 |
 |
 |
 |
|
MOVING DAY
"And I realized, when you go through any endeavor, any journey,
***June 20, 2024*** "Wake up! Wake up!" Robert Goren initially thought it was an earthquake until he realized the vibration originated next to him. He opened his eyes to find their daughter Olivia between himself and Alex on the bed, bouncing up and down as if she were five instead of ten. "Aren't you supposed to knock?" Alexandra Eames Goren asked sleepily and levered herself on her left elbow, pushing her hair behind her ear. The expression on her face was indulgent rather than reprimanding. Olivia stopped bouncing, looked guilty, and said, "I knew you'd want to rest before today and not be doing anything private. How can you sleep? It's moving day!" Bobby struggled to keep a straight face. "We're old people, remember?" It produced the desired effect: the classic Olivia eye roll with the accompanying quirk of her mouth. They were silent then, eyeing the still unfamiliar room. The walls had been painted pale blue like the old bedroom, an attractive contrast to the maple-finished hardwood floors. Sunshine was striped between the shuttered blinds, as rods were not yet mounted for curtains, and outside, birds were asserting their territories, their calls carried by the breeze through the open windows. "What ungodly hour is this?" Alex finally joked, consulting her Fitbit. "Seven already?" "And people will be here at nine," Olivia said sternly, as if she were the job coordinator. She was kneeling on the bed in a red-and-white gingham-patterned nightgown, and Captain, her stuffed fox, was clutched under one arm—she'd made certain he'd come over from next door the previous night. Technically, the previous day had been "moving day," because both adults had put their foot down with family and friends and hired professionals to shift the large items, including the Murphy bed yet to be re-installed in the rear bedroom that would become Alex's office. The living room and bedroom furniture, as well as the exercise equipment, had already been transferred into Bruno Volpe's old home, along with most of the bookcases, Bobby's desk from the attic, and his small square safe. For several weeks previously, all three of them, helped on odd days by the neighbors and their friends at the Dark Crystal restaurant four blocks away, had assisted in the transfer of small items: stored groceries, winter clothing, DVDs from the big cabinet in the living room. New items, including the World Book Encyclopedia Bobby had ordered for Olivia, were shipped directly to the house and put into their proper place. ("Of course, she can Google information," Bobby had argued, "but she should have the pleasure of looking things up." Alex privately wagered that Bobby would be reading the encyclopedia within the week.) Very early the previous morning, Tim Stratton, tech maven and administrator of the Dark Crystal's Facebook page, discreetly ran brown cables around the baseboards of the first floor. He then set up their internet and Wi-Fi; the movers remounted the television, so they'd spent the previous evening in happy disorder in the back parlor, where Bandit the budgie's birdcage had been installed on a tall two-shelved walnut console table found in the attic. Bandit happily sang and mooched from their plates as they ate supper—wings and other goodies fresh from TJ's grill at the Crystal—from folding wooden trays while watching Jeopardy and, by Olivia's request, Star Trek, before heading to bed. They'd also carried over just enough kitchen equipment for Bobby to make breakfast: oatmeal, eggs and ham, applesauce, milk for Olivia, a coffee maker and supplies for the adults, and food for the dog... ...who appeared at the bedroom door at that moment, took two bounds, and was up on the bed beside Olivia, woofing happily. Eighty pounds of oversized tricolor collie made the bed creak, and three voices said nearly in unison, "Sam, sit!" "Stop panting in my ear," Olivia objected, twisting herself to the left to hug the dog, who began to wash her face vigorously with his tongue. "Yuck, Sam!" "I used to see television commercials like this," Bobby said with a little smile, "and never imagined it could be real." "We're real, Papa," Olivia said sympathetically and hugged him, then Alex in turn, finally reminding them, "but we need to get moving," and she grinned at her joke. "Very well, Madam Director," Alex told her. "Shoo! Get dressed!" "Yes, ma'am," and there was a scarlet flash out the door, followed by the predominantly black bulk of collie. In an act of mischief a month ago, Olivia had taught Sam to pull off the flannel cover of the bird's cage; several minutes later, the strident chirps of a very awake budgerigar echoed in the staircase. "And here it is, only the second day of summer vacation," Alex said with an elfin look. "You ready for this, Agent Goren?" "Ready to start something new or for ten weeks of free-range child? I'm not certain of either, Captain Eames," and he kissed her cheek, "but let's do it anyway." Fifteen minutes later, he was downstairs in a battered t-shirt and pajama shorts, cooking breakfast over the 1950s Roper gas range that fascinated Olivia because it had no self-lighting feature, so the oven must be ignited with a match. It was a good stove, he mused as he stirred the oatmeal and scrambled the eggs, and they would have to weigh its shortcomings—manual lighting and open burners—over the convenience and expense of a modern range. In five more minutes, Olivia skipped downstairs in a sleeveless blouse, jeans, and sneakers, carrying a book as usual, and danced through setting the table. By 7:45, Bobby had finished cooking, and the door to the back parlor was open, so Bandit was sitting at the big kitchen table on a paper towel, busily munching a small piece of scrambled egg and chives Alex had put down for him. "Cannibal," Bobby joked at the little bird as always, and Bandit returned his look with button-bright eyes and uttered the usual "Hi!" Many a dinner guest at the old house had looked askance at the tiny bird devouring bits of TJ's wings. "Bandit probably thinks, 'Hey, I wasn't the bird who got caught,'" Alex always observed. By 8:30 Bandit had been secured, the attic fan turned on and every window in the house opened with a fan operating in each room, for the weather promised to be scorching. Cars were already pulling into the