Chapter Twenty-Two
New York City, New York
1966
The sun had come out, and it almost felt like spring. He barely needed a jacket. He hadn’t wanted to wear the fussy show of a coat that Katie had bought, but his own jacket no longer seemed to suit him either. He sat on the park bench in a thick sweater and jeans. He touched his face and felt the newly-shaved softness of his jaw line. Don’t you know there are no winters in California? A satin doll in cashmere on his mother’s quilt. He should’ve known he couldn’t get out of saying goodbye this time. Couldn’t duck out his mother’s kitchen door—or limp away with a black eye.
She felt the coolness of her hand at his neck. The honey scent of her soap hemmed him in. She sat beside him and they looked forward as the city passed by. He let her take his hand and was happy to share the view of the park that had become his life. He hadn’t wanted things to be hard; he’d never wanted anything to be hard for her. But it had been hard, for a million reasons it had been hard.
A few strands of hair blew across her small, acorn-shaped nose. The spitting image of Esther Ralston. He wondered how her pinned-up Park Avenue beauty would unfold through the years when he could no longer see it.
“You didn’t leave a note,” she said. “You’re a tricky creature, Daniel Gallagher. But you know that, don’t you? You knew I’d never understand you.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But there’s not much left about me to figure out.”
“Even if there were, you wouldn’t tell me—would you?”
He ached when he watched the sun as it fell over every curve of her face until she was perfect.
“I’ll tell you anything you want—so long as it meant you wouldn’t hate me.”
“I could never hate you, Daniel,” she said and touched his face.
“Why not? Others have found it easy enough.”
“Because you’re the only one. The only other one who knows how it was back then. I’ll be the last now. The last on the lot. Can you realize how incredibly lonely that will be, Daniel?”
“Yes.”
She held his hand and looked out upon the trees stripped bare by winter.
“You know, Danny—you scare me sometimes. The same way your mother did. How she used to know things she shouldn’t. Do you remember that?”
He laughed, “Yeah, but it wasn’t what you’re thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned back in the park bench and tilted his head.
“It was just her way. She came from travelers, back in the old country.”
“Travelers?”
“Yeah, you know—grifter types. They went from town to town selling snake oil and fortunes—that sort of thing. She could size people up real quick, used to drive my dad crazy. She didn’t mean anything by it. It was just her way.”
Katie looked down and smiled.
“Four daughters,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, but he’d caught a bit of doubt in the quickness of her tone.
“Just something I heard somewhere,” she said, more clearly.
“Aha,” he smiled.
She rose from the bench and stretched out her gloved hand.
“Take me for a walk, Daniel Gallagher?”
“To where, Katie Webb?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said. He gave her a wry smile as she pulled him to his feet.
“That sounds a little terrifying coming from you,” he said and moved in to kiss her.
She stopped just before his lips reached hers. “Happy as Larry, Mary.” she whispered.
They kissed for a long time before joining hands for an afternoon stroll across Washington Square Park.
They sat in the back seat of the taxi, no longer the last kids on the lot, but two brothers so unalike in everything except the blood they shared. Max glanced at his brother’s rigid posture beside him, his stoic profile against the car window. A thought struck him that this time his brother’s silence had more to do with his own sadness—rather than a need to punish him.
“Well, Christ Al—say something.”
His brother turned his brown eyes on him.
“What do you want me to say, Max?”
Max sighed. His shoulders slumped under the form of his stiff tweed jacket. He turned and watched the buildings fade from jagged metal structures to squatty, red brick brownstones and storefronts as they drew closer to the lower east side.
“You know I get stone-sick of having information doled out to me as though I were a child,” Max grumbled. “This isn’t about the reporter fellow, is it?”
“No,” Albert replied.
He looked at his brother’s unresponsive face—and felt wild with frustration. He raised his hands, wanting to shake the truth from his brother’s damnably cool composure.
