Act of God

somehow, and I hope to find out how and why.”
    The eyelids seemed to get blacker, the beard bristling now. “Pain in the heart is terrible thing. I know that, you know that. People, they maybe die from it.”
    Grgo Radja tossed the rest of his slivovitz at the back of his throat, rose, and gave me the same slight bow he’d used before. Then he picked up the bottle and moved with deliberation toward his kitchen.

25

    I walked from the restaurant back to my office . Checking for messages, I had only one I cared about.

    The chocolate-brown garrison looked much as it had earlier that day, with the twin lampposts at the foot of its driveway and the Mazda coupe near the garage. However, the car was on the other side of the driveway now, and there were no green plastic newspaper bags on the path or lawn.
    Leaving the Prelude at the curb, I went up the drive and the path to the front door. The bell chimed inside, and I heard a young male voice call out something I couldn’t catch. A few seconds later, the door swung open.
    Larry Rivkind scowled at me. He had on jeans again but a different polo shirt, and his skin seemed a shade or two darker, as though he’d been working on a tan. “What are you doing here?”
    “Back from your trip, Larry?”
    “What business is it of yours?”
    From a few rooms away, Pearl Rivkind’s voice said, ‘Larry? Larry, who is it?”
    The boy didn’t answer, just posturing for me. “You tell my mom about our fight?”
    “No.”
    Rivkind’s face looked skeptical. “How come?”
    “You were upset, had a right to be. I was just a convenient target.”
    He seemed to turn that over. “Mr. Forgiveness.”
    “Can I speak to your mother?”
    “Why?”
    “That’s kind of between her and me.”
    “Larry?” Closer now.
    Rivkind stood aside dramatically. “I can’t stop her from being stupid if she wants to be.”
    “Larry, who—”
    Pearl Rivkind stopped cold when she saw me. Without makeup, the lantern jaw really dominated her face, which still looked weary but somehow brighter than when I’d seen her in my office. There was some color in her cheeks, and the big brown eyes were clear and wide. She wore a lightweight pink sweat suit with white strings in the front tied like a ribbon on a present. There was a dish towel in one hand, the other looking a little wet and red.
    “John, I called your secretary.”
    I said, “My answering service.”
    “Oh. Yeah, maybe. She didn’t seem to have any information, said I’d have to talk with you.”
    Without looking at her son, I said, “That’s why I’m here. Is there some place we can talk?”
    Larry Rivkind said, “I’m going up to my room. Call me if you want me, huh?”
    Pearl Rivkind nodded at her son without looking at him, either. As he left us for a stairway on the right, she said, “Kitchen all right, John?”
    “Fine, Pearl.”
    We moved through a tasteful living room in which the furnishings seemed perfectly proportioned for the space and color-coordinated with each other. The kitchen had a bright, peened linoleum floor in yellow with matching appliances and daisy wallpaper. There was a breakfast nook with high-backed benches that were quaint but somehow too small for the wall and Palladian window they abutted. The window reminded me of the ones at Value Furniture.
    “You want to sit in the nook, I’ll make some coffee?”
    “The nook’s fine, but no coffee, thanks.”
    “Tea? Tonic?”
    Rivkind still used the old New England expression for carbonated drinks like Coke or Pepsi. “Tonic would be good.”
    “We got Sprite or Diet Dr Pepper.”
    “Sprite, please.”
    “Ice?”
    “Not if it’s already cold.”
    She went over to a large double refrigerator, stopping on the way for a pair of tall, crystal glasses. Opening the door, she pulled out a two-liter bottle with both hands, then couldn’t turn the top.
    I said, “Can I get that for you?”
    “No, thanks. Larry has to go back to his job soon, and I need to be able to do these kinds of things for myself.” Rivkind tried the dish towel to help her grip. I heard the fizz noise that meant she’d been successful.
    “There.” She used both hands to tilt the bottle and fill the glasses. Rivkind seemed to perform each task carefully and slowly, as though it were ritually important to do it right.
    “Where does Larry work?”
    “Up in New Hampshire. Kid’s camp. Imagine, he goes through Harvard, degree in philosophy, and he wants to be a camp