driveways at 2 Courant and 4 Courant (their old house, affectionately nicknamed "the Dovecote"). White-haired, peppery Viola Perrino was the first to arrive with Abril Diaz and her grandchildren Carlos and Luciana Serrano; they would rent the little Cape Cod house starting that evening, free from the negligently maintained two-bedroom flat at Pequot Hills Apartments. Sofia Vargas, Elena Ramirez, and Abbi's other friends at Pequot were finishing up packing the apartment now: Sharon Kovacs with her cousin's battered Dodge Ram truck and Shard Carver with a UHaul (who'd squelched Abbi Diaz's protests by saying "this is a moving day gift, Mrs. Diaz," while turning on the Carver charm) had joined them packing and carrying. By nine, the Dark Crystal staff was emptying the rest of the kitchen (the faithful gateleg table and folding chairs were being left behind for the new occupants) of Goren items and replacing them with new supplies. "I'm setting up your new kitchen for you," Shard's partner TJ Gomes had told Bobby sternly, "so go take care of your books." Next, Alex's family tumbled out of their vehicles: sister Lizzie and her husband Steve, their college-age son Eddie, brother Jack and wife Patty, and daughters Eleanor and Sophia. Three SUVs arrived five minutes later stuffed with what Alex called "the NYPD Mob": Olivia Benson and her son Noah; retired captain James Deakins and his wife Angie; judge Ron Carver and his wife Hailey; Joe and Helen Hannah; and Alex and Bobby's former Major Case co-worker Mike Logan and his librarian wife Carla. Tall, lanky Zach Nichols with his quirky smile arrived last, then promptly established himself receiving books in Bobby's new library (Bobby having neatly labeled each area with what books he wanted in what section, from criminal psychology in one corner to history tomes in the other, and a spot for Olivia's brand new World Book on the low-set shelves under the front window), joined by Carla. Megan Wheeler and her teen daughter Margo arrived soon after from their own Westchester home, followed some minutes later by Bobby's car enthusiast/repairman pal Lewis, who zipped up in his current work-in-progress, a black Shelby Cobra, leading to a loss of about half the help for a quarter of an hour, with Alex's cousin Phil Cochran pulling up behind him, his wife Becky absent due to hospital obligations. At about 10:30, Olivia came shrieking through the "assembly line" that was packing and carrying books from the smaller house to the larger one, since the upper story had to be readied as soon as possible for the arrival of Carlos' bedroom furniture. "Baby break! Baby break!" "Say what?" Tony Fessiden asked, lifting his balding head as she streaked through the kitchen. The family attorney was sitting at the kitchen table, amending the Gorens' legal documents and making notes about insurance policies. "I believe Donna and Zes are here," Bobby chuckled as he helped himself to a soft drink. As it had been the day before for the movers, every available kitchen counter was covered with beverages, the freezer and refrigerator were stocked with bags of ice, and the other end of the table was stacked with paper cups, with a big open bag for recycling cans hung on one of the chairs. Indeed, infant Penelope Hastings and her entourage had just arrived: Donna, Olivia's tutor the previous summer, in jeans and a t-shirt, trotted up the front walk with a diaper bag slung over her shoulders, her usually riotous dark curls pulled back in a bouffant ponytail. This month's hair color streak was bright purple. ("In honor of you," she told Shard later.) Husband Quentin, otherwise known as "Zes," as always looking like he had walked out of an issue of a 1960s issue of "Rolling Stone," followed behind with Penelope facing her father in a stylish lavender baby carrier, her bright eyes wide open in wonder. Nichols appeared at the door to the library as Bobby and Tony walked by. "Am I delusional, or did all the estrogen in the house suddenly move outdoors?" Alex said tartly, "Check your stereotype at the door, Zach. One-third of that motion was male." "Move over, Nichols," scolded Carla, "so I can see the baby." Nichols teased slyly, "Does Mike like it when you order him around like that?" The petite redhead arched her eyebrows and replied smugly, "I make it worth his while." He threw his head back with a peal of laughter, and the three of them walked outside together. Following the new parents more leisurely were the new grandparents, Bobby's former FBI supervisor Penelope Saltonstall Hogarth and her husband Matt, along with their son, Charles, and, surprisingly, Penelope's older brother Charles, now the senior partner at Saltonstall and Saltonstall, his receding blond hair converting to silver just like hers, who shook hands with Bobby, saying with a slight grin, "I came to meet my sister's other unicorn." Donna hugged Bobby. "He's not a unicorn, Uncle Chaz. He's a big bear." A crowd formed around Zes, and Donna warned indulgently, "Remember, her godparents get first dibs." Zes tenderly lifted little Penny from her perch on his chest, kissing her nose, and the baby's eyes sparkled as she opened her mouth wide to reveal toothless gums. Then he transferred her to Alex, who cradled Penny with soft eyes and a misty smile. "Bring back memories, OM?" asked her nephew Eddie from behind her. He was redheaded like his father Stephen, paired with the sharp face of the Cochran side of the Eames family combined with his father's sturdy form. "OM"—"other mother"—was his nickname for Alex, who had been his parents' surrogate. "I think you were a little heftier at this age," teased Alex. Penny waved a tiny fist, and she kissed it. "Oh, now I'm fat," Eddie complained with a big grin. "Ma! Aunt Alex is calling me fat." "Solid, baby—never fat," Lizzie Hogan said indulgently, coming behind her sister and brushing Penny's cheek with one gentle finger. The baby focused hazel eyes upon her, looking puzzled at so many new faces. Olivia crowded next to Bobby, on tiptoe gazing at the infant. "Eames," Bobby said softly, "do the rest of us get a turn?" "Clockwatcher," she chided, preparing to lift her arms, but before she could go any further, Bobby asked, "Min, would you like to hold Penny?" Olivia's eyes widened. "Could I?" and looked not at her mother or father, but at Donna. "Sure, kitten," was the answer. There were smiles as