The sky was covered by a thin veil of clouds, reducing the city’s ambience to a lifeless grey. Just then, a sun’s ray spilled out from a break in the cloudy façade. Then everything he’d not wanted to remember about Daniel was pulled to the forefront of his mind. It came out, fittingly, like a coil of film. The images played out against the recurring tick of a projector—flash bulbs lit behind black and white—and later, bursts of color. The imperfect, perforated edges of film fell onto the plane as the movie whirred from 24 frames a minute, 18, 16…10…and then nothing. There was one last flare of decayed yellow laddering as it bubbled over the film. Max closed his eyes, and the backlit image cut away. All that remained was the hollow ticking succession of blank frames as they played on and on for no one but himself.
Max sighed and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. The car stopped next to a café. Two teenage girls, dressed to look twenty-five, sat under the tented veranda eating pastries. His wife sat under the veranda as well. Without makeup, she looked younger than the girls playing grown-up two tables down. There was a cigarette in her hand and a white porcelain cup in front of her.
“Look—it’s Katie,” Max said. Albert smiled at the pitiful excitement in his voice and reached for his wallet. Max put a hand up.
“No, let me get it,” Max said reaching for his wallet.
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
“No, just wait a minute. I’ve got it,” Max began to count out cab fare from his own money.
“Max, listen to me—I’ve got it.”
“You got it last time, Al.”
“What the hell are you talking about—last time? Put your damn money away.”
“Give me a break Al—I’ve got it.”
“No, Max.” Albert said calmly.
“Damn it Al, I’m paying him.” Max snapped. He felt Albert’s eyes on him as he paused to recount the bills in his hand. He looked up again to the meter, avoiding the impatient glare of the cab driver. He shoved the money in the driver’s hand and crammed the wallet back in his pocket.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Max yelled at the driver.
“C’mon Max.”
“What?” Max turned his head sharply to his brother.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Albert said. “Just take it easy.”
“This is easy?” Max scoffed.
“C’mon, she’s waiting,” Albert said and got out of the car. Max braced against the cold as he stepped out of the cab. The chilly wind took the edge off his anger and, by the time he saw his wife again, he was putty. She didn’t notice them at first and something about her dead stare kept him from walking any further. When she saw Albert, she smiled, surprised and girlish, stubbing out the remainder of her cigarette. She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear and fell into his brother’s arms. Albert smiled and touched the end of the thin scarf around her neck. He whispered something and she laughed. The sound of her laughter was like a tinkling bell in the low winter light. The delight on her face fell when she looked down at the scarf fabric held between Albert’s fingers. She took a step away before lightly kissing him on the cheek. Finally she looke
d at him and smiled weakly. Her dark blue eyes touched over his face, sad but beautiful. His legs felt like lead.
“Well, if it isn’t the Kingly Kittredge brothers.” She smiled, holding out her hand. Max took it briefly in his own.
“Hey, Katie.”
“Hi, Max.”
She looked again at Albert, her chin wobbled for a moment then stilled. She nodded towards the inside of the café.
“He’s sitting at the corner table,” she said. Max glanced inside and saw a man with his back towards them.
“You coming inside, Katie?” Albert asked her softly.
“No, I’ll wait here,” she said and pulled her hand from his waist.
“Are you sure?” Max asked. She looked at him as though startled by the sound of his voice.
“Yes, I’ll be right here when you’re finished,” she said. Max took one last look at her before going inside, but she refused to meet his eyes.
Katie pulled Danny’s blue-edged pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She ran her finger over the cover and pulled another cigarette from the pack. She struck a match and lit it, but her lungs felt too tight from the cold to inhale. She’d tried smoking the first summer they’d been together, but the habit never took. She looked through the café window at the three boys who’d so quickly become men. She felt her legs go wobbly, and steadied herself before sitting down. She watched her husband’s mouth move, handsome and unflappable. Albert sat across from Danny, dark-eyed but smiling. She wondered what they were saying. She could have watched them that way forever, marooned comrades of fame. Her cigarette burned to its end and her coffee went cold, but she paid little notice.
