BooksBarbecue
Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

Mike remembers sitting by one of the giant windows in the winter, in the middle of the night, smoking. He stared out into the dark over the bright white of the snow-covered park. Jane’s parents were away in Nantucket, and Jane was downstairs picking up a pizza delivery.

Mike was wishing he hadn’t slept with Tweety. Somehow that made it all his fault. The hell it did, he thought. But then the hell it didn’t. It just would have all been cleaner. He wondered, for the first time, what happened to Tweety’s body after she was killed. Then he heard the door open, and Jane came in with the pizza and turned on the radio. She turned the dial from the traffic report to classical music and sat down.

“You all right?” she asked, brushing her knuckle under his eye.

“Contact lenses are fucked up,” he said.

“I was thinking about what we were talking about,” she said.

“Which?”

“About Lyle. How he’s probably alone all the time.”

Mike didn’t say anything.

“I have a girlfriend he should meet. We should all get drunk together. It’d be fun.”

“Don’t try to set him up.”

“Having a girlfriend would make him feel normal.”

“Having a girlfriend won’t help.”

Jane was silent after that.

Mike walks into the lobby of Jane’s building and the doorman tells him she’s not there. None of them is.

“One of the towers just collapsed,” the doorman tells him. “It just fell down.”

70

Outside, two handsome cabs sit in their usual place on the park side of Central Park South. Mike wonders what they are still doing there. One driver, in top hat, vest, and sunglasses, stands between the carriages, waiting nervously with the oblivious horses.

“Still giving rides?” Mike asks.

“I’d be out of here but I told this other driver I’d watch his rig until he came back.” The man’s voice is a surprisingly high tenor.

“How long you been waiting?”

“Since right after the second plane hit.”

Mike nods, remembering the second plane on the tiny TV screen in the bodega.

The driver whistles over Mike’s shoulder at another man in a top hat jogging across the street. “Took him long enough,” says the driver. “You still want a ride?”

It won’t save much time, but Mike is glad for the ride across Central Park South. He climbs up into the back of the carriage, but the driver tells him to come and sit up in the front. Mike sits next to him and the driver takes off his hat and tosses it in the back. The driver is silent and grim, and the avenue is empty. The only sound he hears is the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the distant wail of sirens.