"Seven forty-five."

"Okay. At seven-thirty I'll be right there and that way the money'll be safe. I won't have to worry about Marvella ending up with it. I'll pay your teacher myself." He started to open the door. "See you in the morning!"

"Uncle Bob! It's not for a field trip."

"So you lied to me."

"No! I do need the money. But not for a field trip. That part's not true." Her mind raced with reasons. She could say for clothes or shoes, but he might offer to buy them for her. "It's for medicine."

"Medicine? You got Medicaid, right?"

She had no idea. "For him, for Leonardo," she said, pointing. The dog lay curled, asleep at her feet. "He was, like, really sick, and this wicked nice lady, she drove us to Dearborn to this vet and we got all this medicine, and she paid for it, but now I gotta pay her back, so I-"

"Jada! You sound just like her now. Like all the rest of them with their lying and cheating. I'm gonna tell you something. I wasn't much older than you when I just took off on my own, and if you're smart, that's what the h.e.l.l you'll do, too! Find some good people and stick with them."

"But it's true. I'm not lying. Her name's Delores. She's this big lady, and I owe her money. I do! I swear!"

Behind him the curtain parted and a fist rapped on the window-pane.

"My supper. Your aunt Sue, she wants me to come in. Here." He held out his hand as if to shake hers. She felt cash pa.s.s into her palm. "You be good now. And no more lies."

As the door opened and closed behind him, the spicy smell of spaghetti sauce made her ache inside. As she bent down, lights pin-wheeled behind her eyes with this brilliant image of pansies and daisies and roses bubbling in a thick red sauce. She picked up Leonardo so they wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing him refuse to walk with her. "Cheap b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she muttered. Two lousy dollars. A landlord with his own business, clients even, and that's all he'd given her. It wasn't fair. Well, he could just go f.u.c.k himself for all she cared. They all could. Every G.o.dd.a.m.n one of them. The whole f.u.c.king G.o.dd.a.m.n world. Who the h.e.l.l was he telling her not to lie, when that's all they did, all the time, him and his b.i.t.c.h wife, everyone, every motherf.u.c.king f.u.c.ker she'd ever known? "I'm so hungry," she whispered at Leonardo's ear. "So f.u.c.king hungry, I could cry." And then she did. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she laughed out loud. A little old woman walked toward her, pulling a wire cart filled with bags. A brown cloth pocketbook dangled from the crook of her arm. What could be easier? Just grab it and run like h.e.l.l. Even with Leonardo she'd be long gone before the old lady knew what hit her. Closer. Closer now. Alarmed by her fierce grip, he began to bark. "Don't, don't," she hissed, squeezing him. "Shut up! Will you shut up!" The barking intensified.

The old lady smiled. "What a cute puppy. What's his name?"

"Leonardo." d.a.m.n, she shouldn't have said his real name.

"Leonardo, h.e.l.lo, Leonardo," the old lady crooned, and tickled his straining neck. "Can I give him a doggie treat? I just got some. I keep them for when my son's dogs come over. They're these little black poodles. They're in here somewhere." She set her purse on the ground and began digging through the bags. Jada stepped closer. Her foot was touching the pocketbook. "Here!" The old lady ripped open a box and held out a small dog biscuit, which Leonardo lapped from her hand. She gave him another one, then glanced up at Jada with a fading smile. "What's the matter? Why're you looking at me like that? What's wrong?" She picked up her pocketbook and brushed it off.

"Nothing. I'm just hungry, that's all."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have held you up like this. Well anyway . . ." She put the box back into the bag. "I'll let you go, and it was very nice meeting you. You, too, Leonardo," she called, pulling her cart to the curb. She paused, looking both ways before she crossed the street.

CHAPTER 13.

" G Good morning," Gordon said over the pallet of cereal boxes he was wheeling down the aisle.

"Good morning," Serena and June answered in dull unison, heads lifting like startled birds at his approach.

He asked where Neil was. He hadn't written an egg order, so the Hensmen driver said he'd stop by again at the end of his route.

"He's out back, slicing boxes," Serena said.

"He is?" He stepped around the pallet. "Why's he doing that? I always get them done in time." After the holdup, a fire lieutenant had come into the Market to tell Neil not to store boxes at the front of the store anymore. A violation, they were a fire and safety hazard. "This whole city's a fire and safety hazard," Neil had said, laughing bitterly.

The women continued to look at him with wide-eyed, blank expressions, as if holding their breath against fouled air. He could feel their eyes on him all the way to the back of the store. Neil was outside, stacking the flattened boxes by the loading dock. "You don't have to do that, Neil. I'll take care of it." He hurried down the rickety steps. Since the holdup, Neil had been barely speaking to him. He couldn't seem to please him no matter how hard he worked.

Neil grunted and cut another box.

"Go inside. I'll finish the rest."

"I'm almost done," Neil said, slicing all four sides.

"I'll put them in the Dumpster, then," Gordon said. He began dragging cut boxes toward the back of the lot.

"No! Leave them there!" Neil barked.

"But they won't pick them up over here," Gordon reminded him. The drivers took only what was in the Dumpster.

