"It's frozen," I prompted.
Brian blinked. Clearly, I wasn't getting through. I circumnavigated the kitchen island, took the casserole from his hands and set it down between a Corning Ware dish and a rectangular cake pan. "Look, Brian. Why don't you let me help you put some of this away?"
"No, that's okay," he said. "Val's mom is still here. She's out with Miranda now, buying her a swimsuit. We're leaving in the morning."
"Well, in that case, your mother-in-law needs all the help she can get," I said, turning up a corner of foil on a blue baking dish in order to check its contents. Green bean casserole. I popped it into the freezer. "So, you're going to New Jersey?" I asked. "I thought it was just Miranda." The next dish held a salad. I found a place for it easily. Valerie's refrigerator was the size of your average New York City apartment.
Brian leaned against the stove. "We're taking Valerie home," he said. "She'll be buried in the family plot."
"Oh." I couldn't think of anything else to say, and neither could Brian. He stared out the French doors, twisting his wedding ring round and round. Seeing him like that just about broke my heart.
"I'll be back in a couple of days," he said, suddenly snapping back from wherever it was he'd gone. "Miranda will stay on with her grandparents, for a few weeks, anyway. She's going to camp."
Camp? At age four? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Sleep-away camp?" I stammered.
"Oh, no!" Brian replied, his lips lifting in a tentative smile. "It's a mini day camp. Sports, creative arts… you know. They'll teach her to swim." The smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "Kat will make sure she gets there and back every day."
I was standing there, gawping, holding a foil-wrapped brick of something that looked suspiciously like pound cake, when Brian came to life again. "I mean it, Hannah. Kat is going to take care of this." He took the package from me. "If you want to be helpful, I could really use another cup of coffee." He pointed to the coffee maker, a sophisticated contraption with buttons and knobs that appeared, upon closer examination, to do everything for you, including grind the beans. The bean reservoir was empty.
"Coffee beans?" I asked.
Brian pointed to the cupboard over the coffee maker.
Valerie must have really loved her coffee. The cabinet held bags and bags of coffee beans arranged in two rows and neatly labeled: Mocha Java, Kenya, Tanzanian Peabury, Sumatra Mandheling, Kona, Brazilian Santos, Costa Rica, and-my heart flopped in my chest-Val's Blend. I quickly refilled the hopper with Val's Blend, crumpled the bag into a ball and tossed it in the trash. At least Brian wouldn't stumble across that sad reminder of his dead wife.
Meanwhile, Brian had unwrapped the pound cake, sliced off several pieces, and arranged them on little plates, adding a scoop of fresh-cut fruit from a bowl sitting out on the sideboard. The man wasn't as helpless as I'd thought. When the coffee was done, we poured it into mugs and took turns adding milk directly from the carton.
"Let's sit on the patio," he suggested, using his elbow to push open the door.
Outside, I set my cup on a honey-gold teakwood table, pulled out a chair and lounged back appreciatively. "What a view!" Over the vanishing edge of the Stone's in-ground swimming pool, sun sparkled on the gray-green water of the Chesapeake Bay. A windsurfer zipped past, his pink vinyl sail glistening. Because it was a Sunday, sailboats were out in force, too, scooting back and forth across the bay and in and out of the mouth of the South River like white-winged butterflies.
"It is wonderful, isn't it?" Using his fingers, Brian picked up a cube of pineapple, popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Valerie loved sitting out here."
"I can see why," I said. "If I lived here, you'd never get me off the patio."
Brian leaned back in his chair, propping his feet-flip-flops and all-up on the table. He stretched, laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes.
Out on the river the windsurfer had turned and was heading in our direction, skimming along at maybe twenty knots. Just feet from the shore, he jumped, spun and flipped the sail, heading across the river again, completely at one with his board.
"We talked about buying a boat," Brian said languidly, "but we never got around to it."
I reached over and gently squeezed his arm. "Valerie didn't have any regrets, Brian, and you shouldn't, either. Those last months? You made her so very happy."
Brian turned to me, his eyes moist "You think so?"
"I know so."
"It's just that I feel like such a shit sitting here, enjoying all this…” He waved an arm. “… when I know Valerie paid for it with her life."
"But Valerie was given the time to enjoy it too. Surely that counts for something?"
Brian shrugged. "I suppose."
We sat in silence for a while, drinking coffee. At one point the telephone rang, but Brian ignored it, letting the answering machine pick up. "Brian?" I said after a bit.
“Ummm?"
"I went to see Gilbert Jablonsky yesterday."
Brian's head swiveled around until he was looking directly at me. "Did you like him? Isn't he great? Are you going to go with him?"
I raised both hands. "Whoa! One question at a time!"
Brian grimaced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like an infomercial for the guy."
"That's okay." I grinned back, hoping to put him at ease. "Yes, yes, and no."
"Huh?"
"Yes, I liked him. Yes, I think he's great. And, no, I don't know whether I'll be selling my life insurance policy or not." I paused, letting those blatant falsehoods sink in before continuing. "It's just that Paul's away on a sailing trip and I'll need to talk it over with him first."
"What's not to like?" Brian swung his feet to the ground, rested his arms on the table and leaned toward me. "When Jablonsky called us, we jumped at the chance."
"Wait a minute! Jablonsky called you?”
Brian nodded.
“How did Jablonsky find out that Valerie was sick?"
Brian shrugged. "Who cares? It was a good deal and we took it."
If what Brian said was true, Jablonsky had to have someone-like at the doctor's office or at the hospital-on his payroll. My stomach lurched. I swallowed twice, trying to calm it.
"Do you mind if I ask you something about your deal, Brian?"
"Sure. Shoot."
"Jablonsky told me he's just a broker, that some other company actually buys the policies."
Brian nodded. "Right."
"So, do you know who bought Valerie's policy?"
"An outfit called ViatiPro, Inc."
I squirmed in my chair. "I don't know about you, Brian, but it makes me really uncomfortable thinking that there might be some investors out there wishing me dead."
Brian shook his head slowly. "I can see where you're going with that, Hannah, but you're way off base. Valerie died quietly in her sleep. ViatiPro had absolutely nothing to do with it." Brian's chair legs screeched on the concrete as he scooted it closer to mine. "Let me explain. ViatiPro buys hundreds and hundreds of policies. If somebody doesn't die as soon as they expected-?" He shrugged. "They're a big company. One policy, more or less, wouldn't make the least bit of difference to their bottom line."
"How about the investors, then? What if one of them-?"
"Hannah," he said with exaggerated patience, "ViatiPro sells policies in packages. So, investors are buying shares in more than one policy; and the policies mature at different times."
Mature. There was that word again. The only way an investment like this could "mature" was when somebody died.
"Even so, just for the sake of argument, what if some investor… some desperate investor, say, got tired of waiting for his investment to, as you say, 'mature'?"