Bobby showed Olivia how to curve her arms. "Make a cradle," he instructed, miming the action. "Remember, she can't lift her head yet, so you have to support it for her. One side up–" Alex gently laid Penny in her arms, and Olivia bent her head over the baby's face. "You are so lucky," she whispered. "You have the best parents–" And then she grinned. "Just like me." She supported Penny's weight for only a few minutes, then willingly handed her off to Bobby. With Bobby so large and Penny so tiny, he looked as if he were cradling a child's doll rather than a baby, his face placid and eyes half closed, his restless nature providing a natural rocking motion. Penny yawned, and her eyes started to lower. "Now, why can't we do that?" Zes asked his wife with a grin. "Bobby's a child whisperer," Alex said, remembering his skill with the youngest victims of their cases, like Robbie Bishop and Sophie Feldman. "She already has your hair, Donna," Bobby commented, brushing a tiny ringlet with his forefinger. "Zat's why she so bootiful," Zes cooed in an indulgent voice, unlike the professional confidence he exuded at work. Penny made a little "ah!" at her father's voice, Donna blushed, and Olivia giggled at the responsible adults turning to mush before the baby. "Time's up," said Lizzie briskly, and Bobby laughed and handed Penny over. In another half hour, the book relay was again operational with more volunteers: Russ Jenkins and several of the children from Big Brothers/Big Sisters had arrived. Roy Leffingwell, the young bookworm of the group, immediately dashed into Bobby's library to join Nichols and Carla. ("Holy fuck!" was his reaction upon arriving inside; Russ hissed, "Watch your language!") Rafe Sanchez's cousins had been allowed to remain with him in Bobby and Russ's group, but all three would age out in the fall, and they were counting down their last sessions together. Hector and Felipe, now sixteen and seemingly growing taller each day, elected to join the adults. Rafe and the others partnered with Olivia, Noah, and Alex's younger niece Sophia in transporting lighter items. When Bobby's attic office was empty, Farouk, the cleaner at the Dark Crystal (thus, as Shard and TJ always said, their most essential employee), and Mrs. Diaz headed upstairs to dust, sweep, and finally mop the laminate floor. In the meantime, the Danielsons and the Athertons wheeled up their gas grills. Alex's broad-shouldered brother Jack briefly skirmished with TJ about who would cook. "I'm a firefighter, man," Jack told him, "and if I can't grill up burgers and dogs, I'd better retire from FDNY 'cause they're gonna pull my badge. You're the one with the kitchen expertise—keep setting up inside." TJ had laughed, and they compromised, and soon Jack Eames and Steve Hogan were out under the oaks cooking hamburgers and hot dogs that Shard and TJ had brought, cooled by a big industrial fan the Athertons had dug out of their garage. Farouk's wife Neda and Helen Hannah arranged the folding tables in a U-shape around the grills, with paper plates and cups, recyclable utensils, buns for the meat, condiments, and bags of potato and corn chips. Neda had also provided a green salad and a vegetarian lentil dish. In the center of the crowd stood Alex with her lists, serenely directing people from one room to the next. Bobby threw himself wherever he was needed, and by the time Shard and Sharon arrived with Abbi Diaz's friends and filled trucks, lunch was ready. The crowd seemed to have multiplied since baby Penny's entrance: brothers Nate and Andy Berkowitz from Sycamore Street; Lena Krentz, whose tree-filled yard was behind the little Cape Cod house, and who presented Bobby with a Japanese maple tree for their new front yard; the Novinos from 6 Courant; and Bess Atherton from the Queen Anne behind their new home. After a half hour, Ariadna Kostakis from Sweet Scoops, the ice cream place on Main Street, pulled up in the business's new food truck, which she'd been taking to Food Truck Thursdays in Southbury since the summer began. Her reward that afternoon was as sweet as her product. Last to pick up a treat, Olivia now contentedly enjoyed a lemon ice pop as Bobby munched a chocolate éclair bar. They remained standing at the white picket fence facing into the June breeze when a car with Connecticut rental plates pulled up. "Isn't everyone here?" asked Olivia impishly as she licked a dribble of lemon ice from her thumb, although she knew many friends were missing: editor Holly Lewin was out of town, Bobby's FBI colleague Marc Thuringer was working, and neither Jacob nor Cerise, Olivia's classmates, had been able to come. "It could be Caro–" Bobby finished his last bite of ice cream with a gulp, doing a double-take at the dark-haired man with a widow's peak, receding hairline, and lean face emerging from the driver's side of the rental car, especially dressed as he was in jeans and an open-necked sport shirt over Nikes. Both instantly knew the cinnamon-haired boy with him, although he was nearly unrecognizable wearing something other than a scowl. His apprehensive expression made him look younger than his twelve years, and he was clad in a Taylor Swift t-shirt and black shorts, with black-and-electric purple Air Jordans. "Leo?" Bobby had not believed Olivia's eyes could open any wider; she was as surprised as if she'd seen a rainbow-striped dragon raining lollipops on Route 67. He said mildly, "I didn't realize he was a Swifty." "Me, neither," she said breathlessly. Leo Volpe saw her reaction and halted, his father pausing behind him. "Um...hi, Olivia." "Hi, yourself." Her mouth made the words, "What are you doing here?" but no sound came out. "Leo mentioned that you said in your blog that you were moving today," Julian Volpe said mildly. "We...came to see if we could help." "All the way from California?" Olivia asked, astonished. Leo shrugged. "Mom and Dad have tons of frequent flyer miles." "Your...mom?" Olivia queried. Leo made a wry face. "At home. We're...working on her. But we're going on vacation next month. Yosemite. She promised. All of us." Julian advised quietly, "I can't guarantee she won't take her laptop." "But it's a start." "And your sister?" Leo rolled his eyes. "With DeeDee, of course, talking about the Real Housewives." When Olivia giggled, he knew he'd broken the final barrier. "Come in the house," she invited. "Noah and my cousins are helping me with my room. Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Steve bought me this brill poster! And you can meet Bandit and Sam." He hung back. "Noah won't want to see me. Or Ana and Carlos, either. I was too much of a prick last time. Maybe I can help somewhere else." She regarded him soberly, then said, blunt, "Or you can apologize for being a prick." Bobby opened his mouth to correct her, but Leo just cocked his head and nodded as if he'd decided to take his lumps. "Noah's a good sport, just like his mom." Then she grinned. "Don't worry, they won't bite." The children jogged back toward the house, leaving Bobby to offer his hand. "Nice to see you again, Julian." The other man shrugged as they shook hands. "You can just call me 'Jack.' I'm...trying it back on." Bobby grinned. "Well, that's a problem—I have a brother-in-law Jack. He's still got a stack of burgers and dogs in the backyard; come make a plate." "Leo and I had a good meal on the plane," Julian said regretfully. "We...didn't know what kind of reception we'd get." "There was no need to worry about that. But I'm glad you're here. I...wanted to talk with you and prefer in-person to online. Let me show you something," Bobby said comfortably, leading him into the house. Alex was still in the center of the hallway, directing people upstairs and down. She smiled and said "Hello" when she saw Julian, having already seen Olivia lead Leo upstairs, then turned to direct Eddie, who had a box of sheets for the main bedroom. Julian turned in a half-circle. "You wallpapered. And it looks like you had the woodwork polyurethaned." "Yes and no," Bobby said, surveying the cream-colored paper with thin vertical lines of gold and pale blue an inch apart. "Alex found the wallpaper online and thought it would brighten the hall. The woodwork's just been polished within an inch of its life—unintentionally. One of our Big Brothers/Big Sisters volunteers, Lloyd Jackson, is a Scout leader. He told me his boys had to do 'a good deed' to earn a merit badge and wondered if they couldn't help out here. There were a dozen of them, and we assigned each one a small section of beadboard in the hall and the kitchen—just enough for 'good deed' credit." He chuckled. "We didn't know he'd played The Karate Kid for them the weekend before. They did a 'wax on, wax off' competition, and now we have the most highly polished wainscoting in New England." He jerked his head toward the library, where he could see figures moving. "It's in here." They walked through the double doors, and Bobby blinked. "Zach...Carla–" Nichols turned to him, his arms full of books, looking amused. "You only had to put the boxes under the proper shelves, not shelve the books." "What did I tell you he'd say?" commented Nichols. Carla, busy placing criminology books in the section of shelves duly labeled, turned around with an almost exasperated expression. "C'mon, Bobby, I'm a librarian. This is part of what I do. If you want to rearrange them later, I don't care. I just figured you'd prefer to reuse the boxes instead of opening new ones; cut down on the recycling." She looked down at Roy, who sat cross-legged reading the "A" volume of the World Book. "Up for more, Roy?" "Yes, ma'am," answered Roy, but they could tell he abandoned the volume reluctantly. Bobby introduced Julian to them, then led him to the back-to-back desks at the center of the room. One was Bobby's old grey metal work desk with the woodgrain top from the attic, with reference books for his current lecture cycle stacked around his laptop. It faced the side window and the safe he kept for sensitive documents. The second desk, dark wood in a classic office style with a center drawer and smaller drawers on one side, was newer and positioned so that Bobby could spin 180 degrees in his chair to use it. The work surface was cheerful, with a framed photo of himself, Alex, and Olivia taken at the latter's adoption ceremony and a vintage studio portrait of his mother in the right corner; in the left corner sat a Santa Claus head mug holding pens and a reclining collie that acted as a paperweight. On the traditional blotter in the center of the desk sat a vintage green-covered accounting book and a red-covered "Big Chief" writing tablet. "Any of that look familiar?" Bobby asked Julian. Nichols tilted his head to one side and caught Bobby's eye with a questioning look; in response, Bobby lifted an eyebrow. "Hey," Nichols said to Carla, stopping her before she could unload more books, "you know, I could use a drink, and you probably could, too." "I–" Carla began, then regarded Julian and smiled. "You're right, I'm parched. Come get a drink, too, Roy. I promised Russ I'd look after you." Roy, a slight boy of fourteen with ash-blond hair contrasting against his slightly olive skin, looked at her in confusion. "I'm not a baby, Mrs. Logan. I know when I'm thirsty." "I know, but I promised," Carla reminded. Roy shrugged, and with a grin, Nichols shepherded them out and slid the pocket-panel doors shut. Julian quirked his mouth in a wry smile. "Your friends are...discreet." "Nichols has two psychiatrists as parents," was Bobby's dry response. "He read body language before 'Dick and Jane.'" "As for your question," returned Julian, "my dad kept the household accounts in ledgers like that. I think he stocked up when we bought this house. Why he drove into Providence for them, I have no idea." Bobby flipped the heavy ledger book over, revealing the E.L. Freeman label. "Nostalgia can be persuasive. Here, take a seat." Julian did, and Bobby laid the former account book in his lap, open to the first page, where what was not accounts began with a date: "'August 7, 1950, Ft. Leonard Wood,'" Julian read aloud. "'I always figured my first trip out of Mass. would be to New York City, not somewhere halfway to Timbuktu. I'd give anything for a Rexall Drugs right now! Thought they'd send me to Fort Dix since everyone jokes about the place, but instead I'm in the middle of nowhere, southwest of St. Louis and southeast of Kansas City. I looked it up—this joint's named for a general who was with the Rough Riders and Teddy Roosevelt, originally an Army surgeon. I suppose that's appropriate when you're training as a medic...'" He looked up at Bobby, who leaned against his wooden desk, his gaze far away. "My dad kept this? During the war?" "Yes. There