“I have no idea.”
“Artistic temperament?”
“I suspect that artistic temperament is bullshit,” I said. “Rembrandt and van Gogh were both artists, but I doubt that they had similar temperaments.”
We sat at my counter. I poured coffee. We both added milk. I used Equal in mine, Brian put sugar in his. Rosie sat at his feet, ever hopeful.
“No donuts?” he said.
“I didn’t know there was going to be a cop in the house,” I said.
We were quiet for a moment.
“Cathal Kragan turned up in Chelsea Creek this morning,” Brian said.
“Dead?”
Brian nodded.
“Shot behind his right ear,” he said. “At an up angle. Bullet exited in front above his left eye.”
“Good,” I said.
“You have any idea how that came to pass?” Brian said.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t want to share?”
“It’s not something you should know,” I said.
“Not you?” Brian said.
“No.”
“You have anything to do with it?”
“I might have gotten the ball rolling,” I said.
“Richie Burke?”
“No.”
Brian paused for a moment and thought.
“Richie put you in touch,” he said. “His family applied some pressure.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Are you sorry he’s dead?”
“Hell, no,” Brian said. “I’m just trying to figure out where to send the medal. You want me to call Framingham, let them know?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll call Anderson. He was a pretty good guy in all of this.”
“Me, too,” Brian said.
“Yes,” I said. “Especially you, too.”
Again we were quiet. Brian reached over and poured himself more coffee.
“So it’s over,” he said.
“Except for Millicent,” I said.
“How about us,” Brian said. “Is it over for us?”
I felt myself tense. I knew we’d have to have this conversation, but I didn’t like it any better because I knew it was coming. I nodded slowly.
“Yes,” I said.
Brian’s face was tight, and his eyes were flat. He wasn’t liking this conversation either.
“Richie?” he said.
“Yes.”
Brian scratched Rosie’s chin with his toe. I’m sure he wasn’t aware that he did it.
“You together again?”
“No.”
“Then...?”
“We’re not apart enough either,” I said.
“Don’t you think maybe you ought to come to some terms with that?” Brian said.
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t.”
“Not yet,” I said.
“He was very helpful to you through this bad patch with Kragan and all,” Brian said.
“Yes.”
“Don’t be fooled by gratitude,” Brian said.
I nodded.
“I hope I’m not.”
Brian drank some coffee. The lines at the corners of his mouth had deepened.
“Well, people don’t love you just because you want them to,” he said.
“I know.”
“We did have fun,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “We did, and if it stayed fun, it could have gone on. I can have fun without Richie. But it was becoming more than fun. And I’m not sure I can have more than fun with anyone but Richie.”
“Well,” Brian said, “if you find that you can, check with me, see if I’m free.”
“You’re a very lovely man, Brian. You deserve more than I have available right now.”
“I’d settle for what you have,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “That’s the sad part. But we both know it wouldn’t work out. Once you had it you’d want more, and you’d have a right to more, and there wouldn’t be more, and... it would be bad.”
Brian stood.
“You’re right,” he said. “I wish you weren’t, but I’m too old to pretend you’re not.”
I stood with him. And put my arms around his waist. He kissed me. And we stood in that embrace for a while.
“I hope you and Richie work it out,” he said. “Either way. I hope you settle it.”
His voice was hoarse. I nodded. I was too close to crying to say anything. He stepped away from me and went to the door and opened it.
“See you around, Sunny Randall,” he said.
And the door closed behind him. Rosie sniffed vigorously at it, her tail wagging fast, as Brian went down the stairs.
Chapter 59
I sat back down at the counter in my kitchen and looked at the empty coffee cups for a time. Millicent got off the bed, left the newspaper in a disorganized pile, and came and sat down at the counter beside me. Neither of us said anything for a bit. Rosie joined us, looking up from the floor, and thumping her tail.
“Cathal Kragan is dead,” I said.
“Brian told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Who killed him?”
“Albert Antonioni,” I said.
“Good.”
We sat quietly some more. The loft was quiet.
Finally Millicent said, “You broke up with him.”
“Yes,” I said. “Could you hear?”
“Some,” Millicent said.
“I hope it didn’t embarrass you,” I said.
“No,” Millicent said. “I’m glad I heard.”
“Because?” I said.
“Because it was so nice. You didn’t yell at each other. You were both nice to each other even if it wasn’t working out.”
“You understand why it wasn’t working out?”
“You’re still in love with Richie.”
I wanted to say no, it’s more complicated than that, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that’s all there was to it. Which was a lot.
“I guess,” I said.
“It’ll work out,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” I said, “who’s looking out for whom?”
“Whom?”
“Yes,” I said. “Whom.”
We both smiled a little.
“What about me?” Millicent said.
“What about you?”
“Well, you got rid of Brian,” she said. “And that man Cathal is dead. What are you going to say to my father and mother about me?”
“Your father has agreed to fund a trust for your support and education with me as trustee,” I said.
“Explain that to me,” she said.
“I decide how much money you can have and for what. He has no say about it.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Why did he say he would?”
“Because your mother and I can ruin him if he doesn’t,” I said.
“Would you?”
“You bet.”
“Would she?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to go back and live with them?”
“No,” I said. “There’s no them, anyway. Your mother has left your father.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Good,” Millicent said. “Can I stay with you?”
“Yes,” I said. “But here’s how I’d like to see it work. My friend Julie will get you an appointment with a good psychiatrist, and you’ll see him or her for as long as we all think you should.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me, you, and the shrink,” I said.
“You think there’s something wrong with me?”
“You can’t have lived the life you’ve led without needing to fix some things,” I said.
“Like what?”
“That’s for you and the shrink to decide,” I said.
“Maybe you and Richie ought to go,” Millicent said, and the shadow of a smile passed across her small face.
“Probably,” I said.
“What about my mom and dad?”
“Your father’s job is to fund the trust. He does that, we have no need to see him further, unless you want to.”
Millicent shook her head.
“Your mother will also see a shrink,” I said.
“Same one?”