Transgressions

Casey smiled wisely at them. 'Uh-uh. Aunt Pegeen put the twins to sleep on your bed.' He waited for the look of frustration in Peter's eyes before he said, 'But I could let you use my room if you guys want to make out. Twenty bucks for an hour sound okay?'

'Sounds like you think I'm a hooker,' Echo said to Casey. Staring him down. Casey's shoulders dropped; he looked away uneasily.

'I didn't mean—'

'Now you got a good reason not to skip confession again this week,' Peter said. Glancing at Echo, and noticing how tired she looked, having lost her grip on her upbeat mood.

Driving Echo back to the city, Pete said, 'I just keep goin' round and round with the numbers, like a dog chasin' its tail. You know?'

'Same here.'

'Jesus, I'm twenty-six, ought to have my own place already instead of living home.'

'Our own place. Trying to save anything these days. The taxes. Both of us still paying off college loans.

Forty thousand each. My mom sick. Your mom was sick—'

'We both got good jobs. The money'll come together. But we'll need another year,'

Peter exited from the Queensboro Bridge and took First uptown. They were nearing 78th when Echo said, 'A year. How bad can that be?' Her tone of voice said, miserable.

They waited on the light at 78th, looking at each other as if they were about to be cast into separate dungeons.

'Gotta tell you, Echo. I'm just goin' nuts. You know.'

'I know.'

'It hasn't been easy for you either. Couple close calls, huh?' He smiled ruefully.

She crossed her arms as if he'd issued a warning. 'Yeah.'

'You know what I'm sayin'. We are gonna be married. No doubt about that. Is there?'

'No.'

'So—how big a deal is it, really? An act of contrition—'

'Pete, I'm not happy being probably the only twenty-two-year-old virgin on the face of the earth. But confession's not the same as getting a ticket fixed. You know how I was brought up. It's God's law. That has to mean something, or none of it does.'

The light changed. Peter drove two blocks and parked by a fire hydrant a few doors down from Echo's brownstone.

'Both your parents were of the cloth,' he said. 'They renounced their vows and they made you. Made you for me. I can't believe God thought that was a sin.'

Blue and unhappy, Echo sank lower in her seat, arms still crossed, over her breasts and her crucifix.

'I love you so much. And I swear to Him, I'll always take care of you.'

After a long silence Echo said, 'I know. What do you want me to do, Pete?'

'Has to be your call.'

She sighed. 'No motels. I feel cheap that way, I can't help myself. Just know it wouldn't work.'

'There's this buddy of mine at the squad, he was in my year at the Academy, Frank Ringer. Like maybe you met him at the K of C picnic in July?'

'Oh. Yeah. Got a twitch in one eye? Really ripped, though.'

'Right. Frank Ringer. Well, his uncle's got a place out on the Island. Way out, past Riverhead on Peconic Bay I think.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Frank's uncle travels a lot. Frank says he could make arrangements for us to go out there, maybe this weekend—'

'So you and Frank been having these discussions about our sex life?'

'Nothing like that. I just mentioned we'd both like to get off somewhere for some R and R, that's all.'

'Uh-huh.'

'So in exchange for the favor I'd cover Frank's security job for him sometime. Echo?'

'Guess I'd better be getting on up, see how mom is. Might be a long night; you know, I read to her when she can't—'

'So what do I tell Frank?'

Echo hesitated after she opened the door.

'This weekend sounds okay,' she said. 'Does his uncle have a boat?'

Three A.M. and John Leland Ransome, the painter, was up and prowling barefoot around his apartment at the Hotel Pierre on Fifth Avenue. The doors to his terrace were open; the sounds of the city's streets had dwindled to the occasional swish of cabs or a bus seven stories below. There was lightning in the west, a plume of yellow-tinged dark clouds over New Jersey or the Hudson. Some rain moving into Manhattan,