Stephanie wore a sweater and yoga pants, and she carried a shear-ling coat on her arm. She was expertly made up, and her dark hair was tied loosely with a velvet ribbon. David was pale and freshly barbered, and he paced by the door with the naked, skittish look of a newly shorn sheep. A newly shorn sheep looking for a drink.
“We’re on our way to the airport,” Stephanie said. Her voice was tight. “We’re going away for a while.”
“Ned told me.”
David scowled and stared at me. “Ned told you what?”
“Only that you were taking a leave. It sounded like a good idea.”
“Swell,” David said, and tugged on a patch of skin over his Adam’s apple.
Stephanie colored and shook her head. She extended a nervous hand and squeezed my arm. “We wanted to say goodbye, and we wanted to thank you.” I nodded at her, and we managed a clumsy exchange of smiles.
Stephanie looked at David. He frowned and jammed his hands in his pockets. His eyes were on the floor. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, and a muscle twitched on his jaw. Stephanie pursed her lips.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“Vail for a few weeks, and then the islands.”
“Sounds nice.”
David snorted. “We wouldn’t be going anywhere if-”
Stephanie’s hand shot out and wrapped around David’s wrist. Her fingers were white and her nails were sharp, and David jerked his hand away as if from a flame. He glared at her, but when he spoke his voice was low and tired. “I’ll be in the car,” he said, and walked out.
Stephanie shook her head and sighed. “He doesn’t mean anything. He’s still upset over all this- in some sort of shock.”
“He should talk to someone, Stephanie. He needs help.”
She colored again, and her face stiffened. She nodded, too fast. “And he’ll get it. Some time off, a change of scene, a little fresh air and exercise- this trip will really help him.”
I shook my head. “He needs more than a trip.”
“And he’ll get it, John, don’t worry. David will be fine.”
“And what about you?”
Stephanie frowned and looked at her hands. They were perfectly manicured, the nails like pink pearls. “Me? I’m a little on edge still, but some skiing and a seaweed wrap and I’ll be A-okay.” She looked up at me, and her eyes were huge and shining. She squeezed my arm again. “Don’t worry about us, John, we’ll be fine. Even keel again in no time.”
I started to say something and stopped, and Stephanie looked relieved. And then she was gone- a nervous laugh, a brittle smile, and quick steps out the door. I went to the windows and looked down and saw David, standing near a black Town Car. In a moment, Stephanie appeared. She came up beside him, and put a hand on his back. His head inclined toward hers and his arm circled her waist, and they stood together for a moment. Then they got into the car, and the car pulled away. I watched it round the corner and I heard Jamie Coyle’s voice again. “Everybody does their own time.”
Epilogue
In March, Clare found a place to live. It wasn’t in Manhattan, and it wasn’t in Brooklyn. It was a Craftsman bungalow on Rose Street, in North Berkeley. She sat cross-legged on the sofa when she told me, and she put her hand on my cheek.
“If I stayed in New York, I’d end up staying with you,” she said.
“And that would be a bad thing?”
She shook her head. “Not a bad thing, honey, but an easy one. It’s comfortable, and companionable, and we have a lot of fun- and, Christ, you give me all the space in the known universe. Hanging out with you is the simplest thing in the world. It’s like being back in college, the path of least resistance. But I’ve gone down that path already, and it’s not what I’m looking for anymore.”
“What are you looking for? And how do you know-”
“I want kids, John,” she said, and there was humming silence afterward. She let it hum for a while, and then she smiled. “I’m thirty-five years old, and I want to have a baby. And I want it to be with someone who wants to raise children, who’s ready for that.” I started to speak and she put a hand to my mouth. “That’s not you, John- not now.”
I held her hands and sat there until the room was dark around us, but I couldn’t tell her otherwise.
I saw Leo McCue again in April, two weeks after Clare moved, and two days after Gene Werner’s body was found under the Williamsburg Bridge. McCue was fatter than ever, and his mustache was badly overgrown. He pushed a paper coffee cup across the interrogation table to me.
“Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” he said. “Him under the bridge, not a hundred yards from where we found her. I remembered what a hard-on you had for this guy at the end, so naturally I wondered if you’d aced him.”
“Naturally. What happened to him?”
McCue drank some coffee and grimaced. “Somebody beat the crap out of him, and capped it off by snapping his neck. Let me see your hands.” I held them out and McCue inspected them. “Soft as a baby’s ass,” he said.
“And no cuts or bruises. Sorry to disappoint.”
McCue shrugged. “A shot in the dark,” he said. “And I’m guessing you can account for your time.”
I sighed. “Only if you tell me what time I’m supposed to account for.” He told me, and took it well when he heard I’d been in a roomful of bankers on the evening in question.
“Like I said, a shot in the dark. You come across anybody in your travels who’d want to punch his ticket?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“But if you think of somebody, I’m your first call, right?”
“Sure,” I said, and I headed for the door. I was halfway out when McCue spoke again.
“How’s that brother of yours doing, by the way?” he asked. “His wife give him back his balls yet?”
“Fuck you,” I said, and left. His laughter followed me down the hall.
The next day I drove up to Tarrytown. The Van Winkle Court condominiums were still there, and so was Uncle Kenny, but Jamie Coyle was long gone.