Burning Blue

know, we might get lucky.”

“You don’t have a better description than ‘a woman’?”

“She was in silhouette with the sun behind her, but she had nice hair. You know, long, a little wavy. Pretty, like yours.”

“Like mine. Great.”

THIRTY-SIX

Cherry dropped me off at the gate to Nicole’s community, or “the village,” as she liked to say. “I’ll call you when my dad gets that info,” she said.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I do.” She waved as she left. I wasn’t exactly sure how, but she reminded me of me. In spite of that, I liked her.

The gate guard phoned the Castros, and another guard drove me to the house. Nicole’s neighborhood was too quiet. The house was big and old. Placard out front: “Historical Landmark, Est. 1844.” The doorknocker was this huge Siberian tiger head, something out of Anna Karenina, a book I never read but told everybody I did to sound smart. I felt like I should have been wearing a top hat and cape as I rang the bell.

Mrs. Castro was happy to see me. She said Nicole was out with her dad, but she was supposed to be back soon. “I just made pizza, super-healthy, whole wheat crust, no cheese, just vegetables.”

“Sounds amazing.” Blehk.

She led me through this enormous house toward the kitchen. The rug tassels had been combed. Even the fire burned neatly, three perfect plumes. “That real?”

“Of course not.”

They needed a golden retriever, and they would have nailed the center spread in Better Homes and Gardens. “No dog?”

She made a face and tapped her nose. “Nicole’s allergies.”

She served me this huge slice of vegetable pizza. Alfalfa sprouts on pizza should be a capital crime. “Best I ever had,” I said.

“Do you think you could get your father to sign my copy of his book?”

“No problem.”

She scanned a bookshelf built into the kitchen wall, all art books. She hit the intercom. “Sylvia?”

“What?” Definitely not pleased. Brief snippet of talent show TV in the background, the final round, crowd roaring.

“Did you see my book, the old one, Steven Nazzaro, After Beauty?”

“It’s in your studio, on that small table by the easel.” She huffed, “I’ll get it.”

“No, darling, I’ll get it.”

“I’ll get it, I said.”

Mrs. Castro slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I thought having an only child was the way to do it, you know? Shower her with happiness. But they still get ruined, no matter your watchfulness, your worry, your singular devotion. Ruin. It’s just what comes. People see beauty, and they have to destroy it.” Her blouse was light pink, and tears splattered darkly. She could have been shot twice in the chest. She wiped her eyes and collected herself. “I’m so sorry. Don’t listen to me. Eat your pizza, Jay. Please.” She went to the refrigerator. “They were supposed to be back by now. ‘Just a quick ride,’ he said.” She poured me a glass of milk. “Jay, what are you not telling me?”

I told her about the black Civic and gave her the plate number. I didn’t have to tell her the plates were stolen. Detective Barrone would find that out fast enough.

“They said it wouldn’t happen again, the police,” Mrs. Castro said. “And that godawful Schmidt.” She grabbed the phone. She lit a cigarette while she waited for the call to go through. Her hands shook. “He’s not picking up. They turn their phones off when they’re with each other, because they think they don’t spend enough time together. Now he wants to spend all this time with her.” She was talking to herself. I heard the beep. “Rafael, I need you to bring Nicole home. Immediately.” She clicked the phone off and then on. I watched her key in the numbers, Barrone’s.

Sylvia came in.

“Hi,” I said.

Sylvia nodded Mrs. Castro’s way. “Now you got her all upset. When she’s upset, she’s not happy until she makes me upset.” She dropped my father’s book onto the table. It was a wreck, thumbed and gripped to the point the cover was coming off.

The security company put a car on the Castros’ house. Nicole and I hung out in the kitchen. Her parents were having a low-voices fight upstairs. Sylvia was stabbing a bunch of yarn into something that resembled a sweater in the living room, with a direct line of sight to me. She nailed me with eyes that said if I so much as tried to hold Nicole’s hand, she was going to run a knitting needle through the back of my head. Nicole was eyeing me too. “Are you hacking me?”

“No. No, I’m not, and I won’t.”

“Promise.”

“Promise.”

Her mother was really yelling now. “I want to go up there,” Nicole said. “I want to make them just shut up and look at each other and remember what it was like back when I was little, when they were young, and they were always holding hands. I used to swing from the bridge. You know, the bridge their hands made?”

Her father came downstairs, heavy footsteps. “Nicole, time to change that bandage.”

“Dad-”

“Now, sweetheart. Your mother’s waiting for you.” He eyed me with a frown. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, but I have my skateboard.”

“That wasn’t a question.” He was about three inches shorter than I was, weighed less too, but I had no doubt he could tune me up. His eyes were just scary. Blue like Nicole’s, but cold.

The interior of Mr. Castro’s BMW was immaculate. He drove right at the speed limit. “I know your father,” he said. “Rather, I met him. But you knew that.”

“Yessir.”

“My wife was never great at keeping secrets. Bit of a hothead, your father, if you don’t mind my saying. How is it for you, living with a critic?”

“Terrific,” I said.

“You smoke?” Maybe it wasn’t a question. “I smell it on you.”

“I think that was Mrs. Castro.”

“She was smoking in the house? Just what Nicole needs, cancer in the air.” We’d come to a light. “Look, we’re both men here. We know that when women are vulnerable, some men will try to take advantage. Now, I know you’re not one of those types of fellows.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s fine. Good. Because I think my little girl has gone through quite enough these past few weeks, ey?”

The light had turned green. The guy behind us honked, but Mr. Castro stayed put. He kept giving me those mean eyes, sharp green now in the reflection of the traffic light.

“Mr. Castro? I’m not out to hurt your daughter. I’m simply trying to be her friend.”

He nodded and drove. “She likes you a lot. She doesn’t know you, but she thinks she does. And isn’t it always that way, for all of us? But you can’t, son. Right?”

“Can’t what?”