “What else is on your mind? My social life isn’t exactly my favorite topic.”

  “Humph. I’ll get you to tell me before I leave.” My face must have showed my emotions, because she suddenly said, “Oh, Mom. Is it Rick that’s been on your mind? I’ve been worried about that. I, you know, I didn’t want to leap right into that.”

  She jumped up and hugged me.

  “Oh, honey. I’ve been managing, but it kind of grabs me every so often. Know what I mean?”

  She nodded. “I totally do. Me too.”

  “I still don’t have any real information about what happened. They don’t know, or they aren’t telling.” And I certainly wasn’t telling her what they think they know. It was hard enough for me to know it. She didn’t have to. “And I need to write a eulogy and plan a service, and…” I imagined the protest in her face. “No, no, it won’t be until after you are back. I know you would want to be here. But it’s all hard.”

  “It seems impossible not to see him again, or say good-bye.”

  “Hard, isn’t it? He bugged me so much, sometimes, but now that he’s gone….”

  She nodded. “Kind of like grandpa being so far away. I guess I adopted Rick for another grandpa, sort of.”

&nb
sp; “He adopted us, too. Me, when I was little, and then you too.”

  “He taught me how to smoke so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself when I tried.”

  “He did what? Smoke?”

  “Yeah. He said I was sure to try sometime so I should do it right. Then he told me after I try it, I should never do it again or I’d answer to him.”

  “That’s not the only thing he did behind my back. He used to sneak you bags of candy at Halloween. Months later I would find them stashed in secret hiding places in your room.”

  “You knew about that?” There was indignation all over her face.

  I laughed.

  “Were there ever any aunt Ricks? You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, there were a couple of them. The last was when you were small. There were girlfriends, though. You’re old enough to know it now—Rick was definitely a player.”

  She considered that. “I can see it. He was a big flirt and he had—hmm—that kind of something. Even for an old guy.”

  I looked at my daughter, already more grown up than the last time I had seen her, and told her about Wanda. I left out the part about the cops. “Wow. She sounds interesting. Why didn’t he ever introduce us?”

  “I do know the answer to that. He thought of you as too young to know about this part of his life.” She began to protest until I added, “Hell, he always thought of me that way too.”

  She laughed. We shared some more memories, and I realized I could write a eulogy now. It still felt all wrong, telling all this without being able to finish the story, to tell the secrets, and the way it ended. But it felt right too. It would be the truth, what I was going to write, even if it was not the whole truth.

  “What happened between him and grandpa? Grandpa only said they grew apart.”

  “You’ve asked him? Grandpa?” I was astounded.

  “Sure.” She looked at my expression and said calmly, “Well, we do e-mail, you know. Kind of every few days. We talk about all kinds of things. He’s out of the hospital and says he’s coming home soon.”

  “Wait. Wait! I’m a few steps behind you here. He said you write but I had no idea you were really discussing things.”

  “Mom! He’s my grandpa! Of course we do. Even if you are both too stubborn to.” Her expression radiated disapproval.

  I ignored that. “If he’s out of the hospital, and not home, where is he?”

  “He’s home, there. He’s coming home, here. Don’t know when yet. When the doctor says he can fly.”

  This was all too much for me to process.

  “Hey! Come back to earth. I’m starving. Aren’t you? You have a hungry child to feed.”

  “What do you want? Our kitchen isn’t quite ready to use.”

  “I’ve been at a healthy camp forever. I need grease!”

  I had to laugh. “Fortunately the neighborhood still has a few greasy spoons. Bacon and eggs? Or a burger and a mountain of fries?”

  “Oh, heaven. Both, please!”

  She asked me about our lost girl as we walked to the coffee shop, and I told her about my meetings with Leary, omitting the recent events. “I haven’t gotten any further than that. And please don’t fuss at me about it. I have had a few other things to deal with. Way too many other things. And finding anything on our own was always a long shot.”

  “I know, but I haven’t forgotten her. Maybe I’ll call those detectives while I’m home?”

  “And you can look at the files Leary gave me, if you want to. They’re in your room.”

  We had a meal with no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever, and a slow meander home. Chris ran into a gaggle of her friends and they greeted each other with screams and hugs and several minutes of breathless catching up. I tried to drift off, and not seem to be listening, but I caught an involved anecdote that either described the complicated love life of their most advanced friend, or the current storyline on a favorite vampire soap opera.

  After they moved on, we made a quick stop at the corner grocery to stock milk, juice, and soda. The refrigerator was working, so we could get some basics.

  We ran into Mary in the dairy section. She was muttering to herself and making heavy work out of selecting a single container of yogurt. She saw us and looked confused for moment. Then her mind seemed to clear, and she said, “Ah you have your sweet girl home with you.”

  “Visiting from camp.”