are notes about the journal in the tablet." Julian sighed. "And these were 'the papers previously entrusted to you.'" Bobby nodded. "Dad thought I wouldn't want them." Julian closed the ledger and laid it back on the desk, then ran his hand over his face. "God, what did I do?" He smiled at Bobby wryly. "Rhetorical question. I know very well what I did. You and your wife didn't like us very much either, did you? And Trent...Trent was a mistake." "You have me there. Tony would always say Trent was a mistake. But it's not why I invited you to see this," Bobby said quietly. "Last month is old news. We all...go our own way in life. Your father accepted it because it's part of the transition to adulthood—the pulling away. Sometimes we get into our heads too deeply, and it's hard p-prying us out. I was like that for a long time—and lucky that Alex waited it out." "But you were angry." "Of course I was." Bobby paced between desks briefly, and Julian saw his jaw tighten. "Angry because you had what I always wanted as a kid—a d-dad who loved me as I was, not as a deflection for his lies—and you squandered it. When I was younger, I could manage the anger; all I had to do was get absorbed in my work, and it was pushed back. Then came my late forties, and it all...came to a head. I let it...b-build and explode...even risked it all and lost my job for awhile." Julian saw his eyes flicker at his wedding ring. "I almost lost...the best friend I ever had. It took me too long to realize that the anger made things worse. I control it now, look for other solutions." His face softened. "And we have Olivia to think of. I don't want her to think that anger is a solution. Anger is a reaction, never a solution." He looked at Julian compassionately, then tapped the account book with his left forefinger. "Again...old news. It's this that I wanted to talk about. There's been an influx of Korean War material for the last few years because of the 70th anniversary. Overviews, biographies, battalion memoirs, aviation sagas, 'where it all went wrong'...but not one of them is like this: a journal by a b-battlefield survivor who was also a conscientious objector. There's a book here." Julian looked him in the eye. "Then write it." He smiled, and his face was suddenly ten years younger. "I bought your book. And your wife's. One of you write it." Bobby chuckled. "Alex claims she's never writing anything longer than a to-do list again—that it was harder than being on the street hunting criminals." Julian shrugged. "You then. I enjoyed The Refuge. That story of your mother and the Christmas tree..." "That...took weeks to write, longer than anything else in the book," Bobby admitted. He perched at the edge of the wooden desk. "I don't think your dad's story will need much input from me. Zes—you'll see him outside with the baby carrier—has taken a look at it. He agrees that your dad's narrative can stand alone. The notes made in the tablet would be part of the story as well. Footnoting would take care of explanations of training, battle, medical terminology, etc. Depending on my workload, I could do that research or oversee it with an assistant. Probably both will be done because Zes and his father want to fast-track this for next year to coincide with the 75th anniversary." He paused. "I won't take on this project without your approval, Julian. No matter what fracture you had at the end, he was your father. I won't...I can't take that away from you. And I meant what I said the day the w-will was read. Bruno was always proud of you, no matter what. Besides–" Julian cocked his head toward him, and Bobby continued, "I have a...potentially...um...rude question. I've read your editorials, mission statements, and other briefs on the Globe Underwriters website. They're yours—not ghostwritten?" "Given what's currently happening in the world, with 'fake news' in all its forms, it's a fair question. Yes, they're mine—not out of my press release office or AI. Proofread and corrected, of course, by my admin, but all my own." "Then you have, as was said of Thomas Jefferson, 'a happy talent for composition.' I think an introduction or afterward for your father's book would be appropriate and instructive, considering...how he ends the diary with his hopes for the future and a family. Those things you mentioned about you and Enzo growing up here...the cocoa and the baseball games, Martin Como, the Ben Franklin store, Jimmy Atherton...would be just the touch it needed." Julian looked thoughtful. "Work up the manuscript, then, and we'll see–" "This has to be by the numbers," Bobby countered. "I...um...think Anitra would insist." "She certainly would," chuckled Julian, then grew serious. "Not to brag, Mr. Goren–" "Bob." "Bob, then. We're...set for life financially. We have safety nets under safety nets, and still, Nita won't let go." "She fears losing everything?" asked Bobby shrewdly. Julian nodded. "Her parents...it was the one thing that never left them." "Maybe your vacation will tip something. Leo's certainly hoping so. By the way, I have copies of both the ledger and the tablet. Take the originals for Leo. Maybe s-someday for Gia—children do change. It could be that the Real Housewives will lead to an interest in real life." "I don't know about that, but then I didn't think Leo–" Julian paused, then asked abruptly, "What kind of magic does your daughter possess? Do you know Leo has read two books in the last month? And he's starting a third." "Sometimes Olivia's...um...very much her biological mother's child," Bobby said wryly. "If it's fine with you, can we talk with Tony about this? I don't want any misunderstandings between us, and should there be profit–" Julian nodded and pointed at the doors. "I'm willing, but a little later, I think—we need to let your friends back in the library; they're getting antsy!" Bobby laughed because he, too, could see Nichols' eye peering into the gap between the doors. "Later then." "Show me what you've done with the house," said Julian, and Zach, Carla, and Roy had returned to shelving books, eventually joined by Margo Wheeler and Ron Carver. Bobby nearly collided with Alex not a half hour later when he slipped into their bedroom to use the bathroom; she was emerging from the closet, where he noticed she'd changed into a lighter top. He pushed the door closed with his foot to capture a little of what Olivia would call "alone time." "Did you speak with Julian?" Alex asked presently. "Zach told me he and Carla and Roy cleared out of the library for what looked like a heart-to-heart." "Some," Bobby told her, his nose still buried in her hair. "He promised we'd talk later, with Tony." "It will be later," she laughed, happy to relax for a few moments with her head tucked against his collarbone. "Mike corralled him into helping with the boxes going to the basement and led him off to tell him stories about his dad." "How's the move next door going?" "Well, the plan that Carlos would take the spot upstairs and Ana would go into Olivia's room is out the door." Alex stepped back from the embrace with a reluctant sigh. "Ana stared at her solitary bed and bureau in that room, and Viola said she looked like she wanted to cry. She told Shard that she'd been rooming with Carlos for so long that she didn't want to be alone. So she decided to take the south end of upstairs while Carlos has the front room. Jack found the drapes Bruno had in the hallway and attached them to the ceiling upstairs as privacy dividers until Franco can install the walls we planned for. Viola knows a source for a new mattress and bedding for Bruno's old futon, and Olivia's old room can be used for visitors." He hugged her once more. "Those kids..." Then he added anxiously, "Everyone knows to get Abbi and the kids settled in before finishing anything here, right?" "That all got around on the QT without Abbi getting wind of it," Alex promised conspiratorially. Her eyes were dancing. "Olivia tells me Leo's been reading!" "So I heard. Julian wanted to know what kind of magic Min had," he chuckled. "And told me that Anitra has agreed to go on a vacation next month." "Ms. Moneybag's willing to leave the bank on its own? Will wonders never–" "Hey, Alexxxxx!" bellowed Jack Eames from downstairs. "Later, Agent Goren," she bade. "I'm needed." "Always, Captain Eames." He used the bathroom, then threw himself into the tumult next door of getting Carlos and Ana settled in their rooms when Abbi Diaz's stern voice floated up the stairs. "Señor Carver, what have you done?" Bobby came downstairs with Ana and Carlos in tow to find their grandmother with arms akimbo in the kitchen, Viola Perrino attempting to calm her. With her right hand, she pointed to the open refrigerator, upbraiding Shard. "What is all this?" Shard blinked at her with mild eyes. "It appears to be a full refrigerator, Mrs. Diaz." He smiled and shut the door. "Don't want to air-condition the neighborhood, as my dad would say." Abbi was undeterred. "And also a full cupboard," she said stiffly, pointing to the foodstuffs in that location to the left of the stove, "and a full closet." "It's a gift, Mrs. Diaz," replied Shard in the silky tones that made him sound so much like his father, "from the staff at the Dark Crystal. Since you'll be showing TJ some of your recipes so we can offer some Puerto Rican-inspired appetizers—it's...a trade agreement. We do get these groceries wholesale." Mrs. Diaz looked at him skeptically, as if glaring over eyeglasses. Shard blinked and smiled in a motion so like his father's that Bobby laughed. "We also bought groceries for Señora Vargas, Señora Ramirez, and Señorita Matin for helping us with the move. TJ and I thought it was only fair." Abbi sighed. "You and Roberto and your 'trade agreements.' This once! Just once!" "Yes, ma'am," was Shard's respectful answer. "And I wanted to tell you—I have a friend who has a friend who knows someone on the Southbury City Housing Authority. She'll see if we can light a little blaze under your former landlord." "Elena will be tan feliz," Abbi said tartly, "although you may need gasoline for a bonfire with Señor Hedlund. And you remember—I will be at the restaurant on Monday morning for the lessons, so you tell Tomas to be ready." "It's a deal," Shard said, offering her his hand. Abbi and Viola returned to arranging items in the kitchen with Sofia and Elena. Shard grinned at Bobby as he beckoned them into the living room, where Jack and Patty arranged Abbi's furniture with the extra end tables once stored in Bruno's attic. "I'm sorry to do this, kids," he whispered, "but try to keep your abuela away from the basement until Teej and I are clear tonight." "What did you do?" Carlos asked. "Um, Tilde and Shan stocked more canned goods, cereals, and other things downstairs when everyone else ate lunch." "Abi-Abi is going to kill you," Ana predicted, biting back a grin. "Don't worry, I'll have another excuse by then," said Shard cheerfully, departing through the front door. Bobby walked back into the kitchen to find Abbi pulling up one of the kitchen chairs so she could reach the top shelf of the cupboard. Instead, Bobby stopped her and had her hand him the items individually, placing them where she instructed. When they had finished, she smiled at him and said thank you. "Abbi," he requested soberly, "I never had a sister. Would you be mine?" Abbi Diaz regarded his grave expression with curiosity, and then her slender oval face lit up with a warm smile. "I will adopt you as my brother, Roberto," she replied, patting him on the shoulder. Viola smiled, the children clapped, and then Abbi pulled away. "And now I will be like a sister and tell you to get out of my kitchen and get back to work," she added sternly, and Carlos whooped. "You've asked for it now, Mr. G," he teased. "Sisters are really, really bossy!" "Who are you calling bossy?" Ana demanded and chased him out the back door. At six, Jack Eames and Steve Hogan fired up the gas grills again. Alvin Danielson jogged home and returned with bowls of potato salad. Neda Farouk produced a mushroom and rice vegetarian dish, and Bess Atherton retrieved several large Tupperware containers of homemade mac and cheese. The Berkowitz brothers disappeared for half an hour and returned with beer to go along with the soft drinks and lemonade. By six, people were seated under the trees eating in either backyard, congregating in family or friendly bunches. Olivia was sprawled under the English oak closest to the sun porch, her head in Alex's lap as her mother munched her way through a bratwurst on a bun. "Leo told me, Papa," the little girl said dreamily, "that he read two books last month." "So his father mentioned," said Bobby with amusement, sipping on a Fox Farms ale. "One was called Hatchet," Olivia