been all over that, too. It was the only way she knew how to cope with her overwhelming sense of powerlessness with a chain of events that had outpaced her ability to grasp them and act upon them. In that ideal, perfect world, Rondell wouldn’t be in smithereens at the bottom of the Connecticut River right now. He’d be holding Kinitra’s hand and telling her in a soft, reassuring voice what a terrific person she was. Instead, he was gone.
It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.
And so Des drew, deconstructing the horror one stroke at a time, knowing that this one would stay inside of her for keeps.
“My sister’s anxious to talk to you,” Jamella said. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
Kinitra was stretched out in a lounge chair on the patio by the pool. She wore a chunky wool turtleneck, fleece pants and UGG boots. She was staring out at the river. Upriver, actually, at the blackened but structurally sound railroad bridge. Amtrak service between New York and Boston had been restored that morning.
Des showed her a smile and said, “Hey.”
Kinitra turned and looked at her, but her mind was somewhere else. A place far away. She seemed to have aged five years in the past seventy-two hours. She’d lost that doe-eyed, childlike quality of hers. She was a young woman now. “Thanks for coming, Trooper Des.” Her voice wasn’t sing-songy anymore either. It sounded flat and tired. “I wanted to apologize for lying to you and being such a total brat.”
“Not a problem. I understand where you were coming from.”
“I also wanted to thank Mitch and his parents for saving my life. I don’t think I ever did.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve got my dress all picked out.”
Kinitra frowned at her. “What dress?”
“The one I’m going to wear when you play Carnegie Hall. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll write you a song. Would a love song be okay?”
“A love song would do just fine.”
She smiled at Des faintly, then gazed back at the railway bridge and was someplace else again. Someplace where no one should ever, ever have to go.
They tried doing brunch this time. Scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuits for those who could eat such things. Irish oatmeal for those who couldn’t. There was fresh-squeezed orange juice. There was piping hot coffee. It was a brisk, beautiful autumn morning. Mitch had a big fire going in his fireplace.
“I’ve got some news to impart,” the Deacon announced between spoonfuls of oatmeal. “I’m returning to work next week on a part-time basis. And I’m moving back into my own place. Giving my girl her life back. I’ve imposed on her long enough. I’ve got you to thank for this, Chet. You inspired me.”
Mitch’s dad looked at him surprise. “I did?”
“You did. You made me realize that I’m not ready to be put out to pasture yet. I’m just like you-if I’m not helping someone, or at least trying, then they may as well dig a hole and cover me over.”
“Here’s to you, Buck,” Chet said, raising his coffee cup to him.
“I’m going to miss you, Daddy,” Des confessed.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I’ve gotten used to you prowling around the house in the middle of the night.”
“I could move in with you for a while if you’d like,” Mitch offered. “I’m a consummate night prowler. Mind you, that’s not all I know how to do in the dark.”
“Behave, Boo-Boo,” she chided him.
“Des, I’m still not totally comfortable with you-”
“Tough,” she said, feeling Ruth Berger’s eyes on her. The little lady had been staring at her all through the meal.
After they finished eating, Ruth insisted on helping her clear the table, her jaw clenched with determination. The Talk. Des had been waiting for this. Dreading it. Because there was no avoiding the reality of their situation. Mitch was a Jewish widower. Des was a divorced woman of color. She wasn’t sure exactly how Ruth’s words would go. But she was fairly certain what her message would be:
You’ve had your fun-now stay away from my son.
Des piled their plates in the sink, steeling herself as Ruth set the serving bowls down on the kitchen counter.
When the words came they weren’t what Des was expecting at all.
Ruth Berger said, “Thank you, Desiree.”
“For what, Ruth?”
“Saving my boy. We thought we were going to lose him after Maisie died. He didn’t smile for two whole years. Now he can’t stop smiling. He loves life again. And it’s all because of you.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.”
“Nonsense. You’ve made him whole again.”
Des heard hearty male laughter from the other room. The men enjoying each other’s company.
Ruth glanced at the doorway, lowering her voice. “After Maisie’s funeral, he just sat in their apartment for months watching old movies and stuffing his face. When we tried to visit him he wouldn’t let us in. He wouldn’t even speak to us on the phone. His editor, Lacy, was planning to put him on medical leave. She phoned me, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Neither does Mitch. Please don’t tell him.”
“I won’t.”
“The lady absolutely could not figure out what to do about him. I told her that when he was a little boy all he ever wanted to do was sit in the apartment watching old movies on TV. Sometimes I had to turn off the set and shove him out into the sunshine to play with the other boys. So Lacy did. She sent him here to Dorset to write a weekend getaway piece. She didn’t think he’d agree to go, but I assured her he would. He’s always been very conscientious.”
“So Mitch coming here was your idea?”
“I suppose it was.”
“Ruth, if it hadn’t been for you we would never have met.”
Ruth looked at Des curiously. “His life is so much better now. Is yours?”
“Yes, it is. That’s not to say that everything’s been perfect. We’ve had our ups and downs.”
“Oh, hell, all couples do. I left Chester for three months. Moved in with my girlfriend Lenore on West 78th Street. This was before Mitch was born. He doesn’t know. Don’t ever tell him.”
“I won’t. Why did you?…”
“Because I wasn’t in charge of my own life anymore. Chester was. He could be very bossy when he was younger. I persuaded him to accept me as his equal and stop telling me what to do. We worked things out. We just had to grow up a little. By ‘we’ I mean Chester. My point is, we were totally right for each other. Same as you and Mitch are totally right for each other. And if you ever decide you want to make me a grandmother, I wouldn’t say no.” Ruth hesitated before she added, “Mitch was all wrong, you see.”
“All wrong about what?”
“He thought Maisie was his soul mate for life. She wasn’t. You are.”
Damn.
Des bit down hard on her lower lip, her eyes misting over.
“Oh, dear, now I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”
“No, no. You didn’t upset me. You made me feel good all over.”
Ruth smiled at Des and said, “I’m glad. That makes us even.” She glanced around at the cluttered counter. “Are we done here?”
Des said, “We’re done.” Then she took Mitch’s mother by the arm and led her back into the living room to join the three good men in their lives.