"I want to see about recycling them. Get a few bucks, maybe."

"That's a good idea," Gordon said.

"Yeah." Neil stood up, smiling. "It is, isn't it."

"You know, something else you might want to do is give the outdated bakery stuff to the homeless shelter. I go by there. I could drop it off." He had seen Lida's Bakery truck delivering day-old bread there the other night.

Neil drew in his chin. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"Charity?" Gordon said with a shrug.

"Charity my a.s.s! Let them f.u.c.king work like the rest of us! Like you and me! The lazy f.u.c.king maggots, why the h.e.l.l should I bust my hump just to keep them alive another day. Huh?" He continued to shout in Gordon's face. "n.o.body ever f.u.c.king helps me! n.o.body gives a f.u.c.k if I live or die!" He caught himself and smiled that thin wet smile again. "But so the f.u.c.k what, right, Gloomis?"

Every muscle tightened. His eyes flinched from Neil's. All these years, and it still stung.

"I'll tell you what," Neil said, taking a matchbook from his pocket. "Here. Next time you go by just give it a toss and do them all a favor."

For the rest of the day he managed to avoid Neil, whose angry voice carried through the store now. He was berating Leo for ordering sides of beef without asking him first.

"That's how much we always get!" Leo looked at him as if he were crazy.

"From now on you ask. You check with me, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" Neil roared.

At three o'clock the store began to get busy. Gordon was bagging at Serena's register for a woman with silver rings on all her fingers. When Serena rang up the total, the woman removed a white envelope from her purse and counted out the food stamps.

"Naturally," Serena said under her breath.

The woman looked up, but Serena was smiling at her. Gordon was relieved when she left.

"But don't sell the jewelry," June said from the next register.

"G.o.d forbid," Serena said with a sigh.

Leo stood at June's elbow while she rang up an order. He was complaining about Neil again. His face was white, his dark eyes bulging from their sockets. "I'm telling you, he's a psycho. He's a friggin' psycho. And something's gonna happen, something bad," he said in a low voice as June's fingers flew over the keys.

"Come on, Leo, Neil's just . . . just being Neil," Serena said as she started ringing up the next order.

"Well, I'm sick of taking his psycho c.r.a.p. I been ordering without his okay so long I can't remember. Now all of a sudden he's p.i.s.sed? I'm telling you, something's very wrong with this picture. The man's headed right off the screen, and you mark my words when it happens, cuz it is. It's gonna happen."

A little while later, when the rush was over, June went into the office to rest. Gordon told Serena he was going to stock the dairy case. He'd be right back if she needed him.

"Hey," she said before he could leave. "There's something I been wanting to say. I mean, when you first started I kept thinking, I know this guy. And like the name, Loomis-I kept thinking, d.a.m.n it, I know that name, but from where?" She leaned closer. "It must've been tough, being so young and having something like that happen."

He nodded. She had turned twenty-two a few days before she died.

"I mean, you probably thought your life was over, right? That when you got out you'd be an old man or something."

He realized she was talking about him.

"And look, you're what, in your forties? You got your whole life ahead of you. So really, all you did was miss out on the rat race." Her husky laugh dragged through him, and he tried to smile.

After work the next night, he called Dennis. No matter what was going on in his brother's life, they had to stay close. Dennis had never given up on him, and he owed him at least that now.

He wasn't home yet. "He should be there pretty soon," Lisa said. Dennis had called from the office to say he had to run some errands and then he was going to stop by Gordon's and help him with the pipe in the cellar. Pipe? Pipe? he wondered as Lisa continued. he wondered as Lisa continued.

"I don't know about you two." She laughed. "I mean, at this point, why not just call a plumber? Or is this some macho trip you're both on? Some kind of plumbing bonding thing?"

He forced a weak laugh.

"I mean, after all-three nights in a row! Is somebody not getting the message here?"

Yes, you, he thought sadly. he thought sadly.

"I'm only kidding, Gordon. Actually, I'm glad you're spending time together. Dennis just seems so much happier lately." She told him how glad she was he'd come to Jimmy's party and how great it was seeing Delores again. "She's such a wonderful woman. Oh, and I almost forgot. Father Hensile-he enjoyed meeting you, and he'd really like to get together with you sometime. He's a very nice person," she continued when he didn't say anything.

"He seemed to be."

"I think you'd enjoy his company."

"I'm just a little busy right now."

"What about this weekend? Sat.u.r.day? We could-"

"No. I can't. I'll be doing yardwork. The roses-the leaves, they've got black spots on them."

It was Sunday. Gordon looked out the window again: raining and still no sign of clearing. Dennis would be here soon. Gordon had called him at home this morning and said he needed to talk to him. Lisa had called last night looking for Dennis. He had told her he'd be with Gordon most of the day. When it was almost dinnertime and she hadn't heard from Dennis, she'd called Gordon to say she and the kids were going to pick up pizzas at Lida's and they'd be right over with them. She'd asked Gordon what he liked-sausage, pepperoni, anchovies?

"Dennis isn't here," he told her.

"Oh, darn! It would have been fun. I wish I'd thought of it earlier. What time did he leave?"

