by Shawn Wilson
Lily waited in the doorway to her apartment. She had changed her clothes. The court-appropriate suit had been replaced by jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse with white polka dots. As she took the pizza box from Brick, he noticed she was barefoot, her toenails painted red.
“That was fast. What’d you do, bribe the pizza guy?”
“No, the cashier.”
“Whatever works.” Lily closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “This smells so good and I’m starving. Make yourself comfortable,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner of the living room into a small galley-style kitchen.
Brick looked down at the white wall-to-wall carpet and slipped his feet out of his loafers. He set his shoes by the door next to the ones Lily had worn earlier. He glanced around the combination living and dining room. It was very much like he expected—an artsy mix of contemporary furnishings and antiques, feminine without being frilly. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a dining room chair before pulling off his tie and loosening the collar of his shirt.
“Need any help?” Brick asked.
“Yes.” Lily emerged from the kitchen and handed Brick a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir and a corkscrew.
Brick hesitated before opening the wine. “Maybe I should do this in the kitchen. Red wine and a white carpet, I don’t want to be responsible for making your place look like a crime scene.”
Lily laughed. “You really need to stop thinking like a cop.” She moved out of the doorway so Brick could enter the kitchen. He opened the wine over the sink, poured two glasses without spilling a drop, and handed one to Lily.
She set the glass down as she removed the flowered cloth covering the table. She placed the pizza box in the middle. “I’ll get a couple of plates. Go ahead and sit down.”
Brick was opening the pizza box as Lily returned. She handed him a plate as she took a deep breath.
“Smell the basil. That’s by far my favorite herb.” She picked up a slice and took a healthy bite even before sitting down. “Luciano’s has ruined me for every other pizza place in D.C., and, believe me, I’ve tried most.”
Brick laughed as he helped himself. He liked sharing a meal with a woman who obviously enjoyed food, even something as basic as pizza, without obsessing about calories and fat grams.
Lily raised her glass of wine in Brick’s direction. “Cheers!”
“Slàinte.”
“Excuse me?” Lily said.
“That’s the Irish equivalent.”
Lily picked up her second slice and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed before continuing. “You’re proud of your Irish roots, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“A lot of Irish-Americans are—maybe more so than other ethnic groups.”
Brick thought about that for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s true. It may seem that way because there’s a lot of us. And, of course, everyone wants to be Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s actually kind of annoying.” Brick separated two slices, putting one on his plate. “What about you, I’m sure you’re proud to be Vietnamese.”
“I am, but sometimes I feel as though I’m denying my heritage.”
“How so?” he asked.
Lily took a sip of wine. “My birth parents died when our village was bombed. I was one of the lucky ones. I survived and was adopted and raised with an appreciation of everything America had to offer. It’s just that there weren’t many Asians where I grew up in Wisconsin. I’m not complaining, but I wasn’t exposed to much ethnic culture.”
“But what about at home?” Brick asked.
“Especially at home. Can you believe it, I never tasted pho until I moved here to D.C.” Lily laughed. “Don’t let the name fool you. From the time I was adopted up until I went to law school, I was Lily Nguyen Adams. Somehow on my law school application to University of Chicago, my name got transposed to Lily Adams Nguyen. Not only did I get accepted, I got some very generous minority scholarships. So with my parents’ blessing, I legally changed my name and graduated from law school with a lot less debt than I would have otherwise.”
“Well, Midwesterners are known for being practical.”
“True. And, my parents are … were. They passed away three years ago in a multi-car pileup during an ice storm. I still have trouble referring to them in the past tense.” Lily refilled Brick’s wineglass before pouring some for herself. “Anyway, enough about me. Were your parents first-generation American?”
“My father was. But my mother was born in Dublin. She came to the States when she was a teenager. I have dual citizenship even though I was born in Brooklyn.”
Lily reached for another slice of pizza. “I think I’m getting ahead of you.”
“Is this a competition to see who can eat the most?”
“No, but I have to warn you, I’d probably win. Anyway, you were saying you have dual citizenship. I’ve heard Ireland is beautiful; have you been there?”
“It is and I’ve been there a few times.”
“Recently? I’ve heard it’s changed a lot during the boom times—the Celtic Tiger, I think that’s what they called it.”
Brick nodded. “No, the last time I was there”—he hesitated for a moment as he did the math in his head—“twenty-four years ago.” Brick finished what was on his plate and considered having one more slice before deciding he’d had enough. “It was my mother’s wish to be buried in County Clare and it was my responsibility to see that it happened.”
“You must have been young.”
“Eighteen.”
Lily reached over and touched Brick’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.”
“Then, forgive me for asking, but where was your father?”
“Missing-in-action.”
“Obviously.”
“It was through no fault of his own.” Brick hadn’t planned to talk about this, but it was too late to stop now. He leaned back in his chair and looked over at Lily. “My father was an Army officer, Special Forces, and his helicopter was shot down over Pleiku.” Brick saw a hint of recognition on Lily’s face.
