FORTY
m y father returned to Barbados a week later. I cancelled my reservations to Disneyland and Chesney and I accompanied him. Anais was busy rehearsing and couldn’t make it. My mother, who’d never been to Barbados, came too. So did Noah and Donna. He thought the surroundings might put some spirit back into her smile.
Before we left I got a call from Kraw. She sounded as if she was sitting in a rainstorm.
“Hey, Blades, I know you don’t hear this often, but thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But what are you thanking me for?”
“I got a call yesterday. Got a tip that the money was in a locker in the George Washington bus terminal. Proved to be a good tip.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” I said.
“Take care of yourself, hot shot.”
IN THE WEEK we stayed on the island my mother did all the tourist things: the museum, the island tour, Harrison’s Cave, and the Andromeda Gardens. I spent most of my time with old friends. Chesney was happy to see her uncles and aunts and grandmother and I let her stay with them until it was time to leave.
Two days into my stay in Barbados my father and I strolled along a quiet road near his house on the eastern part of the island. It was early evening, not yet dark; the sky paved a dusty vermilion. We’d just had dinner together on his verandah, from which one could see the sea slowly change from pale blue-green to orange as the sun swept over it.
“Do you like that house?” he said.
“Your house?”
“Yeah.”
“Great view.”
He nodded. “I’m thinking of selling it.”
“Why?”
“I’m moving back to the States.”
I stopped short. “Why?”
My father kept walking. When he realized I wasn’t following and had no intention of continuing our walk until he answered me, he turned around. He walked back and stood a few feet away, his arms folded across his chest. “Remember what you said to me when you picked me up at the airport?”
I looked into his dark eyes.
“You said, ‘Welcome home.’ It felt good hearing that from you. I used Ronan’s death as an excuse to do something I’ve been thinking of doing for a long time. Come home. I do love Barbados. I love the people. But New York is my real home. I need to go home.”
“Why now? After all this time?”
“This is the right time.”
“Bullshit!”
“More than anyone I want you to understand, Blades. I need to do this.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“It’s really not that complicated.”
“Has this got anything to do with Mom?”
His brow knotted. “No. It’s about me needing to close some issues. It’s about me needing to stop running. As long as I stay here I’ll feel like I’m still running. I need to come home. And I need you to understand that.”
“There’s nothing for me to understand. It has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, it does.”
Pause.
“Blades, I can feel your anger.”
“I’m not angry at you.”
“We’ll see. So you want to buy a house with a great view or not?”
I tried to laugh.
THE DAY BEFORE we returned to New York, Noah and I stood on the beach just beyond the hotel where we were staying. Dressed touristy, in floppy hat and sunglasses, his three-quarter-length swim trunks were as colorful as a clown’s costume. I wore shorts, white tee and sandals, waiting for my friend, Salty, a young businessman on the island, to pick me up for lunch.
“You know, Blades, it’s kinda ironic,” Noah began.
“What is?”
“That it took the loss of my son to bring your father back to you.”
“It was his time,” I said.
“Yeah, I suppose. I went to see Chris in jail. You know what really hurts? She still claims she loved him. What kind of bullshit is that? Twenty grand she paid to kill my son. And she claims she loved him.”
“Jealousy is like a force of nature.”
“Remember the shooting at the funeral home? Was a setup. They weren’t really shooting at us. It was part of her plan to throw any suspicion off herself. Clever, huh?”
“Not clever enough. Any news on this fella, Big-Six?”
“The police picked him up at a bus station in Buffalo but had to let him go. The only person who can tie Big-Six to the killing is that girl who skipped the country.”
“I’m really sorry it turned out this way, Noah.”
I looked at him and then let my gaze wander off to where the sea melted into the horizon.
Love and Death in Brooklyn Page 29