"I'm not sure."

"I'm going to hang up. Maybe I can catch him on the car phone." She called back minutes later. "That's funny-he's not answering. But I'll keep trying, and if I do get him, I'll call you right back."

Her next call came two hours later. It was seven-thirty. She hadn't heard from Dennis and she was worried. She wanted to know exactly when he'd left there. Gordon said he didn't know. Wasn't sure. Couldn't remember. There was a pause. "You're lying to me," she said. "He hasn't been there at all today, has he?"

"I-"

"Tell me. Tell me the truth, Gordon. Has Dennis been there today? Has he?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Lie to me. Tell me he's been with you all day. Since early this morning. Tell me he's there right now and he's in the middle of something and he just can't come to the phone right now. That's all you have to tell me. That's all I need to hear."

He couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying.

"That's how ridiculous this is. How pathetic I am."

"Don't cry. Please don't cry, Lisa. He'll be home soon. Something probably happened, that's all," he said, though he doubted she could hear him, she was crying so hard.

Even with the wipers on high, rain blurred the windshield. Dennis floored the accelerator. He drove at the same furious speed of his thoughts. Lisa didn't believe that he had run into an old cla.s.smate yesterday and they'd gone into Boston for a few drinks and ended up meeting Charlie's cousin in some bar, where they watched the Sox-Yankees game on television. Charlie who? Charlie who?

Ross.

From where? she had demanded. she had demanded.

Dental school, he had said, annoyed to be caught, annoyed to be doubted when it had always been his right to be believed, annoyed that she not only insisted he give her details, but annoyed that she would write them down, as what? Proof, evidence, of what? That he didn't love his family, that he wasn't doing the best he possibly could under the circ.u.mstances, and now Jilly said he had to choose, her or them, which of course was no choice at all, even though he didn't want to lose Jilly, couldn't bear the thought of her leaving him, but his family was the most important part of his life, as well as the most complicating. There wasn't anything on earth he wouldn't do for them. It was the pressure he couldn't take, the constant pressure of always having to be more for everyone. Nothing was ever good enough. Lisa had known what he was all about when she married him. He'd never made any bones about who he was. She was the one who'd changed. What did she expect, with all her sweet piety and constant optimism? It was like living with a G.o.dd.a.m.n nun on Prozac. He was sick of always being told to look on the bright side and love his fellow man. He was sick of trying to understand people's fears and forgive them their shortcomings. How could she call him selfish when he'd spent his whole life doing for others, making up for his family's shame, his brother's misery? And here he was, still at it, still being sucked into the miasma of weakness and inept.i.tude that was Gordon's life. That's the part she didn't get. And never had. he had said, annoyed to be caught, annoyed to be doubted when it had always been his right to be believed, annoyed that she not only insisted he give her details, but annoyed that she would write them down, as what? Proof, evidence, of what? That he didn't love his family, that he wasn't doing the best he possibly could under the circ.u.mstances, and now Jilly said he had to choose, her or them, which of course was no choice at all, even though he didn't want to lose Jilly, couldn't bear the thought of her leaving him, but his family was the most important part of his life, as well as the most complicating. There wasn't anything on earth he wouldn't do for them. It was the pressure he couldn't take, the constant pressure of always having to be more for everyone. Nothing was ever good enough. Lisa had known what he was all about when she married him. He'd never made any bones about who he was. She was the one who'd changed. What did she expect, with all her sweet piety and constant optimism? It was like living with a G.o.dd.a.m.n nun on Prozac. He was sick of always being told to look on the bright side and love his fellow man. He was sick of trying to understand people's fears and forgive them their shortcomings. How could she call him selfish when he'd spent his whole life doing for others, making up for his family's shame, his brother's misery? And here he was, still at it, still being sucked into the miasma of weakness and inept.i.tude that was Gordon's life. That's the part she didn't get. And never had.

Brakes squealing, he pulled up in front of the house. He hit the front door with his wet fist, banging, banging, banging harder, harder. "Open the door! Open the door! Open the G.o.dd.a.m.n door, you-"

"You're all wet," Gordon said in all his volitionless inertia, not letting him in, continuing to hold the door ajar, standing there in his tight gray pajamas, the sleeves skimpy, the cloth dull as his eyes.

He pushed his way inside, wanting to tell his brother how he'd gone through this once and he wasn't going to go through it again, having his life turned upside down and everything he cared about threatened and compromised. He had known this wouldn't work. What had he been thinking? He should have just sold this place a long time ago and forced his brother to go his own way, instead of always thinking he had to be the one to pick up all the pieces and put everything back together, because that's the way it had always been, because that's all he knew how to do, it seemed, anymore.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Gordon asked.

He sank onto the couch, for a moment bewildered that he had not said it and could not, because the wound that was his heart continued pumping its spasm of bloodred heat in his chest while his eyes tried to adjust to the dimness of this shabby room.

"Can I get you something to drink? A gla.s.s of water? A beer? I have one. I keep it there." He pointed toward the kitchen. "For you. It's cold. It's in the refrigerator. I can go get it."