“Un macchiato,” Roy said. “And you?”
“I already had an espresso,” Lloyd said.
“Oh, but you have to try this.” He looked up at the bartender. “Due per piacere.”
The bartender bowed his head slightly, said, “Benissimo. Due macchiati,” and hustled back behind the counter.
“You’re pretty smooth with your Italian,” Lloyd said
“One of the perks of living in Rome.”
“I thought the guy was going to kiss your hand.”
“One of the perks of being a priest.” Roy smiled, but his eyes had a faraway look. He looked tired, Lloyd thought, weary, and if possible, a little older than he had appeared just a few days ago.
“You sleeping okay?” Lloyd asked. “You look like you’re still on Vatican time.”
“Let me be blunt, Lloyd,” Roy said. “The reason I came back to the States is because your mother is ill.”
Lloyd smiled and shook his head. “Mom’s fine. She just gets in her little moods sometimes…”
“She has pancreatic cancer. The doctors say it’s inoperable.”
The barista approached the table with a small tray. “Two macchiati, and some homemade cookies, compliments of my wife. Anything else I can get you?”
Roy shook his head and whispered, “Grazie.”
The man retreated shielding his chest with the tray. “If you need anything…”
Lloyd stared at the cookies, his mouth agape. “You sure?” he asked.
“The cancer’s spread too far. It’s too late. She doesn’t have much time left.”
“Why didn’t she –”
“She’s been in treatment for the last few months. Didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want to worry you and, well, she thought she somehow let you down.”
“Let me down?”
Roy shook his head. “With you being a doctor, she felt that getting cancer was like… cavorting with the enemy.”
“Where is she?” Lloyd asked.
“At home, resting.”
“I have to go see her.”
Roy shook his head. “No, not now. She still doesn’t want you to know.” He took a sip of coffee and swallowed hard. “Even made me promise I wouldn’t tell you.”
“And when was I going to find out?” Lloyd asked.
Roy inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nose. “When, indeed?” He took another sip of coffee. “When it’s too late I suppose.”
“I’m going to go see her.”
“Not yet,” Roy said with a shrill note. “Lloyd, your mother is a stubborn woman. You have no idea… Let me reason with her first. Let’s give her a little breathing room. I’ll keep you abreast of things.” He put a hand on Lloyd’s forearm. “There’s nothing you can do. Now eat a cookie so we don’t offend the nice man.”
Lloyd picked up a cookie, turned it in his fingers before taking the tiniest of bites. It crumbled under his teeth. He took another bite and chewed mechanically. His mind was a blur. Roy looked at him silently for a moment, a pained smile on his face.
The door to the café opened. A man stepped in, stopped in his tracks before walking next to their table. Roy looked up at him. Lloyd was oblivious to the man’s presence.
“I thought that was you,” the man said. “When I walked in, I told myself, now doesn’t that look like Dr. Copeland. And sure enough, it is you.”
Lloyd fluttered his eyes and looked up as if he were looking into the sun. The man reached out and shook Uncle Roy’s hand. “Nick De Luca. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I’m Father Roy Copeland – Lloyd’s uncle. The pleasure is all mine,” Roy said.
“Is that a fact?” De Luca said. “I’m sorry. Somehow I never imagined Dr. Copeland having a priest as an uncle. But then, why not?” De Luca chuckled. “And I surely never imagined seeing you here of all places… not in a million years. But I see you got the cookie treatment.” De Luca winked at Roy and laughed again.
“What are you doing here?” Lloyd asked.
“My uncle owns the place… and he’s not a priest. I rent an office from him upstairs.” De Luca reached into his back pocket for his wallet, extracted a business card and handed it to Lloyd. It read, De Luca and De Luca, Security and Investigations.
“Who’s the other De Luca?” Lloyd asked, his mind in a fog.
“That would be my brother Vince. He runs security for Wrigley field. This is just a little thing we do on the side. Mostly neighborhood stuff: tracking down unfaithful husbands, a little security consulting for the shops in the area… you know, nothing big.”
