"MacGregor's girls go to Adirondack," I said. "His arrangement with Grice was paying their tuition. That's what it was all about, his girls."
Eve said, "And you want me to make sure they can continue? You want to do that for him, even now?"
"Especially now. It's what he sold his soul for."
We spoke very little after that, as we covered the dark miles. I lit a cigarette and stared out the window and thought about Eve educating two generations of girls, other people's daughters, helping them to see so much, and so clearly, that in the end a nursery woman's daughter becomes a doctor, and a wild fifteen-year-old can identify, with certainty, unsigned canvases no one has ever seen before.
Chapter 22
Eve unlocked my cabin door, came in long enough to turn the light on in the front room. Her eyes fell on the piano, which gleamed softly. "I am sorry," she said, "that you won't let me hear you play." She smiled her small smile, studied me. "I imagine you're quite good."
"No. I'm not."
She smiled again, didn't answer.
Her eyes swept over the room, came back to me. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"
"Yes," I said. "Now that I'm here."
"Then I'll leave you here. Do you want me to come in the morning with your car?"
"No. I'll find my way over tomorrow. Thank you, Eve."
She took my hand, held it a moment. Then she turned and left.
I worked my way out of my jacket, found a glass and the bourbon bottle. I needed music, and I knew what I wanted: ensembled playing. Music made when people know each other, can anticipate and understand each other. I put on Beethoven, the Archduke Trio. I stretched out on the couch, sipped at the bourbon, felt the music flow around me. The soloistic, separate parts of the trio wove, danced, glided forward and back, created together what none of them was, alone.
It was an illusion, but it was beautiful.
I slept until one the next afternoon. Sometimes after the music was over and the bourbon was gone Id made my way into bed, and after that I was aware of nothing except the strange, sad images of my dreams.
When I awoke I was aching and stiff. My head hurt, but not as badly as the day before, not as badly as I'd expected. I stumbled to the outer room, clicked on the hot water, built a fire, put the kettle on. The day was gray again, silent, but with an expectation in the air.
I put bourbon in the coffee and made the coffee strong. After it was gone I showered, tried to soothe my aching shoulders under the rhythm of the pounding heat. I shaved, inspected in the mirror the shiner ringing my left eye, blood under the skin from the bullet that might have killed me. I was a mess. You could read the week's accumulation of trouble on my face.
Still, I didn't have to wait long on 30 before a pickup, heading south, stopped for me. Antonelli's was north of my place, and Eve Colgate's house north of that, but before I did what I needed to do today I had to eat.
"Thanks," I said as I climbed into the truck. "I wasn't sure anybody would stop for someone who looks like this."
The driver, a big, unshaven man, laughed a big, friendly laugh. "You kiddin'? Safest guy in the world to be with is a guy who's finished makin' trouble for someone else."
We shared a smoke and some idle talk about the nearness of spring. He let me off at the Eagle's Nest, a small, shiny diner that still had most of its original aerodynamic chrome.
At the counter I ordered steak and eggs, homefries, toast, and coffee. I took the first mug of coffee to the phone, called the hospital. I asked them how Tony was and they told me he was better, out of danger now. Then I asked for Lydia's room.
The phone rang five times and I was about to give up when a groggy voice answered in slurred Chinese.
"English," I said. "It's me."
"Oh, goody, it's you," she said. "Where are you?"
"At a diner, having breakfast. How do you feel?"
"Sleepy, and I have a huge headache. Is this what it's like when you have a hangover?"
"No, a hangover's worse because you know it's your own fault, too. Listen, I'll be up to see you later. I just wanted to know how you were."
"I can't wait. Bill, is Jimmy all right?"
"He wasn't hurt. I haven't seen him since yesterday, but he's okay. Go back to sleep."
"Wait. You don't really have Eve's paintings, do you?"
"No. That was for Grice. It was all I could think of. But now I know where they are. I'm going to get them after I eat."
"You do? Where are they?"
"I'll tell you about it when I come up," I said, and I knew I would. The part I hadn't told anyone, I would tell Lydia. "Hey, Lydia?" "Umm?"
"You want me to call your mother, tell her what happened?"
She sighed, but just before the sigh I thought I heard a stifled giggle. "You," she said, "are an idiot."
"Yeah," I said, "I know. I'll see you later."
I hung up, went back to the counter, where my breakfast was waiting. I ate, filled with immense gratitude toward chickens and cows, offering a prayer of thanks for grease and salt. The homefries especially were almost unbearably good, burned in the pan, flecked with onions and peppers.
Finally finished, I lit a cigarette and worked the room, found somebody who was headed north on 30. He turned out to be a weekender, like me, and as we sped past my driveway and the empty parking lot at Antonelli's we talked about the city and, again, the approach of spring.
He dropped me on 30; I caught another ride into Central Bridge, walked the mile and a half to Eve's house. It felt good to walk, even in the dullness of a late winter day that made the promise of spring seem like just another damn lie you'd let yourself be suckered, again, into believing.
I was halfway up the drive when Leo came charging around from the back, barking, growling, yipping, and wagging all at once. I gave him the jelly doughnut I'd brought from the Eagle's Nest, scratched his ears, looked up to see Eve standing on the porch.
"Hi," she smiled. "How are you?"
"Much better, thanks."
"Come in. There's coffee and cake."
I shook my head. "Later, Eve. I want to finish this."
She gave me the keys to her truck and I headed back south. I pulled into the gravel lot at Antonelli's, slowed to a stop close to the door. I let myself in with the keys I had taken from Tony's hospital room.
I was steeled for an eerie silence, a sense of something ended, lost. But inside, the tables were set and a strong smell of garlic and oregano came from the kitchen. The jukebox was playing Charlie Daniels. As the door slammed behind me a voice yelled from the kitchen, "Marie?"
"No," I called back. "Bill."
The kitchen door swung open and Jimmy came through wiping his hands on a towel. "Hey, Mr. S.!" he grinned. "You okay? I called the hospital. They said you went home. What're you doing here?"
"I came to pick something up. What are you doing here?"
"Oh," he shrugged. "Well, you know. Tony's gonna be in the hospital a long time. That kind of stuff costs a lot. The hospital, they said Miss Colgate was taking care of everything, but that ain't right. You know? I mean, he's my brother. Hey, you want a drink?" He started to move behind the bar.
"No," I said. "No, thanks. Does Tony know you're doing this?"
"Nah. He don't want to talk to me."
"Did you go up to the hospital?"
"Uh-uh. He'd just tell me to get lost. That's what he always told me. You know."
I knew. I gestured around the bar. "You think you can manage here?"
"Sure. No problem. I called Marie and Ray. And Allies coming in later, to help."
"Alice? Hey, Jimmy, that's great."
"Yeah, well, she says just to help. For Tony. The rest of it, she says we'll have to figure it out."
We stood looking at each other, suddenly awkward. Then Jimmy said, "So—what'd you come to get?"
"Jimmy," I asked, "how much did Lydia tell you yesterday?"
He grinned, a little color seeping into his face. "I was scared, man. Real scared. She just sorta kept talking, you know, until you guys showed up."