'I can't stay in the same city with them,' she said.
'It's a big city with lots of suburbs,' Abe said. 'You give them north of Howard Street and you take the rest.'
'That's not funny,' she said, watching her uncle place a hot coffee mug in front of her. 'How's Aunt Yetta?'
'She's Aunt Yetta,' said Maish, moving away with a shrug.
'You should help him, Abe,' Lisa whispered, picking up her coffee cup.
'I'm trying, Lisa,' he said. 'What's the issue?'
'Issue?' 'You, your mother. On the phone. I know an issue when I hear one coming.'
'I can't stay in Chicago,' she said. 'There's too much… I can't stay.'
Lieberman wished he could dangle the prospect of Dr. Jacob Berry before his daughter, but Berry's eligibility had been seriously compromised. In fact, the odds were good that Dr. Berry's medical license was in jeopardy and that, if Matthews died, involuntary manslaughter and possession of an illegal weapon were in his future. Lieberman's mind raced for a possible substitute. He even considered Alan Kearney, then immediately rejected the idea.
'Where are you going?'
'San Francisco,' she said. 'I've always wanted to live in San Francisco, you know that.'
Abe knew nothing of the kind, but he nodded in agreement.
'When?' he asked.
'Soon, next month. Right after Barry's bar mitzvah. I want you to tell Todd that I agree to the divorce. I want nothing from him, not even support for the children.'
'I'll tell him.'
'And you can send me whatever papers need to be signed.'
'I will,' he promised. 'Anything else?'
'Yes, I talked to Mom about this. She said it was all right with her if it's all right with you.'
Lieberman could feel it coming. He faced his daughter in the hope of intimidating her into backing down, but the past thirty-five years told him it was hopeless.
'You want to leave the kids with us,' he said.
'For awhile,' she said. 'I think I can get a job with a pharmaceutical company in Oakland, but the cost of living there, transportation, setting things up…' 'Todd would help,' Abe said.
Lisa looked deeply into her steaming coffee and shook her head.
'I don't want anything from Todd.'
No, you want something from me and your mother, Abe thought, but was wise enough this time to say nothing. And besides, the prospect of having Barry and Melisa around without Lisa to tell him the proper way to treat them was tempting.
'Let's set a time limit,' Lieberman said.
'Just six months,' she said. 'And I'll come back and visit on holiday weekends. I can get a special rate if I book in advance.'
'Six months,' Abe repeated.
'Maybe a little less, maybe a little more. I couldn't stand being away from Barry and Melisa for long.'
'I'm more than sixty years old, Melisa. Your mother's… a little younger.'
Her eyes met his, moist, pleading, hopeful, a look he hadn't seen from her in almost thirty years.
'Fine,' he said with a sigh.
She hugged him, something she had done only once in the last twenty years, the night after Maish's son David was murdered.
'What?' asked Maish, coming with coffee refills.
'Lisa's moving to San Francisco,' Abe said. 'Bess and I are keeping the kids till she gets settled.'
The door behind Lieberman opened and someone said, 'What smells so good, Maish?'
'Boiled cabbage, pickled whitefish,' said Maish.
The rush hour lunch had begun.
'Gregor, what are you doin'?'
When he had returned from the lineup, George Patniks had told his mother as little as possible and then gone down to his room to pace and listen to Sally Jessie and his mother laugh above him.
He tried to think about painting, a new painting, something light for a change-trees, a park, kids, oranges, anything-but nothing took shape. He paced.
Rozier had been behind that mirror, looking at him, gauging him, knowing that the police suspected something. Was Rozier home now? Or was he in his car searching for George, a long, sharp knife tucked into his belt?
Then, after a full hour of pacing and well into Oprah, George pulled out the painting of the murderer and the dying woman, packed it in cardboard, and taped it tight, then packed a bag and went upstairs.
'I'm going to Seattle, Ma,' he said. 'I'll call Tommy, tell him to look out for you. Anyone comes looking for me, you tell 'em I went to Seattle for an art show.'
'With one painting you're going to an art show?'
'I shipped the others.'
'When? Where you ship the others?'
'Last week. You were sleeping.'
'Gregor, what's wrong?' 'The damn television is too loud, that's what's wrong. I can't think. I can't paint. I'll be gone a week, maybe two. Promise. I gotta go. I'll call.'
'What's wrong, Gregor?' she repeated, summoning the energy to rise from her chair.
'I'm going, Ma,' he said. 'I'll call you.'
He left her standing heavily in front of the serious face of Oprah, who was talking about children with some rare disease.
'I'll call,' he repeated at the door. 'Don't worry.'
He opened the door, took a step down, and found himself facing one of the cops he had seen after the lineup, a big cop with a pink face.
'Suitcase in one hand, what looks like a wrapped-up painting in the other,' said Bill Hanrahan. 'Being a good detective, I'm gonna conclude that you're taking a little trip.'
'I was going to call my parole officer before I left,' George said. 'I've got a chance to make a big sale in Seattle.'
'My partner thinks the Seattle stuff is a bunch of bullshit, George,' Hanrahan said with a smile. 'Why don't we go back in and talk about this morning, maybe look at some of your work? Abe says you've got talent.'
'I'll miss my bus,' George pleaded.
'That you will,' agreed Hanrahan sadly, hearing his father's voice. 'That you will.'
Eupatniaks, that was die name, Harvey Rozier remembered. He had tried every Patniks in the book-well, the three listed-but now he was searching for a Eupatniaks. He wasn't sure of how to spell it, but how many variations could there be?
In five minutes, Harvey had narrowed the list down to three names. He called the first and asked if George was there.
'George doesn't live here,' the woman said. 'His brother Tommy lives here. You want George, you call him at Wanda's.'
'I don't have the number.'
The woman on the other end gave a put-upon sigh and gave Harvey a phone number.
'I'm sorry,' he said, turning on the charm, 'but do you have the address?'
He waited for her to question his request, but she simply gave him an address on Clyborne.
'Thanks,' he said and hung up.
Simple, it had been so simple.
Betty was sitting in the living room waiting for him when he came down. She had a magazine in her hand. She dropped it to the floor and got up.