  She put her hand on my arm. “They grow up when we’re not looking, don’t they? That’s what happens with little girls, right behind our backs. My little girl learned water safety at camp. That’s what they called it.”

  She turned back to Chris and stepped closer, peering at her. “You have my girl’s same pretty hair. Ah, nice necklace.” She reached her hand out and tapped it and Chris moved back, alarmed. “She had one like that, that Egyptian thing you have.”

  Chris mumbled something but Mary, absorbed again in her yogurt selection, did not notice. We left that aisle, made our purchases and turned toward home.

  “Where did that interesting necklace come from? Did you make it too?” I was making friendly conversation.

  “A friend. It came from a friend.” She snapped it out, and then didn’t say another word all the way home. In the house, she said, “Mom, do you have to know absolutely everything?” and stomped straight up to her room.

  I didn’t understand what had just happened. We were fine a few minutes ago, just like old times. Maybe the necklace involved a boy, and she wasn’t ready to tell me about it. I repressed my desire to snap back. I reminded myself teens are all moods all the time. I reminded myself of Darcy’s mantra for parents of teenagers. “Whatever it is, it will pass. Probably in the next sixty seconds.”

  And her sulking at least allowed me to listen to my phone messages in privacy. Steven had left two. I hardened my heart and erased them both.

  When I went up later, she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by Leary’s files and so absorbed by the stories she could barely look up at me. Or maybe she didn’t want to. She responded to my presence with a grunt and went back to reading.

  Oh, well, I thought. It’s late; this day has been a lot for both of us.

  “I’m turning in soon, and I suggest you do the same. Joe’s crew will be here at 8:00.”

  Another grunt, then, as I was leaving, she said, “What if she was one of these kids? What if?”

  “She could certainly have been someone like them, a lost runaway. I suppose that’s why Leary gave me the files. It would explain a lot, but I don’t know how we’ll ever know for sure, unless those cold case detectives turn out both to be geniuses and to have second sight.”

  She moved the files to the foot of her bed, and got up to comb her hair. “Guess I have to give it up for now. Maybe she’ll tell me herself, if I fall asleep thinking about her tonight?”

  “You mean like in a dream?”

  “I don’t know. For now, I’m going to meet my girls, the ones who are home. See you later. Might even stay over with Stacy.”

  “Call me to say. You have your keys?”

  “Mo-om! I’ve only been at camp, I haven’t had brain damage.”

  Whatever. Sunny Chris had visited a few hours. It was nice while it lasted. Now she was back to teen brat. I could go back to work and not even miss her. I told myself that.

  I opened up the file from Rosemarie at the Dock Storage, opened up a spreadsheet on my computer and went to work. Dry as each document was in itself, they added up to something, a portrait of my own changing block in real time.

  It was an unstable era, at least for rental buildings. People moved in and out constantly. The ethnicity of the names shifted from mostly Irish to almost anything. Low-end businesses also went in and out: corner grocers, candy and news shops, cheap lingerie. Buildings deteriorated but I didn’
t see bills for thorough renovations, just stopgap repairs. The documents were arranged by year, and then by property, so I had to do some digging to find my own house. It was not the only address that interested me. My job was to look at everything and add it all up but my desire was to find my own house’s history and show it to Chris tomorrow.

  I spread the house papers out, year by year. There were multiple leases for some years, as people moved in and out. There were group leases with multiple names. I made a list and then I could see more clearly how often the tenants seemed to come and go. Was anyone there for any extended time, and could I find such a person? I tried a few of the names with the phone directory, but no luck. I hadn’t expected to but one can always hope for a miracle.

  As the hour got late, and my eyes got tired, I began to feel it didn’t, after all, add up to a damn thing. And then it did. I looked at one name again. And again. And then I went scrambling through my piles of papers. That glossy, gossipy magazine article about James? Where was it?

  It confirmed what I thought I remembered and could not believe. One of the names on the lease was James’ first wife, the mother of his only child. I read it again, compared the spelling, and read the article again while my stomach twisted into knots.

  And then I dug out the Pastores’ old photo of the house with the crowd of young people hanging out on the steps. I used the powerful reading glass I had borrowed from Leary, and looked closely at all of them. I saw the girl in flowing prairie dress and long African earrings, who Leary told me was the very young Brenda Rogow. And the boy with the silky hair over his shoulders and the sly grin, holding up a pipe. He had James’ face, and Steven’s.

  I put my hand out to call Steven. When I jerked it back I saw that it was shaking. What was I doing? I no longer knew who Steven was, if I ever had. Smart and fun and attractive, yes. A thoughtful date, yes. It had been—what, exactly? A beginning, that’s all. Why on earth was I calling him right now?

  Because I wanted to have him tell me there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything. And because I also wanted to yell at him, to ask if he had been lying about everything, was there a deep game here I was unable to comprehend? No, I should definitely not be calling him right now.