“We talked about his kids,” she rattled cheerfully. “He’s worried about David. You know, the one that dropped out of college to join the Army. Now he wishes he’d stayed in school, and he’s always after Kenny for money.”

“Well, I’m glad Kenny had a chance to get it off his chest,” I replied.

“I just wanted you to know,” Carolyn said. “Hilda Sain was there with one of her daughters, so I’m sure it’s all over the neighborhood by now. She pretended not to see us.”

“Don’t worry about it. If anybody says anything, tell them it was an act of retaliation. I was with two women last night.”

There was a pause. When she spoke again, her tone had cooled. “Really? Who?”

“A very famous artist named Jean Archer and an old friend named Amy Meyers.”

“Oh—”

“My God, Carolyn, don’t you think we’re old enough to enjoy life without always looking over our shoulders?”

“I suppose so,” she said. Then: “Will you be home tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon. I’ll call you from the airport when I get there.”

“Fine. I’ll see you.”

“Give my best to Kenny,” I said lightly.

She did not appreciate the feeble humor. She hung up without replying.

CHAPTER

26
 

LILA WAS WAITING AT THE BENCH, IMPATIENTLY PACING ON THE sidewalk. A slip of warm air slithered down the street and seemed to curl around her face. She watched with disgust as I walked up with the shovel and the box containing Avrum’s ashes.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see this,” I said.

“I don’t,” she grumbled, “but somebody has to make sure you do it right. Anyway, I had to get the lovers off the bench.”

I asked what she had told them.

“That I had a man from the water department looking for a water main under the bench.” She glared at the box I held. “Are they in there?”

“Yes.”

She stepped back. “God…”

“It won’t take but a minute,” I assured her.

“Don’t you need a rabbi, or something?” Lila asked.

“No. It’s not a ceremony. It’s carrying out the wish of a friend.”

I placed the box on the bench and began digging in the same spot of the rehearsed burial. The girl on the bicycle rode in her figure-8 circles on the street in front of the bench. She wore a garish orange scarf around her neck and again her face was covered in makeup, but not perfectly applied as before; it was caked, with freckle dots of lipstick across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She had the look of a circus clown who had been hired to perform some comic pagan ritual for the burial of Avrum Feldman. The wheels of her bicycle hummed monotonously.