“Won’t you have a seat, Signor De Luca?” Roy said.
De Luca glanced at Lloyd. “Oh, you’re very kind… but I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It would be our pleasure. Wouldn’t it, Lloyd?”
Lloyd stared at the business card and said nothing.
De Luca glanced at his wristwatch. “Won’t you look at the time! I’m terribly sorry, padre. I’m expecting a phone call… upstairs.”
“Then don’t let us detain you.” Roy stood up and shook De Luca’s hand. “So pleased to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Father,” De Luca said with a wide grin. He turned to Lloyd and said, “Dr. Copeland, if you ever need anything, my cell phone’s on the card.” The tone of his voice dropped a half-note and his grin faded slightly. “Anything at all, just call me.”
Chapter 18
When Lloyd returned to his apartment, a vague heaviness weighed down on his shoulders. He climbed the stairs with leaden footsteps, tossed his key ring on the table, and walked to the fridge. He pulled open the stainless steel door and stood leaning on it, staring inside for a few moments. Straightening his spine, he shut the door, trudged to the living area and slumped on the sofa.
The apartment felt empty, desolate. This wasn’t the first time to be sure, but whereas in the past Lloyd knew how to shake off the feeling, if only temporarily, this time he worried that the emptiness would linger, like the musty miasma that permeated his college dorm all of Freshman year.
The relationship with his mother might not have seemed affectionate in the traditional sense. Neither of them felt it necessary to indulge the other with pleasantries. Hugs were only exchanged when the feeling called for it. Instead, the relationship had evolved into a playfulness that was mutually comfortable, almost utilitarian. Yet the bond was undeniably strong.
As he neared graduation from high school, Lloyd destroyed the letters from Eastern colleges with offers of scholarships knowing that if his mother had found them she would have urged him to spring at the opportunities. Instead, Lloyd decided to attend college locally, then remained for medical school and residency as well.
At some level, he still needed her. Now she would leave him, without making a fuss of it, trying to maintain that steady Copeland stiff upper lip. And what would he tell her now? Mom, I love you? How awkward that sounded, even if sincere.
Lloyd pulled the silver lighter from his pocket and studied the engraved inscription on its face. “Blest be the tie that binds” was etched in a thin scripted calligraphy. His grandfather had purchased the lighter to celebrate the birth of his first son and bequeathed it to him upon his death. It became Lloyd’s keepsake when he graduated from high school, “to keep the chain unbroken”, his mother had said. From that time, it served as a reminder: a reminder of family bonds, a reminder of a mission he felt was entrusted to him.
He sat up on the sofa, set the lighter on the coffee table and pulled out his cell phone. Scrolling to Erin’s name, he hesitated a moment, his pulse racing. With a nod of his head he squeezed the call button.
Erin answered in a chipper voice.
“It’s Lloyd.”
“I know it’s you, silly.”
Lloyd couldn’t think of what to say.
“What’s up?” Erin said.
“I was just thinking, are you doing anything?”
“Yeah. I was sitting here waiting for
you to call,” Erin said with a laugh.
“I thought maybe we could get together. Unless you’re busy,” Lloyd said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?” Lloyd said.
“You sound… I don’t know, different.”
“Didn’t you want me to be different?” Lloyd said.
Erin paused. “Why don’t you come to my place? I’ll make dinner.”
Erin lived on the second floor of a rather typical Oak Park apartment building dating from the nineteen-twenties or thirties. It had a long, sober front courtyard flanked by sturdy walls of dark rust-colored bricks, checkered with evenly spaced rectangular windows. The foyer had a black and white mosaic tile floor in pristine condition and even the bannisters of the narrow stairs revealed the artful craft of former days.
Erin opened the door wearing a white and red striped kitchen apron, her hair tied in a short pony tail. Her broad smile exuded an irresistible schoolgirl charm.
