Harry got home just before 5pm. After his visit with Sister Catherine, he’d stopped for a late lunch at one of the seaside restaurants that overlooked Cohasset Bay. For a while he just sat and watched the breakers foam around the rocks that lined the entrance to the outer harbor. Seagulls rose and fell as air currents strengthened and waned. An egret dove into the water.
Harry watched the bird lift into the sky with a fish in its beak.
That’s the way I feel, Harry thought. Blown about by currents I can’t control, tossed in myriad directions, none of my choosing.
He ran his fingers through his hair. His mind was unable to rest long enough on one problem before moving on to the next. He tried to organize his thoughts, but too many conflicts were taking their toll. Jeremy’s health was top priority. The meeting with Sister Catherine had been discouraging.
How can I find a woman with a butterfly-shaped birthmark? he thought. That’s going to be impossible. I need more information than that.
Harry wondered how Sandy and Jeremy were doing at the hospital. He was scared for his son. And he also worried about his relationship with Sandy—he knew they were on rough ground. An illness like Jeremy’s would either pull them closer together or tear them apart.
His relationship with Nora gnawed at his gut. His unsuccessful attempt to end it was troubling. He wasn’t sure what she would do, or what he could do to stop her.
Harry entered the house through the garage. He found Sandy in the family room, sipping a glass of white wine with a faraway look in her eyes. A Paul Simon CD was quietly playing on the stereo.
Harry cleared his throat. Sandy looked up, startled.
“Hi honey,” Sandy said.
“Hi Sandy.” Harry couldn’t remember the last time she had called him “honey.” He placed his car keys on the granite bar top and made himself a scotch. “Would you like some more wine?” Harry held up the half-full bottle that Sandy had opened earlier.
“Sure. The more the merrier.”
Harry brought the bottle over and filled her glass. He sat down across from her.
“How did you and Jeremy make out at the hospital?” Harry took a sip from his scotch. He was still a bit buzzed from his earlier drinks at lunch.
“I met with Dr. Hammond. He’ll be Jeremy’s primary doctor during his treatment. I liked him. He was very patient, and told me to ask as many questions as I wanted. He explained what Jeremy faces. The chemotherapy sessions will come first, three times per week. The chemo will kill the cancer cells that have invaded his body.” Sandy’s voice had taken on a monotone quality, as if she was reciting a chapter from Gray’s Anatomy. “After four weeks of chemo, the doctors will assess his progress.”
“What about the bone marrow transplant?”
“Dr. Hammond explained that procedure as well. They’re adding Jeremy’s name to the donor waiting list. His condition will determine where on the list his name will be placed. That’s assuming we don’t have a family member that provides a strong match. If Jeremy’s condition worsens, his name will move up on the list.” Sandy paused to take a sip of her wine, looking pensive. “Such a catch-22, isn’t it Harry? You need to get sicker in order to move up the list, in the hope of finding a donor that will make you better, so you can get off the list. What a great system.” Sandy drained the wine from her glass and grabbed the bottle to pour another. “What a great fucking system.”
Harry shook his head. “There’s nothing good about this situation, Sandy. We just need to keep it together for Jeremy’s sake.”
Sandy nodded her head in silent agreement. “The doctor explained that if we find a donor, we need the bone marrow extracted as soon as Jeremy reaches the point in his treatment when the cancer cells have been destroyed. The timing is critical. Did you learn anything from Sister Catherine? Did she remember us?”
Harry shook his head again. “She did remember us, but I didn’t learn very much. She couldn’t remember the birth mother’s name. One crazy thing stuck in her mind, though. Apparently the woman had an unusual birthmark on her shoulder. It looks like a little butterfly.”
“That’s it? What if Jeremy’s records burned up in the fire? How will we find this woman?” Sandy’s voice had turned brittle. “Oh my god, I can’t deal with this.” She rose quickly from the couch, but immediately swayed and almost fell. Harry reached out to steady her, and Sandy toppled into his arms. “Poor Jeremy,” she sobbed. “We have to help him, Harry! We have to!”
