Fall Guy

But when they were home, they didn't have much to say about where they'd been.“
    „That was the time of your father's accident, wasn't it?“
    „It was. That happened right before the Connors moved to Pennsylvania. It's not that far away, but they might as well have moved to the moon, the way things turned out.“
    „You never saw them?“
    She shook her head. „Not after my father's funeral. That was the last. My mother and Aunt
    Margaret kept in touch, mostly letters, but then long periods would go by when neither one of them wrote. I was named after Margaret. She's my mother's older sister and my mother really loved her. I think she was heartbroken when the letters stopped coming. But then, near the end, they would talk on the phone. When Margaret called her, my mother would brighten up. She'd seem content for hours afterward. I was glad of that, glad they got to talking again at the end.“
    „Did they come to the wake after she died?“
    „Oh, no. They couldn't. Uncle Jim is in a wheelchair and Margaret's frail as well. But I spoke to them. They knew, of course. They sent some lovely flowers.“
    „What about Francis? Did he come to the wake?“
    „Francis? Oh, no. With Liam gone, it was Francis who gave his life to God.“
    „He became a priest?“
    She shook her head. „A monk. Perhaps a silent order, I don't know for sure. After they moved, I never saw him or heard from him again. Well, teenage boys don't write letters to their cousins, do they? And now he has a monastic family. Now he has more important things on his mind. Anyway, people lose touch, what with this and that. You know how it is.“
    I did, too. I'd barely spoken to my own sister in the last year. In fact, her house was five minutes from Maggie's. I could have arranged to visit her the morning I was up there, but I hadn't.
    „But at the end, after my mother had asked me to call Aunt Margaret for her, well, that was good, that they were back in touch. They talked for a long time, that day, and a few other times. But I don't know what they talked about. I don't know if my aunt mentioned Francis. My mother didn't say and I didn't ask. We all had something more pressing to think about, and anyway, that was all so long ago,“ she said, „when we used to play together and I had that silly crush on him.“
    The water was boiling. I asked Maggie if she wanted another cup of tea or if we should get back to work. „Both,“ she said. I said I'd go out and get some boxes while she looked through Tim's books and gathered the rest of the photographs. She said that would be helpful.
    „I can't remember what he looked like,“ she said when I handed her the mug of hot tea.
    „Francis?“ I asked.
    She shook her head. „No, my father. Unless I'm looking at his picture, I can't remember his face.“ She looked at me and took a deep breath, as if she'd just remembered why we were here and who this was about. „We all grew up too fast. Tim didn't have much of a childhood,“ she said. „None of us did.“
    I took Dashiell with me, glad for the chance to get out, to get away from the very stories I had encouraged Maggie to tell me. Outside, the sun was shining. There were people going about their lives—kids on skateboards, traffic passing, dog walkers walking other people's dogs, nannies with babies in strollers, pathologically skinny young women with designer shopping bags looking for a place to pick at lunch. We headed to the little deli across Washington Street, where I picked up three smallish boxes and a couple of muffins to go with the tea, wishing I could take a long walk instead of going back inside to deal with all that grief. Standing on the corner, waiting for the chance to cross the street, I glanced downtown. I was no longer sure exactly where the Twin Towers had stood. I didn't know which of the smaller buildings that I could see now had been visible before the attack and which had been hidden by the World Trade Center. Like Maggie, I would have needed a photograph to remind me. I turned away, back toward the traffic heading our way from the meat market, waiting for the chance to cross.

CHAPTER 20
    Where'd you get the bone?“ I whispered.
    I could see a reflection of the garden in his sunglasses—the two tables pushed together, the bottles of wine, a pyramid of glasses on either side of them. I could see Jin Mei's feast, distorted on Brody 7 s dark lenses: small dumplings and dipping sauces, tiny bite-sized egg rolls, a cold