“Smells good,” Lloyd said as he crossed the threshold. “What are you cooking?”
“Penne with vodka sauce,” Erin said as she closed the heavy door and twisted the dead bolt shut. “I think I might have been a little heavy handed with the vodka. When I lit it up, the flame lasted a lot longer than the YouTube video I got the recipe from.”
Lloyd laughed. “So you’ve never done this before?”
“Oh, I have,” Erin said. “Just not by myself. My ex- did most of the cooking at home.”
Lloyd strained to keep smiling. A mild tightness formed at the corners of his lips. He averted his gaze to hide the unexpected pang of jealousy that had surfaced inside of him. His attention fell on a stack of cardboard moving boxes stacked tidily in a corner.
“Still moving in or not planning to stay long?”
“So much junk, so little time,” Erin said. “It’s embarrassing, really. Please, don’t look at that mess. Glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
Erin pulled him by the hand past a white cornice doorway into the kitchen which opened onto an adjoining dining area. The tightness of his face loosened and the bile of jealousy evaporated with her touch.
Erin poured Chardonnay into two glasses and handed one to Lloyd. They raised their glasses.
“No more of your dumb toasts, please!” Erin said.
They sipped on the wine and within moments Lloyd felt his body flooding with a gentle warmth. Erin set her glass on the kitchen counter, poured a box of pasta into a pot of boiling water and twisted the dial of a kitchen timer.
“Have a seat,” she said as she wiped her palms on the front of her apron. “I want to show you something.”
She stepped through a doorway leading into a narrow corridor where the maple floorboards creaked. Lloyd sat at the kitchen table which was draped in a pale green tablecloth with tiny embroidered flowers. He heard the floorboards creak again and looked up to see Erin return. She stopped short of the table, shook her head then took the final few steps to stand over Lloyd’s shoulder.
She placed a red velvet ring box with a frayed corner and faded gold lettering on the table in front of Lloyd. He looked at the box and shot Erin a quizzical look.
“What are you waiting for?” Erin said. “Open it.”
“If you’re proposing, don’t you think you should get on your knees?”
She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.
“Open it,” she said.
Lloyd lifted the lid. Embedded in the white satin niche was a plastic toy ring.
“I hope you didn’t spend too much money on this,” Lloyd said.
“You don’t recognize it?”
“Should I?”
Erin pulled up a chair and sat next to him. “You don’t remember?” She giggled. “You gave me this ring.”
“What? When?”
“On the playground next to the little league field. I was crushed because they wouldn’t let me join the team just because I was a girl – even though I could throw a ball harder than half the boys. I was sitting on a swing, crying, when you walked over with a box of Crackerjacks and sat next to me. The ring was in the box. It was the prize. You gave it to me and said the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“And what was that?” Lloyd asked.
Erin sighed. “I was so hoping you’d remember.”
“Well, I remember I was in love…” Lloyd said, “with Crackerjacks.”
Erin rose to her feet, still smiling. “I won’t let you ruin one of the fondest memories of my life.”
She reached for the ring box. Lloyd grabbed her outstretched hand.
“Why did you save this for all these years?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Lloyd.”
Lloyd picked up the ring. “Wait,” he said. “Put it on.”
Erin rolled her eyes. “If you’re proposing, you better get on your knees.”
Lloyd slipped the ring on her pinky finger. “Wow! It really looks great on you. You should wear it all the time.”
“Don’t toy with my feelings, Lloyd Copeland.”
Lloyd looked up and their eyes met. Erin’s expression was serene, temperate. Lloyd rose to his feet keeping his eyes locked on hers. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her ever so softly, their lips just grazing. They gazed in each other’s eyes again. After a moment he kissed her once more, a bit more forcefully. She pressed against him and opened her mouth just enough for their tongues to brush together.
“I have to stir the pasta,” she said breathlessly.
“I’m not toying with you,” Lloyd said.
Erin wrapped her arms around his neck and lunged forward to kiss him yet again. Then she cradled his head in her hands, peered in his eyes and said, “Are you okay, my dear?”