A sharp pencil of light broke through the windowpane and pierced the back of Danny’s neck. The light still spindled in the air, Daniel turned and looked at her. He smiled with the smooth, cosmetic teeth she’d never gotten used to. The men stood, leaving empty coffee cups along with dollar bills and coins. When they came out, Albert kissed her and caught a cab back uptown. Daniel and Max stayed with her under the veranda.
“Danny boy, give us a call when you make it up there, will you?”Max asked. Danny gave him a playful look and smiled.
“Sure, Max,” he said, flipping his collar up against the cold. They shook hands.
Danny tilted his head and looked at her, the past and the present merging together in one throbbing moment. She studied his unrequited look, wanting to reach out and touch him, but the presence of her husband beside her anchored her to the pavement.
Well, forgive me, I’ve tried my best to draw you out—but you’re damned tough, Katie Webb…not with that clumsy fishing around of yours.
“See ya, Mrs. Kittredge,” he said—the words so misplaced coming from his lips. Her stomach crumbled, and she wondered if she would ever breathe again. He smiled a last time—turned, and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
New York City, New York
1966
Daniel sat on his bed. He felt weak, weaker than he dared tell Celia. As he looked around the empty room, a cold sweat broke over his body in spite of the chill. His breath was staggered as he took the stairs down to the third floor. Celia was dressed in a silver smock and taping a box closed when he walked in. He slunk into a chair, watching her body swing to the music from the record player. Her eyes brightened when she saw him. She shuffled into the next room to turn down the volume.
“You want a chow mein sandwich or something? I gotta get rid of everything in the fridge.”
“No thanks.”
“You gotta eat something,” she chirped.
“Yeah, you gotta eat something,” Kevin mimicked as he skipped across the hardwood floor in bare feet. He bowed his back, looking up to his mother and placing his tiny hands on his bottom. “Can I have some cheese flings?”
“Only a few.”
She plopped a half-empty bag into his waiting arms. The boy trotted toward him, shoving a cheese puff into his mouth.
“Daniel, you can have some if you want,” the boy said holding out a single puff in his hand. The sight made his already weak stomach turn, but he smiled and pulled the boy into his lap, “No thanks, buddy.”
“Daniel, are you coming with us?”
“Sure am, Kev.”
“Daddy said he’d teach me to fish, would you come with us?”
On cue, Pete walked into the room, balancing a duffle bag on his shoulder. “Sure he will, Kev.”
“And then you can show me how to work the puzzle?” Kevin asked, looking up to Daniel.
“Sure thing, we’ll figure it out—run and get it and we’ll take a look,” he barely got out the words. His head began to spin as the boy slid off his lap.
“Doin ok?” Pete asked.
“Maybe,” he said and eased forward in the chair. Pete eyed him suspiciously until Celia reemerged with a few blouses draped over one hand and a sandwich in the other. He was grateful when Celia and Pete began to bicker over the more mundane details of the trip. He took the opportunity to slip down the hallway and check on the boy. He found him pilfering through his toy box recklessly.
“What’s wrong, Kev?”
“Can’t find the puzzle—it’s gone!”
“I’m sure it’s not gone,” Daniel said gently, kneeling beside him.
“It is! It’s gone!” he yelled and began to cry.
“Hush, Kev. Where’d you last have it?”
“At the park—with Mama.”
The boy looked up through anxious sniffling jerks of his nose.
“Well, what do you say I make you another one when we get to where we’re going?”
“No, I like that one. I don’t want to leave it here…you can’t make me,” he cried.
“Well it might still be at the park.”
“I don’t want to leave without it,” he shrieked. Daniel rolled his eyes, and found a last bit of strength to lift the boy in his arms along with the half-eaten bag of cheese flips. The boy cried cranky, overwrought tears against his shoulder as Celia arrived. He handed the child off to her, but it only seemed to worsen his mood.