Harry held Sandy close and stroked her back. He felt disconsolate and depressed. For the first time in his life he didn’t have any answers.
*****
The shrill ring of the telephone on the bar woke Harry from a disgruntled slumber. Sandy had gone to bed early. Harry stayed up to watch a little TV and drink one more Glenlivet, falling into a dreamless sleep shortly thereafter in the leather wingback.
He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch: 11:45pm.
“Who the hell is calling at this hour?” he said aloud. He got up and quickly grabbed the phone before it could wake Sandy.
“Hello?” he said groggily. There was no response, but he could tell the line was open. “Hello? Is someone there?” He looked again at his watch to make sure he had seen the time correctly. “Who the hell is this?”
No response. A muted melody that sounded like background music in an upscale restaurant was playing. He strained to figure out the song.
The title finally came to him.
Say won’t you be mine?
A sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.
“Nora, is that you?” he whispered into the phone although he knew that Sandy couldn’t hear him from their bedroom upstairs. “Nora, please say something.”
“What would you like to hear, Harry? How much you mean to me? How we are meant to be together? I thought we had something special. Didn’t you think so too?” Nora was slurring her words. Harry wondered if she had finished her own bottle of wine this evening. “Did you like the song I played for you? It’s one of my favorites.”
Harry rubbed his eyes to shake the last of the sleep from them. “Nora, we talked about this the other day. I told you that my family needs to be my priority now. We can’t continue to have a relationship.”
“I know you don’t mean that, Harry. I saw the look in your eyes when we were together. You love me.”
Harry heard his bedroom door open upstairs. He held his breath while Sandy padded down the hall to the bathroom.
“We can’t discuss this now, Nora,” he responded firmly. “It’s too late and I’m too tired. Let’s have lunch early next week, okay?”
A moment of silence followed. “That sounds wonderful, Harry. We can discuss our future plans. I love you.” With that she was gone.
Harry hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. He felt like crying.
Chapter 34
Saturday, November 8
Nick was nervous. He hadn’t been on a date since he met Ellie - and frankly, he never thought he would be faced with the possibility of dating again. As far as he was concerned, Ellie was the last woman he would love.
Until that terrible phone call, he thought. When the police told him about the furnace malfunction, and the carbon monoxide that flooded the house while Ellie and Emma slept. In that moment, my life changed forever.
He tried to shake the thoughts from his head. He became morbid when Ellie and Emma were on his mind. His psychologist had explained to him that grief was a powerful and overwhelming emotion for many people. The mind can get into ruts, just like the body, Dr. Stone had told him. When that happens, it becomes very unhealthy for the patient.
It was important to recognize this condition and fight against it.
Dr. Stone told Nick it was officially called “cognitive thinking” or a reshaping of the thought process to keep a person from becoming mentally stuck. But Dr. Stone preferred the term “mind game.” He explained that it was a battle for the person’s sanity.
The theory was built on a holistic approach that kept the grief contained so it could be dealt with effectively.
Many people confuse destiny with fate, Dr. Stone emphasized. Fate is what happens to you; destiny is what you do about it.
Nick liked that idea. He tried to remember the phrase whenever he faced a challenging situation.
Like a date with Devon, he thought sardonically. He was determined to not let his history, or his life with Ellie, influence tonight’s outcome.
He focused on what he had planned for their date. He would pick Devon up at seven o’clock. First, they’d have dinner at Travasso’s, a small Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End. Nick hadn’t eaten there before, but several friends had recommended the place. One thing Nick knew: he had to stay away from any restaurants that he and Ellie had eaten at. He didn’t want those memories surfacing. He had also gotten tickets to a comedy show in the theater district. Bob Marley, a New England comedian, was the headliner for several weekend shows. Nick knew Marley’s humor was raunchy, and he was a little worried about offending Devon.