mused. "Do you think I'd like it?" "It's about a boy who has to survive alone in the woods," Alex said. "Eddie read it when he was about Leo's age. He raved about it for days." "We can buy a copy or get it at the library," Bobby said before Olivia could ask. "I took Leo's phone and made a list on it of books he should read," she said, sitting up. "And the first one on the list was...?" Bobby prompted, knowing the answer, and Olivia predictably retorted, "Johnny Tremain, of course!" "Bobby, did you finish talking with Julian?" Alex asked when she finished her meal. "We had a round-robin with Tony. We'll sign an agreement once we wrap up the deal with Hastings House." Bobby leaned back against the tree, taking another drag at his beer. "Julian liked the idea of donating his portion of any profits to a veteran's organization in Bruno's name." "You know," Olivia said, sliding sideways to lean against Bobby's arm, "those two aren't half bad." "'Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them,'" Bobby quoted softly, and she tilted her head at him. "That's from a book, isn't it?" "One you can read in a few years," he promised. Across the yard, seated on an old blanket from her hope chest, Abbi Diaz and her grandchildren were finishing ears of grilled corn on the cob. She was regarding the chain-link fence that separated "the Dovecote" from the Novino property. "The backyard," she said thoughtfully, "is too sloped, but that little corner there—what about that corner for a vegetable garden? It's a little late to plant, but we could still try...think of it: tomatoes, tomatillos, some sweet corn, sweet peppers, some chilis..." "Abi-Abi," Carlos said with a sigh, "here we are having a nice picnic, and all you think of is work! It's summer vacation. Next year I'll be old enough for a summer job, so I want to enjoy this year." Their grandmother had that faraway expression that the children knew meant she was thinking of the sunny family farm where she had been born and grew up, where her father, grandfather, and uncle had raised pumpkins and plantains. She remembered the sea breezes of the Caribbean, the family goats, and her little pet kid, Caramelo. "Just uno pequeño. Not much work to keep up. Imagine sofrito rice with fresh tomatoes and peppers, or–" "Imagine weeding in hot weather like today," Ana returned with a grin. "Not if you get up early enough, querida," her grandmother smiled as she bestowed a kiss on Ana's forehead. "The Danielsons have a rototiller," Carlos said with a little smile. "Maybe they'll let me borrow it." Under the maples that had shaded the borrowed gas grills, Jack Eames leaned back in the old-fashioned webbed folding chair one of the neighbors—he still couldn't tell most of them apart—had provided. His sister Lizzie positioned her folding cane seat closer to him, handing him a plate with a slice of German chocolate cake and a fork. "For the chef!" "Thanks, Liz." He stretched out in the chair, then took a forkful of the cake with coconut frosting almost an inch thick. As he swallowed, a look of bliss crossed his face. But after a few more mouthfuls, he grinned at Lizzie. "Still not quite as good as Mom's." "Very few things are," answered Lizzie, biting into a lemon square. A few minutes earlier, Carmella Innocenzi's paisan had zoomed up in his blue panel van after working in Rhode Island for the day. Franco Taglione had promised to come by and re-install the Murphy bed, which he had hurried upstairs to do, but had left a stack of twine-tied pastry boxes on the folding tables, calling "Come'n'get 'em! Fresh from Solitro's!" before pounding up the stairs. Once opened, the boxes revealed a feast of Italian baked goods: lemon squares, sfogliatelle, cannoli, cornets, strufoli, and biscotti. Alta Novino had brought the German chocolate cake, and Rafe and his cousins had arrived with containers of Mexican wedding cookies. A snowfall of confectioner's sugar was soon everywhere. By 7:30, the sun was casting long shadows in both yards. Bobby, perspiring, with his hair askew, wearily made the rounds to call everyone into the sun porch, which was soon full. Jack, working in the dining room where he was inflating the air mattress Eddie would sleep on that night, remained leaning in the back doorway. Both the Hogans and the Eameses were staying the night in Milbury: the "old folks" Liz and Steve, Jack had teased, earning a playful smack on the shoulder from his older sister, claimed the choice place in the guest bedroom. He and Patty would take the Murphy bed, Sophia and Eleanor would share Olivia's bed, and Olivia would use the sofa ("I get to sleep with Sam and Bandit!" she said happily). Baby Penelope's entourage and the Logans would room at the nearby Homewood Suites. Bobby positioned himself next to the back door, his hand on the back of the Adirondack chair Bruno Volpe had last occupied in April, calling, "Everyone! May I have your attention?" When there was no appreciable reaction, Alex slipped next to him and shouted, "Hey! Listen up!" He always joked that when Alex talked, people listened. And indeed, a hush descended. "I still can't believe all of you gave up taking refuge under an air conditioner during this heat wave to help us move a library's worth of books and other things, but I can only think of two words–" He smiled at Alex. "Thank you," Alex said, exhaling. "Mahsi-choo, as Molly Mabray would say," Olivia piped up, snuggling at Alex's side. "In other words," Bobby added, "gracias," and he nodded at Abbi Diaz, "and grazie," and he smiled at Viola Perrino, "and go raibh maith agat," directed at Jack and Lizzie, "and so many thanks in so many words I don't know." "You heard it here first, folks," Lewis joked from the middle of the crowd. "My man Bobby is at a loss for words." "Dude," Bobby said with tongue-in-cheek, "you wanta drive that Mustang again or not?" Laughing, Lewis threw up his hands in surrender. "Second," he continued a moment later, "I know that since the day falls on a Thursday, some of you might not be able to make it, but...Fourth of July, here. We'll grill out, wave around what fireworks Connecticut allows, and there will be a matinee of 1776 in the afternoon." "RSVP, so we know how much food to buy," Alex teased. "I've seen Steve eat sweet corn before." Eddie's catcalled, "Go, Dad!" prompted a laugh. "And one final thing," Bobby said. He stared at the concrete floor briefly, then scanned the silent faces before him. They blurred, then, bit by bit, focused again. Alex touched his hand. Penelope Hogarth met his eyes, smiled, and winked. Abbi said softly, "Mi hermano, di tu verdad." "I did a lot of work...um...out in this yard, although I never saw it as that," he began. "It was time I shared with Bruno, shooting the b-breeze or discussing the problems of the world. I spent quite a few hours in the kitchen, drinking very strong coffee, and sometimes eating excellent cake. But most of my time spent with Bruno was on this porch. He...liked to watch the seasons. One of the last things he said–" He paused, pain evident on his face as he swallowed hard. 