“Yeah, but they don’t give you probation for that.”
“No. They don’t. But you’d be surprised how slippery the slope actually is. One day you’re sitting around watching Ellen, alternating between Mr. Peanut and the M&M man, and the next day you’re playing with Mr. Vicodin and Ms. OxyContin. Before you know it, you’re entering a plea deal, giving up your license, and enjoying all the comforts that probation has to offer.”
“If you believe the probation report, your fall from grace was a little more complicated.”
“Sure it was,” Beth said. “We’d all like to think we’re complicated, but ninety-nine percent of the time, the entirety of the difference between hero and pariah is one, maybe two, well-timed decisions.”
“I don’t believe that,” Sam said.
“Maybe you just haven’t faced those decisions yet. Nevertheless, here I am—your newest blood-soaked probie.”
“Sorry I had to drag you into that scene back there. That’s never pretty.”
“What do you think happened?”
“An old, neglected dog who had spent too long on the streets eating all sorts of garbage. Probably a gastric hemorrhage. Don’t worry, you can’t catch it.”
“I wasn’t worried. Just wondering.”
“Don’t think about it too hard. You might start to care.”
“Unlikely. So this shelter, what are you, like some Statue of Liberty for the mentally ill?”
“Just your usual urban mix of depressed, anxious, overburdened, grieving, insecure, obsessive-compulsive, socially avoidant upstanding citizens. I thought you’d feel right at home.”
“I do. But usually I’m sitting in a comfy chair and they’re lying down on a couch.”
“Just care for the animals and be pleasant and understanding. You’ll be fine.”
“So basically, you want me to be something I’m not.”
“Exactly. Think of it as a growing experience.”
“I’m big enough.”
“Then think of it as something you need to do to avoid cleaning up garbage on the Cross Bronx Expressway in that orange jumpsuit.”
“Much clearer, thank you.” They chewed in silence for a few moments. “I just don’t want you to expect too much from me… I disappoint people.”
“You handled Hips pretty well. I think having you with us will be helpful.” At least for the next thirty days, Sam thought about adding, but she saw her internal TMI light blink on and held back. She grabbed for her beer. Vodka to follow at home later once she was alone. In a month she wouldn’t even need to pretend to be functional.
“For a bright woman, you really are pretty dense.” Beth leaned forward. “There’s a reason why the government takes your license away for life. That’s a pretty big deal, you know? I’m a danger to my patients, my judgment has been impaired—or didn’t you read that part of the probation report?”
“I read it. I also read that you were really brilliant once. They took away your license to prescribe meds, I get it. But they didn’t suck out your brain, did they?”
“No, but all they left me were words to work with, instead of my arsenal of psychopharmacologic friends.”
“Words matter. Sometimes even just one,” Sam countered.
“Maybe once they did, once they held power. But we don’t believe in them anymore. They’re just filler until you get out the prescription pad.”
“Your cynicism feels a bit practiced to me.”
“Funny. My ex used to tell me the same thing. It’s only slightly less annoying when you say it.”
“You were married?”
“Surprising, isn’t it?”
“No, I just meant—”
“There’s a seat for every ass. And there was a time when my ass wasn’t nearly so big. How about you?”
“How about me what?”
Beth pushed her palms out. “It’s OK. We don’t need to get personal, Doctor.”
“Good. I don’t do personal anymore.”
“Thank God. I was worried we might start having the same menstrual cycle.” Beth scrutinized Sam’s face. “Besides, I can already tell—you’re a dumper, not a dumpee.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re surrounded all day by dogs that adore and depend on you and give you unconditional love. No man can compete with that. It’s like using a vibrating personal massager: everyone else is somewhere between slightly and very disappointing. Anyway, you do have that coldness just around the eyes.”
Sam suddenly found the composition of her salad intensely interesting. It wasn’t the first time someone had called her cold. Charlie had made it his mantra toward the end, alternating that with the word angry. But it was impossible for Sam to pretend it didn’t sting. “See?” Sam said without looking up. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
“Oops.” Beth leaned back. “I was just joking. I didn’t intend to hit a real nerve.”
“You’ve just made my point—words do matter.”
“Nope, you’ve just made mine—I’m an instrument of damage.”
“No real damage. It’s just that I didn’t realize I was so easy to place.”
“Don’t feel bad. This is New York. We’re all one-dimensional stereotypes. It’s what makes us so unique.”
Sam’s cell phone rang. She checked the number and debated whether to answer it.
“Take it,” Beth said. “I’ve got to pee anyway.” She left the table.
“Hey, Bill,” Sam answered. “Can I call you back tomorrow?”
Sam knew the answer when she heard the tone of Ackerman’s voice. “It’s important,” he said. “Something’s going on. They won’t let me take your dogs.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I put in the order for the additional cages and supplies to handle your dogs. I got a call back that the request was being denied.”
“Probably just about what’s in the budget. I’ll find a way to get that stuff for you. We’ll work it out.”