What the hell? Nick thought, I’m already living on the edge by asking her out.
Nick left the house twenty minutes early to give himself enough time to get to Devon’s condo in Charlestown. He had his iPhone GPS turned on to provide directions in case he got lost.
During the ride, he thought about the call he’d made on Friday to Detective Scanlon at the BPD. They’d agreed to keep each other informed about their respective investigations. Nick told Scanlon what his team had found out about the suspect transactions that were dated on October 17th, the day after Julie Monroe’s disappearance. The detective had been very interested, and he asked Nick to keep him apprised of any further developments. For his part, the detective said the police weren’t making much progress in their own investigation of Ms. Monroe’s murder. The seawater had destroyed any evidence that may have been in the car when the murder occurred. The vehicle had also been wiped clean of any prints. He sounded frustrated.
Except for minor traffic downtown, Nick ran into no other issues. He arrived at Devon’s address just a couple of minutes past seven o’clock and rang the bell.
Nick heard footsteps from inside before the door opened.
“Hi Nick.”
For a moment, Nick was speechless. Devon wore a short black cocktail dress that showed off her shapely legs. The plunging neckline provided a glimpse of small, firm breasts. A silver chain with a small green pendant hung around her neck.
Devon looked embarrassed after seeing Nick’s reaction. “Are you ready to go?” she asked hesitantly.
Nick tried to regain his composure. He cleared his throat. “Sure. It’s just…well, you look great. Really great.”
Devon blushed slightly and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks Nick. You look nice too.”
Nick was glad he had dressed up. He had been worried over what to wear, afraid his clothes would shout “fashion nerd!” He offered Devon his arm to help her down the front stairs. Her perfume enveloped him like a soft blanket.
Nick drove across the North Washington Street Bridge towards Boston’s North End, one of the city’s oldest neighborhoods. The North End maintained an old world European charm despite the noise and dust wrought by the dismantling of the overhead highway that ran along its edge.
“Did you ever hear about the Great Molasses Flood?” Nick asked Devon, trying to figure out where to start the conversation. She shook her head. Nick continued, “In 1919, a large storage tank of molasses burst in the North End. A forty foot wave of molasses flooded the cobblestoned streets with such force that it buckled elevated train tracks. The disaster killed twenty-one people and took several weeks to clean up. North End residents claim they can still smell the molasses on hot August days.”
“You’re making that up!” Devon laughed.
“No, honest to God truth. Ask any old Italian woman you see tonight.”
“I will!” Devon promised. “Ten bucks they never heard of it.”
“You’re on.”
The drive to the restaurant only took fifteen minutes. Nick turned off Hanover and wound his way down the nearly impassable street slowly, careful to avoid the cars parked on both sides of the narrow alley. He drove past Pizzeria Regina, a local favorite that residents and tourists loved equally.
His destination, Travasso’s, was just a block down the road.
The brick building that housed the restaurant sported a red canopy that brightened the rather plain exterior. Nick glanced up to the floors above. Two women hung out of their apartment windows on the third floor, holding a loud conversation in rapid Italian, replete with hand gestures and waving arms.
Nick stopped outside the restaurant to give his keys to the valet. Devon slid out of the car, earning an admiring glance from the valet as he held her door open. Nick knew every guy in the restaurant was going to give Devon a second look tonight. He was glad she was with him.
The maitre’d seated them at a table near the front window. A small fluted vase held a candle that lit the white tablecloth with a soft light. Music, barely audible, added to the ambience. Nick wondered how to get the conversation started, but Devon beat him to it.
“I heard the food here is wonderful. It smells so good! I’m so hungry!” Devon said. “Have you eaten here before?”
Nick shook his head. “No, first time, but Sam highly recommended it. Especially the potato gnocci and the chicken marsala.”