“Go away, I want my toy,” he screamed against his mother’s ear, pressing against her body with his tiny arms.
“Kevin, what on earth has gotten into you?”
“I want my toy!”
Celia turned to Daniel.
“What the hell is he talking about?”
“His puzzle—the one I made him. I’ll run down to the square real quick to see if I can find it,” Daniel said.
“C’mon, Dan. It’s just a toy.”
“It’s my toy!” Kevin interrupted.
“It’ll just take a minute,” he said, already buttoning his coat.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her hand lightly touching his cheek.
“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” He smiled.
“Well hurry back, the temperature’s dropping.”
He nodded, smoothing a tuft of Kevin’s hair.
“See, baby, Daniel’s going to look for your toy,” Celia murmured. He stopped crying and yawned against his mother’s shoulder.
Daniel braced his weight against a tree until he caught his breath, the burning pain in his chest subsiding for the moment. He found the wooden toy half-buried in a turret of snow, picked it up, and shook the excess snow from the bevels of its shape. He started back, but his legs began to shake. He lowered his body to a bench as the scrolling pain across his chest grew, making it even more difficult to breathe. The fever returned and burned all through his body, but broke into another series of cold sweats. The wood puzzle fell to the snow, where it would remain. Daniel looked to the stars growing out of the early blue night sky. His eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, the stars were bright and mature—the sky black. Princess Mary, she lived in a tree, and sailed across the seven seas. Captain Jack sank and so will you, if you don’t take a ricka bamboo. Was that how it had went? Princess Mary in a Juniper tree? Yes, Marinel Gallagher’s thick accent replied. He laughed, h
is eyes drooping once again. A diffused fiber of light lit up behind his eyes. He reached out his hand, smelling the cotton-vanilla scent of her cold cream, saw the shiny length of her long dark hair. Then there was Katie. She smiled, her hair slicked wet against her head as she stood breast-deep in the surf with her son in her arms. He reached for them, but the image became smaller and smaller until there was only ambient, blank light. His eyes fluttered open to the harsh beauty of the silver stars. Suddenly he was a boy again, walking the shores of Catalina Island—lost and alone. He pushed the cold away until he was back in the glow of the sun and sand. He reached again but Katie was gone. He now held the child against his chest, but it wasn’t his son. It was a boy with a shock of blonde hair and a strict little chin. He smiled and pulled the child to his chest. The coldness of his skin melted away as the warm ocean water lapped at his body...and it was then that he knew—that God was kind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Los Angeles, California
1967
She’d once said she would never leave the Palisades. She’d fallen short of that promise, but that was ok—California had waited for her. She bought the Fiske Street house two years, seven months, and twenty-three days after the Meltsners dumped her there. Then again, it might have been twenty-five …she couldn’t remember now. Katie wondered how many other ingénues had been left to die in rentals like the one on Fiske Street. But she hadn’t died. Ornan Meltsner had, however—or so she’d read in the letter Tilda mailed from a convalescence home in Port St. Lucie.
When the warranty deed was in her hand, her legal name typed on the head, she’d nearly cried. She was an orphan and, although naturalized an American in 1952, a foreigner with no family to speak of. None of that seemed to matter with a home to her name and enough money in her bank account to whether whatever came her way. She kept the small, Spanish-styled home even after she’d bought the apartment in the city. It seemed wrong to sell it, frightening even. Behind the tailored clothes and sapphire earrings, sometimes she still felt like a child from the dodgy part of London—who’d been forced to rely on the whim of strangers. Sometimes the house on Fiske Street felt like the only gap between her and the child she’d once been. But now, holding that gap didn’t seem so important. The property had grown in value through the years. When she and Max made the decision to move back to California, it felt like the right time to sell. The house was too small for them, in any case. Max had starting hinting at children more often lately. To which she mostly smiled and pretended not to hear—but she would hear, when the time was right.
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