I saw where this was going and had a sinking feeling.

“David, my husband, told me it was excellent cognac. So I saved it. One night, I was missing my dad, and I drank some and liked it. Now I order—” Glenna put down her glass. “You knew, didn’t you? My dad used to take you down there to drink, didn’t he?”

Nodding, I shifted my gaze between Glenna and the fireplace. Orange-blue gas flames were flickering up through ceramic logs.

Glenna said, “I knew he drank. I could smell it on him sometimes. But he didn’t do it in front of my mother and me, and I guess I didn’t want to admit he had a problem. At least not till it hit me in the face. He was taken to the ER one night. My mother called me, and when I got there, the charge nurse let me read his chart, and I saw he was being treated for cirrhosis. He was still drinking when he died. I tried to get him into a program. My mother even called Richard.”

“Was he any help?”

“No. Richard’s done with the commune, but not with being pissed.” Holding the stem of her snifter in two fingers, Glenna twirled the glass on the table and gave me an apologetic smile. “I remember you trying to tell me about my dad. And I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to do, and I—I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Glenna drank some more cognac. “Catch me up with you.”

“Well, you know my father’s gone.”

She nodded and started reaching across the table, as if she were about to squeeze my hand, but she seemed to think better of it, pulling back and saying, “Whenever I’m channel surfing and the Mets come on, I remember those games your dad took us to at Shea.”

“Nice times,” I said, and then we were silent.

Glenna said, “Your mom?”

“Mom’s gone. Her, Uncle Jerr, and Aunt Lil. All within two years.”

“I’m so sorry, Gordon.”

“Thanks. At least my sister’s fine. Elaine lives in Belmont, outside Boston, has a husband, two daughters, and three grandchildren. I was on my way there when I stopped in New York.”

“I knew you two were close. I always wanted to meet her.”

“You’d like her. My mother said you had a lot in common.”

“How so?”

“Smart and pretty,” I said, skipping the part about their both hurting men.

Outside, I heard the scrape of plows clearing the streets.

Glenna glanced down at her hands. “Married?” she said.

“Hard question for you to ask?”

“Maybe. A little.”

“Good,” I said.

She looked up at me with a small, tight grin, and even in the dim apricot light the meshwork of creases around her eyes and mouth stood out like cracks in a cameo. Yet her power to hold my attention had not diminished. I had an overwhelming desire to touch her, but I’d already made that mistake helping her off with her coat. I took the plastic sword with an olive speared on it from my martini and held it toward her.