“Hmmm, they both sound good.” Devon picked up the wine list that the maitre’d had brought to the table. “Do you mind if I select the wine? I took a course during college, so I know what I’m doing. I’ll pick something wicked good.” Devon blushed and put her hand to her mouth. “Sorry, I’m sounding like a local. I can’t pronounce my ‘r’s either. I pahked my cah in Hahvahd yahd. See?”
Nick laughed. “Sounds right to me. I’m happy to let you pick the wine. I’m lucky if I can tell red from white, let alone a Cabernet from a Chianti. ”
Devon smiled. “I like a man who lets a woman help with the decisions. “
Nick smiled back—he felt himself relaxing.
Tonight will work out fine, he thought.
In some ways, Devon reminded him of Ellie. She had a good sense of humor, and was easy to talk to. Nick liked the way she tilted her head as she listened to him to speak. Before the date, Nick had thought of several questions that he could ask in case there were lulls in their conversation. He tried one now. “You played volleyball in college, right? Did you get a scholarship?”
Devon shook her head. “Not at first. I was a walk-on my freshman year. I tried out for the setter position because the girl that had been recruited had torn her ACL in a summer league. And it’s really the only position for me, since I’m so short. I made the team and played well, so the school offered me an athletic scholarship in my sophomore year. It was really a godsend – my mom was struggling with the tuition payments even with the financial aid I was getting. It was unlikely I was going to be able to stay at school if my coach hadn’t pushed for the scholarship. I really appreciated that.”
Nick asked, “What about your dad?”
A dark shadow passed across Devon’s eyes. “My parents split when I was twelve. He was abusive to my mom.” She stopped speaking for a moment and bit her lip. “It took a lot of courage for her to finally leave him. But I’m glad she did.”
Nick kicked himself for bringing up her father, but he hadn’t known anything about Devon’s family history. He tried to get the conversation back onto safer ground. “Do you still play volleyball?”
Devon nodded. “I joined a league in Newton last year. It’s been a lot of fun. You should come watch me play some night.”
That sounded like an invitation. “I’d like that.” Nick picked up his menu and looked at the entrees.
The waiter approached the table, his black pants and shirt in sharp contrast to the small white cloth napkin draped across his forearm. A white ap
ron circled his waist.
“Good evening, folks. Welcome to Travasso’s. Can I offer you something to drink? Some wine perhaps?”
“Yes, we’d like to start with a bottle,” Nick responded. “Let me check first with my sommelier.” He turned to Devon. “Have you made a decision?”
“Hmm, I think there are two good possibilities,” she replied. “Let’s try the Silver Oaks Reserve. It’s a Cabernet.”
“An excellent choice, miss,” the waiter approved. He left to retrieve the bottle from the wine cellar.
Devon smiled. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Nick and Devon discussed their dinner options. They each decided to try something new. For Nick, it was the chicken marsala. Devon said she would try the chicken carbonara. They decided to start with the Clams Casino appetizer and a Caesar salad.
After the waiter took their dinner order, Devon asked Nick what he liked to do in his free time.
“I’ve been trying to get into better shape. I jog most mornings before work, about two and a half miles out to Castle Island and back. It helps to clear the cobwebs and gets me ready for the day.” Nick didn’t want to tell Devon the real reason: the exercise helped reduce the anxiety that was his constant companion. And his memories of Ellie during his runs – how could he explain those?
“That’s great!” Devon replied. She buttered a piece of Italian bread and offered it to Nick. “I’ve never been a great runner. I should try again.”
The suggestion hung right in front of Nick. “I’d be happy to show you my technique some morning. We can run at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”
Devon smiled slyly. “Even if I’m as slow as a snail?”
“I’ll run backwards.”
Devon laughed. “Okay, no need to embarrass me.”
Dinner went by quickly. Nick talked about his years in the Army. He had enough stories to keep the conversation flowing. Devon described her life growing up in the seaside town of Swampscott, fifteen miles north of Boston. As she spoke, Nick realized how comfortable he felt with her, despite the difference in their ages.
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