“That’s not the end of the story. I made some inquiries to find out why. I think this is personal, Sam. You must’ve really pissed someone off. They aren’t going to allow me to take your dogs. They’re being very aggressive. If you don’t find them homes, they will all end up in Central.”
The appeal, Sam thought. She knew she had angered some people at the city, but would they really take it out on her dogs? That was just so wrong in so many ways.
The ceiling of the diner suddenly felt too low. The walls too close.
“Sam? Are you there?” Bill asked.
She managed a barely audible response.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ll keep trying.”
She disconnected the phone in a daze.
Beth returned to the table. “What’s wrong? Now you look like the one who’s gonna hurl.”
“I’ve got to get back to the shelter.”
“Because of what I said?”
Sam shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak over the one thought pounding in her head—she would not be able to save her dogs.
11
Andy stopped in the little supermarket on 109th for his evening supplies and then headed east toward Central Park.
Near Columbus Avenue he felt someone tap him on the elbow. He turned and peered down into blue eyes surrounded by a porcelain face. “Andy, right?” she said, extending her hand. Andy took it. “Catherine. My friends call me Cat. We’re in—”
“—Music theory together. Oboe, right?”
“Right. You live around here?”
Andy shook his head. “The dorms.”
“Me too,” she said brightly. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you outside of class.”
“I haven’t spent a lot of time on campus,” he said quickly. “Between work and practice… you know.”
“You work too?”
“Yeah. Part of my deal at the school.”
“Must be hard to get it all done. No wonder I never see you around.”
<
br /> “It makes for some late nights.”
“So what do you think of Professor Morrison?” Cat asked.
“He’s alright. I think he tries too hard to convince us that dissonance is beautiful… I mean some things are just painful to hear… they should be.” He almost added that there is power in that pain, but didn’t want to come off sounding like some freak.
Cat seemed to ponder his answer and then came to a decision. “Hey, you feel like getting a cup of coffee or something?” she asked. “Go over some stuff from the class?”
Andy shifted uneasily. “Um?”
“There must be a Starbucks somewhere around here. I mean if you don’t need to be somewhere or… you know… meet someone.”
“I’d like to, but I’m, uh, sorta seeing someone.”
Andy saw a flash of disappointment, but Cat recovered quickly with a smile. “Kinda, sorta, maybe, huh?” she said playfully. “It’s complicated?”
“Yeah. And I don’t think she would like it so much if I was late because I stopped for coffee and what I’m sure will be great conversation with a beautiful girl.”
“You do know how to let a girl down easy, I’ll say that for you. See you in class. If you change your mind…” Cat touched his hand and turned in the other direction.
Andy felt that touch. He couldn’t deny it. But he quickly put the girl out of his mind. There was no point in dwelling. That could not be his future anymore. He just kept walking.
Outside the entrance to a five-story walk-up on Columbus Avenue, a blue-and-white police sawhorse barricade manned by two cops blocked Andy’s path. Another barricade fifteen feet away halted pedestrian traffic coming from the other direction. Two police cars with flashing bubble lights sandwiched a nondescript white van on the street.
“Hold up a sec,” one of the cops told Andy and the twenty others on his side of the barricade waiting to continue down the street.
Two men in blue vinyl hazmat suits complete with protective hoods, heavy gloves, and the department of health insignia emerged from the walk-up carrying a rectangular object five feet by four feet by two feet and wrapped in a blue tarp. Andy heard the panicked coos and the desperate flapping of wings coming from beneath the tarp and realized that this was one of the pigeon traps he’d heard about. Since the current belief was that the virus sickening Riverside kids was avian, the city and state departments of health had placed traps on the roofs of several neighborhood buildings to capture live pigeons and other birds for examination and testing.
A cop opened the van door and the men in the protective gear tossed the wrapped trap into the back. Birds screamed at the impact. The workers slammed the door closed, cutting off further complaint. The emphasis clearly was on speed—getting the trap off the sidewalk and into the van as quickly as possible—and not the well-being of the birds. Andy assumed this meant the birds were not long for this world. The van sped off with the two police cars as escort. He knew he could do nothing for the birds, but as a witness to their capture, Andy still felt guilty.
Cops removed the street barricades and urged the crowd to keep walking.
Andy couldn’t get his legs to listen. The image of the birds locked in darkness, waiting for hands to grab them and pin their bodies to some metal table, was paralyzing. He remembered that sensation… hands squeezing… a dog snarling in the darkness… the back of a hand against his cheek… a bitter taste…
“Hey, Andy? You OK?” Kendall came up next to him.
It was enough to drag Andy back to the moment. “Yeah. Sure, Sergeant. Just sad, I guess. Those birds…”
“I know. I could tell you that they’ll be tested and released but you’d know I was lying, right?”
Andy nodded.
Kendall looked up at the roof of the walk-up and the darkening sky. “It sounds horrible to say out loud, but thank God it’s only pigeons.”
Andy followed Kendall’s upward gaze. He shook his head. “Why would we thank him for that?”