Chapter 19
Thursday morning, Lloyd’s outpatient clinic was light. He’d have been back in the lab breathing down Kaz’s neck before lunch if his eleven o’clock hadn’t arrived twenty minutes late. Lloyd didn’t mind. He spent the idle time discussing the semeiology of Parkinson’s disease with a small group of incredibly young looking medical students on their physical diagnosis rotation. Penguins, Lloyd called them, because the movements of their arms were so restricted by the stiffness of the sleeves of their brand new bleached white short coats.
He met up with Mark at the cafeteria for a light lunch before making his way back to the lab. The sound of Debussy’s Arabesque filled the room with a sense of renewed hope and joy. Upon seeing Lloyd, Kaz made an unexpectedly graceful improvised dance step complete with pirouette.
Lloyd laughed.
“What are you so chipper about?” he asked
Kaz said, “It’s a glorious day, my cold-hearted friend. A glorious day.”
“Okay…”
“The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and two of the three mice are running two-dimensional mazes like fifteenth century explorers in search of new worlds,” Kaz said.
“Are you starting to write poetry now?”
“I should. Yes, I should.” Kaz’s cheeks turned pink. “Lloyd, I met someone.”
“Really!”
“A lovely, beautiful lady.”
“How did that happen?” Lloyd asked.
“At the community garden. We were trimming the tops off basil plants when we reached for the same plant and our hands touched.”
“And then what happened?”
Kaz rubbed his palms together. “Well, nothing. I didn’t know what to say.”
Lloyd smiled. “You haven’t talked to her?”
“Oh yes, I have. I’ve said, ‘Hello’, and, ‘Nice weather we’re having. Great for tomatoes’ and ‘Do you need to use the hose?’”
“Did you slip her your Russian hose?” Lloyd asked.
“What? Please Lloyd, this is serious. What shall I do? What do I say to her?”
Lloyd puffed out his cheeks and scrutinized Kaz’s facial expression. It revealed a pained anticipation that Lloyd could strangely relate to. “I a
lways say, stick to what’s worked for you in the past.”
“A bottle of vodka and a carton of Bulgarian cigarettes? How is that going to help me?”
Lloyd rested his hands on his hips. “You really like this girl?”
“She’s a Guatemalan rose. A Fata Morgana in jeans and flip-flops,” Kaz said.
“Then I’m not the one to give you advice. If you meet a girl you don’t give a rat’s ass about, now there I can help you.”
Kaz smiled and wagged his stout index finger in the air. “You don’t fool me, Dr. Lloyd Copeland. I see in your eyes. I see all the way to your soul. I see the way the music touches your heart.” He tapped Lloyd’s chest and chuckled. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: you… are a romantic.”
“I don’t know.”
“Help me Lloyd. Please help me.”
Lloyd smiled and shook his head just perceptibly. “Look, the best thing to do is to lead her one small step at a time. Just invite her for coffee – small commitment, safe atmosphere, completely innocent.”
“Yes, I like this idea. You’re a genius, my friend. And then?”
“Then… smile and be kind,” Lloyd said.
“Yes, yes,” Kaz said, nodding his head. “And then?”
“Then… give her a bottle of vodka and some Bulgarian cigarettes.”
Kaz frowned.
“Look, just be sincere,” Lloyd said. “Let her know how you feel about her.”
“That’s all?” Kaz said. “Is that what you do?”
“No. I never do that.” Lloyd nodded and walked towards his office.
“By the way, your phone has been ringing and ringing this morning,” Kaz said in a perturbed tone. “Please make it stop ringing. It’s upsetting my little comrades.”
There were several voice mails in Lloyd’s in-box, all from George Lasko’s secretary imploring him with increasing urgency and strain in her voice to call her back immediately.
Lloyd dialed the number and reclined in his chair.
“Dr. Lasko wants to see you urgently,” she said with cold formality.
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