“That’s in the Central Highlands.”
“Right. He and his crew were declared missing-in-action, and to this day, that’s their official status.”
“The fucking war.” Lily closed her eyes. For a moment she seemed lost in her thoughts. When she opened her eyes, she smiled sadly at Brick. “What do you remember about him?”
“Nothing. We never met. My mother was pregnant when he was deployed, and I was born two months before she was notified.” Brick picked up the wine bottle. He topped off Lily’s glass then refilled his own. For the second time in as many days he was talking about his childhood, a subject he rarely shared.
“That must have been horrible for your mother. When you’re in limbo, how do you get on with your life?”
“Simple answer—she never did, at least on one level. That’s not to say she wasn’t a good mother, she was. Her world revolved around me, but she was young and should have remarried, or at least dated, but instead, she waited for my father to return.”
Lily stared into her wineglass then looked up. “This may sound strange coming from someone who’s been orphaned twice, but at least I know what happened. I mean, I miss them every day and will for the rest of my life, but I’m not clinging to false hope.” Lily pointed toward her wineglass. “I probably could have expressed that better, but I’ll blame it on the wine.”
Brick nodded. “You said it well enough and you didn’t use the ‘c’ word.”
“Excuse me?” Lily sounded offended.
“Closure.”
“Oh, that one.”
“It’s an overused platitude. When I knocked on someone’s door and told them their spouse or kid was dead, I never felt like I was providing closure. I was simply giving them information. Horrible news that would forever change their lives. But without it, their lives would also be changed, maybe in a worse way
. Just ask a mother or father whose kid has been missing for the last fifteen years.”
“Or a man whose father’s been missing for much longer?”
“Yeah, that, too. Everyone deserves answers.” Brick took a sip of wine. “Several years ago, I filed some Freedom of Information requests and turned up some interesting leads. But so far, just more questions.”
“Maybe all these years of paying it forward will reward you.”
“What do you mean?” Brick asked.
“It seems like a lot of your motivation for solving homicides was to spare the victim’s family the pain of uncertainty you’ve lived with.”
A fleeting smile crossed Brick’s lips. “I thought you were a lawyer not a psychologist.”
“When business is slow, I watch Dr. Phil.” Lily pointed to the remaining slices of pizza in the box.
“No, I’ve had enough.”
“Me, too. I’ll put the rest in the fridge.”
“Cold pizza for breakfast?”
“It’s been known to happen.” Lily picked up the grease-stained box and headed toward the kitchen. “We can finish our wine over on the sofa.”
Brick liked that suggestion. He picked up both glasses and set them down on the glass-topped coffee table. Lily joined him on the sofa, sitting close but not too close. She took a sip of wine then set her glass back down.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Really … why?”
“I was thinking about the day when you approached me at Pho 75; I was pretty rude to you.”
“No, you were just … well, come to think of it, yeah you were.” Brick laughed. “It’s okay though, no apology needed.”
“I hate to admit this but I guess I just think of all cops in the same way and you definitely don’t fit the stereotype.”
“I take it you think that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah, I do.” Lily started to say something but quickly covered her mouth. Her attempt to stifle a yawn failed. “Excuse me, it’s the wine, not the company.”
“I understand, but it’s also been a long day, especially for you. I should be heading out.” Brick stood up; so did Lily. For a few seconds, their eyes locked. To Brick, it was a now-or-never moment. Gently he cupped Lily’s face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. She responded by closing the distance between them and kissing him with an intensity he had hoped for but didn’t expect. Who initiated the next kiss didn’t matter. All that mattered to Brick was that it happened. No need to keep score.
“Brick—” Lily’s voice sounded far away as she stepped back, a look of regret erasing the passion that had been there a second before. “I’m sorry, Brick.” She sank back down onto the sofa.
Brick felt like an awkward teenager. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have—”
Lily shook her head. “No, please … please don’t apologize.” Her chin quivered and she appeared on the verge of tears as she cast her eyes toward the floor. “It’s not you—it’s me.”
Brick sat down next to her. “I don’t understand, Lily. What does that mean?”
Slowly she raised her head. “Look at me, Brick. What do you see?”
“A beautiful woman.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he had a startling thought. Unlike Ron with a photographic memory of movie scenes, not many stuck with Brick, but The Crying Game was an exception. “Are you telling me you’re not … a woman?”
“What? Oh, my God!” Lily started to laugh, an infectious laugh that spread to Brick and reduced the tension in the air. “I can assure you, I’m one-hundred percent woman.”
“That’s a relief. Then, Lily, what is it?”
Brick noticed Lily biting her lip. It was obvious something was troubling her and she seemed reluctant to talk about it. Brick took her hand. “Lily, don’t do a Guadalupe Cruz—talk to me.”
Lily laughed again. “That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it. It’s just that … oh, what the hell.”