'I never want to miss a minute of spring—something different every day.' It certainly was that...this year." He patted the Adirondack chair. "I feel him sitting here now, probably wondering why I'm making such a fuss. "But that's why," he continued, pivoting to pick up an 11x14 picture frame with its glass turned toward the wall, where it had sat unnoticed all day, "I'm choosing to hang this here rather than inside. This is where it belongs." It was a photo of Bruno that Alex had taken in 2022, her first full autumn in Milbury. All three of them had been raking leaves, but when Bruno had paused for a breather, she'd been struck by the contented, dreamy expression on his face and snapped a quick shot with her phone. He wore his red-and-black checkered lumberjack jacket and woolen racing cap, rake propped vertically next to him like the farmer in the Grant Wood painting, looking west into the setting sun. Bobby positioned the photo on the nail awaiting it. Mike Logan lifted his beer bottle. "To Bruno—storyteller, chess maven, pool shark, war hero, and gentleman." "To Bruno," and the group raised a hand, whether they held a drink or not. The "moving detail" began to move on: the New York group first, then Russ and the boys, Shard and TJ walking back to the restaurant while the staff headed home. Finally, even the neighbors drifted homeward, and Viola Perrino drove Abbi's friends back to their apartment complex. Now the Hogans, the Eameses, the Logans, the Hogarth/Hastings, Abbi Diaz and her grandchildren, and Leo and Julian were left. Twilight dropped softly, the sun blazed orange and scarlet in the west before being snuffed, and one by one stars emerged, and an almost full gibbous moon rose higher in the sky. The crickets began to chirp, and suddenly Eleanor pointed to the old cedarwood arbor covered in Virginia creeper and barberry in the backyard where Julian Volpe and his brother Enzo played as children. "Hey, check it out! What is that?" Ana blinked at the tiny flashing lights. "It's lightning bugs!" "Fireflies," Olivia countered. "Both are correct," Bobby said serenely, leaning back in Bruno's Adirondack chair. "Wow! Never seen them, except on TV," and even Eddie wandered to the end of the yard to watch the tiny insects glide by, steadily pulsing a cold yellow light. Sophia cupped her hands and caught one, and they watched it glow and darken until it flew away of its own volition. Lizzie had pulled out her cell phone, then attached it to a pocket Bluetooth speaker she kept in her crossbag and called up her oldies playlist. Soon 60's, 70's, and early 80's music wafted over the yard. When John Denver's "Shanghai Breezes" began, Matt Hogarth rose and offered his hand to his wife—"It's our song," Penelope said in a voice she'd never used under the cold fluorescent lights of the FBI Albany office—and the two danced under the light of the vintage-design "Edison bulbs" Tim and Steve had strung from one corner of the sun porch roof to a high, sturdy branch of the English oak, then back to the other corner. The children giggled, and even Eddie grinned as they straggled back to their seats. "Hey," Steve protested teasingly as he and Lizzie made their way out to the "dance floor," "have some respect for creaky old people," prompting more laughter from the youngsters. "Are you excited about Sunday?" Sophia asked Olivia as Eddie wandered off to sit with the adults, while the children settled down under the sugar maple. The latter nodded enthusiastically. "What's Sunday?" Leo asked. Olivia's eyes were alight. "We're driving to Quebec for a few days! My brother—my half-brother—Laurent invited us for Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day. It's the Quebecois national holiday, and they have parades and fireworks. Laurent and Noémie plan to take us to a big fort, The Citadel, and we'll go for a cruise on the St. Lawrence River." As she spoke, she looked sideways at her parents; knowing Bobby's penchant for dancing, she expected them to be on their feet already, but Alex was leaning back, enjoying the breeze. Bobby sat forward, tapping his toes, but looked loath to disturb her. Then the quick, almost tinkly notes of the next song intro brought him to his feet. "C'mon, Eames, we have to do this one." "Why?" she asked, eyes popping open. "The music, the moon, and a man who loves you?" he responded with an appealing tilt of his head, and when the lyrics to King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight" began, she laughed in comprehension and joined him.
We get it on most every night, "Geez, guys," Charlie Saltonstall groaned, taking sleeping Penny from his sister so Donna and Zes could dance, "get a room." "Olivia," Leo asked slowly, "will you tell me about my grandpa?" "Haven't you asked your dad?" she asked, startled. "Dad will tell me about his being a father. I was wondering what he was like as a grandfather." Olivia considered, then suggested, "Why don't you start, Ana? He 'adopted' you and Carlos first." "Well..." Ana's eyes unfocused momentarily as she thought back. "It was three Christmases ago. Abi-Abi had to go to the hospital for a few days. We were really scared, but Mr. J called Mr. G and Ms. Alex, and they brought us home practically in the middle of the night." "Or at least it seemed like it," Carlos added reflectively. "We slept late, had pizza for lunch, then went for a walk." Ana settled back against the maple tree, half an eye on the adults, most dancing now, while Julian talked to Abbi and Charles, and Charlie rocked his niece. When Alex twirled under Bobby's arm, Ana laughed. "And we saw Mr. Volpe putting up a Christmas wreath, so..."
Everybody's dancin' in the moonlight,
|
|
|
|
|