“Just one stop,” he said.
He pulled into the parking lot, carefully avoiding the potholes, and parked in front of the warehouse-like building. The walls were still notionally white, but the years had painted them with grime and rust.
“What are we doing here, Frankie?” Loretta asked.
“We want to go home,” Polly said.
“Come on, take a look, girls.” He went to the metal front doors and fished for the set of keys Irene had lent him. NG Group was handling the property.
“This was quite the hangout back in the day. People in the fifties used to come dressed in ties and skirts. The White Elm was not just a skating rink, it was a destination.” He pushed open the door. A dank smell rolled out.
“It’s a destination for something,” Mary Alice said.
“Picture it,” Frankie said. “The largest, most complete pinball arcade in Chicagoland.”
“Pinball?” Mary Alice said. “No video games?”
“Absolutely not.”
“No teenager is going to come in here if you don’t have video games.”
“I tell you, kid, pinball is poised to make a comeback.”
“We’re not buying this,” Loretta said.
“Let’s take a look around, and then we can talk about it.”
IRENE
“What am I forgetting?” she asked.
“That we were supposed to leave a half hour ago?” her father said.
“Funny man in a hat.”
Graciella and Dad both laughed. They found her distress amusing, maybe because she was usually the most organized person in the building. “Traveling makes me nervous,” Irene said.
“Right, traveling,” Graciella said, and the two of them laughed again. They sat on the couch in the waiting room, leaning into each other. Irene couldn’t figure them out. Graciella swore there was nothing sexual going on, but the two of them went out to dinner together, saw movies, and, most disconcertingly, hung out at her father’s house with all her kids running around. She was happy for her dad, but it struck her as unhealthy for Graciella.
“I know there’s something,” Irene said. She’d loaded her suitcase into the trunk of Dad’s Buick this morning, so that was taken care of. It had to be something from the office.
“Phone charger,” Irene said. She went into her office and unplugged the charger from the wall. Her Motorola had quickly become indispensable. Of course Matty wanted one. She told him to go back to work and save five hundred bucks.
“I’ve got appointments, you know,” Dad said. “People to see.”
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Irene said.
Graciella hugged her goodbye, and then turned to her father. They kissed. On the lips.
“Thanks for all the help with Frankie,” Dad said.
“The least I could do,” Graciella said. And kissed him a second time.
“Christ,” Irene said. “I’ll be in the car.”
Irene and Dad didn’t talk on the road. They were ten minutes from O’Hare when Dad said, “You’re doing that thing with your face.”
“It’s just my normal face.”
“You used to scowl like that when the boys misbehaved. Or I did. Don’t worry about Matty. I’m going to keep him on the straight and narrow. No marijuana or cocaine, and hardly any hookers.”
“It’s not you I’m mad at,” she said.
“You don’t have to go see him,” Dad said.
“Oh, I do.” She felt like she’d die if she didn’t. This was her third trip to Phoenix since Labor Day.
“I mean he could come here. He’s a hero! Took the gun right out of Nick’s hands.”
“Nick barreled into him and the gun went flying.”
“Sure, but Joshua grabbed it. That’s hero material, my girl. Tell him to come back and we can double-date at Palmer’s.”
“That’s not going to happen, Dad.” She didn’t want Joshua coming back to her house, not yet. If anything non-normal happened—anything at all—he’d have permanent PTSD.
“Fine. Move there, then,” Dad said. “You’re young.”
“I love my job.”
“Pfff.”
“I don’t think I can live with him, either. We can hold it together for a weekend, but after that—the little lies just start piling up. Every day there’s a slipup, and I get more and more paranoid.”
“So you’ve got to forgive him every day. How’s that different from any couple? Your mom? Hoo boy. She had to forgive me five times before breakfast.”
“You’re a hell of a role model, Dad.”
He pulled up to the curb, then reached down to pop the trunk. “Good luck out there, kid.”
“I just wish I knew where this was going.”
“Who does?”
“Well…”
“Not even your brother, not anymore.”
Poor Buddy. Irene hoped he was happy, walking around in the dark like everyone else now. “Have you heard from him?” she asked.
“Not a word, not a word.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“Me neither.”
She pulled the bag out of the trunk, and was surprised to see that Dad had gotten out of the car. He never did that.
“There’s only one thing you need to know,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“When your man says he loves you, is he telling the truth?”
“That is so profound, Dad.”
“Answer the question. Is he?”
“Every time,” she said. “Every damn time.”
TEDDY
New love walks up and slaps you on the butt, demands your attention, gets your pulse racing. Old love lies in wait. It’s there in the evening when your eyes are closing. It slides into bed beside you, runs its ghost fingers through your hair, whispers your secret name. Old love is never gone.
The envelope, this time, was delivered by Mrs. Klauser, his neighbor. “Buddy gave this to me a month ago,” she said. She held leashes for two dogs, one a puppy. “He made me promise not to deliver it until today. I hope it’s okay.”
Multiple hands had been involved—a jagged ink for his name, and blocky pink crayon (crayon!) for today’s date—written decades apart, he guessed.
“Oh, and this, too,” she said. An orange and white box, addressed in that same crayon, to Matthias Telemachus. Teddy walked into the house, set the package on the table, and then stopped, stunned.
The house was quiet. No sawing or drilling. No elementary school girls squealing over stuffed animals. No one loudly complaining about who drank all the milk.
Huh.
It was a relief when he heard a thunk above him. He went upstairs and rapped on Matty’s door. “You ready?” he asked.
“Almost,” he answered.
Teddy went into his bedroom. He held the envelope to his nose, trying to catch a scent of her. Not a thing. The paper was old, and had traveled through machines and mail bins to reach him. Any whiff he caught now would be imaginary. He held the envelope to the front of the hat, in the traditional manner, and then opened it.
Dearest Teddy,
I hope you get this, out there in the future. Buddy says he can’t see anything after September of that year, and I’m so afraid for what this means. If your heart is broken now, as mine is, then the world is even crueler than I feared.
I’ve been sneaking home to watch the children. It takes a lot out of me, but it’s worth it. How did we make such beautiful children? Our best trick. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone with them. There’s no sleight of hand that will get us out of this one. I know my body’s never leaving this hospital.
I have no more warnings for you, my husband, my one true love. No more advice, except this—be happy. You were always better at it than I was.