There was a long pause before Kendall answered in a voice thinned by worry. “Because there’s always some other version of reality lurking around a corner that can put us in a much darker place. Get home safe, Andy,” he said.
Andy knew that Kendall was probably right about that, but he was done with being thankful just because things were not quite as horrible as they might have been.
12
Kendall watched Andy continue down the street. That’s an odd one, he thought.
The cop and the boy had had some difficult interactions when Kendall first came to the neighborhood. Andy bristled at anything even vaguely resembling the exercise of power and authority. They had managed to work things out after Andy realized that Kendall was not at all arbitrary and once they discovered their shared love of dogs. Still, Kendall always worried that Andy would cross paths with someone less willing to compromise and more intolerant of the kid’s idiosyncrasies.
Kendall checked his watch. He was now officially off shift, but needed to stop by Sid’s place before heading home. He was looking forward to the visit.
A well-stocked hardware store run by a proprietor knowledgeable about what is on the shelves can be critical to a city neighborhood, particularly if that proprietor is also an experienced locksmith. Riverside Hardware and Locks was precisely what a city hardware store should be. The aisles were cramped together to make more room for shelving. The shelves were overflowing with items organized so faithfully in accord with the rules of chaos, entropy, and inertia that only the proprietor could find anything, and this Sid Gold did happily for his customers with extraordinary speed and unfailing accuracy.
Kendall pushed the front door open and heard the bell above the door jingle. For some reason Kendall always found that little bell comforting—a gentle reminder of welcome. Sid came out from behind the counter and shook Kendall’s big hand.
“Jim! So glad you came by.”
“Thanks for helping me with this.”
“Come,” Sid said, and brought him to the counter. “I have it here.” Sid took out a thick volume about the size of the phone book and opened it to a section near the back of glossy photos of girls’ bicycles. “Deb will be ten, yes?”
Kendall felt uncomfortable looking at bikes for his daughter the same day a child in his neighborhood had died. There was something fate-tempting about it. But ten was a big birthday and he wanted to be sure they could get the bike in time. He had checked on Amazon, but quickly become overwhelmed with options and strangers’ reviews. He didn’t want to select a bike for his girl just because Ann in Idaho gave it five stars; he wanted someone he knew and trusted to help him pick. “Yeah. She’s been begging for a big-girl bike, you know, with speeds and stuff… something that maybe can grow with her for a few years.”
“No more bells or tassels, got it.”
They slowly examined some of the bike photos and descriptions. Sid offered opinions and comparisons, but Kendall found it hard to concentrate.
“Do you want to do this another time?” Sid offered.
“No, why?”
“Because I just told you that this model comes in the form of a hippopotamus and you said, ‘Fine.’”
“I’m sorry, Sid.”
“You’re worried?”
“Terrified, actually.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you would not be the man I know you to be if you weren’t.”
Kendall wanted to tell Sid that he was wrong, that Sergeant James Kendall of the New York City Police Department really was not that man. But Kendall, as always, remained silent because a knight could not show that kind of fallibility and remain respected.
Kendall nudged the catalog back toward Sid. “Which would you recommend?”
Sid pointed to a beautiful red five-speed in the middle of the page. “There are other bikes that are more expensive, but this one is well-made, dependable, and fun to ride. I buy them for my grandkids.”
Kendall read the price and blanched. A cop’s sa
lary had its limitations.
Sid must have noticed. “Ignore that price. That’s retail. You do not pay retail.”
“I can’t let you do that. I can’t take a discount because I’m a cop.”
Sid playfully punched Kendall in the arm. “Not because you’re a cop, you goof. Because you’re my neighbor.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about me. I charge you a nice twenty percent markup on flashlights, batteries, and deadlocks, but I choose not to make a profit on a child’s birthday present.”
Ten minutes later Kendall left Sid’s store a bit lighter for the conversation and grateful once again for the people who lived in the place he called home.
Because it was a school night and Deb was either already asleep or on her way, Kendall unlocked and opened the door to his apartment as quietly as he could. He ducked inside and passed the photos of his family in the hallway—of his wife and daughter, his mother-in-law in New Jersey, and Phoenix both as a young German shepherd puppy and as an adult.
He found Ellen sitting at the kitchen table and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Deb asleep?”
“Just. Rough evening.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, hon. But you asked.” She placed a plate of hot food and a can of ginger ale in front of him.
“What happened?”
“The department of ed is going to close the school till the weekend. Some kids from the school are sick.”
Kendall pushed his plate away. “Anyone in Deb’s class?”
“No. Not yet. But one of my fourth graders has been out with symptoms that sound too close for my comfort. All the kids were talking about the virus today. The teachers have been trying to keep everyone calm, but the department of health came to do some testing and scared the hell out of everyone.”
“In hazmat?”
“Yes, but no masks, thank God. Deb asked me if I thought she would get sick.” Ellen’s voice cracked and Kendall reached for her hand.
Just Life Page 6