Slowly, Lily unbuttoned her blouse. She turned her back to Brick as she slipped it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Purplish-red scars covered her back and arms. Brick had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not because of the disfigurement he saw but because of what he imagined Lily had endured. He had seen enough scarred bodies over the years to know these weren’t recent. He moved closer to her and kissed the back of her neck as he recalled images of Vietnamese kids running in the streets as fire rained down from the sky.
Brick’s voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. “Lily, please turn around.” As if in slow motion, she complied. The skin on her chest, above her lacy bra, bore similar scars.
“What do you see now?” Lily asked.
“The same beautiful woman.”
“Please don’t patronize me.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“No, and it’s not fair for me to make that assumption. It’s just I never know what type of reaction I might get.”
“I understand.” Brick glanced at her breasts as she took a deep breath. He reached over and held both of her hands in his. “We all have scars of one type or another; some are just closer to the surface.”
Lily nodded but didn’t respond for a minute or two. “Then is there a chance we can pick up where we left off?”
Brick leaned over and kissed her mouth. Garlic never tasted so sweet. “I think we already have.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
First, he closed the blinds. Next, he made sure the dead bolt was locked by checking it twice. Then a third time. He’d better watch out, he didn’t want to end up with OCD. He laughed to himself. OCD, ADD, ADHD, disorder du jour. It was a bunch of bullshit, just a way for doctors and drug companies to make big bucks. He knew what he was doing. It made sense to check the door. He had to make sure he’d shut out the rest of the crazy fucking world. He had stuff to do and he didn’t want to be disturbed.
For now, he set up his computer on the dining room table. He laughed again. Maybe he should think of it as the dining corner table. And over there was the sleeping corner. He didn’t care; he had more important things to spend his money on than rent. A studio suited him just fine. Not that it was cheap; even a dump in the city was expensive.
That’s why God invented credit cards. And he had a brand-new one in his wallet. Bank of America could go fuck themselves. Threatening to turn him over to a collection agency; he’d show them he wasn’t intimidated. He waited a few more seconds while the computer booted up, then logged on and entered his password. He surfed for a while before deciding on a website that guaranteed what he was looking for. Quickly he entered the number from the new credit card along with the expiration date and security code. Easy as pie, he was in. Fuck you, Bank of America.
After about two hours he took a break. His stash of frozen dinners was dwindling, but he had his choice of mac and cheese or lasagna. He checked the heating instructions and chose the mac and cheese. The lasagna would have taken longer and he didn’t feel like waiting. Sometimes it seemed that’s all he ever did. He’d been waiting all his life to meet the right woman. It’s not that he hadn’t met women, there were plenty out there, but he wasn’t about to lower his standards. And he was sick and tired of waiting and being toyed with. All the time and money he had spent and what did he have to show for it. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but it was too late. He felt the rage building and he knew he had to do something or he would explode. His eyes darted around the cluttered room and landed on his computer.
With both hands, he picked up the laptop and smashed it against the wall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BRICK CRAVED A cigarette. In a previous life, he always kept a pack in his nightstand for that euphoric interval before exhaustion set in. It was the only time he allowed himself or anyone else to smoke in bed. But this wasn’t his bed or his nightstand and Lily was a non-smoker; he willed himself to stay in the moment and not think about nicotine.
“Have you ever been
to the ballet?” Lily asked as she snuggled against his chest.
“What?”
Lily laughed. “I know that just came out of the nowhere but I looked over at my dresser and saw the ticket envelope. A girlfriend and I were going to the Kennedy Center on Saturday but she had to go out of town. Some kind of family emergency. Anyway, I know it’s not a thing most guys would want to—”
“Are you stereotyping again?”
“I guess I am. Would you be willing to go with me?”
“I do have a reputation to live up to and I can think of worse things than spending a Saturday night with you.”
“Really?” Lily smiled at Brick. “Let’s see if you still feel that way after sitting through two hours of Giselle.”
Brick put his arm around Lily and closed his eyes. Thoughts of a cigarette were long forgotten as he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
For a moment, Brick wasn’t sure where he was. Abruptly, he looked to his left then smiled at the sight of Lily sleeping on her side. He heard her softly snoring as he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep. An hour later, the clock radio jarred him awake.
“Morning.” Lily raised up on one elbow then flopped back down on her pillow. “Think I drank too much wine.”
Brick laughed. “Headache?”
“Kind of … but it was worth it.”
“Good.” Brick ran his fingers along Lily’s thigh. “How much time do we have until you have to get up?”
Lily pouted. “Not enough.” She reached for her robe at the foot of the bed. “Rain check?”
Before Brick could respond, she disappeared into the bathroom. He picked up his socks and underwear, hating putting them back on, but his only other option was going commando. He stepped into his boxers and reached down to pull on his sock but suddenly stopped. What had he done? He sat down on the edge of the bed. In the afterglow of making love, he had forgotten about the Nats-Yankee game. He couldn’t believe it; he had agreed to go to the ballet … the ballet. Brick thought for a moment. Lily was reasonable; she’d understand, especially when he explained the potential for seeing Mariano Rivera. As he finished getting dressed, he mentally rehearsed what he would say.