CHAPTER 24
It was a surreal moment. Donnie Angel stood leaning on crutches beside my mother, the two of them beaming at each other as though they were about to be nominated for sainthood. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t prepared for this event. I’d considered it, of course; I wasn’t an idiot, at least not usually. I’d heard Donnie Angel admit how much he enjoyed this particular ceremony. I’d noted the sincerity in his voice when he told me how much it meant to him to return to his community and be welcomed, if only for a day. But there was no reason for him to be here. None whatsoever. His parents were dead, and he needed me doing his dirty work for him, namely, looking for the cash and the inventory. That’s why I’d banished this possibility from my mind.
There was no rational explanation for Donnie’s presence. And yet, there he stood, two feet away from me, a cast on his left leg, the one I’d proudly broken.
“You remember my daughter,” my mother said, “don’t you, Bohdan?”
She asked the question in Ukrainian, but Donnie answered in English. He’d had limited Ukrainian language skills growing up. My mother undoubtedly knew this but to a Uke Mom, a Uke kid was forever a Uke kid.
“Of course I remember her,” he said.
He extended his hand. I had no choice but to take it. It felt like snakeskin plucked from the fridge. I tried to slip out of his grip as soon as his fingers tightened, but he held my hand firmly, braced himself on the crutches, and kissed it. I’m sure my mother thought he was being a classy European fellow, but that was only because his back obscured her vision, and she couldn’t see his tongue linger on the back of my palm before his lips engulfed my knuckle.
I cringed. It was a full-body shiver that started at my wrist and spasmed down to my toes. It was as discreet a rejection as my mind, body, and soul could demonstrate under the circumstances, given I was surrounded by men, women, children, and Easter baskets.
My mother didn’t notice my reaction. She was too busy cooing.
“What a gentleman,” she said.
I regained my composure. “Good to see you, too, Donnie,” I said.
My mother frowned. “Donnie?”
I managed to keep smiling. “How long has it been?”
“Who’s Donnie?” she said.
“Sixteen… eighteen years?” I said.
His lips turned down. “What do you mean? We ran into each other in New York a few days ago. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
“Will someone explain to me who Donnie is?” my mother said.
She knew he preferred to be called Donnie instead of Bohdan. Such a rejection of one’s proper Ukrainian name was a sore point with the older generation, and I knew she simply wanted to tease him.
“Bohdan is Donnie,” I said.
“Oh, really,” my mother said. She glanced at Donnie. “How did you manage that translation?”
“You know how it is in America, Mrs. T. It’s easier to conduct business when someone can pronounce your name real easy.”
“It’s easier? Who said easier is better? Would you rather be the man who made it easy, or the one with the different name that everyone remembers?”
“Geez. That’s a good point, Mrs. T. I never thought of it that way.”
My mother nodded with satisfaction before frowning again. She glanced alternately from Donnie to me. “Who ran into whom in New York?”
“I bumped into gorgeous, here, on the Upper East Side,” Donnie said. “Same neighborhood where you live, right?”
I didn’t want my mother to get suspicious and start asking questions about how and why we bumped into each other. I needed to change the subject as quickly as possible.
“We never got a chance to talk,” I said. “So what have you been doing with yourself all these years?”
“Yes,” my mother said, clearly intrigued by the question. She knew Donnie’s reputation and probably couldn’t wait to hear what lie he was going to spin. There was no reason for her to be afraid of the conversation, even though she knew he was a criminal. After all, she had no idea he’d kidnapped her daughter and she’d broken his leg. “Tell us, Donnie. What do you do for a living?”
Donnie dazzled us with a smile. “I own a chain of rental shops.”
“Rental shops?” my mother said. “Like tuxedos and dresses for weddings?”
Donnie laughed. “No, Mrs. T. Like furniture, televisions, and microwaves.”
My mother looked incredulous. “People rent microwaves?”
“Sure,” Donnie said. “It’s big business. I have stores in Bridgeport, Norwalk, and Waterbury. And I’m opening up a new one in Newark. My first store outside Connecticut.” He leaned back on the crutches and thrust his chest forward.
This was news to me but it made sense. Rent-to-own schemes charged huge interest rates and repossessed property. It was as close to criminal as a legitimate business could get.
“Good for you,” my mother said. She seemed genuinely impressed. “We hear all these rumors about you, you know. But you’re telling me you’ve cleaned up your act.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. T. A man gets to a certain age, he’s got to take a good look in the mirror. It ain’t no fancy job like a doctor or nothing, but we’re providing an important service to folks who can’t afford the basics.”
My mother nodded. “It’s an honorable profession. You’re doing good for your community. Yes, you are.”
Donnie chuckled and nodded in my direction. “Tell that to your daughter. I offered to buy her a glass of champagne that night we ran into each other, but I don’t think my bubbly was good enough for her.”
My mother scolded me with a glance. “You refused a glass of champagne from an old friend?”
“Kicked her heels up and ran away from me like a gazelle,” Donnie said. “All I saw was legs. She looks great, though, don’t she?”
My mother shrugged as though he were stating the obvious. “She’s my daughter, isn’t she?”
Donnie burst into laughter.
A bustling young woman with two little girls dressed like pink bunnies knifed past us. She searched in vain for an empty space on the table. I realized we were completely surrounded. Bodies were packed tight and deep. I couldn’t have made a run for it if I tried. We were trapped at the center of the gym. My mother, the charming sociopath from the Ukrainian-American gutter, and I.
“Truth is, I shouldn’t be laughing,” Donnie said. “A close friend of mine died yesterday.”
My mother touched him on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Anyone we knew?”
“He’d just moved up north. Decided to go ice fishing. Lake’s still frozen this time of year. Or so he thought. He fell right through.”
“That’s awful,” my mother said. “And he was alone? There was no one there to save him?”
Donnie shook his head solemnly, and then planted his eyes on mine. “Only his two dogs. Loyal to a fault. They jumped in after him. The three of them drowned together.”
My mother offered more sympathy.
Donnie didn’t take his eyes off me. “It just goes to show you. You can never be sure how solid the ground is beneath your feet.”
I doubted Donnie had a friend who’d died. In fact, I doubted Donnie had any friends at all. His fiction was a message. I was the friend in his story. My assumption of safety was the ground beneath my feet. But who were the two dogs?
“Speaking of feet,” my mother said. “What happened to your leg?”
Donnie held my gaze and smiled slowly. In the time it took him to spread his lips and flash his teeth, the ice began to melt beneath my feet. Both my legs were shaking. What would he tell her? And exactly what was he telling me?
“Sports injury,” Donnie said.
“I didn’t know you were a sportsman,” my mother said.
Donnie wiped the smile off his face. “My cleats got stuck in the carpet.”