Last Dance, Last Chance

so that I could meet them.
    Ralph and Lauren and two of Shelly Palombaro’s kids—D.J. and Aly,—and Gabby, the pup, romped around the house, which was clearly a house where children were important.
    The room was filled with laughter, laughter that is still caught on the tape recorder they allowed me to place in the center of the table as everyone recalled the portions of Debbie’s story that were most meaningful to them.
    And yet, there were times when I looked at Debbie and saw a brief cloud of pain pass across her face. This was her life story, her tragedy, and we were in the house she had shared with Anthony for many years. Sharon Simon saw it, too. We exchanged a glance, but we didn’t attempt to stop the conversation. None of us can fully share others’ heartbreak—we’d go crazy if we did—but I saw Debbie’s that night.
    The walls were covered with photographs of Lauren and Ralph. In person, they were very nice kids, polite and respectful of adults but not in the least goody-goody. Lauren and Aly gave us a demonstration of gymnastics, and Ralph downloaded his father’s book, Mass Destruction, from his computer for me.
    Very few reminders of Anthony are left in his one-time home. Only a snarling stuffed cheetah, which Ralph wants to keep, challenges visitors who walk up the stairway. There are still photographs of a younger Anthony in Debbie’s wedding book.
    Chuck Craven’s daughter, Christine, came with him to what was basically a celebration of Debbie’s life. She is a physical therapist, inspired by the therapists who helped her dad use his arm again after he was shot so many years ago in the drug raid in Arizona.
    It was easy to forget why I was there in West Seneca. It was fun to hear Denis Scinta’s stories of Debbie’s father, “Uncle Junior,” and to listen to the easy camaraderie among the district attorney’s staff. It was chilling, however, when the conversation turned to Anthony and how close he came to succeeding in his carefully orchestrated plans to destroy his family and head off for a new life in a tropical climate.
    We talked until long after midnight, but Sharon Simon’s beeper went off, Frank Sedita had to get up early to fly to South Carolina to present a seminar to lawyers from around America, and, reluctantly, the group straggled off. It occurred to me how fortunate Debbie had been to have good old friends and good new friends. They had not only saved her life but helped her gain the dignity and confidence she has achieved.
    Debbie drove me back to my motel, and I almost forgot that this was a woman whose feet hadn’t been able to move a year earlier, much less press an accelerator or stomp on the brakes. I was exhausted, but happy to finally know someone who was supposed to be dead but who was triumphantly alive.
    Finally, after hiding in her home, Debbie was able to rejoin life. She was no longer afraid to tell her story. She hopes that it might help other women by warning them and giving them the courage to walk away from abusive relationships. The only thing she asked of me was the opportunity to thank the people who had, quite literally, saved her life and locked away the man who wanted her dead.
    That seemed a very reasonable request.
    Debbie’s Acknowledgments
    With much love and thanks from Deborah Pignataro to:
    My children. What can I say to the two most important people in my life? My son Ralph and my daughter Lauren. Without them, I wouldn’t have had the courage to survive. Their constant love and courage made me fight even harder to make it through the most terrible of times…They have remained strong, bright, and well adjusted. I love them very much, and I will always be there for them no matter what.
    My mother, Caroline Rago, who gave up her job, her home, and her social life to take care of me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you very much.
    I thank God every day for my brother, sister-inlaw, my nephew and niece. They welcomed my children into their home without a second thought and took care of them for a whole year. They came to court with me every day and gave me their strength.
    My best friend, Shelly Palombaro, who appeared at my hospital bed and offered to help my mom nurse me back to now. She is my guardian angel. I would also like to thank her husband, Frank, who always dropped whatever he was doing to lend me a helping hand…and their kids, D.J. Striker, Aly, Chelsea, and Jacob Palombaro.
    Denis A. Scinta, my attorney,