Part 50 (2/2)
”Oh!” I blinked, and hoped that maybe . . . but then I saw how sad he looked, and I knew for sure where this was going.
”Esther . . .” He frowned and looked down.
I gathered from the subsequent silence that he had decided not to ask what I was doing at St. Monica's the night the priest had killed himself and Buonarotti had lost his marbles. Or why I had given my phone number to a Corvino capo, who dropped that piece of evidence when he was brutally murdered at Vino Vincenzo. Or whether I still believed I had seen Max decapitate Lopez's perfect double.
I could see him filtering through all the things he couldn't not not think about when he looked at me now, and my heart sank. He was standing within a foot of me, but he was way out of reach. think about when he looked at me now, and my heart sank. He was standing within a foot of me, but he was way out of reach.
Finally, he said, ”It's not just your friends.h.i.+p with Max.”
”I know.”
”And it's not just the crazy things you said the other night.”
”Uh-huh.”
”Or even just the crazy things you keep doing doing.”
”Oh?”
His expression was so unhappy, it made me want to put my arms around him.
In a low voice, he said, ”I concealed evidence. I withheld information. I lied to my sergeant and to my captain. I let you and your friends leave a crime scene, and half my report about that night is fiction.”
I nodded. I hadn't asked him to do any of that. It didn't matter. He'd done it to protect me. He was afraid he'd do it again.
”The priest is dead, Buonarotti's going to prison, no innocent people got hurt . . .” He let out his breath and shook his head. ”But we got lucky, that's all. I can't . . .” He tried again. ”You and I . . .”
”This went badly for us, huh?”
”Yeah.”
”And you like me and wish things were different.”
”Uh-huh.”
”But things being what they are, you're not going to call me anymore or ask me out again.”
He took a deep breath. ”Yeah.”
”And since you're the one breaking up with me,” I said, ”why do I I have to write all your dialogue?” have to write all your dialogue?”
That surprised him into a smile. ”Sorry.”
I folded my arms. ”I wish . . .”
Well, mostly I wished he didn't think I was crazy and possibly felonious. He'd gotten past my bizarre involvement in the disappearances that had started with Golly Gee. It was too much, I could see, to ask him to get past this, too.
He cleared his throat. ”Keep my phone number. If you need anything. I mean, if you need help or-”
”As in, psychiatric help?”
”As in, my my help.” help.”
”Oh.”
”If you do, I want you to call me.”
”Seriously?”
”Yes. Seriously. Okay?”
”Okay.”
”Yo, Esther!” Tommy Two Toes said as he pa.s.sed me. ”Are you gonna be singing at Stella's tonight?”
I shook my head and pointed to my bruised throat.
”Jesus! Well, don't you worry! That's stronzo stronzo's gonna pay for what he done,” Tommy said cheerfully. Then he noticed Lopez and flinched.
Lopez gave him a bland stare.
After Tommy was gone, I said, ”I get the impression Buonarotti may not be safe in prison.”
”Probably he should have picked a different profession,” Lopez said.
Inside the church, Max was talking with a child who, it turned out, was Don Victor's youngest granddaughter. They were engaged, Max said, in a fascinating dialectical discussion of traditional Catholicism.
Lucky was kneeling before the statue of St. Monica, but I guess he wasn't deeply absorbed in praying. When he noticed me nearby, handing Nelli over to Max, he said to me, ”Well?”
I came over to join him. ”He broke up with me.”
”The b.u.m!”
”Maybe he's right, Lucky. He doesn't even know it, but he was cursed with death because of me.” My longing for Lopez was swamped by my horrified guilt over having nearly gotten him killed. ”He probably would have been just another cop on the case if I hadn't drawn Gabriel's attention to him by talking about him and by my involvement with him.”
”Yeah, but-”
”No, Lucky. Lopez could be right about this. Maybe I'm bad for him.”
Without having realized I was on the verge of it, I started to cry. I turned my face away from the church pews where Max was deflecting the child's energetic a.s.sertion of an omnipotent benevolent deity. I didn't want him to see how upset I was, since he'd probably blame himself for this.
”Come on, kneel down,” Lucky said. ”St. Monica comforts the afflicted, even if they ain't Catholic.”
I knelt next to Lucky and tried not to think about Lopez's sad blue eyes and dark face as he told me he wouldn't see me anymore. I wiped my tears and sought a distraction as I stared at the berobed statue poised above the flickering candles.
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